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howl-fantasies · 3 years ago

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Turning point

A/N - Got a very interesting request from @flare123 : “May I pls request a reader x gotham character where they discover the side of y/n or reader that is like Sherlock from bbc? Like they find something beautiful and somewhat sentimental? Ex: "the moon looks beautiful tonight" "what?" and character looks at them all confused.”

I re-watched the moment Sherlock said that line and the way Watson reacted. I love how he makes his point in front of Watson who usually present him as an individual incapable of feeling human emotions, like a machine. But he’s not and wants the doctor to understand it with an example. If you’re interested in theory analysis, look at the post made by @aconsultingdetective and in the notes, I find them pretty accurate.

But I’m babbling, again... SO, here’s how I imagine a turning point in reader’s and Gotham cast relationship, where they saw Y/N as something else than a creepy maniac sometimes going on killing sprees. I hope it was what you had in mind and that you’ll like it! I gave it a try with Jim, Ed, Oswald and Victor. Tell me if you want to read it with more characters and who and I’ll make. another post!

Warning: english mistakes, still working on it sorry! I decided to write Y/N as a woman, but if you prefer, I can change it and make it gender neutral or use a him, that’s not a problem.

JIM GORDON

If you asked Jim what were his thoughts about Y/N, after their first encounter, his answer would instantly have been: “same as Zsasz, a homicidal maniac and a sadist.” Was his statement still accurate? yes, pretty much. But he had to recognize that the assassin was a little more complex than that.

He heard about how she helped Wayne once, hacking his own company when the child was looking for some irregularities in it. He also saw her once shooting some mobsters running after him then claimed it was because she had a contract on their head. Truth be told, she confused him greatly.

You cannot be working with Victor Zsasz on a day to day basis and be sane or a good person or possess compassion, that makes no sense. She was a psychopath, and a dangerous one at that, as the GCPD psychiatrist said to him and the cops when they were studying her case.

So what was his surprise when he found said sicko sat at his table in front of his package of cornflakes, looking intensely at something inside of her hand. “What are you doing here Y/N?!” He asked quickly as he grabbed his gun and aim at her warily. “Did Falcone send you to kill me?!” He added tensely.

She seemed absorbed by her task and didn’t even turn to look at him. “Can’t believe they still make those dinosaurs. Look at that velociraptor, those stupid marketing teams didn’t even rework on the design after the world learnt they had feathers and were the ancestors of chickens...did you know that by the way?” She asked while finally turning to look at him with a serious face.

That was utterly ridiculous. “Sorry, what?” He asked in disbelief and rapidly blinked before adding, “I mean I knew that but, why this observation? Are you drunk or something?”

She looked back at the figurine again and said airily, “I used to collect them, when I was a child. Those shitty plastic things were my most valuable possession. I still have them, in a box. Never had the velociraptor though, you’re lucky”.

Jim put his gun back in his holster, still shaken by her curious attitude and cleared his throat to bury the “cute” he thought a second ago. “Uh... Keep it, I mean, I usually throw them away.” He said slowly, still wondering if he was on drugs or something to see something so strange.

“Eh, that’s how I used to found them, in the trash. Throw it away, I’m pretty sure some kids will pick it and grow their collection.” She answered, putting the dino back in the box before lifting up from her seat, and stopping in front of him. “We definitely need more dudes who throw the figurines away, they’re good eggs.”

He just opened his mouth stupidly and blinked, watching her moving again to his front door. “Oh, I heard Penguin wants you dead again, something about making a raid at your flat, today, 8PM sharp. Have a good night, Jimbo”, and she leaved.

Jim stayed in absolute silence during five solid minutes before whispering “What the hell was that?” Before looking at his clock 7:30PM.

ED NYGMA / THE RIDDLER

ED first met Y/N when he was still working at the GCPD. He just saw her from afar when Gordon took her inside of the interrogation room, never talk to her in person at that time. The forensic knew about the diagnosis the experts put on her, a psychopath and couldn’t help himself to check and spy a bit when Gordon interrogated her.

His next thought was : fascinating. The woman was stuck in a room with only one door heavily guarded, in front of one of the most perceptive cop of the place and looked and sounded like she was perfectly at ease when he would be sweating bullets.

She managed to escape, that day, and he didn’t see her again until he got out of Arkham and started to work with Oswald. They didn’t talk that much even when he saw her around the little man, mostly because he wanted to stay far away from her partner who didn’t seem to like how intensely he was studying her.

Not in a romantic way, for god sake! He wanted to see if she was indeed a psychopath like the psychiatrists said, and a sadist and the extend of that.

That morning, he felt luck was with him when he saw her reading a book next to the window. What a mundane activity for a blood thirsty killer. “Pride and Prejudice?” He asked in disbelief after leaning a bit to be able to see the title.

She raised a brow and offered him a quick look. “A problem with that Eddie?” She mocked a bit as he clicked his tongue, irritated by the nickname.

“Isn’t it lacking of... I don’t know, blood? Violence and murders?” He questioned while also raising his brow. “I have not the pleasure of understanding you, Ed. And same goes for you”, she answered calmly, turning a page.

He was dumfound a second before smiling like a madman and sitting quickly in front of her. “That sentence... No way you know the book by heart!” He giggled.

She crossed her legs and blinked once, still not looking at him, “I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book! - When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.”

Ed applauded twice and raised a curious brow. “Are you seeing yourself as Miss Bingley, Y/N?” He then asked still trying to solve the puzzle she was.

The woman offered him a sly smile and a glance. “Do not consider me now as an elegant female, intending to play you, but as a rational creature, speaking the truth from her heart. I am no Miss Bingley, Ed.” His grin was even more bigger.

“Knew it, you’re like Elizabeth.” He said. And she hummed in a good-natured way. “We indeed have some savagery in common, I’ve always loved how she verbally roasted people.”

The genius sneered at that a bit but was interrupted by Oswald walking in the room and stopping at the view of the two peacefully sat in the morning light. “What are you doing here?” He asked more for Y/N than him.

“Acting, boss”, she said while continuing her reading. “Well stop that!” He scoffed then pointed at the door. “Go do something productive instead of waisting your time and MY money!” He scolded.

She didn’t say anything and obeyed, leaving the two. Oswald turned to him with a frown, “that harlot made fun of me once. ‘Acting’ like she didn’t know Victor at Mooney’s, saying something like ‘He looks miserable, poor soul’ when he entered.

“And as I idiot, I had to point that miserable he may have been, but not poor since he worked for the king or Gotham and also possessed de facto half of the city. Then, the witch told me-...” “The miserable half?” Cut Ed, earning a shocked face from his friend which made him smirk. Yes, Y/N was a psychopath, a sadist. But she was also FUN, he decided as he chuckled.

OSWALD COBBLEPOT

The morning wind was chilling that day. As each Sunday, Oswald limped his way to the top of a hill not too far from the city, where his mother was now resting peacefully.

He took the time to stop at a flower shop an hour ago, buying her favorites and was ready to find himself alone in front of the cold stone, remembering of his time with the woman for who, he would have burn the world.

He stopped dead in his tracks at the entry of the cemetery though, seeing someone already here. Nothing too alarming, until he noticed Y/N looking pensively at the grave of his mother. His blood ran cold and he limped faster, threatening her with the bunch of flower he bought.

“What are you doing here Y/N?! I hope for your survival you didn’t dare to touch a thing! You freaking psychop-...” He had to stop his screaming when he saw many flowers put on the ground and a few on the stone. “What is that?” He muttered incredulously.

The woman was looking at the flowers too and waited a second or two before answering and pointing at one of them “chrysanthemum”, she said flatly. “The guy at the flower shop said it was a good one for a dead person.”

Then she pointed another one, “white carnations, used in the south of Europe as the flower of the dead”. Next she brought her finger on a lys, “saw it once inside of a coffin, thought it was beautiful”, she explained. Finally, she took one of the many red flowers she put on the stone.

“Poppies, my favorite”, she muttered. “I don’t really know about language of flowers, but I knew about the story behind that one. In the mythology, when Persephone was abducted by Hades, Demeter was inconsolable. So, the gods gave her a poppy to help her sleep.

“Afterwards, poppies sprang from Demeter's footsteps. She also transformed her mortal lover, Mecon, into the sacred flower.” She said airily, then turned to look at him. “Those ones were for you though. I know how much you loved her.”

Cobblepot look at her utterly shocked with an open mouth, incapable of speaking. “I just talk to her once, but she was gentle, polite and cared about you deeply. She gave me some of her goulash to try it at home. One of the best dishes I have ever ate I have to say.” She explained, putting the poppy back on the grave.

“Couldn’t visit before, timing was not good and I didn’t want to interrupt you.” Seeing Oswald still silent, looking at each flower with wide eyes, she blinked and shrugged a bit.

“I can throw them away if you don’t like it and never come here ever again, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” She said while lifting her hand to remove the flowers.

“DON’T!” Said Oswald much louder than he expected, grabbing her wrist with his free hand. “Don’t remove it, they are beautiful... Mother would have loved them, Y/N”, he now muttered, still moved by a so considerate gesture coming from Y/N.

“Where did you find the poppies, it’s not even the season”, he wondered. “I grow them at home with special light and in a room at good temperature, I like to see them.” She simply said.

The little man just nodded, still surprised by all the improbable new information he heard during this improbable morning and crouched to arrange his own flowers on the grave.

VICTOR ZSASZ

Ruthless, cold-blooded killer, pragmatic, logical, sassy and sarcastic. That was what Victor Zsasz would answer you if you ask him what were his thoughts about Y/N when he started to work with her.

Very good qualities for an efficient partner may he adds. And she was, the duo terrorized most of the mobsters, punks and rogues of the city since it started to work together.

He sometimes caught a few sentences she said, which were similar to his favorite music lyrics but thought it was simple chance at first. Like when she shot that guy and said flatly “another bites the dust”, or when he called her and asked for a back up and she answered “Never gonna give you up, dude”, already on her way to join the bloodbath.

That day, she was first in Falcone’s kitchen, Liza was probably still asleep since the sun wasn’t even here yet. She was drinking coffee with the radio on, when he appeared at the, seeing her back.

She gasped stupidly when “Gimme Gimme Gimme” by ABBA started to play and even leaned on her seat to grab the button to crank up the volume. So she indeed share his musical preferences. Good to know.

He stopped and crossed his arms while looking at her, moving her head in rhythm with the disco music and mouthing the lyrics as one of her legs bounced in rhythm too.

That was too funny and he was glad to be able to control his emotion so well or no doubt, he would be rolling on the floor while laughing hard at the view of Gotham no2 assassin acting like a girl singing a sappy song, though he silently thanked her to spear his ears since she was almost silent.

When the song ended and he was ready to embarrass her beyond measure, he saw her lean again and talk to the radio like the singers were able to hear her, “Want a man bitches? go chase him or something. Groove is great though, I’ll give you that”.

It was too much for him and he let a stupid snort escape, which made her turn on her seat and look at him annoyed. “Should have seen yourself, that was something”, he mocked. He didn’t anticipated the backfire.

“Should have seen yourself, watching me like a lover in a movie with that stupid smile on your face.” She bite, then pointed at the stainless steel on the wall in front of her. “Can see your reflexion here, idiot”, she added.

“Why didn’t you say anything then?” He asked curiously. She shrugged a bit, “Looked like a normal life domestic situation, I wanted to experience it once, since I saw it on TV last time”, she said pensively. He blinked, then frown, then tilted his head letting an incredulous “Uh?” escape, “What was that?”.

She stayed silent and turned back to sip her coffee again. He stayed here like an absolute idiot a good second, then walk to her, taking a seat next to the woman. “Can I have a coffee?” He asked flatly like nothing happened.

She indulged him and served him one, then started to read her journal in another language. Only to find the man next to her looking at the pages intensely above her shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing?” She sighed, clearly irritated by his behavior.

“Reading”, he muttered like it was an evidence. “You don’t even know the language, dumbass”, she facepalmed. “Translate for me then”, he said again like it was logical. “Why would I do that?”, the woman asked. “Because it’s domestic”. He then pointed at the picture of a trial, “looks fun, read it.” And she did.

#gotham imagine #gotham x reader #gotham #gotham fox #victor zsasz #victor zsasz imagine #victor zsasz x reader #gotham fandom #gotham x you #oswald cobblepot imagine #oswald cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot #edward nygma #edward nygma x reader #edward nygma imagine #jim gordon x reader #jim gordon #Jim Gordon imagine #gotham villains

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theuncannytruthteller · 2 years ago

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Chadwick would've wanted it to be the role the character T'Challa to live on he knew what the character T'Challa meant. T'Challla was created in 1966 during the Civil Rights Era by Jack Kirby to Stan Lee. T'Challa is the FIRST mainstream Leading Black/African superhero. T'Challa has been the focal point even integral to the world of Black Panther and to his nation Wakanda. T'Challa was created to be positive Black Representation he wasn't no side kick; he didn't speak in a stereotypical jive tone or have stereotype features. The whole idea is if the rumor of T'Challa Jr or whatever they call the Child he has with Nakia come true that's an issue. One reason we don't want a Jr. is because of racial stereotypes the fatherless Black Child trope is a no then you have the single independent strong Black Woman. Those things hurt Black people in the long run it only reinforces those stereotypes which is not our reality. Chadwick was fired for standing up against Stereotypes, so I doubt he'd be happy or fine with them adding in two.

(Video by: Tony Weaver Jr.)

His widow even said, "It really was the most powerful piece of work that Chad was able to lay the FOUNDATION for." What do you do with a foundation? You build off it you, so by not recasting and killing TChalla you're killing a legacy and letting the foundation he created be wasted.

No, we don't want Killmonger back nor do we care about the mantle or who takes up the mantle we care about the character beneath the mantle. We care about T'Challa, we're also asking to not use according to the leaks T'Challa will pass away via sickness aka using Chadwick's real-world illness as part of their story which is insulting, disrespectful, distasteful and disingenuous if said rumors are true. Chadwick Boseman's real-world death/ilness as part of the plot. We also don't need a film to teach us or show us how to grieve we see Black Death every day and many have become so desensitized to it. They should've recasted if they wanted to grief take time off reshuffle the film, they did it to make themselves feel better which might trigger someone else. Honestly that is selfish if that's the type of film you're cool with that's you I personally can't get down with that. We don't know what kind of person T'Challa would've been as a father as a King or Husband, he was reunited with his family after the blip for 5 years. On top of all that we don't know how he will deal with the people of Wakanda after opening the boarders, are his people for it or against it how will he deal with it we don't know because his story hasn't fully been explored or told. The most we have seen of T'Challa is him in cameos and only one solo film and him in the what if series without the mantle of Black Panther because it's not about the mantle it's about the character himself. Unless this film is set during the blip it won't make sense. Otherwise, how will you explain killing off a perfectly healthy and alive character?

A tributes as they're calling it don't sell tickets it doesn't market or profit off a dead man's image. That's explotive recently its come out the cast and crew took their new cast and crew to see Chadwick's grave.

Honor: How are you Honoroing Chadwick by killing off the character he brought to life, as his brother Derrick Boseman said he honored them by making sure they had a career.

https://youtu.be/4G4UtrMpGEw

So if they did want to honor him, they'd recast T'Challa to give someone else the opportunity to honor Chadwick by taking on the character he brought to life in turn them having a career as a lead alongside Shuri as lead. But no, they're going to kill off his character putting his family back through that trauma. That's not how you honor him that's how you dishonor him and how legacies die. They say they were Chadwick's friend but you're fine with killing off the character your friend brought to live. That don't sound like a friend to me, I could never do that to a friend I want to honor and respect.

What people have to understand is T'Challa isn't dead, people have separate the actor from the character. Chadwick Boseman has passed on the character T'Challa hasn't.

People don't care about mantles of Superman, Batman, Spider-Man, it's always been about the character beneath that role. Just like no one cares about the 007 mantle it's James Bond they care about the same applies here anyone can take the mantle we don't care it's about the character beneath the mantle we care about with all that being.

#recasttchalla #savetchalla #TChallaLives #DontKillTChalla #WakandaForever # SayNoToRacistStereotypes #BlackPanther #RestoreTChalla #ChadwickBoseman #VariantTChalla

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uomo-accattivante · 3 years ago

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Excellent article about bringing a re-make of Ingmar Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage to fruition, and the twenty-year friendship that Oscar Isaac and Jessica Chastain share:

There were days on the shoot for “Scenes From a Marriage,” a five-episode limited series that premieres Sept. 12 on HBO, when Oscar Isaac resented the crew.

The problem wasn’t the crew members themselves, he told me on a video call in March. But the work required of him and his co-star, Jessica Chastain, was so unsparingly intimate — “And difficult!” Chastain added from a neighboring Zoom window — that every time a camera operator or a makeup artist appeared, it felt like an intrusion.

On his other projects, Isaac had felt comfortably distant from the characters and their circumstances — interplanetary intrigue, rogue A.I. But “Scenes” surveys monogamy and parenthood, familiar territory. Sometimes Isaac would film a bedtime scene with his onscreen child (Lily Jane) and then go home and tuck his own child into the same model of bed as the one used onset, accessorized with the same bunny lamp, and not know exactly where art ended and life began.

“It was just a lot,” he said.

Chastain agreed, though she put it more strongly. “I mean, I cried every day for four months,” she said.

Isaac, 42, and Chastain, 44, have known each other since their days at the Juilliard School. And they have channeled two decades of friendship, admiration and a shared and obsessional devotion to craft into what Michael Ellenberg, one of the series’s executive producers, called “five hours of naked, raw performance.” (That nudity is metaphorical, mostly.)

“For me it definitely felt incredibly personal,” Chastain said on the call in the spring, about a month after filming had ended. “That’s why I don’t know if I have another one like this in me. Yeah, I can’t decide that. I can’t even talk about it without. …” She turned away from the screen. (It was one of several times during the call that I felt as if I were intruding, too.)

The original “Scenes From a Marriage,” created by Ingmar Bergman, debuted on Swedish television in 1973. Bergman’s first television series, its six episodes trace the dissolution of a middle-class marriage. Starring Liv Ullmann, Bergman’s ex, it drew on his own past relationships, though not always directly.

“When it comes to Bergman, the relationship between autobiography and fiction is extremely complicated,” said Jan Holmberg, the chief executive of the Ingmar Bergman Foundation.

A sensation in Sweden, it was seen by most of the adult population. And yes, sure, correlation does not imply causation, but after its debut, Swedish divorce were rumored to have doubled. Holmberg remembers watching a rerun as a 10-year-old.

“It was a rude awakening to adult life,” he said.

The writer and director Hagai Levi saw it as a teenager, on Israeli public television, during a stint on a kibbutz. “I was shocked,” he said. The series taught him that a television series could be radical, that it could be art. When he created “BeTipul,” the Israeli precursor to “In Treatment,” he used “Scenes” as proof of the concept “that two people can talk for an hour and it can work,” Levi said. (Strangely, “Scenes” also inspired the prime-time soap “Dallas.”)

So when Daniel Bergman, Ingmar Bergman’s youngest son, approached Levi about a remake, he was immediately interested.

But the project languished, in part because loving a show isn’t reason enough to adapt it. Divorce is common now — in Sweden, and elsewhere — and the relationship politics of the original series, in which the male character deserts his wife and young children for an academic post, haven’t aged particularly well.

Then about two years ago, Levi had a revelation. He would swap the gender roles. A woman who leaves her marriage and child in pursuit of freedom (with a very hot Israeli entrepreneur in place of a visiting professorship) might still provoke conversation and interest.

So the Marianne and Johan of the original became Mira and Jonathan, with a Boston suburb (re-created in a warehouse just north of New York City), stepping in for the Stockholm of the original. Jonathan remains an academic though Mira, a lawyer in the original, is now a businesswoman who out-earns him.

Casting began in early 2020. After Isaac met with Levi, he wrote to Chastain to tell her about the project. She wasn’t available. The producers cast Michelle Williams. But the pandemic reshuffled everyone’s schedules. When production was ready to resume, Williams was no longer free. Chastain was. “That was for me the most amazing miracle,” Levi said.

Isaac and Chastain met in the early 2000s at Juilliard. He was in his first year; she, in her third. He first saw her in a scene from a classical tragedy, slapping men in the face as Helen of Troy. He was friendly with her then-boyfriend, and they soon became friends themselves, bonding through the shared trauma of an acting curriculum designed to break its students down and then build them back up again. Isaac remembered her as “a real force of nature and solid, completely solid, with an incredible amount of integrity,” he said.

In the next window, Chastain blushed. “He was super talented,” she said. “But talented in a way that wasn’t expected, that’s challenging and pushing against constructs and ideas.” She introduced him to her manager, and they celebrated each other’s early successes and went to each other’s premieres. (A few of those photos are used in “Scenes From a Marriage” as set dressing.)

In 2013, Chastain was cast in J.C. Chandor’s “A Most Violent Year,”opposite Javier Bardem. When Bardem dropped out, Chastain campaigned for Isaac to have the role. Weeks before shooting, they began to meet, fleshing out the back story of their characters — a husband and wife trying to corner the heating oil market in 1981 New York — the details of the marriage, business, life.

It was their first time working together, and each felt a bond that went deeper than a parallel education and approach. “Something connects us that’s stronger than any ideas of character or story or any of that,” Isaac said. “There’s something else that’s more about like, a shared existence.”

Chandor noticed how they would support each other on set, and challenge each other, too, giving each other the freedom to take the characters’ relationship to dark and dangerous places. “They have this innate trust with each other,” Chandor said.

That trust eliminated the need for actorly tricks or shortcuts, in part because they know each other’s tricks too well. Their motto, Isaac said, was, “Let’s figure this [expletive] out together and see what’s the most honest thing we can do.”

Moni Yakim, Juilliard’s celebrated movement instructor, has followed their careers closely and he noted what he called the “magnetism and spiritual connection” that they suggested onscreen in the film.

“It’s a kind of chemistry,” Yakim said. “They can read each other’s mind and you as an audience, you can sense it.”

Telepathy takes work. When they knew that shooting “Scenes From a Marriage” could begin, Chastain bought a copy of “All About Us,” a guided journal for couples, and filled in her sections in character as Mira. Isaac brought it home and showed it to his wife, the filmmaker Elvira Lind.

“She was like, ‘You finally found your match,’” Isaac recalled. “’Someone that is as big of a nerd as you are.’”

The actors rehearsed, with Levi and on their own, talking their way through each long scene, helping each other through the anguished parts. When production had to halt for two weeks, they rehearsed then, too.

Watching these actors work reminded Amy Herzog, a writer and executive producer on the series, of race horses in full gallop. “These are two people who have so much training and skill,” she said. “Because it’s an athletic feat, what they were being asked to do.”

But training and skill and the “All About Us” book hadn’t really prepared them for the emotional impact of actually shooting “Scenes From a Marriage.” Both actors normally compartmentalize when they work, putting up psychic partitions between their roles and themselves. But this time, the partitions weren’t up to code.

“I knew I was in trouble the very first week,” Chastain said.

She couldn’t hide how the scripts affected her, especially from someone who knows her as well as Isaac does. “I just felt so exposed,” she said. “This to me, more than anything I’ve ever worked on, was definitely the most open I’ve ever been.”

“It felt so dangerous,” she said.

I visited the set in February (after multiple Covid-19 tests and health screenings) during a final day of filming. It was the quietest set I had ever seen: The atmosphere was subdued, reverent almost, a crew and a studio space stripped down to only what two actors would need to do the most passionate and demanding work of their careers.

Isaac didn’t know if he would watch the completed series. “It really is the first time ever, where I’ve done something where I’m totally fine never seeing this thing,” he said. “Because I’ve really lived through it. And in some ways I don’t want whatever they decide to put together to change my experience of it, which was just so intense.”

The cameras captured that intensity. Though Chastain isn’t Mira and Isaac isn’t Jonathan, each drew on personal experience — their parents’ marriages, past relationships — in ways they never had. Sometimes work on the show felt like acting, and sometimes the work wasn’t even conscious. There’s a scene in the harrowing fourth episode in which they both lie crumpled on the floor, an identical stress vein bulging in each forehead.

“It’s my go-to move, the throbbing forehead vein,” Isaac said on a follow-up video call last month. Chastain riffed on the joke: “That was our third year at Juilliard, the throb.”

By then, it had been five months since the shoot wrapped. Life had returned to something like normal. Jokes were possible again. Both of them seemed looser, more relaxed. (Isaac had already poured himself one tequila shot and was ready for another.) No one cried.

Chastain had watched the show with her husband. And Isaac, despite his initial reluctance, had watched it, too. It didn’t seem to have changed his experience.

“I’ve never done anything like it,” he said. “And I can’t imagine doing anything like it again.”

###

#oscar isaac #jessica chastain #scenes from a marriage #hagai levi #michelle williams #elvira lind #behind the scenes #article

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drarrily-we-row-along · 4 years ago

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Day 13: Drunk

Draco Malfoy was very, very drunk.

It was his twenty-eighth birthday and Harry had watched as his boyfriend consumed far more alcohol than was advisable. But Draco was happy drunk, so Harry let it be, trying to remember if they had any hangover potions at home because he was definitely going to need one in the morning.

Harry for his part had a glass of fire whiskey upon their arrival and then switched over to soda. The last thing they needed was for both of them to be so pissed that they couldn't make it home.

He watched with no small amount of amusement as Draco retold a story to his friends, making over-the-top gestures, and adding in character voices. Godric, he was adorable.

Harry was utterly besotted.

When he noticed that most of the drinks at the table were empty Harry stood up and headed over to the bar, profoundly glad that Angie remembered all of the drink orders since Harry didn't have the first clue what most of the former Slytherins ordered.

As he was standing there waiting, he felt Draco's presence next to him and turned his head to look at the other man, smiling in spite of himself at Draco's flushed cheeks and open smile.

"It's my birthday, you know," the other man informed him.

(Read more below the cut)

Harry rested his elbow on the bar and turned to him, "I had no idea," he deadpanned.

Draco pouted at him, "Aren't you going to buy me a drink?"

"Of course I am," Harry replied with a laugh. "You and all of your friends."

"My friends, too?" his lower lip protruded, "but then it might as well be their birthday."

"That is why," Harry replied as Angie set the drinks on the bar in front of them, "I bought you two, and I asked for a fabulous twisty straw."

Draco's eyes lit up, "Thank you!" he enthused as he took the drink from the counter. "But I feel it's only fair to let you know that I am taken."

"Sorry?" Harry asked as he tipped Angie and levitated the drinks.

"You bought me a drink, which was very kind of you," Draco said, batting his eyelashes at Harry, "But I already have a boyfriend."

Harry was too confused by that statement to get any words to come out before Draco had flounced back off to slide in next to Pansy.

Shaking his head he made his way over and distributed the drinks, he then got waylaid in a conversation with Blaise Zabini as the other man asked him "theoretical" questions about potions ingredients purchased off the black market and what the law says about such things.

Eventually, Pansy called him over as Draco was in a heated debate with what appeared to be a jumper draped over the back of a chair. "Alright, you," Harry said, carefully drawing him up from the chair. "Let's get you home."

"You know where I live?" Draco asked.

Harry laughed, "I do."

Draco stared at him contemplatively, "Alright, but you can't stay."

Shaking his head, Harry waved at all of the people surrounding them as they headed out of the bar to apparate. When they arrived at home, Draco stepped away from him, paused for a moment looking like he was going to throw up, then visibly contained himself.

Harry would have been very impressed if the next words out of Draco's mouth hadn't been, "Thank you for your assistance. You may go now."

"Babe, what?" Harry asked, taking a step toward him.

Draco put a hand on his chest, "You've been very kind but as I said, I'm dating someone."

"Ah," Harry replied cocking his head at him, "Who?"

"Harry Potter," he said proudly, "And I would never cheat on him."

"Good to know," Harry said, "But that's me. And I have some really, truly lovely plans for you tonight involving my tongue."

Draco stared off into space for a moment and Harry knew he was putting that overactive imagination to good use. "No," he said after a moment. "No, I love him. I can't."

"You love me?" Harry asked, feeling like his heart was about to beat out of his body.

"No," Draco replied, rolling his eyes. "I love my boyfriend. Harry Potter. Don't tell him, though." Then he looked confused for a moment, "Do you know him?" he asked. Without waiting, he continued, "He's bloody gorgeous," he added with a sigh, turning and wandering toward their bedroom. "And it's not an act, you know," he continued, "He really is as good as they want you to think."

Harry shook his head at his drunken ramblings and followed along behind the other man.

"But he's also," he hummed as though searching for the right word, "absolutely gloriously filthy. His tongue," he added with a little moan, "the things he can do with it."

"Oh?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded, "and his," he paused and cleared his throat meaningfully, "you know what. Sublime."

He bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Draco?"

"Hmm?" the other man asked as he collapsed onto their bed.

"I am Harry," he said softly, "and you should really get undressed before you go to bed. You hate sleeping in your clothes."

"You're just trying to get me naked!" Draco accused. "And I am telling you that it will not work. And if Harry finds out you tried to take advantage of me, he'll arrest you."

Harry sighed, giving up. There was no sense in arguing with him once he got his mind made up. "If I leave will you get undressed?" Harry asked.

"Mmm," Draco hummed.

"Seriously," Harry said, "You hate sleeping in your clothes."

"Mmhmm."

Harry sighed and gave it up as a lost cause, "Sleep well. Happy birthday."

Draco let out an inelegant snore and Harry cast a nox over the room. He grabbed a pillow and a blanket and went to sleep, comforting himself with the knowledge that he could always put his plans to good use in the morning. They'd celebrate Draco's birthday all weekend anyway.

--------------

The next morning, Harry was woken up by his boyfriend crawling onto the sofa with him. "Hey," he murmured, smiling and pulling Draco into his arms.

"Why are you sleeping on the sofa?" Draco asked through a yawn. "I felt like shit when I woke up, did I smell? You could have just told me to shower."

"Yeah, you were not having any of that."

"You could have at least taken my trousers off, they're dreadfully uncomfortable," Draco complained as he snuggled in closer to Harry, threading his fingers through Harry's curls.

"I tried," Harry laughed, "You told me that your boyfriend would arrest me if I laid a finger on you."

"But you are my boyfriend," Draco said, obviously confused.

"Yes, that was my point exactly. But you thought I was a stranger who was trying to get into your pants."

Draco pulled back, "Stop taking the piss."

"I swear to Merlin," Harry said as he pulled Draco closer and stroked his hands under his shirt over his soft, warm skin. "It was very sweet, you were very faithful. Although you did tell a person you thought was a stranger about the size of my penis."

The other man groaned, "What else did I do to embarrass myself?" he asked, burying his face in Harry's neck.

"Nothing," Harry whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Draco's head. "I love you, too, you know."

Draco jerked up at that pronouncement and would have tumbled off of the sofa if Harry hadn't caught him. "What did you just say to me?"

"That I love you, too," he said with his brow furrowed.

"You weren't supposed to know that!" Draco said, jumping up off the sofa.

Harry sat up and grabbed his glasses off the coffee table so he could see properly, "So you're okay with a random stranger knowing but not me?"

"You know what? Yes," he said. "Yes. Because I don't have to worry about a random stranger thinking that I said it too soon, or that I fell too fast, or that I'm just trying to manipulate you, or-"

"Draco, stop it," Harry said, standing up and tugging him into his arms, "I don't think any of those things! I just told you that I loved you too."

"Well, I don't want to have forced your hand," Draco said stubbornly, "I don't want you to grow to resent me later."

Harry shook his head and pressed a kiss to his nose, "I love you, Draco Malfoy, and I was planning to tell you this weekend anyway."

"You were?"

"I was," Harry affirmed, "Now will you please let me hold you?"

"You really were?" Draco asked, stroking his hands over Harry's forearms and allowing him to draw him a bit closer.

"I really was," he repeated. "Because I really love you."

Draco gave him a shy, little smile, "I love you, too."

He kissed him lightly, "Good, now that we've got that sorted, I do believe that it's still your birthday weekend and I was deprived of the opportunity to use my," he broke off, tapping his chin and pretending he was trying to remember, "what was it you called it? my gloriously filthy tongue."

The other man seemed to consider this for a moment, then he shrugged, "I'm not even embarrassed about that," he replied. "That's true."

Harry laughed and hoisted the other man up into his arms, wrapping Draco's legs around his waist as he kissed him. He carried the other man back into the bedroom and tossed him onto the bed, very in love, and very excited to use his gloriously filthy tongue.

Day 12: Adrenaline | Day 14: Louder, So Everyone Can Hear

#thanks for the prompt anon!#I hope you enjoy #100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #drarry #drarry drabble #drarry ficlets #boys in love #day 13 drunk #day 13 #send me a one word prompt and I'll write you a ficlet

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archies-litterbox · 3 years ago

Text

what’s the greater good worth? (definitely not this)

Summary: Merlin rescues Douxie from some lowlife gang of bandits, and he's devastated by what's already happened to his apprentice before he found him - by what he was too late to prevent happening to his son. But there's more to what happened than simply what lay before him.

Words: ~8.5k

A/N: Finally got this oneshot done! It’s actually based on this post I made a while back, but the idea of fleshing it out into a full-lenth oneshot just wouldn’t leave me alone! (Just like I can’t leave the poor moppet alone 😔) Hope you like it!

[CW: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Temporary Muteness]

Merlin sent Hisirdoux on a short errand: go out to the marketplace, buy some ingredient he’d needed, and come straight back. No dawdling, no distraction, and no stopping to make lovesick puppy eyes at that maiden who frequented the market at the same time Hisirdoux himself did.

He couldn’t remember the exact thing he’d told his apprentice to fetch, for the memory was soon overtaken by worry when the boy hadn’t come back by late afternoon. He’d only sent Hisirdoux out that morning, and even if he had forsaken his instructions and tried to muster up the courage to ask that girl her name…

“I, er… don’t exactly know her name yet,” the moppet had said, “But I think it’s something with a Z! At least, that’s what I heard the person she was talking to call her. I haven’t, er… actually spoken to her yet.”

“Focus on your studies,” Merlin had said, “before distracting yourself with thoughts of courting this girl from the shops, and-”

“But Master-”

“Don’t “But Master” me.”

...He still should have been back at this point. Hisirdoux wasn’t one to wander off when he was out on errands. He knew the dangers of that - of being caught alone by the wrong person, prejudiced against users of magic, without anyone knowing where he really was.

The boy’s familiar shared Merlin’s worry, so Archie kept his form as a mostly-inconspicuous black cat (save for his glasses, for he figured he should have the best sight as he could at this moment) and slinked through the town beyond the castle, following the young wizard’s scent, unmistakably that of burnt cloves.

Sure enough, Hisirdoux had gone to the shops he’d needed to visit, but the scent trail made a sharp turn into an alley - one that he’d been dragged into, Archie had feared, if the signs of struggle and kicking feet in the cobble were any indication.

It was then that Archie resolved to fly back to the castle and tell Merlin to follow him, warning the Master Wizard that it was overwhelmingly likely that Hisirdoux didn’t disappear of his own volition.

To say that worried Merlin, or even terrified him, would’ve been the understatement of the past twelve centuries.

It only took a few hours to track down Hisirdoux’s trail to some cabin in a patch of forest, but every second was too long - far too long for Merlin to wait to find his son.

The thugs looked rudimentary from where Merlin stood unnoticed outside the clearing. One or two - three at the most - stood lazily outside, near the doors. Merlin tapped his staff against the forest ground, and it was enough to send a little spell through the soil and right under their feet, shooting up their bodies like a reverse lightning rod and knocking them to the ground, unconscious. It didn’t kill them, but that wasn’t a mercy; really, the wizard still hadn’t known the condition of his apprentice, and if something had been done to him that only these men could reverse, ending their lives would've been an unwise choice, to say the least.

But the sound of the men hitting the ground was enough to draw out the last two of Hisirdoux captors, who spotted Merlin in the woods. Fine - he hadn’t been keen on hiding for much longer anyway. Stealth was for wizards whose apprentices hadn’t been snatched up by lowly bandits; who weren’t using a headstrong facade to hide their fear for their sons’ lives.

And right now, while he rendered the last of the bandits unconscious, Merlin Ambrosius was no such wizard.

The door was still open, as Merlin dealt with the last of those men before they could even come five steps out of the shack, so the wizard ran to the opening with Archie flying next to him, stepping over the idiots until he was close enough to see into the dark interior, lit only by rays of light that shone in-between boards nailed into the windows.

Merlin hit his staff against the ground and cast a spell with enough to break the boards and let more light into the hovel - light that shined on his apprentice that lay trembling on the ground, unresponsive on his side, not even fighting the restraints that bound him. With his back turned to his mentor and his familiar, he seemed barely aware of their presence at all.

Merlin never ran faster in his life.

Thankful for his armor’s plating, one of his knees slammed against the ground as he knelt down behind Hisirdoux, looking over his bonds and feeling like, for once in his long, long life, he could barely breathe at the sight before him, even though it wasn’t nearly as bad as what could have been - it was more at the audacity than anything else.

His apprentice had been bound with rope at the ankles and knees, with another few winds of it pinning his arms to his back and metal shackles binding his wrists behind him. Of course, the shackles must have been cast with a magic nullifier infused in the cruel metal, so the boy couldn’t use spells or enchantments to break his other restraints; as if to add insult to injury, the boy was also missing his magic bracelet, which had been thrown across the hovel.

(Again, the audacity.)

Merlin knew one of the bandits must have had the key, so he got back up, telling Archie to stay with him before he went back to the cluster of idiots that lay outside the door.

The wizard watched the boy’s shackled hands grasp at the air as he reached for him in vain, and the weak twinge in his pale, thin fingers made something in Merlin’s cold aged heart ache . He wished he’d been a hundredfold more brutal with those bandits than simply knocking them out.

Anyway, it took only moments for him to get the key, and by the time he came back, picking up the boy’s charm bracelet on the way, Archie had broken the rest of Hisirdoux’s bonds.

The boy still hadn’t said a word, or even made a sound.

Confound it, Merlin loathed this.

Once he’d finally uncuffed Hisirdoux, he helped the boy, now entirely free of his bonds, into a sitting position. He was, indeed, quite conscious, his eyes following Archie as the familiar stepped onto his lap. Hisirdoux started petting the black cat before wrapping his gangly arms around the cat in a desperate hug, still as silent as he’d been when Merlin stormed in. He wouldn’t have any more of this… this vexing silence from his apprentice - not if it could’ve been helped.

(...If only he knew how little it could’ve been helped at that moment.)

“Hisirdoux, say something!”

The boy looked up at Merlin with wide, glistening eyes and a trembling lower lip.

He shook his head.

His lips contorted into a grimace, and he mouthed the words…

“I can’t.”

Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks as he put his hand on his throat, the skin on his wrist raw from the cruelty of those shackles, and shook his head. Those teary hazel eyes that looked at Merlin were exactly those of a terrified child - his terrified child, and Merlin could see the desperation in those eyes, like he was wordlessly begging him to do something.

...But for the first time in his long, long life, Merlin felt utterly and entirely unsure of a way to fix this. He knew how much his apprentice adored singing, humming, blathering incessantly - his voice almost seemed more central to his character than his magic.

And it was…

No, no, no. It couldn’t be - it couldn’t be gone. Those bandits couldn’t have taken this from him - not from his apprentice - not from that innocent moppet who almost always had a tune about him as he bumbled around the castle. No, Merlin couldn’t accept it - he - he wouldn’t accept it -

The old man was pulled from his shock when Hisirdoux sobbed, a heart-wrenching noise even without any vocal influence, and mouthed three words - a desperate plea from a terrified little Wizard, silent but understandable - silent but utterly heart-wrenching .

“Take me home.”

...And how could Merlin put that off?

With a sigh, he raised a hand and mumbled…

“Interminus Nocti Somburso.”

A jolt went through Hisirdoux’s already shaking body as green light popped out from his widened eyes - but only for a fleeting second before sleep claimed the boy. He fell backward, but Merlin caught him by putting his arm behind the boy’s back.

The spell not only made him fall sound asleep in seconds, but it also conjured a green, velvety blanket that draped over the boy. The velvety cloth, brought forth from Merlin’s will when he’d cast the spell, helped to keep the boy warm through means of a rather cozy enchantment that would never let him get cold as long as the blanket lay on him, as well as it would quell his unconscious trembling.

Merlin wrapped the boy up in a blanket-cocoon of sorts and stood up, letting Archie curl up on his human’s abdomen and start purring to soothe the sleeping boy whose head lolled against Merlin’s shoulder, his cheek pressed against an edge on his armor that couldn’t have been very comfortable.

Merlin glanced at the unconscious bandits and cast an immobilization spell as a quick preventative measure in the event that they woke up and tried getting away while Merlin took the boy back to the castle. There was no way in all the realms that these monsters - more monstrous than any troll or goblin - would get away with what they’d done, and the Master Wizard was absolutely sure of that.

So, with that settled, he started back to the castle with Hisirdoux sleeping in his arms. The bandits could wait, for getting his apprentice - his son home safe was his first and foremost priority, and beyond that was finding out how to get his boy’s voice back, even if he’d had to rip the answer from the bandits themselves.

But Hisirdoux, of course, was his priority.

---

Douxie felt more or less dragged back into consciousness by an ache in his… well, it was everywhere. It was low, barely noticeable - a residual soreness from… from…

Right.

He sighed - a hollow, quiet thing - and trailed his fingers down his throat, still not opening his eyes yet. Douxie’s throat was free of any tightness or pain, but, as he expected, his attempts to mumble out vocal sounds were fruitless.

Beyond the ache, he felt warmth around him. Yes, he felt the familiarity of his bed, his quarters, his -

A weight he didn’t even know he was still bearing came off of him, and he sighed a shaky sigh.

- his home.

But he also felt something soft and velvety draped around him. It was a blanket, he realized - a new one, and a rather nice one too. He realized Merlin must have conjured it with that sleep spell he put on him right after he found him. That must have been why it felt like it had been magically heated, and it had a uniquely soothing, almost sedative effect that none of his normal blankets had.

Master…

Douxie finally opened his eyes. Even though he knew his master probably had more pressing matters, he hoped that Merlin might have been sitting at his bedside.

Alas, all he saw was empty space in front of him.

The little apprentice wasn’t wearing his vest anymore, he realized when he couldn’t feel the leather that usually weighed on his torso, but he did feel a little purring mass curled up against his abdomen.

Archie…

The boy turned his head a little and saw a black mound of fluff nestled up against him, laying curled up on the green blanket with round little glasses reflecting sunset light from the window.

Douxie bent down and scratched Archie’s little head, right between his triangular ears, causing his familiar to open his eyes and look at him.

“Douxie, you’re awake.”

The boy smiled - a little, shaky thing. Archie got up and stretched before walking closer to his human’s face.

“It’s over now, what you went through today.” he said as he put his paw on Douxie’s cheek in assurance, “Those bandits are in the dungeons now.”

Douxie’s eyebrows furrowed a little. Sure, he was thankful that they’d been apprehended, but if there was a dungeon break, they could come right through the castle, and...

Archie nuzzled Douxie’s head, sensing his human’s worries.

“You’re completely safe.” he said, “You’ll never have to see them again, I promise.”

Douxie only petted the cat again with a nod. He trusted Archie, and if Archie said he didn’t have to worry about them again, then that’s exactly what he didn’t have to do.

Besides, he had a more pressing worry.

With what would have been a grunt if his throat could’ve made the noise, Douxie pushed himself up, despite his grogginess, into an upright position. He could see his vest folded at the foot of his bed, along with his two belts laying on top of it that had his little pouches and a small green journal he liked to keep on hand for little notes.

He might have to use it for more than that now, though. Perhaps if he’d started studying sign, or learned spells to communicate visually...

The boy was pulled from his thoughts by a very light knock on the door. He couldn’t exactly say it was open, so he turned to Archie, eyeing the door with a nod.

“Come in.” the cat said, understanding the nonverbal message.

The door creaked open, and Douxie hoped it would be Merlin standing there. After everything he’d gone through today… he just wanted to see his father.

But it was Morgana, smiling softly as she walked in and closed the door behind her.

But really, the boy wasn’t disappointed with this - the sorceress had been like a big sister to him ever since he’d been brought here, and her presence was comforting, regardless of whether or not she was the person he hoped to see the most. So, Douxie raised a hand and waved to her as she walked in.

“Hello, Little Douxie.” she said softly as she came to stand in front of him, “When I heard your familiar talking, I assumed you’d awoken. Are you feeling alright?”

Although it was a hesitant response, Douxie nodded, thankful that she’d stuck to a yes-or-no question. Merlin had probably told her about his voice’s condition, then.

What he knew about it, anyway.

“You’ve been asleep for about four hours - a long rest to help accelerate your healing.” she explained, “You hadn’t gotten any broken bones, but you did have some nasty bruises when you were brought back here.”

Douxie winced, a little hiss whistling through his teeth as he traced his hand over his hip, where he distinctly remembered getting kicked by a rather angry bandit with a rather hard boot.

Ouch.

He brought that same hand to his chin and stroked an invisible beard, glancing around the room as if looking for someone.

Morgana laughed a soft little laugh, amused by the moppet’s charade.

“Merlin’s down in the dungeons, interrogating your former captors.” she answered, “He’s mostly putting the screws to those bandits about how to reverse what’s happened to your voice more than anything else.”

Douxie nodded in understanding, but he knew the truth; he knew those bandits didn’t know anything about what had been done to his voice.

“He hasn’t gotten anywhere.” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “It’s of a magical nature, and none of those bandits were wizards. They’re sticking to some ridiculous testimony that you casted a silencing spell on yourself.”

Douxie cast his gaze to the floor. All of a sudden, the lint and strands of black cat fur on the floor looked rather interesting. Indeed, very interesting.

“...They are making that up, right?” Morgana asked.

Douxie shrunk in on himself, hugging himself as if caught in a lie, even though he hadn’t actually lied about anything. How could he have? At most, all he’d done was hesitate. Besides, his body language was apparently enough of an answer for Morgana, whose eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Douxie saw as his gaze flickered back up to her, as she realized they hadn’t made that up at all.

Archie’s eyebrows, indicated by the grey patches in his fur above his eyes, raised a bit as that realization dawned on him as well.

“Douxie…?”

The boy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“...Merlin doesn’t know, does he?” Morgana asked.

Douxie shook his head.

After a moment, she sighed.

“Well, he probably should.” she said, “Not that the way he’s treating those men isn’t undeserved, but he shouldn’t waste his time.”

So, Douxie stood up to go down to the dungeons, his balance just a little askew from his legs’ time out of use. Archie got up with a stretch and stood next to Douxie’s feet, deciding not to sit on his shoulders due to his already imperfect balance.

“I’ll go down with you.” Morgana said, sounding like it was more of an insistence than an offer. But Douxie didn’t want to be a burden; surely, Morgana le Fay had much better - certainly, more important uses of her time than using it to accompany him to the dungeons.

“I know the way.” he mouthed, hoping it was understandable just by reading his lips, but Morgana shook her head all the same.

“It’s not about whether or not you know the way.” she crossed her arms, “You still don’t have all your strength back, and I can tell you’re off balance. What if you fall?”

She didn’t say it, but Douxie could tell what her biggest concern was: if he got hurt, he’d have no way of crying out, and Archie might not be enough to keep him balanced.

Morgana was just worried, and Douxie knew that. It was sort of nice - better than Merlin’s scolding, anyway - so he took the gesture with a nod, and he started down the corridors and stairwells to the dungeons with Archie stepping alongside him and Morgana hovering a hand close to his shoulder in the event that his balance wavered.

Douxie always hated the dungeons - so dark, so damp and dingy, so utterly miserable. But making sure Merlin knew the truth was worth it, and he was glad to be accompanied down. Yes, it was even worth sidestepping puddles of questionable liquids as he stayed next to Morgana. He kept his gaze down and avoided looking into the cells, tuning out the jeers of imprisoned trolls and “waka-chakas” of goblins as Morgana guided Douxie and Archie to the corridor where that gang of bandits was being kept.

It turned out that they were imprisoned in a far emptier corridor of the dungeon, which made sense, considering any sort of interrogation would’ve done well not to involve the taunting and interjecting of other prisoners. As the halls got quieter, it got easier to hear his master’s voice as he got closer, until he finally stood at the end of an almost empty corridor of cells, where Merlin stood listening to one of the bandits - the leader, Douxie realized.

Whoever he was, and whatever he was saying, Merlin looked more than fed up with it; he hadn’t even looked as angry as he did right now when the moppet had slipped and accidentally sent one of Merlin’s favorite books soaring into his fireplace.

“I tol’ ya already, dust-fer-brains,” the bandit said, speaking in a voice that unsettled Douxie to his core, even though he was safe on the opposite side of a barred cell door and on the opposite end of the hall, “He put a spell on ‘imself. Shut ‘imself up.”

Morgana was only a moment away from shouting to the end of the hall in an attempt to get Merlin’s attention. If Douxie had his voice, Merlin most certainly would have known he was here by now; he probably would have mumbled to himself about nonsense, or hummed a tune, or squeaked when something scared him. As it was, Merlin had no idea that Douxie was standing just a handful of metres away from him.

And maybe if he did know, he wouldn’t have shouted…

“Again, with that ridiculous lie! Hisirdoux may be an idiot, but even that level of incompetence is beyond him!”

Those words were a punch to the gut, worse than every time those bandits kicked him this afternoon. At least he expected that from them, but hearing that…

His breaths got shaky. His eyes stung. His feet felt rooted to the dungeon floor, like he was more trapped here than the prisoners.

He was no stranger to Merlin’s harshness, and he knew his master thought he was an idiot, but hearing that this was something of a new level of incompetence…

Was it really that much of a stupid idea?

His lip trembled.

What was he thinking, of course it was stupid. Of course he was stupid. A stupid, incompetent numbskull of an apprent-

“MERLIN!” Morgana yelled.

The Master Wizard whipped his head around. When he laid eyes on the shaking moppet at Morgana’s side, his face fell, as if he wished more than anything that he could’ve pulled his words back into his mouth and made them unheard again.

But it was too late.

In an instant, Douxie didn’t feel rooted to the ground anymore. No. Now it felt like hot coals lay burning under his feet, and he needed to run. Fuzzbuckets, he needed to run.

“Hisirdoux…”

Douxie’s tears fell.

He needed to run, run, runrunrunrun RUN.

So, he ran.

Pivoting on his heel so fast he scraped the heel of his boot against the dungeon ground, he ran away from the corridor.

“Hisirdoux!”

“Douxie!”

His eyes stung so badly with tears that he couldn’t open them, but he knew the dungeon corridors well enough that he didn’t need to see to get out of there. He could tell Archie was at his side, but that was okay. He knew his familiar wasn’t trying to stop him, but only to catch up to him.

By the time he got to the stairwell back into the non-dungeony part of the castle, he’d gotten winded, and just barely in earshot, he could hear Merlin and Morgana getting in a shouting match.

It sounded like Morgana was winning.

Once he’d caught his breath, he ran up the stairwell and half-ran-half-stumbled to his room, making sure Archie slipped through the door before slamming it. His legs shook as he sat on his bed, curling his legs up so his knees almost touched his chest, which felt so tight that he could barely breathe without gasping.

It was too much. All of it, everything that happened - it was too much for one day, and he -

He could feel Archie drape that blanket from earlier over his shoulders - the green velvety one. The warm one. The one from -

Douxie shook his head and wrapped the fabric around himself. It was fine, he didn’t care who it was from. He just needed warmth; he needed heat that didn’t come from his face feeling like it was on fire and hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

After a few moments, keeping his legs curled up like that started to ache, so he stretched them out and let his feet lay on the floor while he sat at the edge of the bed, leaving a perfect spot in his lap for Archie to sit and start purring in that way that always calmed him down after his nightmares.

Maybe, Douxie thought as he stroked the cat in his lap while his torso rocked back and forth, Archie could calm him down from this nightmare, too - one he couldn’t seem to wake up from.

There was a tightness in his throat now, an awful one - not from the spell, but from being overwhelmed by all of this.

Today was one of the most terrifying days of his life.

He’d been ripped off the streets by bandits and taken where he wasn’t sure if he’d be found, or even be looked for. He’d been bound and chained and beaten and terrified. He didn’t even have his voice, and of course, Merlin thought he was more stupid for doing what he did than usual, even though he only did it because - because -

Douxie hugged the cat in his lap and let more tears stream down his face, and he realized there was one upside to not having his voice after all.

He didn’t need to stifle his cries.

---

Merlin was no stranger to guilt, to shame. He didn’t often make mistakes, but when he did, they were horrendous ones, and despite his sense of pride being strong enough that it could power a whole trollmarket, he’d had many opportunities to find himself well acquainted with the feeling that he’d done something horribly wrong.

But when he saw his apprentice’s wide eyes shine with tears at the end of that hall, shame didn’t feel like a mere acquaintance, but an inseparable companion.

He’d barely gotten the boy’s name out of his mouth before he turned on his heel and ran out of the corridor, his familiar running behind him. Merlin shouted the boy’s name again and started after him, but since he wasn’t weighed down by any armor, the gangly little moppet ran off rather fast, despite how exhausted he must have been.

Stopping at the corner of the dungeon corridor, Merlin put his hand to his forehead and groaned.

“Look what you’ve done, old man!” he heard Morgana shout next to him.

“It’s not as if I knew he’d be down here.” he brought his hand away from his face, “I thought he was still resting. How was I supposed to know you’d taken him down here?”

Morgana’s eyes widened, seemingly at his absurdity.

“So you’re saying that’s a fine thing to say about him when he isn’t around? That there’s nothing wrong with calling that boy - your apprentice - an idiot and making clear just how stupid you think he is, as long as he’s out of earshot?”

“You’ve seen the way that boy bungles every task he’s given. Really, it would be especially idiotic if he’d put a-”

“What do you think he came down here to tell you, old man?!”

...Oh.

Oh, confound it all.

Morgana pinched the bridge of her nose, “Honestly, and you wonder why his magic backfires whenever you’re around! How can he grow his confidence when you-”

“Why would he do that, Morgana?”

“Why would I know ?” she answered his question with one of her own, “As soon as I found out, I figured you should know. Better to stop wasting your time grilling these numbskulls over nothing. If you want to know so bad, go and ask him.”

But facing the most fierce of trolls had been less jarring a task.

His other apprentice crossed her arms, “You owe him an apology, old man. We both know that.”

And, as frustrating as it was, Merlin knew that indeed.

The wizard figured that Hisirdoux ran to his room, and when he got to the door, he found he was right; he could hear the boy’s hiccups and voiceless sobs from the other side, far more heartbreaking in their quietness than if they had been loud.

Merlin knocked on the door.

“Hisirdoux…”

He honestly wasn’t expecting to be let in at all, so he was surprised to see the door glow blue as Hisirdoux opened it with a spell. If this was a lighter time, he would have scolded the boy for using a spell so needlessly. But this obviously wasn’t a lighter time, and he was just glad to be allowed in.

Hisirdoux sat on the edge of his bed with the blanket he’d been given draped over his shoulders and a contemptuous black cat in his lap. His hair was still unkempt from his ordeal, completely loose from the bun he usually wore, and tears streaked his cheeks. His big hazel eyes, puffy and ringed with tears, stared down at the ground.

He couldn’t even look Merlin in the eye, and perhaps that was fair.

As Merlin stepped into the room, Hisirdoux shrunk in on himself, pulling more of the blanket around him as if it would shield him from… well, everything.

“I hope you’re here to apologize.” Archie said coldly, but the feline-dragon obviously meant something else, an unspoken message: If you’re not here to apologize, then leave. The boy’s had enough turmoil today.

But he was here to apologize.

After years of trying to prepare for everything he could as a Master Wizard, he knew as he stood there that he was unprepared for what to say, standing here in front of Hisirdoux. He had no speech prepared, no ageless wisdom or proverbs. He wasn’t ready.

...But he knew that his apprentice sitting on the edge of the bed, staring glassy eyed at the floor with tears streaking his cheeks - tears of the old man’s own doing - had gone through too much today that he wasn’t ready for, that he could never be ready for. Far too much.

And he deserved better than to have to wait for an apology.

“Hisirdoux, I’m sorry.”

His apprentice lifted his head and looked up at him, eyes widened and eyebrows raised as if he never in a million years expected to hear an apology of all things from him. But what did he expect, then? A scolding? A lecture on how dangerous what he did was?

A moment later, Merlin realized that was probably exactly what the boy expected, and on all levels except physical, the wizard was whacking himself in the head with his staff right now.

He knelt down on one knee in front of Hisirdoux, both because he wanted to be on eye level with the boy and because he couldn’t stand the thought of him feeling looked down upon any longer.

“The things I said to those men in the dungeons were products of anger, fabrications of desperation.” Merlin said, “I’d been furious at those lowlifes and their audacity, and I said things that weren’t true. It wasn’t fair to say that, especially not after all you’ve gone through today. Forgive me, Hisirdoux.”

But the boy looked like he didn’t know what to say, even if he could’ve spoken. He looked at the old Wizard with wide eyes that still glistened with tears - tears that seemed to have been there ever since Merlin first found Hisirdoux in that shack. Even his familiar seemed surprised by his apology, and to be completely honest, Merlin didn’t blame either of them.

Hisirdoux broke his gaze away and looked down, to his left.

Patting around, the boy’s hand landed on his little green journal and a charcoal stick he kept with it, both clipped to his belt that lay on top of his folded vest. When Hisirdoux opened the book and started to write in the first blank piece of parchment he could flip to, Merlin looked away. He didn’t want to pry - he’d done enough as it was.

After a few seconds of scribbling, Archie stepped on the parchment.

“That’s not true, Douxie.” he said about whatever the boy had written, “You shouldn’t say that about yourself, especially not now.”

But the boy just sighed and started writing again, the motion in his hand leaving Archie no choice but to take his paw off.

After a few more moments, Douxie flipped the book around to show Merlin.

“It’s alright, Master. I know I’m an idiot.” he’d written in that shoddy penmanship of his.

Right, that must’ve been what Archie denied.

“I know there’s a lot I mess up and don’t think through, and I know that most of the time, I can be awfully incompetent, but using that spell is one of the few times where I know that did something smart.”

Merlin sighed.

“But why did you do it, Hisirdoux?”

Hisirdoux hesitated, but Archie looked up at the boy with the same question in mind, and that seemed to be what convinced him to answer.

But this time, he set the journal and charcoal aside. Instead of using those tools to communicate, he brought his hands out in front of him. With the way his hands started to tremble, he was obviously about to cast a nonverbal spell.

Archie stepped back a few paces, “It seems he’d rather show than tell.”

Merlin didn’t think Hisirdoux was in the right state to carry out any sort of spells right now, weakened as he was, but nonetheless, he didn’t stop the boy.

In the future, Hisirdoux would become capable of more powerful spells as his experience grew, and one such spell would be able to create vivid - albeit ghostly - life-size apparitions that replay events of the past in to-scale space. But this wasn’t the future, and he was nowhere near that strong or experienced yet. All he could manage was a little phantom-ish playthrough of events in the little space in front of him, like he was holding in his hands a hazy, blue-tinted window into the past.

Even then, “hazy” was an understatement. The several figures that seemed to be huddled a bit away from where Hisirdoux must’ve been (Merlin rightly assumed the vision in front of him was from the boy’s point of view) looked distorted and grainy, barely distinguishable as those bandits from before. What else, their voices were fuzzy, dreadful murmurs overlapping on top of each other until they were almost indistinguishable.

Merlin couldn’t tell if this haziness in memory reflected how much of a blur the events were in the boy’s mind, or if this was just the best Hisirdoux could manage.

It seemed not to be the latter though, because he squeezed his eyes shut and curled his fingers a little, obviously trying to use more of his strength to make the events more clear. His efforts actually worked, much to a worried Merlin’s surprise and worry, and the bandits’ voices became much easier to hear, their awful words far more enunciated.

“This was probably a stupid move.” one of them said, “How’re we s’posed to know that wizard gives a rat’s tail about ‘is errand boy, anyway?”

“If he does, imagine the coin we could get ou’o it.” said another voice Merlin knew was the leader.

“An’ if not, we’re stuck wit’ a brat from the castle.” yet another said, followed by a thwack sound that must have been the leader smacking him in the head, if the distorted movement of the figures was any indication.

“If not , we’ve got a vault o’ information on all those wizard-y secrets they keep in th’ castle. Maybe stuff abou’ the king, too.” the insidious leader corrected, “We can beat it ou’a ‘im if we ‘ave to.”

“Not much to beat though, is there?” another bandit joked, “Gangly little brat.”

Then the view changed, and Hisirdoux’s own trembling hands came into focus. Through the phantom replay, his ghostly fingers’ movements were light but hasty as he tapped his bracelet. This must have been before his captors had the idea to restrain him, but Hisirdoux was clearly afraid they’d get the idea soon (and rightly so, as the condition Merlin found him in made clear that they obviously had), so as soon as his bracelet glowed, he whispered…

“Vox Silentii.”

Immediately, Hisirdoux gasped in the vision. The noise became more hollow with each passing millisecond, as if - no, because his voice fell away just as fast, sucked away by the enchantment.

And it got the bandits’ attention, shown clearly by the nightmarish figures turning to face him.

“Sod it, I thought you stuck the cuffs on ‘im already!” the leader yelled to one of the other bandits, and whether it was at the display of incompetence, or out of sheer relief that his self-destructive spell worked, Hisirdoux laughed. It was a hollow, raspy, voiceless thing, but clearly a laugh all the same - a laugh that carried on until the leader marched over and raised his boot and -

The spell dissipated, and though it only lasted a few moments, it clearly took a lot out of an already weakened Hisirdoux in the present, whose arms fell to his sides as he started to sway, his eyes rolling back as his eyelids fluttered.

“Hisirdoux!” Merlin exclaimed, reaching out to steady him.

Before the boy could collapse, Merlin put one hand on his shoulder and the other against his head, cradling the side of it. Internally, he cursed himself, for he knew he should have told Hisirdoux not to carry out that vision spell, and to simply stick to writing out an answer. He’d already been exhausted by both the stress of his ordeal and the lingering effects of whatever nullifier was in his cuffs, and his magic, like everything else, was weakened, and the toll it took on him was far higher than usual.

But it hadn’t exhausted him completely. Though it took a moment, Hisirdoux put his hands down on the bed on either side of him to help keep himself upright, and his tired, tired eyes opened again.

“That spell…” Merlin pulled his hands away, “I had you study it in the event that you encountered another wizard with harmful intentions, so you could cut them off from saying an incantation at your expense.”

Fumbling to get his journal again, Hisirdoux quickly jotted something down and held up, “and sirens.”

“And you knew you couldn’t reverse the spell without a vocal incantation, didn’t you? An incantation you knew those bandits couldn’t perform.”

Hisirdoux nodded, and Merlin sighed. As much as the boy bumbled around as he did his chores, seeming at times like there was naught a competent thought to be found in that brain of his, he was clever. Even when it came to sabotaging himself, he was clever.

But somehow, that cleverness coincided with recklessness in a way that only Hisirdoux Casperan could manage.

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? If you’d botched the spell, it could have closed up your windpipe, or-”

“This isn’t the time for scolding him, Merlin.” Archie reprimanded. There had been few times where the Master Wizard adhered to the advisings of a cat with glasses, but for his apprentice’s sake, this was one of those times.

Hisirdoux got his journal again and wrote…

“I’d never been tortured like that before. I didn’t know if I could’ve handled it.”

The thought of his apprentice - that sweet, gangly moppet who’d been bested by his own broom once - enduring any sort of torture made the Master Wizard’s skin crawl. He almost wanted to convince King Arthur that those bandits’ transgressions warranted far more harsh treatment than wallowing in their own despicability in the dungeons, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was focusing on Hisirdoux right now, he would go to the throne room right now.

But as it was, Merlin thought Hisirdoux was probably right; it was obvious that he had never endured torture, or…

Merlin reconsidered when he remembered that the boy knew how to use sleep spells that caused permanent memory loss.

...None that Hisirdoux himself could recall, at least.

“It’s not that I would’ve wanted to say anything.” he wrote on a new page, “I was scared I’d blurt something out. And I got knocked out before I woke up there, so I didn’t know where I was, so I didn’t try running away. It was the smartest thing I could think of.”

...Of course. Of course that’s what this was. Of course the boy would’ve taken such a drastic measure, but for what ? So those lowlife scoundrels didn’t have an upper hand, an advantage over a Master Wizard? No, it was too late for that, for they already had the biggest advantage over Merlin that they could’ve held in their grasp; they had his son, the one individual he would always put above the greater good, as a hostage.

Really, not only was Hisirdoux the only apprentice Merlin ever had who was as clever as he was reckless, but the only one who was as selfless as he was reckless - a combination that Merlin couldn’t decide whether or not he was more proud of or worried about.

“...I can reverse the spell now, you know.” he said, “Now that I know which spell you used, I can use a counterspell.”

The little Wizard’s eyes widened hopefully, as if the prospect of a counterspell was a shock.

“Oh, come now, Hisirdoux. Surely you knew-”

Oh.

He stopped.

No.

“Wait a moment… you did know another wizard can cast a counterspell to reverse the effects and restore your voice, did you not?”

As his eyebrows upturned, making him look like a scolded puppy, the boy shook his head.

...Oh, sod it all.

If Merlin Ambrosius were a swearing man, he’d have a sailor’s tongue right now.

Hisirdoux didn’t think the spell could be reversed, and he did it anyway. He thought it would be permanent, and he did it anyway. For all that boy knew, he’d taken his own voice away forever; he’d taken what he’d always used to blather on about nonsense and sing his heart out (albeit very off-key), and he destroyed it.

Merlin put his hand to his forehead, only pulling it down when he heard the boy scribbling again.

“Making sure they didn’t find out anything about wizards felt more important.” he’d written in frantic scribbles, “Or Camelot, or King Arthur, or Morgana, or you, Master.”

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose.

“So you thought this would’ve been permanent,” he tried to keep his voice level, “that you would have lost your voice forever, and you did it anyway, just to nullify the hair-slim possibility that you might have revealed some secret to those idiots?”

Hisirdoux looked down and wrote again.

“It felt like-”

No.

No, no, no.

Merlin saw the words at the end of that page, but he did not want to read them. Reading them made them real…

...But they would be real whether he read them or not, and he knew that.

“It felt like the greater good.”

Merlin never thought he could hate that concept as much as he did right now.

No, the greater good was something for him to prioritize - him and him alone, and it never came at the cost of the safety and wellbeing of his son. If it did cost him that, then let the greater good fester and crumble to dust.

Hisirdoux curled his arms and hugged himself, looking down at Archie as the feline nuzzled his arm to soothe him. As much as it pained him to see the boy like this, he couldn’t bring himself to comfort him - not when he had a solution right at his fingertips.

“Hisirdoux, do you want your voice back?”

The boy lifted his head and nodded, almost pleading with his eyes, as if there was ever a chance of Merlin denying him the return of his voice.

The wizard raised his hand and said…

“Vox restituet.”

Hisirdoux gasped, just as he did with his own spell, but it’s effect was contrary to that of the former enchantment; the sound became less and less hollow with each fleeting millisecond as the boy’s voice came back to him.

When his breathing fell back into its normal pace, Hisirdoux traced his fingers down his throat.

“Master…”

His voice sounded so hoarse, so little, but it was there , and as soon as Hisirdoux realized that, his whole body seemed to relax in relief that he probably didn’t even let himself feel when he’d first been rescued.

Merlin was relieved too, but it was outweighed by so much - most of all, by the contempt he still held for those bandits down in the dungeons for making his apprentice feel like he needed to do this to himself, and by the guilt he still felt for what he said down there.

Not only was his relief outweighed, but it was also short-lived.

“...I’m sorry.”

No. No, Hisirdoux did not just say that.

Out of all the things Merlin expected his apprentice to say… at best, he expected thanks for restoring his voice, and at worst, he expected him to voice how upset and hurt he still must’ve been for the things he said about him down in the dungeons. But never, never in a millenia, did he expect an apology.

“Whatever for?” Merlin asked. Truly, whatever for? Hisirdoux had done nothing but endure; but withstand circumstances beyond unfit for those as innocent as him, and do what he thought would protect what was important to him at a cost that Merlin himself could barely imagine - could barely conceptualize even now.

“I really really didn’t mean for this to be such a hassle,” Hisirdoux answered, coughing from his voice’s disuse, “and I’m really not upset about what you said in the dungeons. Everything was just too much, and back there, with the bandits, I just didn’t want to put you in danger-”

“No, Hisirdoux.” Merlin declared, putting two of his fingers against one of his temples. It seemed like now that Hisirdoux could speak again, there was a backlog to his blathering. “None of that.”

Hisirdoux’s eyebrows upturned with that scolded puppy look again, “None of what?”

“None of this…” Merlin gestured vaguely, “throwing yourself in harm’s way for my sake. There’s no sense in that. It is not your job to fling yourself into self-destruction in what you think is my best interest. You are my apprentice, Hisirdoux.”

You are my son . Merlin didn’t say.

“And it is my job to protect you, not the other way around.” he told Hisirdoux with no room for argument, “Your job is to focus on your studies and the tasks I ask of you. Should you ever find yourself at someone else’s mercy again, your first priority should be keeping yourself unharmed, or as close to such a state as possible. Secrets can be stopped from spreading, and memories can be wiped, but you are-"

He almost said invaluable, but he stopped himself; though he himself knew the word meant to be priceless or crucial, he feared for the chance that his apprentice could take the word to have a completely opposite meaning, that he was not valuable at all.

"You are indispensable, Hisirdoux.”

Merlin loathed the look of disbelief on the boy’s face when he heard that, but he continued.

“Whatever it entails, self-preservation should come before all else until you’re rescued, because you will be rescued.”

Hisirdoux nodded - a little, minute thing.

“I understand, Master.”

Merlin stood up.

“You must be starving.” he said, “I’ll have something prepared and brought here. You should go back to sleep until then.”

Hisirdoux nodded and pulled the green blanket over his shoulders again, the cloth having fallen off sometime a bit ago, after Merlin came in.

The boy looked down in thought as if remembering something before raising his head again.

“...They didn’t have what you asked for. At the marketplace. Every shop and stand came up empty.” Hisirdoux said, apologetic for the lack of the one thing he’d been sent out to fetch - as if it even mattered after all of this.

No, if anything, the whole errand being for nothing was just another frustration of the day, mundane - no, trivial in the face of everything else.

Also, it brought another pressing matter to the Master Wizard’s attention.

“That’s quite alright.” Merlin said, “If anything, that reminds me: clearly, it’s far too dangerous for you to go on errands in town unaccompanied. As my apprentice, there are many unfavorable people looking to get an advantage over me and use you as leverage to do so, just like those bandits tried today. So, for the time being, you’ll be chaperoned on your future errands outside the castle.”

“But-” he started, but, as if he remembered what Merlin always said when he tried to question him, he cut himself off and nodded, still looking deflated nonetheless.

“It’s a necessary precaution at this point, Hisirdoux.” Merlin said, “Even if it gets in the way of you trying to get the attention of that girl at the shops.”

The boy’s cheeks tinted pink.

“It’s not about her!” he yelped, his voice’s strength obviously coming back rather quickly, “You already told me not to focus on that, and I didn’t even try talking to her today.”

“You never try talking to her, Douxie.” Archie said, pacing around the boy. But Hisirdoux didn’t let himself get distracted by his familiar teasing him.

“It’s…”

He sighed.

“...I don’t want to be a burden.” he confessed, “There are so many more important things to be done around here. Why should anyone waste their time coming with me on errands?”

At this, Merlin realized that it was his turn to sigh. If there was a spell Merlin could use to cast such insecurity from the boy’s head, he would have cast it now. But, much to his frustration, he couldn’t (at least, not without facing something of a moral dilemma over the ethics of mind control). So, simple reassurance would have to do.

“Hisirdoux…”

He placed his free hand - the one not holding onto his staff - on the boy’s shoulder, causing him to look up at the old wizard with wide, questioning eyes.

“Keeping you safe isn’t a burden.” Merlin assured, “I would rather take a few hours out of the day to accompany you, or even complete those errands on my own, than ever have a repeat occurrence of what happened today.”

“...Alright.” Hisirdoux said, although obviously reluctant.

Merlin took his hand off of his shoulder.

“Now, you’re to keep resting the rest of the night, and likely for much of tomorrow, so-”

“But Master-”

“-Don’t “But Master” me.” he said, “Just rest.”

The heaviness in the boy’s eyelids made clear how much he needed that rest, and thankfully, Hisirdoux didn’t contest that.

“Yes, Master.”

#yesterday we were making jokes about moppet getting stuck to walls... how did we get here #douxie #hisirdoux casperan #moppet!douxie #tales of arcadia #toa #wizards #toa wizards #my writing #merlin #Merlin Ambrosius #whump #wizard dad isn't as good in this one as in my other fic guys sorry 😔#fic: what's the greater good worth? (definitely not this)

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charlie-rulerofhell · 3 years ago

Text

For they know exactly what they do

Today there was a pretty long article published in the German newspaper FAZ, written by Julia Schaaf. Since there were quite a few interesting topics raised in it and Måneskin talked about some new aspects (or in more detail), I translated the whole thing (it might also have helped me to procrastinate).

Full interview in English under the cut.

For they know exactly what they do

June 22, 2021

Four young rock musicians from Rome are today's hottest band. Måneskin are enchanting Europe. Why? We met them for an interview.

Every romance needs its founding myth, an anecdote from the beginning, something you can tell later in more difficult times for self-assurance.

In the case of the band Måneskin, who first had Italy and now half of Europe wrapped around their fingers, and who are now trying to conquer the rest of the world with their rock music, there is the story of the shoe box. Rome, around five years ago: Four teenagers who are meeting every day after school in their rehearsal room to make music together, and sometimes they play their songs on the Via del Corso in the city centre in front of a changing audience. One day they want to record their own stuff. They find a studio that they can actually afford and as they go there they bring a shoe box, with the name of the band written on it, 'moonshine' in Danish, the bassist's mother is Danish. In the box: around seven kilogram of coins. The things you get from playing music on the streets. Everyone searching through Instagram for photos from that time can find four hippies with children's faces, three boys in batik, the girl is wearing a straw hat.

As they have to pay [for the recording], frontman Damiano David, 22, says that there was this guy, Angelo, and his bandmate Victoria De Angelis, 21, is interrupting: “No, Andrea, not Angelo”, and all of them have to laugh because a rigid studio manager with the Italian name 'angel' would be even funnier for a founding myth. David continues his story: “The guy was completely dumbfounded. 'We can't do that.' We went: 'Sure we can, that's worth the same even if it's just 20 cent coins, it's still 300 euros.” Thomas Raggi, 20, the guitarist of the band, is gasping for air as he laughs, while drummer Ethan Torchio, 20, is smiling dreamily. David finishes: “And then we snuck off before he was able to count it.” [the German text says 'verdrücken' here which is just a colloquial way of saying 'we left', but it entails some sort of a dramatic exit, so yeah, let your thoughts get creative how they left exactly :D].

Four young musicians on the verge of global fame are sitting on a white interview sofa in Berlin, completely styled, babbling across each other like overeager teenagers.

Ever since the Roman band first won the music festival Sanremo and then also the Eurovision Song Contest, carried by the enthusiasm of European viewers, you could say Måneskin has become a phenomenon. “Rock 'n' Roll never dies!”, Damiano David yelled fueled by the adrenaline of winning, and the insinuation that circulated on social media of the singer snorting during the counting of votes in front of a live camera – including their strict denial followed by a negative drug test result – might have given an additional boost to their public interest, their exploding album, ticket and merch sales, and their outstanding success on Spotify.

“We think it's a shit prejudice against rock music that there always have to be drugs involved. We fully threw ourselves into our participation with the utmost professionalism. We give everything for the music. So of course we don't want people to think that we can only do that because we take drugs.” – Victoria De Angelis

Prior to Eurovision, Måneskin was more of an insider's tip outside of Italy. Handmade rock music, not creating something entirely new but paying homage to the good old times with classic guitar riffs and cracking drum beats, being a lot of fun but also quite fragile and vulnerable at times and, first and foremost, conveying a captivating energy. Finally, on the stage of Rotterdam, live after so many months of isolation and renunciation, this wave of energy spilled straight over into European living rooms. It seemed easy to (mistakenly) interpret the winning song “Zitti e buoni” (Shut up and behave) as a declaration of frustration of our youth in times of a pandemic. In fact, singer Damiano David is singing about the favourite topic of the band: the unrelenting need to, against all odds, be yourself, despite or perhaps because you are different. The message fits their provocative sex appeal, which the band uses to demonstrate their independence of gender norms at any given time. But the core essence of rock music has always been the promise of unlimited freedom.

Thus at the first moment, the meeting with Måneskin is kind of startling. It's Wednesday, we are in the top floor of the new Sony head quarters in Berlin. The four Italians have just started their two-week long promotion tour through Europe. In the afternoon there will be a live concert in a queer club [the SchwuZ, but that's not mentioned here] in Neukölln, which will be streamed via TikTok. Around one million viewers will watch the show, some of them even from Brazil, so people at Sony are pretty excited [for Måneskin to come here]. But at first, these stunningly gorgeous creatures [yes, that's the exact wording :D] are standing surrounded by an entourage of people – their management, PR team, a stylist, a photographer, people who can hold a smartphone or a cigarette if needed [this paragraph is worded a little weirdly, especially taking into account that basically their whole team / 'entourage' is just friends of them, but it seems like the journalist didn't know that or maybe they just wanted to describe their first impression]. They seem like fictional / artificial characters out of a Hollywood movie. Transparent frill blouses with blazers and flared leather trousers, even the platform boots, everything brand-new, the makeup makes their faces look like a glossy magazine cover even in person. The smokey eyes of De Angelis and Raggi make them look smug and bored. Later, on the pictures it will probably look cool.

So of course your first impression might be: This band is under contract to industry giant Sony ever since their success on an Italian casting show [X Factor] in Winter 2017. The music industry must have its hand in the game when a band is photographed half-naked by Oliviero Toscani and styled by Etro. Also, one does not simply rent a villa with a pool in Rome to produce new music there, isolated from the rest of the world. And who else went to London for two whole months, shortly before the winter lockdown, just for inspiration? After the TikTok concert in Berlin – De Angelis and David are now wearing fishnet shirts that sparkle with every move, their bare nipples covered with an X of black tape – the band is posing with a few influencers. In the world of social media you would call that 'producing content'. But what does that mean for a band who are preaching their hosanna of authenticity? How authentic is Måneskin? And is their pointedly casual approach to sexuality and gender cliches in today's pop-cultural spirit more than a marketing strategy?

We're in the interview, the recording device is running for not even five minutes, when Victoria De Angelis says: “Actually, we just try to be ourselves and do what we really want to do.” And really: The more you listen to those four how they speak about the early days of the band in their slurred Roman dialect, about the shoe box and their own experiences with being different, but most importantly about their shared obsession [with music], the more you realise that [De Angelis] is very serious. Ethan Torchio, who got his first drum kit at the age of six or seven from his father because he was beating everything he could reach, says: “For me, music is like food. I cannot live without it.” The bassist next to him laughs at his pathos. Singer Damiano David applauds the otherwise more reserved friend for his truthfulness [it says 'klarer Punkt', meaning 'for the point he makes', but it makes it seem like Damiano is agreeing with Ethan here, although it doesn't indicate whether he agrees that yes, music is everything for Ethan or that he understands and feels the same].

De Angelis and guitarist Raggi already knew each other from middle school and they were the ones who tried to form a band at the age of only 13, a band that actually took music seriously.

De Angelis: “It's just difficult at that age to find other people who really put everything into music and who truly commit themselves and are willing to invest a lot of their time.”

Raggi: “We set strict rules and scheduled fixed times for the rehearsals, for every day.”

David: “Fever, stomach ache, there was no excuse. Even if you were feeling sick in the rehearsal room. At least you were in the rehearsal room.”

The way the four of them talk across each other, completing each other's sentences, taking turns in talking and sometimes joking about each other, seems intimate and playful. Singer David remembers how at first bassist [De Angelis] was merciless towards him when it came to her first metal band project, as she told him that he wasn't committed enough [to the music]: “Back then I was still playing Basketball. I was one of the people that Vic absolutely didn't want [in her band].” Drummer Torchio was later discovered through Facebook, even though there had already been a drummer, a close friend, but he was not good enough. It seems as if even back then music was everything for them. Even if it meant that only Raggi managed to graduate.

And why rock, why rock music of all things? Because it's great, the four of them say in unison. David adds: “Actually, it's a genre that allows you to do everything you want to do.”

When they played on the street, they were laughed at by their classmates. But not only there. De Angelis explains that she never wanted to be a typical girl: “I was always deterred by those stupid boxes that people put you in, and that are just restricting and constraining you, because something is only regarded as male or female. I always rejected that. Instead, I just wanted to do the things I enjoyed doing, I went skating and played football.” Torchio says: “Friends who are not friends anymore were already telling me at the age of ten that those“ – he grabs his long, silky black hair – “were wrong. Because I'm a boy and boys are meant to have short hair, long hair is only for girls. I was bullied a lot for that.”

“Compared to the past, people in our age became much more open-minded. It gets better.” – Thomas Raggi

Frontman David on the other hand, for whom eye shadow, jingling earrings and nail polish as well as his bare torso with the tattoos have become trademarks by now, says: “I was actually more of the average boy.” De Angelis convinced him to try out some eyeliner, which he describes as a spiritual awakening: “I liked myself much more [with makeup]. I saw myself more as myself. As if it had been a suppressed desire of mine.” On a trip to Copenhagen with the others, when he realised that it really didn't matter what people were thinking about him, he got his first fake fur [coat? the article doesn't specify that] in a second-hand shop and let his clothing style be guided by his own love to experiment: “I realised that my whole life I was just going at half speed.” When it comes to diversity all four of them are becoming almost missionary.

At the same time, their success is not only opening doors for them. Back home in Rome they are barely able to go out on the street due to all the paparazzi. “[You need a] hoodie and huge sunglasses”, David says, “the mask is quite helpful, too.” And still, none of them is complaining, and Torchio explains why: “Even if those experiences right now may have sides that are not so pleasant, we still know that for us a dream is coming true. We experience something that we always had in our minds, so we are willing to face every consequence that this entails.”

So is the band facing difficult times, is Måneskin going to change with all the success? Again, all of them answer at the same time.

David: “I'm not worried about that.”

Raggi: “No way!”

De Angelis: “On the contrary. Everything that happened to us happened because we are who we are, so we want to continue the exact same way and stay ourselves.”

Just a few hours later, they are at the stage in Neukölln, bouncing around like pinballs, hammering at their instruments, flirting with each other. “We are out of our minds, but different from the others”, David sings their winning hymn against conformism, and: “The people talk, unfortunately they talk.” Here on stage, the four paradise birds [a German word describing someone with a flamboyant personality] with their half-nude-glittering outfits are radiating an incredible energy with the utmost sincerity, and you begin to wish there was a live audience instead of the TikTok cameras, absorbing and spreading this energy. Måneskin. A cry for a life after the pandemic, a cry for freedom and a better world.

“We do what we wished for all our lives.” – Ethan Torchio

#måneskin #maneskin #måneskin interview #my stuff #i'm sorry if someone already translated it but i was working on this for the past 3 hours now so i'm still gonna share it #i know most of it is not very new but there were some quite interesting details in there #and it's just always great to read about those four dorks so i wanted to share it with all of you who wanted to read it but couldn't #enjoy and please ignore any possible mistakes i didn't have the time to proof-check everything

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dameronology · 4 years ago

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to make a house a home {agent whiskey}

summary: just a soft weekend away in kentucky w/ our fave cowboy {for @zazzysseoul - thank u so much for ur support and i hope you enjoy!}

warnings: i think one or two swear words? but nothing else!

enjoy,

- jazz

Jack Daniels was good at reading people.

It was part of his job. He had to be observant, had to have a working understanding of body language and non-verbal signals. He was especially diligent about it when it came to you; it wasn’t a purposeful thing, but rather an instinct to keep an eye on the person he loved most in the world. He could read you like a book and some days, it felt like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and maybe he did. There was really no telling with Jack. Every time you finally thought you had experienced every little quirk and trait he had to offer, he managed to pull something out the bag. Whether it was his ability to predict a bad mood before it happened or the way he remembered every tiny little detail of a conversation, he was constantly proving himself to be one hell of a partner.

It was no surprise; Jack thought you deserved the best and so, that’s what he tried to give you. He didn’t often let people into his life, especially not after so much loss, but from the moment you’d met, he knew he could trust you. He’d always been a brilliant judge of character and he’d been completely right about you. You’d turned his entire world upside down; taught him how to love again and reminded him that the things he’d lost could be found again, just with a little care and patience. The empty house he used to come to was filled with love and laughter and little marks of you and him; photos from your various trips, magnets on the fridge, that he brought home from all the countries his job took him to, the little notes you left on his nightstand when you had to slip out for work before he rose. The first time Jack had come through the front door and almost tripped over your shoes, he’d cried - not out of anger or shock, but at the realisation that he was no longer alone.

Jack had the innate desire to look after you. He knew you could handle yourself but that didn’t mean that you had to. You’d been there for him in every sense of the world, and he wanted to do the same, to make sure that you felt appreciated every second of every day. In his mind, if you ever questioned his love or loyalty, then he wasn’t doing his job right. That desire translated into little things, rather than grand displays of affection; he’d do your laundry when you worked late, sent you sweet texts through out the day and brought you flowers just because. It wasn’t uncommon to find that Jack had filled up your car with gas without asking, or to come home to your favourite take out.

His biggest way, however, was in how well he knew you. Every slight change in demeanour and every variation in the tone of your voice was caught by him; he knew when you were okay, and he knew when you weren’t. He could tell when you were half-way between, and he’d do his best to bring you back to the lighter side. You take comfort in the fact he always had your back, no ifs or buts.

When Jack woke up early one morning to find your side of the bed empty, he immediately knew that was something was up; the second his palm reached out for you, only to be met with a fistful of cold sheets, he knew. You never got out of bed early. There could have been an atomic war happening outside and you still would have refused to move, insisting on five more minutes before nuclear winter hit. The bathroom light was off and there wasn’t anything you could have found in the kitchen. After all, you’d only arrived at the ranch a few hours earlier. You were both tired from a few long weeks at work and escaping the suffocating fog of the city for the rolling hills and fresh air of Kentucky felt like heaven.

Jack sat up, pausing for a moment. There was a gentle creek coming from somewhere; it was steady and rhythmic, ringing from the porch. His shoulder slumped wit relief - you were outside on the porch swing. At 6AM on a cold, winter’s morning. The relief was shorting lived.

Pulling on his robe, Jack rubbed his eyes and headed out towards the porch. Sure enough, you were the first thing he saw, shoulders covered by the plaid shirt he’d worn the previous day and fluffy socks gently brushing against the floor with the movement of the swing. The light above you illuminated you in a soft smoulder, a golden glow cast over you, illuminating your tired eyes and disheveled hair. He would have lectured you about the cold, had you not had a knitted blanket around you.

‘Bit early for you, ain’t it?’ Jack leant against the door frame, gently smiling when your eyes met.

‘What’s early when you haven’t slept yet?’ You aimlessly joked.

Lifting up the blanket, you silently gestured for him to come and sit next to you. Jack obliged, dropping down beside you and winding a large arm around your shoulder. He pulled you into his chest, placing a kiss on your temple. His warm body was a welcome feeling against the cold of the January air.

‘What’s keeping you up?’ He softly coaxed.

‘I don’t know, to be honest.’ You replied. ‘It’s just been a long week.’

‘I get that.’ His voice was slightly murmured. He pulled you even closer, chin resting on your head. ‘But we’re here now, sugar. I think we both need the down time.’

‘Definitely.’ You said. ‘Plus, the view isn’t so bad.’

The ranch overlooked a large field filled with cows and horses; it stretched out for miles, fading away into the distance into a seemingly endless close. The edges of the green pasture were tinged with the pink of a tonic sun rise, pushing away the dark of the night sky. It wasn’t often that you got to watch the sun come up, and it felt a little refreshing to see a new day come. It was fresh; a clean slate, young and naive, but full of possibility. An ironic thought, given that you and Jack were probably going to lay on the sofa the whole day and order take out.

‘You’re right.’ He murmured from beside you.

‘Are you doing that thing where you look at me when I’m talking about a nice view?’ You peered up at him, thinning your eyes.

‘You said it was romantic!’

‘The first five times, Jack!’ You chuckled, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw.

‘Nothing is sacred anymore.’

You settled back against his chest with a smile. ‘I like it here.’

‘Me too.’ He agreed. ‘It’s nice to get away from the Apple. Everything over there if faster than a knife fight in a damn phone booth.’

‘And it doesn’t smell of pizza and...pee.’

You loved New York dearly; it had been your home for many years, and it was also where you’d met Jack. But, whether it was your permanent home, you didn’t know. There were some days when it all got so much. The city never quietened down and you could never quite escape it, even in the comfort of your own apartment. Out here, you were worlds away from that. Crickets were gently purring in the distance, and the only other sound came from the rustling of the animals in the field across the road. It was peaceful. Serene.

‘What if we moved out here when I’m done at the Statesman?’ Jack posed, almost as though he were shy about broaching the subject. ‘We could get a couple horses. Maybe a dog. Heck, if you want a zoo, I’ll get you a zoo.’

‘I’d like that.’ You smiled. ‘I mean living here, not the zoo thing - but a dog and horses sounds nice.’

‘Then a dog and horses we shall get.’ He grinned. ‘Oh! I can teach you to ride.’

‘Or I could just watch you do it.’

‘There’s not a single person in this here town who can’t ride a horse.’ Jack said. ‘Unless a pony would be better.’

‘Why not both? We have enough room.’ You reminded him. ‘Maybe we can re-tile the kitchen too. It’s not that I don’t like the green, it’s just it’s...’

‘...dreadful?’

‘That’s a nice way of putting it.’

Because you didn’t live on the ranch full time, neither of you had put too much effort into making it homely. It was liveable, by all means, but the television in the living room dated back to the first Bush administration and the kitchen was a little too lime for your liking. The place had come furnished by the old owners, which had been a big selling point for Jack. He just wanted somewhere he could live whilst he was in Kentucky and this place had been practical. It wasn’t until you and your eye for interior design came along that he realised how retro it was.

‘There’s a hardware store down the road.’ Jack said. ‘We can get a couple hours sleep and head down there later to see what they got.’

‘Maybe we can find something less green.’

‘I sure fucking hope so.’

---

The next morning, you and Jack bundled up into some warmer clothes and piled into the Bronco, heading for the store downtown. The actual city was miles out, but there lots of little local and independent places. There were little cafes and restaurants, as well as farmers’ markets and fresh produce. You had thought about living here permanently before, but you hadn’t verbalised it until Jack had suggested it first. Given everything that had happened in the past, you’d wanted to do things at his pace, but so far, you’d been perfectly in tune with one another. That was a testament to your relationship as a whole.

‘I just smiled at that woman and she smiled back.’ You muttered to Jack, peering up at the store as you headed through the parking lot.

‘And?’

‘I once smiled at a stranger on the Subway and they told me to piss off.’

Jack chuckled, reaching out to wind his arm around yours. He tangled your fingers together, pulling you flush against his side. It was easier to show physical displays of affection here too. He was always a little paranoid in the city, given how busy it was and how easy it would have been to for an enemy to hide. That was another thing Jack did without thinking; taking tiny little precautions to protect you. He couldn’t even begin to think about losing you. And the thought never popped up here. Never. Only in the city, where everything was loud and overwhelming.

The store itself was pretty big - it was good for you, but confusing for Jack. You had Pinterest boards with inspiration for all your hypothetical future houses, whilst Jack couldn’t the difference between ivory and sand. So, true to character, he let you tighten your grip on his arm and drag him towards the kitchen section, eyes wide like a kid in a candy store. You had a green blank canvas to go wild on, because probably would have agreed to anything. It wasn’t that he was a walk-over, or because he was lazy, he was just genuinely terrible at interior design. Introducing him to build mode on the Sims 4 had been traumatic enough.

You didn’t have to decide anything immediately - after all, he’d said he wanted to move out here after he was done at Statesman. That was just as likely weeks as it was years. He did complain about his job giving him a bad back but you also knew that he enjoyed it. It was all he’d known for such a long time, and he’d worked hard to get to the top. Unbeknownst to you, he’d drop it all in a second if you wanted to relocate now. Even if he had the best job in the world and all the money he could ever want, the only thing Jack really needed was you.

‘Where do we even start?’ He asked, brown eyes staring confusedly at some paint samples.

‘We start with the most important rooms - living room, kitchen, bedroom.’ You replied. ‘I’m thinking something midcentury for downstairs. What d’you think?’

‘Midwhatnow?’ His brows furrowed.

You laughed. ‘Midcentury. So think...Bauhaus. Mid 60s sort of thing.’

‘Right.’ Jack nodded, getting a clearer idea. ‘How about you just to point to things and I’ll either shake my head or nod?’

Yeah, that sounded like a better idea.

And so, you began your trek around the store. Your Pinterest boards came in handy, especially for the kitchen - even Jack was grateful for them, because it meant you moved a little quicker. He did die inside a little when you grabbed a huge trolley and began piling it up with kitchen tiles, counters and cabinet doors, and even more so when you casually asked ‘you’re good at DIY, right?’

He didn’t complain though, not once. The sight of you rushing around the store, face lighting up at lamp shades and paint samples, was one of the best things he’d ever seen. Not only because it was hilarious, but also because it was the first time you really planned for your future. There was sort of an unspoken agreement that this was it, and that you were both in it for the long run, but neither of you had made any verbal plans together. You’d moved in together back in the city, but that had happened naturally. You’d started staying over and over more and more to sleep in his fancy Statesman bed and use his heavenly marble bathtub, and you came over one weekend and just never left.

After a few hours, Jack finally had to put a stop to your antics.

‘Okay, darlin’, I think we’ve reached the threshold now.’ He called. ‘We don’t need a new lighting fixture for the downstairs bathroom.’

You huffed. ‘Placing it back on the shelf.’

‘Fine.’

‘We’re gonna have a hard time getting in this car as it is.’ He held his arm out to you, signalling for you to come back to him.

‘I’ll have to come back for the upstairs then.’ You muttered.

‘We’ve gone from painting the kitchen to gutting the whole damn ranch, baby.’ Jack replied. ‘We’re only here for two more days anyways.’

‘Damn. I forgot about that.’ Your eyes widened. ‘I guess we better start today, then.’

This was supposed to be a relaxing weekend.

Relaxing!

And yet somehow, Jack Daniels was stood in the middle of his now half-demolished kitchen, a sledge hammer in one hand and a glass of his namesake whiskey in the other. He couldn’t deny that it had been fun to rip out the cabinets and tear off the tiles. He’d despised the colour of the kitchen for so long that it felt good to finally get rid of them, even if it meant that the tedious process of putting on the new ones came immediately after. You’d gone for simple black and white ones, with some mosaic ones for a...what had you called it? A feature wall or something. Apparently it added character (something he took your word for).

‘So what’s the paint for?’ Jack frowned, taking a brush as you handed it to him.

‘For the living room.’ You grabbed him by the shirt, dragging him out the kitchen.

‘But the kitchen isn’t done-’

‘- I’m bored of the kitchen.’ You said. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Course not, angel.’ He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

After grappling with covering the furniture up, you and Jack began to paint. It wasn’t too hard of a process; he just sort of whacked it on, whilst you had a much more meticulous process. So what if he got a splash of grey on the light switch? Actually, on second second thought, he should probably wipe that off.

Besides, it only took him five minutes to get sidetracked. The sight of you stood across the room, his red and black plaid shirt hanging from your shoulders, face screwed up with concentration and paint on your nose, was a distraction in itself. It was the sort of moment he wanted to get on a Polaroid, but equally, one that he wanted to savour. He always entranced by you, but sometimes that amplified. You weren’t even doing anything special - just...existing. But that was enough to capture his attention in its entirety.

He didn’t tear his eyes away from you - not until something cold hit him in the face, and a splatter of grey paint nearly hit his eye. The noise of your laughter pulled him back to reality, practically losing it as you doubled over, holding onto the fire place for support. You were lucky that it was his favourite sound but heck, you coulda dumped the whole bucket of paint on him and he wouldn’t have flinched.

‘That was rude.’ Jack folded his arms across his chest. ‘I’m gonna get you for that.’

‘No, you won’t.’

You dropped your paintbrush, suddenly leaping over the couch and sprinting out into the hallway. Trying to outrun a highly-trained government agent (a fact you sometimes forgot) might have not been your brightest idea, but you still managed to breeze past him and skid into the kitchen, almost tripping over a strewn tile as you did.

Jack was hot on your heels, arms reaching out to grab as you circled back into the living room. He managed to snatch you by the waist, pulling you down onto the sheet-covered couch - he was nice enough to use his own body to break the landing at least. You landed on his chest with a thud, still in a fit of giggles as he grabbed your face and planted kisses all over it. His lips were soft and warm, tasting of whiskey when they finally met yours. You tangled your hand through his hair in an attempt to bring him close, as though it were even possible.

You broke the kiss, rolling off of Jack and onto the sofa next to him, nuzzling into his side. The paint you’d managed to get on him was on you now as well, smeared down the side of your face and a little onto his shirt that you were wearing. Not that it bothered him all that much, because the sight of you in any of his clothes was worth a little bit of paint. You had a sort of rotation, where you would steal various garments and wear them until they lost his smell, before dumping them in the laundry and swiping some more. They were always baggy, scented with his aftershave and the faint smell of the leather from his car. When he was away on missions, it was the nearest thing you could get to one of his warm hugs.

‘Darling, d’you think, just maybe, that we should just pay someone to do all this?’ Jack gently suggested. ‘I can have a guy from the agency come in and be done in like three days.’

‘Three days? For the whole house?’ You peered up at him with a frown.

‘Their speciality is rebuilding places after we accidentally blow them up so this will be like a walk in the park.’ He explained. ‘Although, the kitchen isn’t far off. the place is lookin’ as messy as the farmers’ market after sundown.’

‘And Champ won’t mind you abusing Statesman resources like that?’ You teased.

‘The man is so rich that he buys a new boat when the other gets wet.’ Jack reminded you. ‘He ain’t gonna notice.’

‘You have a point.’ You nodded.

‘Besides, they’re better at decorating-’

‘- interior design.’ You cut him off. ‘It’s a house, not a Christmas cookie.’

Jack dropped his head against yours, letting out a groan. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I know.’ You leant up to press another soft kiss to his lips. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, angel.’

Even though it was still a little far off, the glimpse that this weekend had given you into your future meant everything to him. He’d brought the ranch as a place to crash on business stays, and now you were helping to turn it into a home. At one point, he hadn’t imagine having a life to look ahead to or a house to decorate or somebody to love. Even though they were small, everyday things, you’d brought so much into his life, and he was never going to let you forget it.

#i want jack daniels to call me angel please #pLEASE #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels fluff #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x y/n #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey fluff #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey imagine

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thosewickedlovelies · 4 years ago

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AND THEY WERE WALLMATES: Pasteles de Gloria (part 3)

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: T for mature themes (mentions of sex and violence)

Summary: Javier thanks you...appropriately, this time. Connie and Javier have a chat <3

Tags: Mention of blood. Reader starts to have Thots (same, girl)

Word count: 3,740

A/N: So their POVs in this chapter overlap a little bit...sorry if that throws anyone off, I’m still getting used to writing reader insert fics. The dessert and the Spanish are explained at the end :) Enjoy!

Masterlist

You hadn’t seen Javier in over a week. The first few days after that conversation had been a whirlwind of emotions- worry over whether you’d said the right things, hope that he might feel the same (plus fear that he wouldn’t), and eventually anger at his total lack of response. Until Connie told you that he and Steve had been sent on some mission.

“Nothing dangerous, but they’ll be gone for a few days. Javi must not have gotten the chance to say goodbye.” Uttered without a second’s hesitation, like it was unthinkable that Javier wouldn’t have explained himself to you if he could.

Maybe Connie knew something you didn’t.

So another several days had passed, with worry becoming the dominant theme; all your other initial feelings faded into the background as you wondered how ‘not dangerous’ DEA work could really be.

You’re settling in for another restless evening when there’s a rap on the door. Your nerves leap and jangle- you aren’t supposed to being seeing Connie again until tomorrow, so who…?

You peer through the cracked door before wrenching it open the rest of the way, your heart roaring in your ears. Javier Peña stands before you. He holds a bottle in one hand and a paper bag in the other, and looks uncharacteristically nervous. You forget you’re theoretically supposed to be upset with him as you stare at each other, wide-eyed.

He clears his throat. “Hey. Uh, sorry I disappeared on you. Boss sent me and Steve on a mission, I had to leave from work.” So Connie had been right on both accounts. He hadn’t had time to call you, and he would have if he could.

When you wait, he continues. “I thought, since I interrupted your evening the last time I was here, I could make it up to you.” He holds up the bottle, which you’re surprised to recall is indeed the same wine that you had opened the night he came to your place after reopening his wound.

You look at him in wonder, but he’s not finished. “Also, well...I can’t bake for shit, but I know somewhere that can. You ever had a pastel de gloria?” He lifts the paper bag, cracks a small, still-nervous grin.

“I haven’t,” you confirm, an answering smile growing on your face, touched by the sweetness of his gesture and the implications it holds.

“Well, you can try them tonight, because-” his confidence apparently bolstered by your response, he holds the bottle out to you, brow quirking in request. You take it, bemused at the prospect of there still being more to his plan, and he digs something out of his back pocket with an air of presentation. “-I found the sequel to a certain movie while at a market recently. I was going to bring it to Steve and Connie’s but...now seemed like a better time to watch it.”

You almost laugh out loud as you take in the cover of the tape in his hand. It’s the sequel to that movie night travesty, all right. That Javier would do all of this...you hardly know what to say.

You hope whatever expression is on your face is saying it for you, though, as you look up at him. “Thank you, Javier. This is...amazing.” And it is, much more so than would have been necessary to thank you for helping with his leg, or to make up for his unplanned disappearance after you turned down his proposition.

He chuckles, looking down in embarrassment. “You don’t actually have to watch this shit movie if you don’t want to. That part was just a joke.” You could swear he’s blushing, the faintest tinge of color in his cheeks beneath the white hallway lights. “But you should try these pastries, because they are something else.” He offers you the bag, his body shifting sideways slightly, as if he intends to hand off his gifts and then disappear. As if his wide, guileless, puppy dog eyes and the unconscious pout to his lips weren’t begging otherwise.

Well. “Of course I want to watch this shit movie, Javi. As long as you watch it with me.” You give him a teasing grin. “It was much more fun with a spoilsport.”

Relief spills over his features, washing the tension from his shoulders and the breath from his lungs. Turning away toward the kitchen, you miss the true extent of it, leaving the door open for him as you head back inside. “Bring those to the couch, I’ll get us some plates,” you call over your shoulder.

Javier follows more slowly, collecting himself. By the time you join him in the living room, carrying, plates, wine glasses, and napkins, he’s fiddling with your VCR. You pour the wine while he sets it up, although you find yourself distracted by the shifting valleys of muscle in his back beneath his tight-fitting shirt, the bottle in your hands suspended uselessly above a glass. You curse as you almost spill.

“Everything okay?” Javi joins you on the couch, a careful, hesitant distance away.

“Of course!” You’re quick to assure him. “Now, tell me about these pastries,” you urge, eyes sparkling. He unloads them onto a plate, stacking rounded pastries into a rough pyramid, each one golden brown, sprinkled with sugar, and the size of a small fist. His voice softens as he tells you about the bakery and the older woman who runs it, who insists everyone call her ‘abuela’, even grown men and gringos like him. How he discovered it entirely by accident one day, following his nose.

“The filling is usually pasta de guayaba- guava paste- but they can also have arequipe, or cheese, or all three. She gave me a some extras, so I’m not sure which ones are which here,” he says, suddenly brusque. He gestures for you to take one first, a look on his face you can’t quite identify.

You’re definitely at risk of drooling as you pick up a pastel, Javier watching you intently. Puff pastry flakes over your plate as you take a bite.

And close your eyes in relish. A trio of flavors oozes over your tongue, each complementing the other, all of them ensconced in a sheath of sugary, flakey pastry. The creamy, neutral tang of the cheese mellowing the tart-sweet burst of fruity guava, both flavors coated in the thick, sticky-sweet burnt sugar taste of dulce de leche.

Swallowing, your eyes pop wide to look at Javier again. It’s a near-physical reaction he has to your sudden attention, an almost-flinch away from it as he awaits your verdict.

“Javier.” Your voice is serious. With slow deliberance, you lean toward him intently, reaching out to rest your hand on his forearm. You let the anticipation s t r e t c h.

“You have got to tell me how to make these.”

The breath leaves him in a rush, a huff of relief and and laughter at your dramatics. He’s hyper-aware of your hand on his skin- the casual touch reverberates through him in a way he should probably be more concerned about. It’s the first time you’ve touched him for non-medical reasons, but it heals him all the same; he feels warm, something inside him yielding in your presence.

He clears his throat. “Like I said, I can’t bake for shit. But...I can ask the abuela.” His free hand rubs at his neck, slipping beneath the collar of his shirt. The movement draws your attention, and your gaze continues lower, to the two buttons he seems to perpetually leave undone. The smooth, flushed skin beneath. Was it warm in here?

You stand abruptly. “Is it warm in here? I’ll flip the fan on. You want to press play?” You throw him a quick smile as you cross the room to the wall switch. You flip off the overhead light while you’re there, leaving just the tall floor lamp casting a bright but cozy glow.

Javi obliges, the space dimming briefly as the opening sequence begins. You plop back down on the sofa, deliberately settling slightly closer to him- friends distance away. Handing him a wine glass, you raise yours expectantly. “¡Salud!” you beam.

Despite your cheer, you feel a trickle of nervous anticipation. What shape would your relationship take with only the two of you to guide it? You’d never been alone alone together for the express purpose of just hanging out.

Javier clinks his glass with yours. “Salud,” he murmurs, his eyes crinkling upward slightly.

You order yourself to stop getting in your head. Humming around a mouthful of plum-purple wine, you set down the glass in favor of your plate, loading it with several more pastels. Blissful satisfaction fills you as a second bite confirms their perfection, and you lick sugar off your lips with a happy sigh. Beside you, Javi’s empty fingers twitch. He takes a large gulp of wine.

The movie rapidly proves to be of the same ‘quality’ as its parent. Just as quickly, you realize you didn’t need to worry about getting on with Javier. You end up having great fun at the film’s expense, frequently pausing it so Javi can explain in more detail why this or that would never happen in real life. It’s fascinating hearing him speak with such confidence, observing the minute ripples of his face as it contorts in thought. Despite his superior knowledge, he’s never condescending toward you, listening patiently to your questions and trying to answer in ways you can relate to. He sneers freely at the characters onscreen though, and you can completely picture him sitting at a one of those government conference tables, telling some poor bastard how bad his ideas are with his trademark dismissive, deadpan attitude.

There are other fascinating things about him, too. Like the way his short shirtsleeves to stretch over his arm muscles, subtle but visible, highlighted by the room’s long shadows. Like the tempting cords of his neck when he tips his head back to drink. Like more of his self-conscious glances, when he bites into a pastel and crumbs and sugar cling to his mustache. He hurriedly swipes his palm down the hairs, but you’ve caught him from the corner of your eye. You press your lips together to smother a giggle, but when he glides his tongue over his lip to catch any stray bits, your smile fades as your stomach swoops. You can sense him regarding you again as you fix your gaze on the tv. You wish you knew what was going on in his head.

Too soon the movie ends. The credits roll, but Javier shows no signs of leaving, leisurely taking out a pack of cigarettes and tapping it against his hand. “Do you mind?” he checks.

You wrinkle your nose but allow it. “As long as you do it at the window.” You stand, leaving Javi still seated, and spread your arms in a stretch, attempting to blink away some of the sleepy wine haze. “Be right back,” you tell him, taking the opportunity for a bathroom break.

After, however, before crossing the kitchen to rejoin him, you pause on the threshold of the hall. Your head tilts as you run your gaze over his unguarded stature. Javier leans against the window’s edge, his head and torso turned to exhale smoke out into the night. It doesn’t all escape immediately, gray twisting in the air around his profile, and you lose yourself in the brooding picture he paints. He believes he’s alone, but doesn’t look like he’s enjoying a peaceful smoke break- more like he’s weighed down by his thoughts, his eyes sweeping over the street without taking it in. Doesn’t he have anyone to share his burdens with?

You shuffle your feet loudly before you turn the corner, revealing your presence so he can react accordingly. As you approach, he stubs out his cigarette on the narrow sill and turns to face you, his shoulders relaxing.

“I thought of something else about that last scene,” he greets, and you’re happy to let him go on about the film, savoring the rich timbre of his voice. You talk for a little while longer, lounging by the window. He asks you more about yourself now, and you haltingly tell him about your background, how you came to arrive in Columbia. He drinks in every word, and you get the feeling he’s storing this all away, ready to reference later. As if he intends for there to be a later.

Finally it comes up. Your last interaction. “Look, I’m sorry about last time,” Javier begins. “When I, you know-” he nods jerkily in lieu of saying “tried to seduce you” out loud. “I, uh. I don’t know what I was thinking.” His gaze drops the same way it did when he was withholding how he got the cut on his leg.

You thought you had understood some of his thought process, but maybe there was more to it. “I think you do,” you disagree wryly. One shoulder lifts in a shrug. “But it’s okay, Javier. I just...didn’t want you to sleep with me just because you felt like you owed me.”

It’s a struggle to hold his gaze, yours ranging over his face and chest, searching for a reaction to what you’ve left unspoken. That you may well want him to sleep with you, but only because he actually wants to, wants you, specifically. Javier is smart, and clearly experienced with women- there’s no way he’ll miss the implication.

The longer you hold his gaze, the more clearly you see his thoughts churning, turning over everything that’s occurred between you and what it might mean, with all the analytical precision his career requires. That’s who you’ve been seeing, you realize, every time his provocative persona misses its mark with you- Agent Peña, the man who puts up a shield of derisive disdain so no one gets too close, so no one wants to. Until someone comes along who says fuck that, for whatever reasons of their own- like Steve, who demanded that Javi let him in as much as he could stand to because they’re partners, damn it, for better or for worse. Like Connie, who informed him that your well-being is important to my husband’s, so by god, you’re going to let me care about you. Like you- his neighbor and wallmate who, despite being faced with Agent Peña's rakish side, could see that there was more under the surface than just blood oozing from a knife wound.

As if realizing the window this moment is giving you, Javier shakes himself free of it, pushing off the wall. “Well, I won’t keep you up any longer,” he says gruffly. “Thanks for...this.” He gestures to the coffee table behind the couch you’re leaning on, the silent tv static jittering on the wine and pastries.

You stand too, unhurried. “Thank you, Javier. For the company, as well,” you say with sincerity.

He nods, seeming torn, perpetually caught in some internal struggle around you. Finally, he says a single word in farewell, his voice a low caress: “Vecinita.”

He starts for the door without waiting for a reply. Blinking in surprise, you spin in place. “Buenas noches, Javi,” you call, hoping your understanding reaches him.

You think it does, because he pauses for a second with his hand on the doorknob; before, with a last glance, exiting, leaving the hope kindling in your chest as the only proof it really happened.

Javier has a hard time focusing at work the next day. He and Steve have a lot of paperwork to get through, mostly material from their recent mission, but every time he shifts in his shitty desk chair he remembers how comfortable your couch was. How at ease you seemed sitting next to him on it. How badly he wanted to reach out to you, see if you felt as soft as you looked in that setting.

“Fuck,” he swears. The paper in his hand is the same one he’s been staring at for the past ten minutes.

Huffing, he shoves his work aside, snatches up his jacket, and heads home early. But his apartment offers even fewer distractions, so with a growl of frustration, he downs a whiskey and stalks back to the door.

Only to be stopped in his tracks by Connie, standing on his stoop with a coffee pot in hand. She looks startled by his sudden appearance, her fist still raised to knock.

“Hi, Javi. I heard you get back a little while ago, and I haven’t seen you since you and Steve returned. I thought we could catch up.” She speaks tentatively, clearly wary of his black scowl and riled energy.

“Did she send you?” he asks, eyes narrowing, jutting his chin to indicate your door.

Connie frowns in confusion. “No, I won’t be seeing her for a a day or three. She’s got an intensive-care patient at the hospital who needs around-the-clock attention.” Her own eyes narrow. “Should she have sent me? Did you do something?”

“No,” Javier retorts curtly. “Just- didn’t know if this was brought on by some of your gossip, is all.” Resigned to his interrogation, he steps back, opening the door for her.

Connie continues to glare suspiciously as she passes, but heads into his kitchen nonetheless, getting out sugar and mugs in a familiar ritual. She knew better than to bother checking the fridge for milk.

Once seated in the dining room, however, she doesn’t pry any further about you, or what he may have done, only continuing a previous line of conversation from their last chat. It helps, but as she gets caught up telling some work story, Javier’s attention drifts again.

He inhales from the cigarette between his fingers, remembering the taste of the one last night, filtering through the flavors of cherry-dark wine and sugar-encrusted pastry. He had tried to keep some figurative distance between the two of you, but you didn’t seem to want it, closing the gaps with questions, always looking so damn interested when the answers pertained to him or his life. Were you that fascinated by all your ‘friends’?

Javi doesn’t notice that Connie is scrutinizing him again, just like he hadn’t noticed that she’s been silent for the past minute.

“What’s she doing up there?” Connie asks loudly.

Javier chokes mid-drag, and a wicked smirk overtakes her face.

“What,” he croaks, trying desperately not to look guilty.

“Your neighbor,” Connie clarifies. “That’s what you’re thinking about, right?” She looks far too smug with herself.

“Hah,” Javier scoffs, trying to ignore the shivery goosebumps at someone calling you ‘his’. Buying time, he takes another long drag, letting it numb the sting from his cough.

Sometimes he wondered why he let himself get sucked into these coffee chats. They so rarely seemed to go well for him.

“Come on, Javier,” Connie coaxes. “I know there’s something between you two. Do you wanna talk about it?” A genuine offer, not just merciless teasing. She’s managed to wipe most of the mirth from her face, leaving a sympathetic expression behind.

He rubs his thumb along his mustache as he sighs a long stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know what’s between us,” he finally says. “I’m not- I don’t do relationships.”

He isn’t sure he remembers how to. Nothing about his life here is suited to them- it’s intense, harsh, dangerous. Not to mention his network of CIs, who he pays for sex as well as information.

“Why not?” Connie asks simply.

A glance at her face tells Javier that it’s a serious question. He snorts. Lounging back in his chair, he raises a contemptuous eyebrow at her. “You can’t honestly tell me the DEA lifestyle is helping your marriage.”

Her face tightens, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he resolutely pushes it away- Connie knows who he is, she asked for this conversation- “My marriage isn’t up for discussion here,” she says evenly. “And besides, don’t you think that’s something for her to decide? She knows what you do, she sees you almost every day. She told me she was helping you with something- do you think she’d let herself get close to you if she was scared of your ‘lifestyle’?”

He doesn’t let it show how deeply her word affects him; but like ink dropping into water, he feels a ripple of shock. The change of color as his thoughts cloud, churn with sudden optimism. Because Connie was right, you had helped him- with a fucking secret stab wound, for christ’s sake. You’d already seen the blood and the secrets, understood that his life came with risks- and helped him without further explanation.

Javier brings the cigarette to his lips again without tasting it, unseeing gaze fixed ahead. Possible though it is that you’re not put off by the danger which hounds him, it still doesn’t mean you want to be more than friends. That was what you’d said, right? ‘Friends are a thing people have.’

But there was also what you hadn’t said last night. That- as long as it was for reasons other than feeling like he owed you- he was allowed to want to sleep with you.

Suddenly he slumps forward onto his elbows, sighing. The wrinkles on his forehead ache as he smooths his thumb over them. “I don’t know how close she wants to get,” Javi mumbles. He might be experienced at sex with women, but forming conections based on what was beneath the skin...well, not only was he rusty, but it required a frankly terrifying amount of vulnerability that he wasn’t sure he was up for.

Connie softens. “Listen, Javi, I saw the way she was looking at you during movie night. She’s interested in you, no matter how much you think she does or doesn’t know. Just- see what happens, or…ask her.” With her last words she shrugs matter-of-factly, content to drop the subject now that she’s delivered her thoughts.

His lips twist, the only begrudging acknowledgement he gives as he reflects on this. He picks up his mug and swirls the dregs of the coffee his friend had poured for him- black, like he usually takes it. He takes a sip.

For the first time, he thinks it could use a little sugar.

A/N: Get it, because he needs some of READER’S sugar AYOOOO...I’ll leave now lmao.

Spanish note for the less linguistically inclined: ‘Vecinita’ is the word ‘Vecina’ (Neighbor) plus the suffix ‘-ita’, which is attached to words as a way of describing them as ‘small’. So literally translated it says ‘little (feminine) neighbor’, but! This suffix is also used to say things in an affectionate way, so you could put it on the end of someone’s name (ie Pedrito <3), or on the end of another noun to indicate a nickname. (Disclaimer, I only speak Italian, but it has this same concept, so I think I did it right. Someone pls tell me if I did not). It’s used very casually, so it’s not really as deep as it sounded in Reader and Javi’s moment, but it was deep for Javi okay!!!

The dessert this chapter is named after translates to ‘Gloria pastries’, which according to Google, is a popular Columbian pastry. I have not actually ever encountered one of these personally, but I’ve had all the ingredients individually, so I cannot imagine them not being DELICIOUS all together. Here is a recipe I fully intend to try (it uses mozzarella cheese, but other sources say you can use any plain/white/farmer’s cheese). Guava paste is a really yummy, thick puree (think jam, but thick enough to stay in slab form at room temp) of guava fruit (obvs), which I’ve used in recipes before! I found it in a regular Weis market in central Pennsylvania lmao so I would guess it to be a thing you can find across the US. Arequipe is just another name for dulce de leche. I gotta get me and my sweet tooth to Columbia!!

Fic Taglist: @din-damn-djarin, @thirstworldproblemss, @remembertoreadthese

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #narcos fic #narcos #javier peña #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #shoutout to my boss for getting sick so I could have the last two days off to finish this #(he's fine tho it's not covid)

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castiel-left-his-mark-on-me · 4 years ago

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Why I think an “I love you too” was never in the cards—and why Covid was a convenient excuse for the “traditional” ending the network always wanted for Supernatural:

I will preface this by saying that I don’t know anything for sure—but going off of what the cast and crew have said both prior to Covid and the finale, as well as during and after, I believe that the network and the show runners were always planning on taking the easy way out, and this worldwide pandemic just made it all the easier.

So—for the “I love you too, Cas” that we were all hoping for … the reason I think it was never going to be the endgame is for a few reasons: mostly due to what both Misha and Jensen have said over this past year. Misha said recently in a Q&A that he was concerned about how Jensen might react to the whole “confession” scene we saw in 15x18. Also, he said that he knew about that scene long before Jensen did; however, Jensen has said he’s known about the idea for the final episode for months and months before filming for season 15 even began—which means, the two things probably didn’t coincide. If the confession actually connected to the finale in some way (and let’s face it, if Dean said “I love you too” that’s all anyone would be talking about), then Jensen would’ve known about it probably before Misha did, so Misha wouldn’t need to feel nervous over how Jensen might react.

We all thought that when Jensen said he wasn’t happy with the idea for the ending—it might have something to do with Destiel; but given how it all played out and what both actors have said since the confession scene aired and all the buzz surrounding it, obviously that isn’t the case. They have both said more about the confession and have been more positive about that than anything to do with the finale.So, what was Jensen actually upset about? Well, I think that has changed over time and has gotten worse thanks to Covid.

Jensen has been recorded saying he’s wanted a “Blaze of Glory” ending for the boys for years. Hell, they even had Dean say it in the show when the boys were trapped inside the bunker (season 10? 11?). He always imagined a tragic, action packed ending—where both Sam and Dean go down swinging; so the idea of them making it to some big, happy reunion in heaven probably didn’t sit well with him, because it softened that tragedy. Misha seemed to have similar hopes for his character—although, Cas got much closer to that beautifully tragic and heroic ending than Dean did; and Misha was happy for that at least. He’s happy that Castiel got to go out doing something good based in love and sacrifice, rather than some clumsy ending that didn’t do his complex character justice; and his thoughts on this haven’t changed over time, unlike Jensen’s. Both before, as well as after Covid, Misha has said basically the same thing in regards to the show’s planned-ending for Castiel: “That’s how I always saw his character arc ending”. So, again—I don’t think some momentous reunion in heaven was originally scripted or else Misha would’ve spoken about the end to Castiel’s story a little differently. I think he would’ve been even more excited and pleasantly surprised about what his and Dean’s on-screen connection would actually mean for the fans and the LGBT+ community; and he probably would’ve hinted to that in the months prior to the finale being aired. He wouldn’t have spoken of “sacrifice” ... he would’ve spoken of “hope”.

But the original idea for the finale that Misha hinted to in this most recent Q&A seemed to be very much the same as what we saw … only, all our favorites would’ve actually made an appearance in heaven instead of just having their names dropped (if they even got that much). I still think they were going to kill Dean in that horribly dumb way. I still think they were going to have Sam live out his life in a crappy montage without his brother by his side, and I still think that heaven would be where the story finally faded to black—the only difference Covid made was that more familiar faces weren’t on the screen.

That being said—even if Covid hadn’t been a thing, I doubt Dean and Cas’s reunion in heaven would’ve been anything more than just a bro-hug outside the Roadhouse. That’s all Becky’s Funko dolls foreshadowed, and her fears regarding Chuck’s ending were the closest to the truth; because if Dean and Cas were meant to have this big moment of love and rainbows … if the network was actually going to be that bold and take that leap, they would’ve still done it. Misha is one guy, and getting Covid-clearance for one more person wouldn’t have brought production to some screeching halt. The show runners would’ve made it happen if they actually possessed the balls to try it; but they don’t, so it was never their plan to have Dean say it back. Also, the network apparently went to the trouble of holding some focus-groups regarding Destiel and potential ideas for ending the series, which means they put a lot of thought into what would be most profitable; and even though you and I would have lost our collective minds if Dean reciprocated Cas’s love, it could alienate the show’s market in certain parts of the country and the world, and this show has made them a lot of money over time, and will probably continue to do so if they just played it safe; so, that’s what they did. They played it safe so they could re-run it for years to come, and never have to actually own up to anything they implied or even flat-out said over the years.

To support this—in that pre-show send off featuring all the cast and crew, Misha talked about how we were in charge of our own endings. That was filmed before Covid. That was filmed before whatever plans that were made for the show, had to be adjusted. He knew that many of us would be disappointed that they took Cas’s character so close to that massive edge that would’ve made history in the TV industry, and then backed off of it right at the last second. He knew that nothing was going to come of it, so he told us that we could make it better, and we should—and he would support us with the better-endings we imagined, because he agrees with us more than the show he’s given his last twelve years to.

Finally, there’s Jensen. Like I said before—I think Jensen expected something more tragic with the finale, like Kripke had envisioned from the start, but when a happy-heaven ending was proposed, he needed some time to digest it. I do think he did digest it though. I think he realized that the fans would need to see the boys happy and in heaven with all the ones they loved, because so many of us identify with those characters. I think that he began to understand that, and he even began to get excited about it … but then Covid happened, and suddenly, that ending began to change. Jensen saw that slowly but surely, the finale was shifting into something no one would be happy about. It was some blurry-medium (like Sam’s wife) between what was originally planned, and what the production team could actually get away with. His support seemed to dwindle before our eyes. He went from “Yeah—I learned to be excited about it” to “I get it” to almost a dead-silence over the entire thing. That ending that “didn’t sit right with him” wasn’t justifiable anymore if all the people that fans have loved for years, couldn’t be there … and Jensen knew that, so doing that weird half-ass ending where they basically erased all those supporting characters, felt very wrong, so Jensen got very quiet about it. Even when the finale aired, he was pretty damn quiet.

He just “put his head down and did the work.”

And that is so horribly tragic to me.

I think though, that this crappy ending is what the network really wanted anyway. They wanted it to just be the boys. They didn’t want to have to field all the potentially “gay” things from the chemistry between Cas and Dean. They figured the confession was enough to placate us, and then when Covid happened, they realized they lucked out even more and could just leave it there. Hell, they didn’t even need to have Misha on set anymore because – if they weren’t going to address the confession anyway, why bother? They could just say “It started with just the brothers, so that’s how it’s ending” and blame Covid when anyone tried to question it. It all worked out in a way that allowed them to just sit back and wash their hands of all of it, wash their hands of us.

Wash their hands of the actors and cut the ties they said that they valued.

I think they were willing to hurt just about everyone to reach their bottom-line, and hiding behind a worldwide pandemic was an extremely convenient circumstance that allowed them to get away with it basically unscathed.

#15x20 #supernatual #jensen ackles #misha collins #season 15 #covid #spn family #essay #thoughts #I don't know anything for sure obviously #but this all seems to convenient #and Jensen and Misha seem so hurt by all of it #I hate it

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marrys-dream-world · 3 years ago

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If we’re bound to be something, why not together? (chapter two)

First / Next

Read on AO3

Notes: Reminder that these are not one-shots, it’s a multichapter story! Day 2: Masks. @ladynoirjuly

Adrien thrived on masks.

When he was young, his mother introduced to the concept of masks in theatre. She was mainly a movie actress rather than a theater one, but everyone knew it was mostly a hobby. Clever Emilie Agreste dipping her toes in various hobbies before she settles down to her true calling: being a socialite. So she took to her classical greek play the same way she took to verything else in her life, with amusement and grace.

“This is the mask mommy is going to use, Adrien.” She told, handing an elaborate mask to him.

“Why are you going to use this? We can’t see your face!” Adrien, age five, had complained.

His mother giggled. “It’s because it’s a classical play, sweetie, so we’re wearing masks just this time.”

The small-time director nearly cried when Emilie had agreed to the play. Other actresses her level wouldn’t be so willing to stoop down to such an unknown cast, but she could afford it. Literally.

“They used it for an actor to play a lot of characters at the same time.”

“Why do they have to do that?”

She bopped him in the nose. “Because sometimes they have to, Adrien. You understand, don’t you?”

He hadn’t, at the time, but nodded along just to get the reward of her proud smile and a kiss on the top of his head. However, he understood now, learned this lesson with excruciating experience for the past few years. Through years of social events and work photoshoots, he took in clues. “Adrien, you’re talking too much.” Be quiet. “Adrien, stop fooling around”. Don’t joke, you’re not funny. “Adrien, I told you I would be coming soon, when did you get so needy?” Don’t be clingy. Be polite. Be unassuming. So Adrien Agreste™ was born.

Then he met Plagg and everything changed.

He could become a superhero! And what did all heroes have? Personas! They were all very clever, throwings quips as sharp as wips! They were charming and very smooth, not socially awkward boys that never spoke to more than one non-work friend ever! And, in face of having an stunning partner who he wanted to kiss (not his first, of course, no bonna fide superhero would have a first kiss so late, that one peck in the sandbox with Chloé definitely counted… okay, maybe not having kissed yet was better), they were flirty. He didn’t have to be a marketable model, but being a nervous kid with one friend max was also not gonna cut. So, Chat Noir was born.

At least being Chat Noir was fun, unlike being Adrien Agreste™. But it was still a role, a mask, and sometimes his cheeks hurt and his face felt tired from it. Sometimes he just wanted to ask his partner (brave, kind Ladybug) to hold his hand. He couldn't, of course. Her gaze already felt like it was unrevealing him each day and if he gave her a crack in his mask, he felt like she would break it with a touch. And what would he have left? A shivering mass of nerves and sadness and neediness.

Just Adrien.

However, there were times he felt like it was fruitless to even try. Like Chat Noir was even more fragile than he thought.

“I broke down.” His lady said and seeing her slumped over, eyes avoiding his and voice weak felt wrong. He knew she could be like that, he wasn’t naive, but it didn’t stop the feeling of unnatural tugging on his chest. “I was giving back the miraculous to Rena and I couldn’t keep it in. If I did, I don’t think I could be fixed. I told Rena, Alya, who I am. I dropped the transformation and now she knows.”

She sobs and his heart shatters.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, my lady, no.” He said, hugging her. She melted into his arms, now full on crying. “It’s okay, we’re going to figure it out.”

“It’s not okay, I-I gave away my identity and now Shadow Moth has a bigger chance to know.” Ladybug said after she calmed her sobs, arms tightening around him. “I’m trying to find a way to keep him from akumatizing people and I can’t, Chat Noir, I’m stuck and I don’t know what to do.”

“We’re going to figure it out, bug.” He simply repeated, drawing random patterns on her back.

Ladybug extricated herself from his arms.

“Why are you acting like this? Do something! Be mad!” She shouted.

“Why would I be mad? You didn’t do anything wrong.” He barely held back a wince at her shouting. She’s not father, it’s fine. As he regulated his heart rate, he also tried to keep his voice gentle. “Is it bad that someone knows? Yes! But you were hurting, Ladybug. It’s not your fault or mine or Alya’s or even Master Fu’s, it’s Shadow Moth’s! So I can’t be mad at anyone but him.”

Ladybug’s wide-eyed gaze was fixated on him, unblinking.

“I… Thanks, Chaton.” She said, stepping into his personal space once again. She was warm and smelled like sugar and vanilla and her touch, even through the suit, gave him tingles. “I suppose you… want to know my identity now?”

“Nah, my lady, don’t worry about it.” He said, face half buried in her hair. “Don’t want to do this until we’re ready.”

“But you always wanted to know.”

“Yeah, but a lot of things happened and now it’s kinda weird to think about it.” She shifted and her cold nose tickled his neck. He liked it. “I’m… not always like this, you know?”

For a moment he thought she didn’t get it, but soon her small voice reached his ears.

“I know.” Ladybug said. “I’m not always like this, either.”

But it wasn’t the same, he knew. Ladybug would always be the same at her core; brave, bold, kind and so, so beautiful. She gave off her own light and he was honored to orbit around it. And that’s all he could do, orbit. After all, when he wasn’t Adrien Agreste™ or Chat Noir, what was left? Needy, awkward and unfunny Adrien. It really wasn’t the same and the idea of it coming into light made him feel like glass. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stop talking.

“I just don’t know if you would like me if you knew me.” He confessed, words overflowing before he could catch them and stuff them back to the depths of his soul.

“I already know who you are.” She said into his shoulder. “You’re the best partner in the world. Someone I really want to get to know when we can.”

Ladybug’s words flew into his chest, filling his poor neglected heart with warmth until it grew so big it threatened to explode him.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

“I can’t wait to get to know you too, my lady.”

“You know what we can do now, though?” She said, raising her head to look into his eyes. He could trace the constellations of her freckles this close.

“What?” He asked, breathless.

“We can be more honest with each other, from now on.” Ladybug said. “I’ll tell you when I need your help.”

“Please do.” He said, smiling. “I’ll try to tell you when I need help too.”

“Okay.”

A beat of silence.

“Chat Noir?”

“Yes?”

“Help me with guardian duties? I don’t think I can do this alone.”

“Always, my lady. You just needed to ask.”

#ladynoirjuly #ladynoirjuly2021 #ladynoir #ladybug #chat noir #my stuff #ml fic #if we're bound to be something why not together

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lailannajacobs · 4 years ago

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You’re too old for Surprises | GIBP VII

Pairing: fey!Loki x fem!reader

Chapter Summary: You begin to wonder if this whole charade is going anywhere. You get an unwelcome surprise.

Warnings: lil bit of fluff

Word Count: 10k

A/N: so I guess my uni professors were right to tell me to learn how to be more concise because apparently I’ve written another chapter where I’ve rambled on for almost 11k. I hope you enjoy, despite the length, I kinda like this one <3

Good Intentions and Broken Promises | Chapter Seven

You’d learned three new things about Loki over the past couple weeks, none of which would get you any closer to the Hand. One: Loki hated ladybugs. Why? He’d refused to elaborate. Two: as a child he’d cast a spell on the councilmen that had made them itchy everywhere — and he’d been insistent on the word everywhere — for a week. And three: if ever you needed to kill him, you knew that he was allergic to honey. Was any of that going to help you convince the council that you were madly in love? According to Loki and Wanda it would. You still didn’t believe them.

“You know,” Loki paused, his fingers toying with the end of one of your braids, “it doesn’t seem fair.”

You sighed, knowing you couldn’t just ignore him. Not in public at least, “what doesn’t seem fair?”

There were too many witnesses in the small market just outside of the palace not to settle into the act, even if most of them weren’t paying either of you any attention. Just because their opinion didn’t matter like the councilmen’s did, didn’t mean that word might not get to those old moldy rats if you did ignore him.

You nodded your thanks to the jeweller and walked away from possible prying eyes and ears. His fingers fell away, brushing your bare arm on the way down.

“What doesn’t seem fair,” you asked.

“The way you still haven’t told me anything about yourself,” he sighed dramatically, “I must know something about you or people are going to think that Wanda knows you better than I do. And that simply cannot do.”

You slowed down, realizing that you had stomped off without him and looped your arm through his, “I’ve told you lots about myself.”

“I can count everything you’ve told me on one finger. One. Finger,” he repeated, “not hand. Finger.”

You stopped. You’d lied. You’d told him nothing. He shouldn’t have been able to count anything on any finger.

“I suppose two now. That worried look on your face tells me that there’s something important you’re keeping to yourself that you don’t want me to know. So I supposed that’s something else I know about you now,” he said cheerfully.

You scolded at him and didn’t elaborate on what that thing could be, “so what do you know?”

He grinned, “that you hate this place and would rather be anywhere else.”

You almost laughed with relief, “see, you clearly know me so well, why would you even need to know anything else? After all, you know you love me and isn’t that enough?”

“Always,” he chuckled, “especially when you say it with such conviction.”

It was all you could do to keep from glaring at him. He’d never been shy at pointing out how pathetic you were at keeping in character anywhere other than in front of the councilmen. Before you’d gotten caught by Odin, you were a soldier and more importantly, a bodyguard. You weren’t meant for niceties.

But Loki was.

He was good at this. Almost too good. He knew the right things to say, the right time for a smile, and the right time for light touches and prolonged looks. Seven hells, if his act didn’t completely drop to the irritating prick he was whenever you were alone, you’d probably find yourself believing the act too.

“But I supposed it is fair in the end,” Loki continued on with his blissful little speech.

You knew you shouldn’t ask but you found yourself doing it anyways, “and why’s that?”

“Because you need the extra help with all…this. By my count, you’re losing sweetheart.”

You almost jerked back, but you knew that would be proving his point. Especially that you knew he was only goading you to try and learn more about you. Instead, you stopped him with a hand to his chest and pushed him into a secluded corner of the market.

“You do know that there’s no point in putting on a show if no one is around to see you, right?” he smirked, peering over your heard as if he could find a witness. When it appeared that he didn’t see anyone, he whispered, “it only works if people actually think we’re up to something scandalous.”

His cocky tone said it all. It wasn’t only by his count. You really were losing. But that didn’t mean you had to keep on losing.

You smiled sweetly, “if you looked any more eager, Loki, I might think you’ve forgotten that none of this is real.”

“If I’d forgotten that this isn’t real,” he drawled, eyes wickedly bright, “I wouldn’t be the one with my back pressed up against the wall.”

You looked down to where your forearm was pressed against the width of this chest, keeping his back to the wall. And the you realized how close you were standing. There was only the length of your bicep between you, and with your chin tilted upward to look into his eyes, you could feel his breath on your cheek when he chuckled. The whole situation tightened something in your chest, but you ignored it. You couldn’t back off now. Not when you had a plan to put you in the lead.

Keeping your arm where it was, you lifted your other hand and ruffled his hair. He shot you a bemused, but slightly intrigued look. Even though you had him against the wall, he could have left if he really wanted to, but thankfully, he stayed.

You used your most condescending voice when you said, “aw. You actually think that if this were real I wouldn’t be standing exactly where I am now? Cute.”

He moved so fast, the only reason you knew what was happening was because you were expecting it. You’d been sparring more and more often lately, but you’d realized almost immediately that — even if he held back somewhat to keep the fights interesting — you never won any of your matches unless it was truly earned. He liked to lose as much as you did. And you’d basically just him a liar.

Your back was suddenly against the wall, but instead of his arm on your chest, he’d boxed you in with a hand beside your head and the other beside your shoulder. He was even closer than you’d been before, and your head brushed back along the tiles of the wall as you tipped it upward to look at him. The motion almost closed the distance between you so you dipped your chin back down again, feeling your hair get caught in the scratchy stone tiles.

“If this were real,” he whispered, lips practically brushing against your ear, “it wouldn’t matter where I was standing.”

You tilted your head from side to side, “actually…when you think about it, it would make more sense for you to be standing there.”

Loki leaned back slightly, brows furrowed. The sight made you want to smile. So you did.

“I mean, if anyone were to pass by, you’d be shielding me from prying eyes,” you continued, speaking as though you were talking about the weather, “and they would get the benefit of seeing Asgard’s royal ass. Seems to me like it would be something they’d talk about.”

“Clever,” he said dryly but came back with a sly, “so you think my ass is worth talking about?”

You patted him twice on the chest, not failing to notice how hard it was, “if you think so.”

You slipped out under his arm and skipped back out onto the street, unbuttoning a couple random buttons on the loose shirt you were wearing. Loki caught up in a few quick strides, but the moment you stepped out onto the busy street, he noticed that something was off. You were getting too many stares, most of which were pared with slight, knowing smirks.

He waited until you’d turned down a smaller, less populated alley to ask, “what did you do?”

You were seconds away from the palace doors and you couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed.

All you said was, “take a look for yourself.”

He stepped to the side, using a shop window as a mirror. His hair was a mess and his shirt was wrinkled and pulled out of his pants, a move you’d managed to do while he was too busy changing your positions. With your shirt unbuttoned and you hair messy from the stone wall you’d made sure to rub up against, the people who’d seen you walk out of that dark, secluded corner had only been able to assume one thing.

He closed his eyes, his head shaking slightly to the side as if he couldn’t believe it. Letting out a puff of air that might have been a laugh, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. At least he seemed to take defeat well.

You patted him on the chest again, “I believe that makes us even.”

Without waiting to see how he’d react, you spun on your heel and entered the palace.

You were still smiling when you made it back to your room. It felt good to win. Especially when it only increased your chances of getting the Hand. It was also a nice reminder that you could still get the job done even if your short temper had been the reason you never stayed long around the councilmen. Obviously the townspeople weren’t councilmen, but it was practice. And you were getting better. Maybe you’d actually be able to do this.

After a quick change into your riding clothes, you were back in the hallway, ready for a long afternoon of fresh air and freedom before the excruciating council meeting Loki had warned about this morning. You didn’t get far.

A tall, striking fey woman with shoulder length raven hair stood in the middle of the hallway with a hand on her hip as if she’d been waiting for you. Her slick sparring outfit showcased Asgard’s green and black colours, so intricately designed there was only one person who could have designed something that looked like it belonged to a warrior queen.

You stopped, knowing exactly who you’d come face to face with.

Her lips pulled into a terrifying version of Loki’s knowing grin. Even if no one would have mentioned anything about her, the two of them looked so similar, there was no mistaking that this was the women trying to steal the crown. This was Loki’s sister.

She strode down the hallway, gliding over the floor as if she had the power to make it bend to her will. You knew it wasn’t possible, but you’d heard enough councilmen gushing on and on about how powerful and incredible Hela was that a small part of you wondered if it could be.

She stopped too close for comfort, her hand lashing out as if she were about to strike you. Only your years of training kept you from flinching. Instead, she took a loose strand of your hair in her fingers, tugging on it until it fell back into place.

“Pretty,” she hummed, “I can see why he likes you.”

You shrugged, “that’s one of the reasons.”

“And what are the others?” she asked, brow arched in cool disdain.

You didn’t have an answer for her but it didn’t matter. If there was anything Nat had taught you, it was that court was a game of non-answer answers anyways, “ask him yourself. I don’t speak for the king. He’s more than capable of doing that himself.”

You thought for a moment she might correct you, but she wasn’t petty like the councilmen. She wouldn’t be easily taunted.

“Hela, are you trying to terrorize my love and future queen of Asgard?” Loki asked, appearing by your side as if you’d conjured him by name. But you supposed if the walls had ears, maybe you had, “I thought you had hells hounds to tend to. Or perhaps a bat cave to furnish?”

She laughed, but the sound was dry and humourless, “she doesn’t seem terrorized to me.”

“There was a reason I said trying,” he said, a cunning smirk on his lips.

“Always so clever little brother.” Her words should have been a compliment but they sounded more like a bad omen to your ears.

“Always.”

They stared at each other, a million different things passing wordlessly between the siblings that you couldn’t even begin to understand. Loki leaned over to the side so that your shoulders were brushing, but with his hands stuffed into his pockets like usual, it was the extent of your contact.

Finally Hela huffed and shook her head, “I should have known your vicious little pet had warned you. That abomination makes things a lot easier for you, doesn’t it? Seems you can’t beat me in a fair fight.”

“Gamora is her name,” his voice was cold and chilling: the voice of a king, “use it.”

“I know what you’re doing here,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “it won’t work.”

You did your best to keep your face neutral but her words slammed into you like a knife. If she knew what this was and could convince the council of it…you shuddered at the thought.

“Have a nice afternoon, Hela. Enjoy your scheming,” Loki dismissed her with a turn so that he was facing you instead, acting like a wall between the two of you, “if you’re done chatting with my sister, Wanda would like to speak with us.”

He offered you a little grin, but it seemed strained at the edges. You smiled back, knowing it was the appropriate reaction but also because it was a relief to have a way out of this conversation.

“Yes,” you answered and looked around Loki to stare her straight in the eyes, “we’re done here.”

You weren’t going to back down. You’d faced far more horrible things than this woman. You certainly weren’t going to underestimate her, but you weren’t about to let her push you around either.

Her face broke into another terrifying smile that made your hackles rise, but you didn’t look away.

The smile dropped slightly and she scoffed, “I imagine he’s told you what you’re about to walk into. If not, enjoy.”

On that ominous note, you shared one last long look before she strode past, practically barreling into you. You sighed when she turned the corner. She didn’t look like she’d let Loki take the crown easily. Or at all.

“So,” you turned your attention back to him, “that’s your sister.”

“It is,” he remarked, "I’m surprised it took her this long to make an appearance.”

You scratched your lower back, “I’m glad.”

“You handled her well.”

He offered his arm and you took it, walking in step with him down the hall, “would she have eaten me if I hadn’t?”

“We don’t — Oh,” he ran a hand through his hair, a sheepish little smile on his face when he realized you were kidding. You’d rarely seen him so distracted, “you handle this life well, even if you are a terrible actress. It’s almost as if you’re meant for it.”

You stumbled but managed to use his arm to right yourself so that it barely showed, “you’re only saying that because of what happened this morning.”

He gave you a little shrug, apparently not wanting to elaborate.

“This life isn’t something I’d wish on anyone,” you finally said.

“This life on Asgard?” he stopped to look at you as if your answer really mattered, “or this life at the head of the realm?”

You pulled him along, avoiding that intense gaze, “if you keep fishing for answers I’m going to stop talking to you. About anything.”

He grinned, “I believe it’s called getting to know the person you’re about to make queen.”

“I thought we went over this, this morning,” you tucked yourself in closer as gazed up into those emerald eyes, “we’re madly in love. Your questions are redundant and fruitless.”

“Interesting point,” he murmured.

You put more distance between you, “so we can move on then.”

“Not exactly,” he said with a sigh.

This time you were the one to pull him to a stop, “why are you suddenly pushing this?”

He cocked a brow, but something was off. His usually smooth forehead was wrinkled, his jaw set. You hadn’t noticed this morning, but you hadn’t really been looking. Now, you couldn’t ignore it.

“What aren’t you telling me, Loki?” you pushed on, “what changed?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, almost squeezing your arm against his torso as a weird shimmering feeling surrounded you, “there are many things I’m not telling you. A king has many secrets.”

“Prince,” you corrected, “I wouldn’t be here if you were still king.”

“My point exactly,” he shot back, “I need to know you to get my title back. I miss it.”

“You miss the power,” the words came out as a statement, but he wasn’t the only one fishing for answers.

“Of course.”

The answer was almost too quick, but it was hard not to believe him knowing the extent he was going through to get it back.

“And I’m sure you’ve never stopped thinking about your end of the bargain,” he continued, “I’d think you’d want to be better prepared too.”

You hated it. Hated when he was right. But sharing things with him would be walking a fine line between not giving anything away and lying just enough to keep everything straight. But you could do it. For Nat. Always for Nat.

“Fine,” you grunted, shoving past him.

“Fine what?” he called after you.

You turned, crossing your arms over your chest, “you get one random bit of information about me — of my choosing — a day. Nothing more.”

“Seems reasonable,” something that looked almost like relief flashed across his face but it was replaced too quickly with a smirk, “would you like one in return?”

“One what?”

“Bit of information.”

“If you think it’s absolutely necessary,” you huffed.

You stomped down the hallway, itching to go riding.

“YN,” he called.

You stopped.

“I had come to find you for Wanda. She really did want to see you.”

You tilted your head back, looking up at the gilded ceiling, “I thought that was an excuse.”

He caught up to you, “she wanted to see you more specifically. She only asked me to come along because she wasn’t sure how you’d react.” He motioned to your face, “and that was probably the look she was worried about.”

“So what?” you snapped, feeling your temper rise, “she thought you’d be able to calm me down if I didn’t like what she had to say? That because I’m doing this, you control me?”

You could hear the words and knew that you were probably getting worked up over nothing, but you were tired of keeping everything inside. And you could yell at Loki without losing your life. So why wouldn’t you?

He took a step back though you seriously doubted it was because he was afraid, “she asked me to come because Gamora recommended it. If you’d like to know more about her reasons, you’ll have to ask her yourself because she didn’t tell me anything.”

You still wanted to punch him but that didn’t mean you weren’t curious enough to ask, “who’s Gamora?”

His eyes lit up, “a very important but terrifying part of my court. You’ll meet her soon enough.”

You could have ignored him and walked off, but Wanda had been nothing but kind to you. Finding out what she wanted was the least you could do. So despite your better judgement, you motioned for him to lead the way.

You’d assumed you were going to the library, but the hallways were unfamiliar, losing their gaudy decor until they were nothing but grey walls.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Will this count as my one piece of information I owe you today?” asked Loki with a smirk.

“You’re a prick.”

“I’m glad you’ve noticed.”

He nodded for me to go ahead and ask.

“You’re king, or at least you were, but you’re acting as Wanda’s lackey, you apparently take orders from this Gamora person and I saw,” you paused, wondering if you should give yourself away like this, “an angel yelling at you the other day in the hallway as if you were a wayward soldier.”

He raised a brow, shooting you a sidelong glance, “So you were spying on me?”

“Answer the question.”

“That wasn’t a question,” he said.

“But you know what I’m asking.”

He didn’t answer at first and you weren’t sure he would. When you looked up at him, he was staring off into the distance, almost as if he was physically looking for those people.

“My court isn’t exactly…typical,” he shrugged, “I suppose I should tell you a little about them before you meet them but…”

“I’ve already met them,” you finished.

He shook his head firmly, “you’ve met Wanda.”

You thought back to the council meetings you’d gone to, knowing you would have remembered a friendly face, “he’s not on the council.”

You wondered how distracted Loki was to have forgotten that.

“The council isn’t my court,” said Loki, something about his tone telling you that there was an important distinction between the two.

For a moment you weren’t quite sure what he meant, and then it clicked. There had been rumours on the continent of the extremely powerful court that ruled Asgard, but the councilmen had never quite seemed to match their description. But if Loki’s court wasn’t the council then…

“The Court of Mischief,” you murmured.

A fond smile bloomed on his face that caught you off guard. It lit up his face, making his features seem a little less harsh and a lot more boyish. Annoyingly, you felt your remaining anger melt away at the sight of it.

“In my defence,” he said quickly, “we were young and stupid when we came up with the name.”

You grinned, “so the only thing that’s changed is that you’ve gotten old?”

He let out a little laugh, “there’s no cure for stupid.”

You looked, really looked at his face, the smooth planes and sharp angles that barely seemed older than yours despite the hundreds of years you knew he’d lived.

“Seems there’s a cure to getting old though.”

He tilted his head as if he was trying to get a better look at you now, “we get old too. We just age differently. If I were human, I think we’d be about the same age.”

You snorted, “I doubt that. How old are you exactly?”

“One thousand two hundred and seventy six,” he paused, eyes drifting up in thought, “and three moons if you really want to be precise.”

You shook your head at his proud little smirk and did the math, having been taught the biological differences between the races as a child. By the time you figured out how similar you were in age, you realized that the decisions you were blaming him for during the war, couldn’t have been his. He wasn’t old enough to have been king at the time. That would have been his father. The destruction of your realm might have been his family’s fault, but he wasn’t to blame for everything that had happened.

The thought struck you harder than you thought it would and you tried not to stare at him, wondering if you were still breathing. Thankfully you heard yourself mutter, “close enough.”

“Is that a more acceptable age difference to you then?” he asked with a grin as if he hadn’t noticed the way you were suddenly gasping for breath.

You planned on keeping it that way. You forced a smile as said as lightheartedly as you could, “well, I still think you’re old mushrooms but yes, much more acceptable.”

“Good,” he whispered, “because for a moment there you looked like you were about to faint. But I’m sure that’s what happens when you try to do arithmetic using such large numbers.”

So he had noticed. Of course he had. Then you realized he was giving you an out. For all of his prying this morning, he was giving you an out now. You were so thankful that you forgot to smack him for the comment.

“Exactly,” you were to surprised to say anything else.

You stood there, staring at each other until a crash sounded in a nearby room. Loki took a step back and motioned for you to follow. You touched your ears, finding their rounded tips itchy, and sighed. What good was a longer life span when you were still running out of time? You’d give away some of your own years if it meant keeping the pendent on your chest from getting colder and whiter.

Loki pursed his lips, looking like he was about to say something else when an old noble fey bustled down the hall, his fey agility dampened with age.

Loki pursed his lips, looking like he was about to say something else when an old noble fey bustled down the hall, his enhanced agility dampened with age.

“Looking forward to the first trial, Prince Loki!” He said, voice jolly as he gave Loki a clap on he back. Loki bristled at the touch but the fey didn’t notice, which made you wonder how he’d survived this long with such poor survival instincts, “I know it must feel a little archaic to you, who’s never seen one, but I must say, the first trial has always been a favourite of mine. Always great to watch!”

Sterling nodded, never once taking his hands out of his pockets, “we’re excited as well.”

You nodded along, wondering what trials you were supposed to attend. Loki hadn’t mentioned anything, but you figured it probably wasn’t important when all you had to do was sit in a comfy booth and watch.

“I can’t say we’ve ever had a human go through one, let alone all three,” he continued turning toward you, “how are you feeling about it, my dear?”

Like you wanted to stab something.

Loki, though he wasn’t avoiding your eyes, didn’t look the most confident. And with the two fey staring at you, one curious the other embarrassed, you finally realized that Loki hadn’t told you half of what your deal entailed. Suddenly Hela’s departing comment made sense.

So actually, you felt like you wanted to stab multiple somethings. Or simply one particular someone.

“Oh a little nervous,” you said with your best court smile, impressed it hadn’t turned to a snarl, “it seems like these trials came out of the blue. I wish I’d had more time to prepare.”

He took my hand in his and gave it a little pat, “I can imagine it must feel that way, Ms. YN. However, I’m sure the two of you will do just fine.”

With a slight nod in Loki’s direction, he wished you both a nice evening and left down the hall.

“Trials?” you whispered.

He shot out his hands as if he thought yo were about to explode.

“Trials?” you repeated, a little louder this time.

“YN I can—”

“I can’t believe you!” you punched his arm, thinking, when he didn’t even wince, that he should be thankful you hadn’t whipped out your dagger, “you said that all I had to do was convince a council that we were in love by the orange moon. You hells scum! You didn’t say anything about trials!”

He took a step forward then thought the better of it, rocking back on his heels, “I know, but I was hoping you’d get acclimated to Asgard first. I was going to tell you.”

“Were you? Or did you just not want me to disagree and leave you stranded?” I snapped back.

“With the book on the line, I was sure you wouldn’t,” his voice was clipped, the first sign that his anger was rising to meet your own, “I was simply trying to be considerate.”

“Considerate my ass,” you growled, “you’re a coward.”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything. Good. Let him stew in his poor decisions.

You crossed your arms, knowing that as long as they were tucked under your armpits, you wouldn’t be tempted to reach for your dagger, “so when is this first trial?”

He hesitated as if you might be talking to someone else, but seemed to realize he was the only person around. He sighed, “tomorrow.”

“For Ceridwen’s sake!” you yelled, “you were going to tell me this when? When we were walking into the trail and I’d be seconds away from being taken by surprise?”

You could feel the control on your abilities slipping quickly, an overwhelming itchy feeling blooming at the base of your spine. You began counting windows, desperately trying to rein in your power. The window counting was useless. Only the sound of a distinctly animal snarl kept you in check, washing you with thoughts of Nat.

Loki cocked his head at the sound, looking at you with far more interest than you wanted or needed. You strongly considered punching him to distract him.

“Do you even realize what’s at stake?” you demanded. The sound wasn’t much more human.

His unnerving staring never subsided. You wanted to rip him to shreds.

“I didn’t realize this was so important to you.”

“If I’m going through all this, what do you think?” you spat and turned away.

“Do you have any idea where you’re going?” he called after you.

You stopped and squeezed your eyes shut. You took in another useless attempt at a calming breath.

“Let me guess,” you said after a few more breaths, “the trials have something to do with what Wanda wanted to speak to me about.”

“Yes. She’s a few doors down.”

You rolled your shoulders back and turned, “I swear on Ceridwen, Gwendion and every other one of the gods that I’m going to stab you someday very, very soon.”

“When this is all over, I’ll give you one free stab,” he said.

“If you’re lucky, I won’t stab you before we meet up with Wanda.”

You stopped at the open door to what looked like a servant’s Kitchen the smell of baked bread wafted out to greet you. The four pairs of eyes inside were already looking up as if they’d heard you approach. Of course they’d heard. Other than Wanda, none were human.

She offered you a small smile from her position on a barstool, pencil drumming absentmindedly on the notepad she had on her lap. You wanted to stay focused on a friendly face, but the woman sitting up on the counter radiated so much power that it was impossible not to.

She appeared rather average in height and other than her green skin that marked her as a descendant of the earth elementals, you would have described her as a regular soldier. That was, if you’d had no sense of awareness. Something lurked behind her eyes that you’d never seen before and you could have bet your life on it not being from any of the 13 realms. There was only one person that Loki had described as terrifying. That Hela had described as an abomination. This had to be Gamora. When she caught you staring, her lips pulled into a razor-sharp grin, but she didn’t say anything.

The Dark Elf you’d seen in the courtyard weeks ago sat in the chair below, booted feet propped up casually on the table in front of him. Up close the prosthetic arm looked even more impressive, a glinting black series of metallic plates. He grinned as if he could tell exactly how you felt about the woman sitting behind him. The smile lit up his already handsome face, but even that wasn’t enough to distract you from the thought that the only way for a Dark Elf to have lost an arm was for it to have been ripped off.

The other woman in the room, the angel, stood in the corner, dark blue wings tucked in tightly behind her. Despite their massive army, the angels were depicted as calm and peaceful protectors of the realms. She was nothing like that. Her features were sharp and brutal, her eyes were harsh. She looked like a woman who picked fights — and won them. She was the angel you’d seen yelling at Loki the other day.

“Everyone, I want you to officially meet YN,” Loki nodded toward you as if they hadn’t been staring at you already, “YN, this is everyone. Wanda Maximoff you already know, the woman on the counter is Gamora, sitting is Bucky Barnes and brooding in the corner is Nebula.”

You stared at Wanda as if seeing her for the first time. There was only one Wanda Maximoff in the 13 realms that was of any importance, and that was the Wanda that was heir to the Zephys throne. She’d defected before you were born, her twin brother leading the realm since he came of age. No one really knew where she’d gone, but it seemed she’d been right in front of you all along. Wanda shot you a tight smile. You weren’t ready to return it. You understood why she hadn’t said anything, but you couldn’t help feel a little betrayed. Especially that she — and apparently the rest of them — knew about your ruse and hadn’t said anything.

“So,” you stared them all down one by one, “you must be the Court of Mischief.”

“Did you really have to tell her?” Groaned the Dark Elf — Bucky.

“Unfortunately she already knew. It wasn’t my doing,” Loki motioned for you to take a seat anywhere, “and speaking of things she knows, she knows,”

There wasn’t a free seat where you could clearly see everyone in the room and the exit so you stayed where you were, leaning against the doorframe.

“About time. Pulling this whole thing off would have been hard even if you’d told her about it the moment she broke in,” something about his voice told you that this wasn’t the first time he said this, “it’s not like it was going to be anywhere near easy…especially with her looking like she’d about to gauge your eyes out.”

“That’s love,” you grunted.

“When the council asks, maybe say it with a little more conviction,” he offered with a smirk.

“I can’t help it if there are several other things I’d rather say with more conviction.”

He tilted his head as if he was listening to something. The the lights flickered as if the word darkened around him for a moment, but it was gone before you could think anything of it.

His smile was firmly in place when he said, “get whatever you have to say out of your system now, YN. Or at least do it while I can watch you cuss out Loki.”

“Where should I start?”

He inspected Loki, his blue eyes lighting up, “why don’t you start with his hair. He looks like he spent the past year living in the woods on his own.”

You looked over at Loki’s mess of wavy dark hair that fell to his shoulders. You actually thought it suited him, not that you’d ever say it aloud.

“Like a moss troll,” you agreed instead, “do you think I should cut it?”

He leaned further back in his chair as if he was trying to get a better look at Loki, “can you cut hair?”

“No.”

He grinned, “then absolutely.”

His smile was infectious and you couldn’t help but return it. There was something easygoing and familiar about him that, for some reason you couldn’t put your finger on, reminded you of Nat. It was probably the reason you instantly liked him.

“Sweetheart,” Loki drawled, “if you wanted to run your fingers through my hair so badly, all you had to do was ask.”

He was sitting in a posture that was almost identical to Bucky’s, with his hands behind his head as if he were lounging in a bed. They seemed to take up most of the kitchen with their tall, square bodies and long limbs that they should have been intimidating if it weren’t for the boyish smirks on their faces. You’d never seen Loki this relaxed. Actually, when you thought about it, the whole room was missing the air of tension that seemed to fill the rest of the palace. You wanted to let yourself give into the feeling, but you couldn’t forget what you were doing and who was waiting for you in Niflheim.

“Would you really let me that close to your head with a pair of scissors?” You asked, your earlier promise fresh in your mind though you weren’t feeling quite so stabby anymore.

His green eyes focused on yours, some of that playfulness gone. It was replaced by something you couldn’t quite name, but something you couldn’t look away from either, “Yes. I trust you.”

The rest of the room seemed to fall away until Loki was the only thing in focus. You searched his expression for anything that might tell you whether or not he was lying, but his face gave nothing away. You couldn’t say that you trusted him, but then again, if you were going through with this bargain, then some part of you had to believe him.

“There are scissors in the drawer behind me,” announced Wanda happily, breaking the strange staring contest you were having.

“Do I need to remind you all that the first trial is tomorrow?” the angel — Nebula — barked, grabbing everyone’s attention, “you’re never going to pull this off if we don’t start taking this seriously.”

Everyone still had smiles on their faces and Wanda’s hand was still in the drawer until Gamora whispered, “she’s right.”

The whole room froze faster than if she if she’d screamed the words, killing the conversation as if it had never happened.

“The first trial is harder than the second, barely easier than the final one,” Nebula continued, pushing off the wall. She stopped at the table, palms flat on the worn out surface, looking between you and Loki, “if you fail this, Hela will take the throne.”

Bucky tilted his head, looking up at Gamora, “how set in stone is their failure?”

Gamora’s eyes clouded over, but it was so quick you almost missed it, “it’s still blurry.”

Loki’s court let out an audible sigh. You didn’t understand much of what had just happened, but you figured by their relief that you weren’t completely doomed. You also knew that you would have to ask Loki later if Gamora was a seer. Now wasn’t the time but it was something you should know.

“Anyone have any ideas of what the trial might be?” Loki asked.

“How about we start with telling me what to expect instead?” you interjected, unable to keep the annoyance from your voice.

“We can’t tell you much,” Wanda said with a sad smile, “sometimes it can be something big and life-threatening and other times it can be as boring as two people sitting in a room. Officially, the trials call for a Seer to decide each trial, but there hasn’t been one since,” she stuttered and took in a deep breath, “since Queen Freya.”

It was no secret who she was talking about, so there was only one reason she could have had for pausing. You didn’t know what it was, but it couldn’t be good. And even though you were still pissed at Loki, for some reason you didn’t want to make things more uncomfortable for him, so you took the opportunity to get more information about the possible Seer in the room.

You nodded toward Gamora, “why can’t she do it?”

Gamora raised her brows, dark eyes zeroing in on you. It almost made you regret having the audacity to ask the question.

“Now, now, Gam,” Bucky grinned up at her, “it was an innocent question. No need to kill her with your stare.”

Your eyes must have widened because Wanda added, “she can’t actually do that.”

“Anymore,” Gamora whispered ominously.

Loki shot them all pointed looks and turned back to you, “Gamora isn’t officially a citizen of Asgard. Even if she wanted to do it, she couldn’t.”

You nodded, glad to have your suspicions confirmed, “and how long are the trials supposed to last?”

“Anywhere between a few minutes and a full day,” Wanda tapped her pen a few times, “though most of my research showed that a few hours was the average. There hasn’t been a series of trials in any of our lifetimes. So we can’t tell you for sure.”

“How many cases have there been?” you asked, “you people live thousands of years.”

“Five,”

“And how dangerous is it?”

“Only one couple died,” she answered grimly.

Her words didn’t ease the knot in your stomach, but they didn’t make it any worse either, “that’s not bad odds.”

“That couple was fey, not human,” Wanda pointed out, “you’re coming in at a disadvantage, YN.”

All Loki had said was that you’d have to convince the council you were in love, but the trials weren’t designed for someone like you — or at least the person you had to be while you were here. You weren’t meant to get through this. You looked down, your eyes catching the small bump where the frigid pendant lay on your chest. But maybe you still had enough of the real you left to make it out of this alive.

“I can’t afford to lose,” you said, “what do I need to do?”

“This might be a silly question,” YN asked once they’d filled her in as much as they could, “but is it safe to be talking about this here? You told me the walls have ears.”

Loki ignored the look Nebula shot his way and explained, “the kitchen is warded with spell magic. Only the people in this kitchen can hear what we’re saying.”

She sighed, blowing loose strings of hair from her face. He wasn’t fooled into thinking she wasn’t still angry with him, even if she smiled along with Bucky and Wanda from time to time. She’d never even moved from her spot by the door. YN was a mixed bag of emotions with a knot so tight that Loki felt like he hadn’t even come close to unraveling it. But she never bothered to hide her anger from him, which meant that he caught every glare sent his way in between the smiles and the questions she shot at his court.

Loki wouldn’t breath easy until the first trial was over, but now that she knew about the trials, he was starting to think that maybe his half baked plan wasn’t completely insane. And she kept impressing him at every turn, so maybe they really could do this. He couldn’t afford to otherwise. He didn’t know what Hela was planning, but Gamora had warned him that it would end in war. Loki owed it to his people — and his brother — to make sure that didn’t happen.

“So that’s it then?” she asked, “there’s nothing more we can do until the trials?”

“That’s it,” said Wanda.

Wanda had taken to wandering around the room as they’d helped YN get ready, and she’d only become more of a whirlwind of movement since. The cool breeze that accompanied her wasn’t unwelcome in the heat of the kitchen, but something else was on her mind, that much was clear. Loki wasn’t sure that it was something they’d get into while YN was around.

Another bread roll floated over to Wanda as if she’d forgotten that she still hadn’t gotten to the one that was in her hand.

YN stared at the floating roll suspiciously, “whose magic is that?”

Wanda snapped out of her thoughts as if she’d been physically poked, “mine. Why?”

“That’s elemental magic, right? Not fey?”

It still annoyed Loki that he knew next to nothing about YN, but one thing he knew for sure was that her awe and confusion regarding magic was real. Wherever she had come from couldn’t have had much. Which was basically every realm. Well that narrowed it down.

“Oh,” Wanda smiled, seeming pleased to start a conversation to which she actually knew the answer. Loki knew there hadn’t been much of that lately, “yes, elemental. Fey magic is complicated and I don’t use much of it. My own abilities work fine for me.”

Her eyes widened slightly and she whispered, “so anyone can harness magic…”

“To an extent,” Loki interrupted before she could get her hopes up, “it depends on how resilient the body. Harnessing magic is draining and certain races can handle magic better than others.”

“So what you’re saying is that I can’t use magic,” she huffed, scratching her ear.

Loki wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her the truth, but they needed to start trusting each other more. At least a little bit. What better way than this?

“No, you can, but only simple spells that won’t take a toll on your body,” at the sight of her furrowed brows, he continued, “when you harness magic that’s beyond your physical abilities to contain, it takes from the body instead. Depending on the difference, it could kill you.”

She nodded but stayed quiet.

“On that lovely note, don’t you two have somewhere to be?” Bucky asked.

“Unfortunately yes. Nebula, before I go, we should talk,” Loki knew the answer to his next question before he asked it, “YN, do you want an escort back to your room?”

“No,” she scoffed then seemed to realize how harsh it sounded and sucked in a long, slow breath. If anything, he could say that she was trying now. He almost preferred it the other way around.

“Actually, I was planning on making soup and I could use a hand while Sterling’s busy,” said Wanda.

YN paused then shrugged.

Wanda offered her arm, dipping her chin slightly so that only Sterling could see as they left the kitchen. His team was looking after her, at least that was one small mercy.

Bucky stood, his control over the Brollochan loosening now that YN was gone. They pooled around his ankles and swirled upward, pleased that their leash was no longer so tight, cooling and sucking the joy from the air around them. But Bucky’s back was straight, shoulders back, his chin lifted as he approached, the weight of his curse only apparent in the leeches that clung to him.

“I’m headed to Nidavellir. I got word from the Dwarves that Hela had a meeting with the Dwarven King and I want to know what she was doing,” he said.

Loki nodded and Bucky vanished before his eyes, leaving an eerie feeling behind.

Nebula crossed her arms, staring daggers at him, unflinching, as always, in the wake of the Brollochan.

“Nebula,” he began.

She didn’t let him try to come up with an excuse, “you’re being reckless. That human isn’t prepared for this and it’s not all her fault.”

Loki knew he probably could have handled the whole situation better, but he just didn’t know how to. He ignore the feeling of helplessness creeping in, telling himself that it was the after effects of the Brollochan.

“I know. But maybe you can help her.”

Nebula’s eyes narrowed, “Help her with what?”

“Defending herself.”

Her wings flared out and she grit her teeth to pull them back in, “I’m commander of your army, Loki. We both know a war is coming. I don’t have time to train her.”

“And you think I do?” he countered.

“I know you do.”

Obviously she hadn’t bought his pathetic excuse of a lie, but if he couldn’t lie to her, maybe he’d be able to convince her with the truth, “if they see me training her, it’ll look suspicious.”

“I thought you said she was a decent fighter,” said Nebula, “and anyways, you training her will look no different than the two of you sparring.”

Loki stayed where he was, but pinned his commander with his stare, “the council is getting more bold. They put poison in her breakfast yesterday.”

“Did you tell her?”

“No.”

“Good,” she said with a slight nod, “and there’s nothing I can do to train against poison.”

“I need to make sure she lives.”

“Then do it yourself.”

“I didn’t realize you were an airy,” you peeled the carrot slowly, keeping your eyes focused on the task, “explains quite a few things though.”

You’d given up trying to listen in on Loki’s conversation with Nebula and decided to focus on the person who hadn’t exactly lied to you, but hadn’t been all that honest either. Though you couldn’t blame her for not telling you she who she was. She was the rightful heir to the Zephys’ throne and she’d run away from it — or so the rumours went. You would have kept quiet in her position as well. Though you hoped she would be in a more talkative mood now. You might have still been furious about the trial tomorrow, but your anger was losing a battle against fear, and that was so much worse than any surprise you’d gotten today.

“I knew you’d figure it out eventually,” she said, and you you knew she wasn’t talking about her race.

“You could have mentioned it before and it wouldn’t have changed a thing,” you doubted she would ever understand how true your words were, “royalty doesn’t exactly impress me.”

She smiled, “I’ve noticed.”

You began to chop the carrots, the repetitive motion stirring something in your brain, “so that means you technically outrank Loki.”

“Technically,” she muttered, not seeming too enthused by it.

You were surprised by how much you hated seeing the expression on her face, “anyone else have a secret past I don’t know about?”

“They all do,” she said, “but those aren’t my stories to tell.”

You nodded and got back to the chopping, mulling over what you’d learned. Loki’s court was powerful and you still didn’t know the extent of it. You had no clue who or what Gamora was, only that she was slightly — really — terrifying and oozed a scary amount of power. Loki’s master of information should have been queen of the Airies. You didn’t know who Nebula and Bucky were but there was no doubt in your mind that they were just as powerful. And yet, something scared them enough that they’d needed to rope a complete stranger into their plans. You weren’t dumb enough to think that Hela was their only problem either. You had a sinking suspicion that whatever was going on under the surface was somehow connected to Odin wanting the Hand. The two were too important to be a coincidence. You knew you could warn them, but you’d never leave with the Hand if you did.

You stole a glance at Wanda. She looked no different than she had yesterday, her long red hair falling in soft waves around her face as she chopped the onions. But it was as if you were finally seeing her for the first time. With power like hers, she could be the most dangerous person in the room. Yet she was their scholar…why?

“Aren’t you going to ask what happened?”

You straightened, shocked into thinking she’d just read your mind. Then you realized she was asking about her exile. Her shoulders were pushed back and her chin was high, but her movements were more jittery than usual. You didn’t know what the real story was, but you weren’t about to press. It didn’t matter how she’d gotten here or why. The past was safer left where it was. You sure as despair in the seven hells didn’t want your past dug up and you couldn’t imagine she did either.

“No I’m not,” you rolled another onion her way, “but I am going to ask if you’re happy here.”

“Having second thoughts about staying?” she asked with a watery smile.

Nat was too important to even consider leaving.

You shook your head, “just asking. Because if the highest ranked court member isn’t happy, then, as the lowest, how am I supposed to be?”

“You’re not the lowest,” she affirmed in a way that made you want to ask who was, “and even if you were, it wouldn’t matter. You’re going to be queen in a few moons.”

“Don’t remind me,” you muttered.

She chuckled, “you’ll do fine.”

“I’d better,” the thought of failure made you feel sick to your stomach, “but you still didn’t answer my question.”

You weren’t sure why you wanted to know so badly, but it somehow felt important. You stopped your chopping and really looked at her, waiting for an answer.

“I am,” she finally answered, and I didn’t doubt it for a second.

“Good. So I guess there’s still hope for me.”

The gown Valkyrie had sent over while you were in the kitchen this afternoon could have been armour. Black and silver with a bodice made of leather, the only way it qualified as a gown were the floor length skirts that would have gotten you killed in battle. But here, they were perfect. Here, in the council room, they were a different kind of armour that you were extremely thankful for.

“We do need to discuss what happens if she dies,” the eldest councilman stated calmly. Not as if they were talking about life threatening situations or anything.

The plates had just been cleared away after a very awkward dinner, and the moldy old rats were finally getting down to business. And honestly, you were getting more than a little fed up with people casually mentioning your death. You lifted your chin a little higher. It wasn’t enough to make them believe that you and Loki were in love. You needed to make them believe that you were their future queen. You stared them down one by one.

“I don’t think impossibilities need to be dealt with,” Loki said.

Helio smirked, “she’s human. Has love made you so blind that you cannot see that it’s much more likely that she’ll die a horrible death? Seems your reasoning fell away with your title.”

“I believe the loss of it has only made me wiser,” Loki turned to you, “what do you think, sweetheart?”

“I think you’re an idiot either way.”

Was what I wanted to say.

What I actually said was, “I think that if these trials are truly a test of true love, then you could never be more right.”

His eyes lit up with laughter, but he kept it together enough to say, “with you, everything’s been so right, nothing’s ever been wrong.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at the absurdity of his words but a smile grew on your lips, threatening to turn into laughter as well. You were pretty sure the stress of it all was getting to your head and you were afraid that if you let even a giggle out, it might morph into something hysterical.

You put a hand over your heart, “we’re meant for this.”

“Together, how can anything go wrong?” Loki added, not one to be outdone.

You were going to add another cheesy line to the mix but Helio had clearly had enough.

“It’s time to swear in to the trials, Loki,” he stated like one of your old school teachers trying to get control over the babbling bunch of idiots you were.

All humour vanished from Loki’s face, “I don’t want YN doing it.”

“Both of you,” he sneered.

Every instinct you possessed begged you to stay far away from any kind of magical promise. Loki had only sealed your bargain with a human’s handshake. And not only did he also not want you to be a part of this one, but he hadn’t decided that for you. He’d only stated what he wanted. Loki was giving you the chance to choose for yourself. You needed to convince the council you were in love and if this was the only was to do it, then you’d get through it.

“It’s okay, Loki,” the words tasted sour in your mouth, “I’ll do it.”

He sighed and seemed to swallow the words he wanted to say before finding new ones, “I want to remind you, YN, that by swearing in, if I die, you face a death sentence as well.”

You couldn’t believe how barbaric these people were. The gods should have created an eighth layer of hell specifically for them. Only the minute odds of a powerful fey like Loki dying kept the placid look on your face. At least you hoped it was still there when you said, “I can’t let you be the only one to swear in.”

“All I face is exile,” he rushed the words, “Please—”

Helio cut in gleefully, “She doesn’t have a choice.”

“No I don’t,” you agreed, to both of their surprises, “if I had to live, exiled, with the knowledge that you died during these trials then it would be a fate worse than death,” you stared at Loki, hoping he understood how much you needed this chance at the Hand, “we do this together.”

Loki pursed his lips and turned to Helio, “we don’t have to do this part.”

“Oh I truly think we do,” he practically giggled.

Five windows. There were five windows in this room. You’d counted them all three times but it hadn’t made you want to punch Helio in his perfectly symmetrical face any less.

Loki extend his hand across the table. You took it, oddly comforted by the steady weight of his hand in yours. What little comfort you felt was shattered by the fear that he’d just manipulated your emotions, but you pushed the thought away. He could only do so by pulling on memories. None good had surfaced.

He gave your hand a soft squeeze and stood from the table, leading you toward the older councilman who had a small blade in his hand. You felt like you were going to throw up. Blood magic. You didn’t need to be an expert at magic to know how binding this kind of magic was.

Loki lifted your hands but motioned for the councilman to hold off. He turned all of his intense stare on you, his green eyes dark like the jungle at night.

“Are you certain you want to do this?”

You didn’t dare trust yourself to speak. The weight of the pendant on your chest reassured you that it was worth it, but the thought of losing your life when you still had Nat’s to protect made you want to crawl out of your skin. You nodded.

He opened his hand so that his palm was facing upward and you copied the motion. The councilman didn’t look for any kind of confirmation before chanting a series of words in the ancient tongue. He proceed to make a small slice on both your palms, but you barely felt it. He pressed your hands together and a chill ran through you. He said a few more words and then released your hands.

When you looked down, there was no sign that your skin had been cut at all. The only difference was a small black band that looked like a ring on both your middle fingers.

You took in a shaky breath and somehow managed to say, “and this is binding until the end of the trial?”

Helio grinned, taking it upon himself to answer, “not this time. This oath is for both of your lifespans.”

You walked — or more like you stomped — down the hallways, back to your rooms in silence, the air hanging heavy between you. Through clenched smiles and by gripping tightly onto Loki’s forearm, you somehow managed to dampen your anger long enough for him to continue with a few more pleasantries before you left the party. You hadn’t spoken another word after that damning question, only nodding politely or smiling. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything that didn’t begin with a slew of profanities.

Loki stopped at your door but you motioned for him to keep moving. When he stopped at his door, he raised a brow. He hadn’t once looked your way or indicated that he felt any kind of remorse about what had just happened. You didn’t know if that made you want to punch him more of less.

You wrenched open the door and practically shoved him through it.

“What kind of tradition is this?” you demanded once the door was shut tightly behind you, “how could you people think this is acceptable? They basically told me these trials would guarantee my death! They’re planning on killing us both!”

“You’re not going to die,” he said calmly.

“It’s barbaric!”

“We’ll find a way around it.”

You stomped up to him, “it’s a blood oath you idiot! How could you people do this?”

He leaned back against a dresser, arms crossed over his chest, “it wasn’t my decision. And yes, it’s barbaric. There’s a reason it hasn’t been done for centuries. Especially that there was never a reason for the council to care until Hela came back and challenged my rule,” he ran a hand through his hair, “actually, it’s a clever move on their part. With your lifespan and Thor gone…they’ve all but guaranteed that Hela will take the throne eventually. It’s the perfect failsafe.”

He didn’t say it, but you could hear it in his voice. It was a move he should have seen coming. But instead of anger, his eyes took on a far off look that looked like…sorrow. You still felt like you had liquid fire in your veins, but the council had done this, not him. He’d offered you a way out. He’d tried to stop it. So instead of asking how he was so calm about this or demanding he do something right away, you let out a long breath and let it all go — for now.

With the fight leaving you, you leaned against the wall and looked up at him.

“Who’s Thor?” you asked softly.

He froze, his gaze sliding over to you his only movement, “would you believe me if I told you nobody?”

“Not a chance.”

Not with the way he’d said the name. And judging by the fact that he hadn’t tried to lie to you, he knew that too.

His jaw clenched, “My brother.”

“You have a brother?” You asked, stupidly.

“Had.”

“Oh,” you breathed, “what happened?”

“Murder,” he said, voiced clipped.

His words felt like a punch to the gut and for a moment it felt like he had just told you Nat had been murdered while you were here pretending to play the loving future queen.

He was no longer looking at you, his hands clenched tightly into fists on his lap. You knew you should let it go, but you couldn’t help it.

“Do you know who did it?”

His eyes remained downcast, “No.”

You had a feeling he was lying but you weren’t about to press further. He’d already told you more than he had to.

Now that you were calmer, you realized you were actually in Loki’s room. For the first time. Of course, if you’d asked, he would have let you in, but you never had. It was strange to see all of the things that made him…well, a normal person. The dresser cluttered with pencils and ink and a mass of papers. The clothes folded neatly on the settee. The massive, tightly made bed.

“You’re welcome to stay,” he offered with an infuriating smirk when he noticed where you were looking.

You rolled your eyes, “I’d much rather be in my own room thank you very much.”

“Unless it’s when you want to inspect mine.”

“I wasn’t inspecting,” you defended quickly.

He raised a brow.

“I was observing,” you corrected, “as one does in a new environment.”

“It feels more like inspecting to me,” his grin only grew, “but what do I know?” he spread his arms out, “observe all you want.”

You waved him off, “I’m good.”

You turned to go through the door connecting your rooms but felt like opening it would somehow mean more than opening an actual door so you went to the one that led out into the hallway.

You paused before the door, “you know, if tomorrow doesn’t kill me then I will kill you for keeping this from me.”

“I think it might make more sense for you to kill the people making you do this,” said Loki.

“Don’t worry,” you vowed, “I’ll kill them all.”

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #marvel fic #Marvel AU #fan fiction #fanfic #loki x reader #loki x you

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yellowsuitcase · 4 years ago

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Betwixt; Draco Malfoy: Chapter - The Job

Introduction(please read!)

First and foremost, warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter, but as a forewarning this story will contain mentions of sexual assault as well as swearing/strong language, and smut.

There are some characters in this story that are mine, however, the majority of them are based off of characters in JK Rowling's Harry Potter series. I do not support JK Rowling.

This is a Royalty AU, magic as seen in the Harry Potter series does not exist within this universe.

This series is also being posted on Wattpad @Tonix27 and it is currently In progress / Completed

I plan to create a Spotify playlist for this story, when I do it'll be posted in my masterlist for Betwixt.

Cover and Beta work by @10amnoodles on Instagram and Twitch

Please do not repost. There are trends on Tik Tok of people taking sections of writing from their favorite fanfics and posting them, I do not want this done with my work. However, you may post a screenshot of the fanfic's cover with the summary.

A/N: First chapter of the series I’ve been working on! I’m so excited for you guys to read this!!!!

Summary: To make ends meet after her mother's death, Y/N, a young mom, living within the kingdom of Sithrawl, lands a job at the castle working for the Royal Family, specifically for the prince, Draco Malfoy. What starts as a way to make money for her son quickly turns into an unexpected romance between her and the prince. Y/N soon finds herself stuck between her responsibilities as a mother and her longing for love and adventure

Warning(s): Swearing

Word Count: 5.9k

Credits: @10amnoodles Check her out! her artwork is incredible and this series wouldn’t be happening without her :)

Directory

I shut the rickety door and leaned against it, the weight of my body keeping it closed. A deep sigh left my lips, and I relaxed my shoulders, finally feeling safe. It was silent in my home. Jasper must be asleep. I pushed myself off the door and crept around the corner. The wall was cold to the touch, and I was surprised to feel an indent underneath my fingertips. I pulled my hand away to see a long crack embedded in the plaster. There were already so many in this damn house, not to mention the little holes in the roofing and the lack of insulation. It was getting colder every day.

Sighing to myself, I made a mental note of the new damage and peeked into the bedroom. There he was, his dirty blonde hair cast over his eyes as he slept. I put my hand on his shoulder and gently shook him, waking him up. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. Upon seeing me, he jumped up. “Mummy!” he said excitedly. My heart swelled as I took my boy into my arms and hoisted him onto my hip.

“How are you, my love? Hungry?” I ask. He nodded eagerly. I chuckled lightly at his toothy grin. He was always hungry, but weren’t all six-year-olds? Luckily for him, I managed to get some bread for free down at the market. Mrs. Weasley, the kind woman at the bakery, has been sneaking me food for the past two weeks. And although I was grateful for it, I was also ashamed. I would’ve been able to pay for her tasty treats, but my family’s funds had been stretching thinner and thinner ever since my mother passed.

She died on the first of October, just as the cold was setting in. It wasn’t sudden; she’d been sick for a month or so before finally laying to rest. I had tried to take up her old job. She worked as a maid for a relatively wealthy family, the Greengrass’. However, when I knocked upon their door, a middle-aged woman dressed in my mother’s old uniform answered. That had told me everything I needed to know. Since then, I’ve been scouring the village for potential work. I’d managed to get a few odd jobs here and there, but nothing long term, and I needed to feed my boy.

“What did you get today, Mum?” Jasper questioned. I turned to him and kissed his forehead.

“Just some bread. Is that alright?” I asked hopefully. He’d never been the type of kid to complain, but I knew that, as he grew, so did his appetite. Bread was quickly becoming dull. Sooner or later, he’d voice his distaste for it. To my surprise, Jasper smiled and squeezed his arms around my neck, giving me a tight hug. “Yep!” he replied cheerfully. My anxiety quickly faded away. I kissed his cheek and sat him down at the table.

“Did you do anything fun today?” I asked as I began slicing the loaf. Jasper hummed, thinking to himself.

“I pretended to be a cow!” he declared, looking proud of himself. Jasper had always been quite the fan of cows. His favorite activity was trotting around the house, mooing. In my opinion, it was the cutest thing ever, but I may be a bit biased.

“Did you? And how did you do that?” I asked, eyebrows raised. Jasper smirked and puffed out his chest. “I ate grass!” he announced loudly. I shook my head in bewilderment. “You ate grass?” Jasper nodded proudly. “Yup! And look,” he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a bundle of green grass, dumping it onto the table. “I saved some for you,” he finished, pushing the greenery towards me. I did my best to hide my grimace and gently placed his plate of bread in front of him. “That’s...wonderful, uhm, sweetheart, it’s not good to eat grass. You could get sick,” I said quietly, trying to deliver this news gently. A frown appeared on Jasper’s face, and he dropped his head, his eyes now staring at his lap.

“Oh, Jas, it’s alright. I know you were only playing, but humans can’t eat grass,” I said while taking my own seat at the table. He reluctantly looked up, his pouty lips on full display. “Come on, love, eat some of your bread. The sun is going down, and I don’t like washing dishes in the dark,” I spoke sternly, trying to get him to eat. He sighed but picked up his bread and shoved it in his mouth. I made sure he didn’t choke since he had a tendency to take bigger bites than he should. I gnawed on my own piece.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. It was nearly nightfall. Who would be at the door at this time? I quickly got to my feet as the person knocked again. “Who’s that, Mum?” Jasper asked, his mouth full of bread. “Finish your bite before speaking, Jas. And I don’t know, let’s find out.” I approached the door, brushed off my dress, and turned the knob. Standing outside was Ron Weasley, the bakers’ youngest son.

“Ron? Come in, come in. What’s going on?” I asked, a bit concerned he was here to tell me his parents wouldn’t be able to give me food anymore. The ginger-haired boy rushed past me and into my home and eagerly slapped a flyer onto the table. “Look,” he told me as he pointed to the parchment. I gave him a skeptical look but walked over to the table and picked it up.

The Malfoy family is seeking a servant to the young prince. If interested, arrive at the castle at dawn on the 19th of October.

SALARY: 4 galleons per hour

The person selected to be the Prince’s servant will furthermore reside in the castle.

As I took in the information on the flyer, Jasper took the parchment from my grasp. He held it out in front of him and stared at it intently. I considered berating him for taking what doesn’t belong to him, but I chose not to, and instead, I turned to Ron, who had an enormous grin on his face. “Ron, you can’t be serious…”

“It’s perfect! It’s four galleons an hour, and if you’re working dawn till dusk, that’s roughly eleven hours. Forty-four galleons a day, Y/N. You can’t pass this up. You’d be mad not to at least try,” he told me. I wasn’t quite sold, “Yeah, that sounds like a dream, but what would I…” I paused and held my hand up to Ron, signaling him to give me a moment. Then I faced Jasper. “Darling, put your plate in the sink and go wash up; I’ll be there soon to get you ready for bed, alright?” I instructed him. His pouty lips returned.

“But I wanna know what’s going on!” the boy insisted. He dropped the paper, crossed his arms over his chest, and promptly glared at me. I held back my laugh at his attempt at intimidation and put a hand on my hip. “Do as I say.” Jasper sighed but slid off his chair and trod off to the bathroom. I turned back to Ron. “If I live at the castle, how can I take care of Jasper? I can’t just leave him here alone; he’s only six, not to mention he’s ill,” I explained as I picked the parchment back up again. Ever since Jasper had turned four, he started having trouble breathing. There had been times where I was unsure if he’d survive through the night. Ron knew about this, but he wasn’t budging. “Y/N, the castle isn’t far. You could sneak out at dusk and spend the night with Jasper, no problem.”

“With all due respect, Ron, I don’t think it’ll be that easy. I’d have to get past people in the castle, the guards, and who knows who else?” I said, shaking my head. My eyes drifted to the flyer in my hand. A servant to the prince. What did that even mean? There was a serious lack of detail in the advertisement. My lip curled in distaste. The Royal Family was known to be quite the arrogant bunch. Malfoy, their surname, directly translates to ‘bad faith’. They didn’t treat their citizens well; nearly every town outside of Orton’s walls was neglected. Totbury, my town, especially.

Nevertheless, the Malfoy’s knew that, despite treating their people terribly, people would scramble for the chance to land this job. Simply based on the look of the family’s servants, they weren’t looking for people like me. If they found out where I live, they’ll surely dismiss me.

“Y/N, you’re underestimating yourself. That castle has numerous secret passageways, just find one of those, and you’re all set. And even if that doesn’t work, then you just make an excuse. Say the Prince himself sent you into the city, what are the guards going to say to that?” Ron argued. I threw him a look of confusion as I put the flyer down, my eyes lingering on the young prince. “How would you even know about secret passageways?” I asked. Ron cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t believe they exist?” he asked incredulously. I scoffed and walked over to the sink.

“Ron, they’re only rumors. I’m sure they have a couple of lesser-known corridors, but not a secret passageway. That’s absurd,” I began rinsing off the plates and silverware, “And besides, I wouldn’t get chosen. Have you forgotten who I am? They’re not going to hire a peasant from Totbury, Ronald. I mean, have you seen the sheer amount of guards that line up around the Prince? They won’t let anyone touch him, so what makes you think they’d let me be his personal servant?” I asked, not really expecting a legitimate answer. However, it seemed as though Ron had all the answers that day.

“That’s easy, just lie. Say you’re from Orton. The population is big enough that they wouldn’t know the difference. And it’s not like the King and Queen even leave the castle. I bet they couldn’t tell the difference between a Sithrawliean from a Perwenese,” Ron claimed. Perwen was the neighboring kingdom to Sithrawl.

“That may be true, but even if I lied, I don’t look the part. I’ve got maybe two dresses, and they both have holes in them. They’ll see right through me,” I pointed out yet another problem with Ron’s plan while I scrubbed the chipped plates in my sink. He remained silent for a moment but then snapped his fingers.

“You’re about the same age as Ginny, aren’t you?” he asked, eyes looking hopeful. Indeed, I was around his sister’s age. I told him so, and he smiled. “Then you could borrow one of her dresses, in fact, I think Mum just bought her a new one!” he suggested excitedly. Once I put down the now clean plates, I dried my hands and spun around to face Ron.

“I’m not taking Ginny’s new dress; that’s ridiculous,” I replied. Ron opened his mouth to retaliate, but I interrupted him. “Look, I appreciate you looking out for Jasper and me, but I can’t...I can’t just lie to the Royal Family. And I don’t want to leave my son at home all day.”

“But haven’t you already been doing that? You’ve been scouring the streets for weeks looking for a job. I just thought that maybe this would be a good—”

I cut him off, my patience lost. “Yes, well, you thought wrong! I’m not going off and living in a lavish castle while my child is all alone in this shithole. It’s unfair to him, and I’m not doing it. End of story.”

Ron’s previously bright smile had faded into a regretful frown. He nodded his head and looked at the floor as if he was afraid to look me in the eye. I began to feel guilt seep into my stomach. He was only trying to help, and here I was giving him a hard time. Nice going, Y/N.

“You’re right. I’m sorry for suggesting it. I’ll just...get going, and don’t worry, I’ll tell Mum you say hello,” Ron said solemnly as he headed for the door. I held my tongue and walked him out, waving as he strode down the road. When I closed the door behind him, I let out a heavy sigh and ran my hands through my hair. There was no need for me to have acted like such a pain, but alas, the apology Ron deserves would have to wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I need to care for my boy.

--------

{The next morning}

--------

I woke with a start, sitting straight up in my bed. My back was drenched with sweat, and my skin felt hotter than hell. I had no clue as to why I'd woken up in such a state, but I didn't have the energy to care. Slowly, as to not wake Jasper, I lifted the covers and slid out of our bed. As I got to my feet and walked into the kitchen, I noticed the sun wasn’t even up yet. I stepped closer to the window and peered out, looking for the town clock. When I spotted it, I saw that it was roughly half-past five. Dawn wasn’t until seven.

Exhausted, I rubbed my eyes lightly and turned around. There on the table was the flyer. I stepped towards it and lifted it up. “...arrive at the castle at dawn…” My head turned towards the window once again. If I got ready now, I could make it. But did I dare? I’d have to find someone to watch Jasper. Does Ron’s offer even stand now? I supposed there was only one way to find out. I rushed to the bathroom and quickly turned on the water in the bath. A slow stream trickled out of the spout.

“Come on,” I whispered. As if the universe had heard me, the water pressure grew stronger, and the tub began to fill. Anxiously, I stripped my clothing and jumped inside, despite the lack of water. We always kept a wooden bowl by the bathtub, so I reached for it and dunked it under the faucet, letting it gather enough liquid before I dumped it onto my head. The temperature was less than ideal, but I made do, and within fifteen minutes, I was out of the bath and drying off.

Quickly, I threw on my dress, slipped on my shoes, and ran out the door, but not before kissing a sleeping Jasper goodbye. He’ll be okay, I assured myself. The Weasleys were luckily only a few blocks down, so I hustled down the street and up to their door. Yet, once I found myself on their cozy porch, I was unable to knock. My fist hovered above the wooden door, decorated with fresh winter flowers. It’s now or never, a voice in my head whispered. Somehow, I found my courage and rapped my knuckle against the firm wood.

After only a few moments, Mr. Weasley opened the door. “Y/N? What brings you here so early? Has something happened?” he asked initially. Then he saw my wet hair and my shivering frame. “Good heavens! Come inside, you’ll freeze,” he exclaimed, motioning for me to come towards him. I scampered in, and Mr. Weasley shut the door. I could tell he was bursting with questions, but I filled him in before he could speak.

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley. I’m here because yesterday Ronald stopped by and told me the Royal Family was looking for a servant. And well, at first, I wasn’t going to apply for it, but now...now I wish to,” I spoke softly. The man stood tall as he processed this information.

“Well, that sounds grand. But if I may, why are you here?” he questioned. Before I could tell him, Ron entered the foyer from around the corner. “Y/N? You’re here, have you changed your mind?” he asked, his voice sounding hopeful. With a bit of lingering hesitation, I nodded my head. “I have.”

Ron smiled brightly. “Brilliant, wait here,” he instructed before he headed into a different room, leaving his father and me by the door. Soon enough, however, he emerged with a green and white dress. It was paired with a leather brown underbust corset. Although simple, it was perfect. “That’s beautiful, wow. Are you sure about this?” I checked with Ron. He nodded and motioned behind him.

“Ginny’s awake; she’ll help you into it,” he told me. Right on cue, a sweet young girl with long red hair strolled into the foyer. She waved at me softly, and I waved back.

“Splendid, off you go then. Ginny, find her a towel to dry her hair, won’t you?” Mr. Weasley asked his daughter. She nodded, took me by the hand, and dragged me into what I assumed was her room. The Weasley’s home looked bigger than the rest in Totbury, but I never suspected that one of their children would have their own bedroom. I was led to the center of Ginny’s room. She shut the door and quickly began helping me out of my day dress.

“Are you nervous?” she asked immediately. Her inquiry caught me off guard and reminded me of the butterflies in my tummy. I scrambled for an answer as she wrapped my hair in a dark brown towel.

“Of course, I am. I’m leaving my son alone all day,” I told her finally. Ginny smiled softly as she laid my dress on her bed, leaving me in my undergarments. She knew I had dodged her question but didn’t mention it.

“We can have him stay with us today if you want. It’s really no problem,” Ginny offered. This wasn’t the first time the Weasley’s had said they could watch Jasper. While it was very kind of them, I never took them up on it; I couldn’t. My mother never gave me over to another family when she went to work. She would always tell me, “Don’t go outside. I’ll return before nightfall.” And that was that. I stayed put and waited for her to come home. Sure, it was a lonely childhood, but she did what she had to do to provide for me. Now, I wanted to do that for my own child, but it was becoming clearer to me that I wouldn’t be able to do things like my mother. If I get the job, I’ll be in the castle, I won’t be able to come running if something happens. Deep down, I knew the safest option for my boy was to let him stay with the Weasleys.

“Are you sure?” I asked. Ginny smiled and nodded her head. “Of course. He’ll be safe and sound while you do what you need to do.” I gnawed on my lip as she slipped the dress over my head and onto my body.

“I really appreciate this, you know? Things have just been… difficult lately, and I’m trying to do right by Jasper, but I’m still figuring out how, if that makes sense,” I said to her, not really knowing why I was suddenly confiding in her. Ginny was only a year younger than me, twenty-one. We’d never talked much growing up. Better late than never, I suppose.

“You’re doing great, Y/N. Don’t be so hard on yourself, seriously,” Ginny said gently while she began tying up my corset. I took a moment to admire myself in the ornate mirror in front of me. I was now adorned in an ankle-length, deep green dress. It was significantly nicer than any piece of clothing I’d ever owned.

“Where did you get this, Ginny? It’s so beautiful,” I asked. Ginny shrugged as she pulled and adjusted the fabric, seemingly her final touches.

“I’m not sure. Mum never said where she got it. But it’s gorgeous on you.” I felt my face flush as I stared back at myself in the mirror. I looked unfamiliar. Hesitantly, I gave Ginny a little twirl, feeling a grin creep onto my lips as the skirt flared around me in a perfect circle. I felt young. I felt new.

“Thank you for lending it to me. Hopefully, everything goes well, and I’ll make enough money to buy you many more dresses such as this one,” I said, smiling at Ginny. Then I caught sight of a nearby window. The sun wasn’t in the sky quite yet, but the darkness of the night was beginning to lift. “Speaking of which, I’d better get going. I’ll be back before nightfall to get Jasper; he should still be sleeping at home,” I rambled while heading for the door, Ginny close behind.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go fetch him. You’re right though, you’d better get a move on; sun’ll be up in an hour.” I nodded and tore the towel from my head, letting my semi-dry and now wavy hair fall to my shoulders and back. The other Weasleys lifted their heads as I rushed to the door. I quickly waved goodbye and said my thanks as I ran outside, the chorus of their farewells barely reaching my ears. I was already several paces down the street.

Luckily for me, I knew my way to the castle. Once I reached my teenage years, I’d often sneak through the woods and journey to the capital. And when I got near enough, I’d take a right and go the long way ‘round. That way, I could get up close and personal to the walls of Orton. I couldn’t see anything, of course, but I loved to sit my back against the cool stone bricks and simply listen to the hustle and bustle. As a young girl, I often daydreamed of what life might be like within those walls. Now, I may get the chance to find out.

The trip was just how I’d remembered it, although a bit shorter. First, I’d walk straight between the long stretches of farmland. Sometimes I’d even get to see livestock. But after that, the land would transition into dense forest, filled with various wildflowers as well as a little creek. Once through there, one found themselves at the start of a cobblestone road leading straight to the gates of Orton. That’s where I was now. The sun was beginning to pierce the sky, and I didn’t feel ready. Then I thought of Jasper, and my foot moved forwards, the other following after it. Soon enough, I was face to face with two tall men dressed in silver armor. Behind them, cast iron doors concealing the city beyond them.

“State your name and business,” the man on the left said. His eyes wouldn’t even meet mine. Bile tempted to spill into my mouth, but I swallowed it down and did as he asked.

“Y/N of Orton. I come to find work, specifically for the position at the castle,” I said in a tone as confident as I could muster. The guard raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve never seen you or heard of you. You certain you’re from here?” he asked, jutting his finger towards the doors. I nodded firmly. Fake it till you make it.

“Yes, sir. I haven’t been home in many months as I’ve been looking after my cousin in Totbury. He’s been very ill, and I’ve been afraid to leave his side. Yet, I fear I am without much money. Hence why I’m here now.” I looked at the men, trying to gauge whether or not they detected my lies. I’d only just cooked up that tall tale fifteen minutes ago, and I didn’t have anything past that. My fingers squeezed each other behind my back as I waited for them to reply. One looked to the other, who shrugged, then they turned back to me.

“Very well, welcome back,” he said. My sigh of relief was covered up by the loud creaking of the doors as the men pushed them open, revealing the awaking city. I quickly walked through them before the guards could change their minds. Mother of God. I couldn’t believe I was actually here. But I knew I didn’t have time to explore, I had to get to the castle. Hardly anyone was outside their homes yet, so I took off running, my worn shoe soles slapping on the cobblestone. I didn’t know my way, of course. I was simply going by the spiral at the top of a tower. I could see it from the city streets, so I rushed through the city’s twist and turns until arriving at a long stone bridge. It led all the way to a tall archway, beyond it, the entrance to the castle.

I did my best not to break out into a sprint and instead speed-walked across it, wondering why there was nobody else in sight. I didn’t have time to ponder it further as I had already made it to the entrance. I told the guards here the same thing I’d said to the ones at the gates. They let me in seconds after I said I was there for the job opening.

The beauty of the castle stopped me in my tracks. Candles flickered above me in the high-hanging chandeliers, their light shining on the polished wooden floors. Gold framed portraits decorated the warm stone walls. Everything was so clean, so elegant. My eyes had no idea where to look. Get a hold of yourself. You’re not here to look around. I scanned the foyer but realized I had no idea where to go. But then a soft voice startled me.

“It’s up the stairs and to the left, dear. Better hurry. The Prince is almost done with his breakfast.” I turned around to see a short old woman with stark blonde hair. At first glance, she reminded me of my mother. She smiled when she saw my face. “Go on, wouldn’t want to be late now,” she ushered. I hastily nodded my head as I hurried up the steps, taking a left just as she had told me. I was now facing a long hallway, at the end of which were open doors leading into a large room. As I drew nearer, I could see a long line of people, all with their hands behind their back and chests puffed out. Intimidation tickled my skin. They all looked so proper.

Trying to push away my thoughts, I stepped into the room, which I realized was the throne room, and claimed my place beside a young woman. She looked to be around my age, as did many of the women. I quickly noticed that there were only women here. That’s odd. Surely at least some men would wish to be the Prince’s servant. Although, I suppose it’s not the same as being his right-hand man or advisor. My thoughts were interrupted by a loud toot of a trumpet. I turned to my right to see a well-dressed man with a silver instrument pressed to his lips. He played a little tune before lowering the trumpet.

“His Majesty, the King, and her Majesty, the Queen.” The man stepped aside, and two figures entered the room. The man was tall, had blonde hair, and a pale, pointed face. His eyes seemed to pierce my soul when he made eye contact. He carried a black and silver cane with him as he walked. The woman at his side looked just as unnerving as her husband. She, too, was tall, although not as tall as the King. Her hair was long and blonde, just as pale as her skin. The slimness of her waist was rather alarming, and her eyes were ice cold.

The couple took their seats on their respective thrones and turned towards the door. The previous man spoke again. “His Royal Highness, Prince Draco.” The man of the hour, Draco Malfoy, strutted into the room. A perfect combination of his parents, his skin was cool white, nearly the same as his platinum hair. His high cheekbones and pointed chin resembled his father’s, but, unlike the King, Draco’s hair was cut short, a few stray strands hovered over his forehead. When he took a seat next to his mother, I could see her eyes soften as she looked at him.

The trumpeter exited, leaving the Royal Family alone with the line of girls in front of them, save for a few guards. The King cleared his throat and rose to his feet, clutching his snake-headed cane as he did.

“In a few moments, my son will choose his new servant. I trust you will all be respectful and do as you’re told. If the prince dismisses you, then you leave. If the prince asks you a question, you answer it truthfully. And finally, if the prince chooses you, you will be led to your living quarters and will immediately begin your training. The prince will be taking the throne in exactly two hundred and thirty days; he is a busy young man, and we cannot waste any more time. Do I make myself clear?” he asked. Nobody said a word. “Good. Draco,” he called, motioning to us.

The prince stood up from his throne and made his way down the marble steps. He stopped a few feet in front of a girl a couple of people down from me. He stared at her for a few seconds before waving his hand and saying, “Dismissed.” The girl didn’t move, she looked confused and a bit shocked. Draco scoffed. “Weren’t you listening to my father? If I dismiss you, you leave. The door is to your right; run along now,” he ordered. I watched in disbelief as the girl bowed her head and rushed from the room, tears in her eyes. “Daft cow,” Draco muttered. Anger began to stir in my chest. What an absolute prick. Christ, I knew the Malfoys were a cold bunch, but I never thought the crown prince would be this much of an arsehole.

He continued going down the line, dismissing girls left and right. It didn’t seem like he had a particular order. No, he was merely kicking out the girls who didn’t please his eye. I knew this because he’d tell them what he didn’t find appealing as they left.

“Big nose.”

“Thin lips.”

“Too tall.”

“Repulsive complexion.”

He dismissed and dismissed until only three girls remained, including me. He stopped in front of a black-haired woman. She wore a cream-colored gown. It was much fancier than mine and contrasted beautifully with her dark skin.

“What’s your name?” Draco asked. The woman replied that her name was Alyssa. “Hi, Alyssa. Tell me, what makes you want this job?” It was silent for a few moments before the woman answered.

“My mother suggested it, Your Highness.” Draco clasped his hands behind his back and studied Alyssa’s face and body. His calm demeanor was frightening, to say the least.

“So your mother wants you to have this position, but tell me, Alyssa, do you want this position? Or are we just wasting our time here trying to fulfill the wishes of a woman who isn’t even here?” he seethed. Alyssa stuttered but shook her head and insisted she, too, wanted the job. I could tell from his face that Draco didn’t buy what she was selling, but he didn’t dismiss her. Instead, he shuffled his feet until he stood in front of me. My heart started pounding in my chest, but I kept my head up, my mother’s words echoing in my head. “Don’t be afraid to make eye contact.”

Draco said nothing for nearly an entire minute. He only stood still, eyes never leaving mine. It felt like a staring contest, but without the playful energy. I could see now that his eyes were grey. They looked empty like they were searching for something. I narrowed my own, trying to figure out why they looked this way. It seemed as though this upset Draco.

“What’re you looking at?” he spat. I quickly replied. I could practically feel his anger, and I did not want to add to it by being slow to respond.

“Nothing, Your Highness.”

“Liar. Try again, sweetheart.” Perceptive. Or perhaps just angry. Whichever it was, he now left me with a decision—another lie or the simple truth. I weighed the options in my head; neither seemed favorable.

“Your eyes,” I replied. Draco raised an eyebrow. I took this to mean he wanted me to elaborate. “They’re grey.” Upon hearing this, he rolled them.

“Brilliant deduction,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “But why were you staring at them so...intently?” he questioned me further. However, he seemed afraid almost. Like he didn’t want to hear my answer. Regardless, I shrugged.

“Well, they appear sad and honestly, vacant.” I could feel the entire room tense as I spoke. Behind Draco, I saw The King jump to his feet, his wife’s hand on his arm in a feeble attempt at holding him back.

“Guards…” he started, but then Draco lifted a hand, halting his father as well as the guards who’d begun to take a few steps forward.

“That won’t be necessary. Send for Olive. She can show her to her new room,” Draco spoke gently. His voice was even and firm, and yet, nobody moved to fulfill his request.

“Surely you’re not picking her, son?” The King asked, desperation evident in his voice. It was easy to see that he disapproved of this decision. Draco, whose eyes still hadn’t moved from mine, adjusted his hands. They now rested on his thighs, fingers intertwined.

“You’re from Orton, yes?” I nodded, not trusting my voice. “You’re healthy, no deathly illnesses?” Again, I nodded. “And you want this job?” This time I decided to speak.

“Yes, Your Highness, very much so.” I curled my toes, hoping my conviction was enough. The smile that stretched across Draco’s face hinted that it was. However, his next words confirmed it.

“Perfect. Yes, Father, I have picked her. Now can somebody please fetch Olive? I don’t quite know why nobody did so even though I specifically remember telling you less than two minutes ago,” he said fiercely. Within seconds, a guard rushed out the door to do as The Prince had ordered. The two girls beside me took this as their cue to exit as well. Alyssa looked gutted, and the other girl seemed relieved. I felt a bit sad to see them go, but my thoughts of them were overridden by the increasingly uncomfortable feeling growing in my stomach.

The distress in the air felt thick, almost suffocating. It seemed that the vacant man standing in front of me was quite the threatening presence. While this let me know I should tread lightly when in his company, it didn’t instill fear. Yes, I had been intimidated and afraid when I initially walked into the Malfoy’s throne room, but once I’d gotten a good look at the youngest of the bunch, those feelings dissipated.

His eyes told me all I needed to know. Draco was nothing but talk. He was closer to a boy than he was a man, and more importantly, he had no guts to do anything substantial. Sure, words could hurt, but when it came down to it, they were nothing more than words.

As I was led to my room by Olive, the kind older woman I’d met at the doorway, I wondered what I had gotten myself into.

Taglist (I used my All Draco Works taglist for this, if you DO NOT want to be on this taglist for Betwixt, please let me know!): @beiahadid @pastelpuffbar @cutie1365 @dracoxmgg @lumlfy @sambucky8 @emilianamason @raplinethereal @DixieTheMorab24 @xoxohollands @prongsandprancer @ch0kemedracomalfoy @avlauriaa @purpleskymalfoy @mariah-can-dream @drxcomvlfx @sydnee-kom-spacekru @dracosgoodgirl @voilawind @gloryekaterina @anchoeritic @ragxsxragxs @exoticlizard @dlmmdl @siriusblklftv @Writtenbyadramaqueen @amourtentiaa @keidensu

#draco lucius malfoy #Draco Malfoy #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x yn #Draco #draco x y/n #draco x reader #draco x you #draco royalty #royalty au #Ron Weasley #hogwarts royalty #hogwarts royalty au #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter #draco malfoy fanfiction #royal fanfiction

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 4 years ago

Text

That’s Christmas To Me| Julie and The Phantoms Cast

Dream-a-little-bigger-x’s Countdown to Christmas

Day 4

A/N: I got so excited when I saw this one was the next one I had to write! I hope you enjoy! I also wanna thank @calamitykaty, @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic, @vrthngiwnt and @bright-molina for letting me pick your brains and bounce some ideas off of you. I love you loads!

Pairing: Platonic! JATP Cast x fem!reader

Summary: 2022, season 2 was about to be released on Netflix and the cast was invited to promote the show on the Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. A dream come true. When the host asks them for their favorite holiday memory together, the cast immediately flashes back to that time at the Christmas Markets.

Song(s) used: That’s Christmas To Me - Pentatonix | Happy Xmas (War is Over) - Echosmith ft. Hunter Hayes

Warnings: Spiked hot chocolates, but no one gets drunk and no one drinking is underage.

Words: 3,970

Checking her outfit in the full-length mirror once again, y/n sighed nervously. All dressed out to the max for her very first talk show. Her styling team had outdone themselves once again. The gold flared pants, the white satin button down shirt and the white heels just made her feel so fabulous.

Though she couldn’t deny the fact that she was nervous. She was going on a live show, not any live show, but the Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, nonetheless. Her family watched that show religiously every single night. That thought did not calm her down either.

A soft knock made her snap out of her thoughts and turn around to find Madison in the doorway with an excited smile on her face. “You look gorgeous!” she exclaimed excitedly and ran up to her newest best friend, engulfing her into a tight hug.

She was sporting a gray glittery jumpsuit with black pumps strapped on her feet, her makeup done beautifully and her natural curls flowing over her shoulders with bejeweled clips pulling it out of her face.

“So do you!” y/n retorted with the brightest smile she could muster, though Madison could see right through her and squeezed her hands reassuringly. “My heart is thumping.” The words came out in a whisper as though she was telling a secret.

“So is mine, but we can do this. We got each other, okay?”

Y/N and Madison had gotten along straight away the first day y/n came to set. It was nerve-wracking to weasel yourself into a tight group of cast members who’ve already spent two years working together, but they made it so agreeable. The first day, Madison and Owen came up to her and started bombarding her with so many questions about herself and her character. All she knew about the latter was that she’d be Reggie’s love interest and the villain’s niece who worked for him to try and get Reggie, Luke and Alex into his club. Which of course, would not work out as y/n’s character would fall for the bassist too.

The entire cast welcomed her into their group straight away and the whole process became so enjoyable to the point where it just didn’t feel like work anymore. It just felt like spending time with friends and trying to memorize words and songs at the same time. It was weird. But so much fun. And now, they were able to finally promote said season.

“Madison, y/n, time to go,” one of the show runners said to them when he passed y/n’s dressing room. The two girls nodded and after a simultaneous deep inhale and exhale of stress, they made their way to the hallway where the boys were waiting.

Charlie and Jeremy offered y/n a wide smile to ease her nerves a little before Charlie held out his hand in front of him. “We got this. Legends on three?” The others nodded and, with a content smile on her face, y/n placed her hand on top of Charlie’s.

“One,” said Charlie.

“Two,” Jeremy and Madison added in unison.

“Three!” Owen and y/n finished and all five their hands went up in the air as they yelled out “Legends!” Though it was scary, y/n knew she had four amazing people that would guide her through it.

“Please, welcome the cast of Julie and The Phantoms!” Jimmy introduced them and, while the Roots played the infamous intro song, the cast walked through the red curtain. Madison and y/n ahead, holding one another’s hands as to not fall in their heels, then followed Charlie, Jeremy and Owen.

The audience cheered and applauded until they sat down and the music faded away. “Welcome, welcome!” Jimmy said excitedly. “Thank you for being here!” The cast beamed at the host, unable to contain their excitement nor nerves.

“Thanks for having us,” said Charlie, the polite Canadian.

“So, exciting news, season two of your show Julie and The Phantoms premieres on Netflix tonight, is that correct?”

“Yes!” all five said, though not quite in unison, and the crowd roared again. Y/N couldn’t hide the smile on her red painted lips as she looked out into the sea of people.

Jimmy turned to the crowd, “If the people at home have never heard of your show, how would you explain it?” His eyes fell on the girl closest to his desk, which was Madison, allowing her to answer the question.

“Uhm… Julie and The Phantoms is about this girl, Julie, who tragically lost her mom and, with it, her love for music. That is until one day, she plays this old CD she finds and out pop these three lovable, dorky ghosts who used to be in a band in the 90’s, called Sunset Curve. They died when they ate bad hot dogs--” the crowd let out a laugh, and it made Madison chuckle too. “Yeah! -- Anyway, and so these boys kind of help her find her love for music again and they form a band, called Julie and The Phantoms as the audience can see the ghosts when they play with Julie. And a lot of things happen and it’s funny and light and cute!”

Jimmy let out a chuckle too, “And now there’s a season 2!” Another cheer erupted from the crowd. “What can you tell us about season 2, Charlie?” he directed the question to the boy next to the newbee.

“A lot happens! We see what happens with Nick and Caleb, and we meet Philippa, Pips, Covington who will stir up some crazy stuff in the boys’ lives, especially Reggie’s,” he explained with a grin. He stirred in his seat a little before placing his arm on the back of the couch, behind y/n’s head. The girl tried not to react to the overwhelmingly amazing scent of sandalwood that emanated from this movement.

Jimmy’s eyes landed on y/n and she was certain that for a moment, he knew what she was thinking, but then he asked her a question instead. “How was it for you, y/n, as the newcomer to the cast? Did they immediately embrace you or did you have trouble being accepted?”

“I hated it--” she replied seriously, but then giggled, “No, I loved it! They were so kind and so welcoming, I immediately felt like I was part of their tight group. It did feel strange at first, I’m not gonna lie. But after a while, coming to work didn’t really feel like working anymore.”

“And your character, Phillipa, was she accepted by the other characters?”

She cleared her throat of any nerves before answering. “Pippa was… well-- she was working for her dead great-uncle, so she had to make sure she was accepted and weasled herself into the friend group pretty quickly. She knew how to get to Reggie especially and thanks to him, got into their friend group.”

“That’s amazing. I’m so excited to watch! My daughters are eight and nine, and they loved season 1 of Julie and The Phantoms. They’re thrilled to see the new season!”

A chorus of “aw”s were shared within the cast as well as throughout the audience.

“Yeah, they’re pretty cute.” He picked up his cue cards to remind himself of the next bullet point he needed to talk about. “Oh! Since it’s almost Christmas, I like to ask my guests to tell us a fun holiday themed story before I send them off, do you guys have a fun holiday themed story for us?”

The cast exchange glances until Owen asked, “Should we talk about the Christmas market we did last year after filming?” The rest of the cast made sounds of agreement with a few giggles mixed in between.

“Tell us about the Christmas Market!” Jimmy shouted excitedly, almost resembling a five-year-old getting their Christmas presents early.

Owen took the lead on this one. “So, we were all in Vancouver, we had wrapped season 2 and we would soon be going home, but we decided to spend one last night together at a Christmas market in Vancouver city…”

Bundled up in layers of sweaters and a thick coat, y/n trekked through the layer of snow that blanketed to grounds of Vancouver City. She was trying her hardest not to focus on the blistering cold that nipped at her nose but rather on the story Charlie was telling the others in front of her. His voice boomed into the busy streets, along with the others’ laughter.

She always loved the way Charlie told his stories about every wild adventure he’d ever been on and the way Owen quipped back with the wittiest of comebacks. Or how Madison would chime in with her typical Gen Z humor none of the boys understood. Y/N was sure going to miss the entire dynamic of the group when they were back home.

Thousands of lights flickered above y/n’s head as they strolled through the entrance of the infamous Vancouver Christmas Market. She let her eyes take in the beauty whilst her stomach fluttered from excitement. Her love for Christmas Markets had never faltered over the years. It still excited her in the same way it did when she was just a child.

“Can we get a hot chocolate first? I’m freezing!” Savannah suggested, her teeth chattering as she snuggled into her thick scarf. Smiling, y/n hooked her arm around hers and pulled her closer in hopes the warmth of all her layers would help the blonde girl a little.

“I heard they have a unique recipe that only the Christmas Market here ever uses!” Charlie added with a wide grin before leading the gang towards the warm beverage kiosk. It resembled a cabin from a ski resort, decked out all the way with Christmas lights and foliage.

The group stood in front of the kiosk and read the menu to figure out whatever they’d want to drink. “Ooh, that Peppermint Hot Chocolate sounds delish,” Owen said, and when y/n’s eyes landed on the words, her mouth curled up into a smirk.

“We’re going that route tonight, hm?”

The hot chocolate he was talking about was spiked with peppermint schnapps and chocolate liqueur. This sounded right up y/n’s street, and she knew it would warm Savannah up from the inside.

“Follow me or don’t follow me, that’s up to you, but I am taking that route tonight.” Owen rubbed his gloved hands together until the lady inside the kiosk looked up at him, signalling that it was his turn to order. “A peppermint hot chocolate, please.” He sounded way too confident for someone who had just turned 21 that year.

The woman peered over her half-moon glasses, letting her eyes glide from his eyes to his toes before sneering, “ID, please.” Owen’s mouth dropped open and with a lot of cursing underneath his breath, he reached for his wallet.

“Ha! Owen’s getting ID’d!” Charlie cackled, shaking his head. The woman’s eyes darted over to the second boy, giving him the same one-up before raising her eyebrows as if saying “I’m gonna get you too, little boy”.

And she did. She ID’d Charlie too. No one else but Charlie and Owen, which everyone had a good laugh at as they were sipping their hot chocolates, which for three out of ten isn’t spiked.

While Jeremy and Booboo were still teasing the two boys, y/n turned around and let her eyes scan the entire view in front of her. All the pretty lights and the snow whirling to the ground so gracefully and the music floating through the air made the cold more bearable.

A gasp eliciting from Jadah’s tiny body made y/n snap out of her thoughts and turn to the younger cast member. Her eyes were wide and shimmering, looking up at the tall Christmas tree that was towering above their heads with tens of thousands of lights blinking back at them.

“Isn’t that the walk-through Christmas tree?!” she asked, excitedly.

Madison took her hand and, giggling, they weaved through the sea of people towards the one-of-a-kind festive fairyland. Y/N exchanged glances with the rest before they, too, made a beeline towards the tree, dodging people left and right.

“Hey, Owen, are you sure you’re gonna be able to fit?” y/n asked the tall Oklahoman teasingly. The boy’s mouth dropped open, and before she could properly register it, he started chasing her. She ran past Madison and Jadah, and tried to duck behind any other visitor until he eventually picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. The girl shrieked, prior to a giggle.

Jimmy’s voice echoed over y/n’s flashback to the most festive night of that year. “You guys really sound like a close group of friends.”

“Yeah! We are! We’re like a little family!” Charlie replied, dropping the arm that was on the back of the sofa around the girl’s shoulder.

“What happened next?” Jimmy then questioned, curiously. The whole scene almost resembled a toddler listening to his bedtime story.

Jeremy cleared his throat with a chuckle. “Well, if this night were a movie, you’d now have a cute montage of us going through that magical tree and on the carousel like little children.”

“Yeah, you’d see us stuff our faces with churros and pretzels,” y/n added, making Jimmy and the crowd laugh.

“And we got a lot of Christmas shopping done too!” Madison chimed in with a smile. “I actually got everyone’s present when they were right there with me. None of them noticed.”

“Oh, no, I noticed,” y/n replied with a smirk, to which Madison reacted with widened eyes.

“What’s next?!” Jimmy queried. His eyes were glistening as he listened to the cast talk. He just loved their dynamic and how well they got along with one another.

Y/N continued the story as her mind tumbled back into her daydream.

The music had stopped just a few minutes ago, but only now y/n’s ears picked up on the sudden absence. Knitting her eyebrows together, she lifted her eyes to the stage in the corner of the market where singers were carolling minutes ago, and was now completely empty. As the small amount of alcohol made her brain a little woozy, her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip in thought.

“Guys… Should we--Should we go sing a song?” she suggested, causing all of them to look up in surprise. “There’s no one on the stage… Should we?” she pointed at the podium to emphasize what she meant.

As smiles appeared on each of their faces, the group walked up to the stage and grabbed a microphone each. Charlie reached for the acoustic guitar on the stand, but y/n stopped him.

“Let’s do a capella for once?” she told him tenderly.

When his eyes met hers, she felt her lungs expand with the gasp that left her body. How gorgeous could one’s eyes be. But with that one look, the boy also knew what song she wanted to sing. The one song that had been stuck in her head for the past month during filming. And the rest of the crew knew too because when y/n counted them in softly, they all started to sing along. Their voices mingling perfectly and floating throughout the night sky.

“The fireplace is burning bright, shining all on me I see the presents underneath the good old Christmas tree And I wait all night 'til Santa comes to wake me from my dreams Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

Savannah locked eyes with y/n and a smile fell to their lips before they looked out to the audience they had assembled with their harmonies reaching across the entire Christmas Market.

“I see the children play outside, like angels in the snow While mom and daddy share a kiss under the mistletoe And we'll cherish all these simple things wherever we may be Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

Owen came to stand next to y/n and wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they all sang the chorus together, the tall blondie on lead vocals and the others harmonizing in the background.

“I've got this Christmas song in my heart”

“Song in my heart”

“I've got the candles glowing in the dark I'm hanging all the stockings by the Christmas tree Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

As though they had prepared the entire performance, Booboo led them into the next verse while the others acted as backing vocals for him. His warm, deep voice sent chills down everyone’s spines, especially of the people in the crowd.

“I listen for the thud of reindeer walking on the roof As I fall asleep to lullabies, the morning's coming soon”

His cast mates then joined in again and together, they sang the chorus once again with Jeremy taking lead this time. While they did, y/n took a hold of Savannah’s gloved hand, squeezing it as they looked at each other with intent in their eyes. Like they meant what they were singing to one another.

“The only gift I'll ever need is the joy of family Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me I've got this Christmas song in my heart”

“Song in my heart”

“I've got the candles glowing in the dark I'm hanging all the stockings by the Christmas tree Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

Y/N turned her head to the other side now, locking eyes with Tori and Sacha, and shooting them a wink before they lapsed into the chorus one last time. It felt good to sing with everyone for once. During filming, it was always just a select group of people that got to sing together.

“Oh, the joy that fills our hearts and makes us see Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me I've got this Christmas song in my heart I've got the candles glowing in the dark And then for years to come we'll always know one thing That's the love that Christmas can bring Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

As the crowd erupted into cheers and applause, the group shared an intense look, one that said they were always going to be friends. No matter how far away they’ll be from tomorrow on. Even if they don’t get picked up for a third season, they’re always going to be there for each other and be the best of friends forever. The only gift they’ll ever need is the joy of family. And they were family.

“That was so beautiful!” Jimmy exclaimed after they’d told him about everything that had happened that night in a short synopsis. “Now, I believe you’re gonna sing for us now?”

The cast nodded in unison. “Okay, what are you bringing us tonight? The song you sang at the Christmas market?”

Madison giggled, “No, though we love that song, there’s one we collectively think is one of the greatest Christmas songs ever. It’s the ultimate classic Happy Xmas, War is Over by John Lennon.”

“Amazing! You can go get ready!” he gestures to the tiled floor in front of the red curtain where the crew had set up their instruments and five microphones for them. “Catch Julie and The Phantoms season 2 on Netflix from tonight! They’re singing for us now. Madison, y/n, Charlie, Jeremy and Owen, take it away!”

Owen counted them in by slamming his sticks together and then began playing the rhythm of the song. Y/N then chimed in with the jingling of the tambourine before the other boys and Madison joined with their respective instruments. Soon after, Madison’s voice floated through the talk show’s studio.

“So this is Christmas And what have you done Another year over A new one just begun”

When the girls lock eyes, they shoot one another a wink before y/n takes over the next part of the verse.

“And so this is Christmas I hope you have fun The near and the dear ones The old and the young”

Then the boys chime in, their voices mingling as they linger in the air for everyone to hear and enjoy. Y/N lets her eyes dart over to Charlie, who’s already looking at her with a smile on his face.

“A very merry Christmas And a happy New Year Let's hope it's a good one Without any fears”

The others shut up, giving Charlie the floor now. He really was born to be a rockstar. The way he just owned the stage and looked like an absolute legend, singing his heart out and playing his guitar like a pro. And he’d only started learning when he was on season 1 of Julie and The Phantoms.

“And so this is Christmas For weak and for strong The rich and the poor ones The world is so wrong”

For a split second, he locked eyes with y/n again as she took over and faced the audience with a smile, still working her little tambourine for the extra jingles. Somehow, this just felt like one of their jam sessions during rehearsals and not at all like it was a live broadcast on national television.

“And so happy Christmas For black and for white Ooh, for everyone Let's stop all the fights”

Their voices mingled together again, and, in a boost of confidence, y/n grabbed the mic from its stand and walked over to Jeremy, rocking out with him as he shredded on the bass.

“A very merry Christmas And a happy New Year Let's hope it's a good one Without any fears”

The music slowed down, and while Madi, Owen and Jeremy took care of the soft backing vocals, y/n walked over to Charlie and sang the lines to one another, never breaking eye contact.

“And so this is Christmas And what have we done Another year over A new one just begun”

The music picked back up. Madison took over this time, and while y/n worked her tambourine, she danced her way towards the Latina girl with a smile plastered on her face.

“And so happy Christmas We hope you have fun The near and the dear ones The old and the young”

She then turned to Owen as he took over on the next part. He shot her a quick wink whilst his mouth curled up on one side. “A very merry Christmas And a happy New Year Let's hope it's a good one Without any fear”

Each taking their turn, starting with Owen, they all sang a part of the backing vocals while the boys and Madison played the instrumental intermezzo. “Merry Christmas”

“So this is Christmas”

“War is over now”

Returning back to her spot, y/n placed her mic on the stand again, and along with the others, sang the very last lines of the song.

“War is over If you want it It’s over now”

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause while the band assembled in the middle of the stage. Charlie grabbed y/n’s hand and gave it a small, reassuring squeeze. All five of them together took a bow before exchanging knowing glances.

This time around, they knew they were going to see each other tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that as they were doing all the promo they could. It felt a lot more reassuring than it did that day at the Christmas Market when they had no clue when they’d see each other again. Though all of them knew that this was still the only gift they’ll ever need. Their little found family.

JATP taglist: @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg@thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @iainttakingshitfromnobody @ifilwtmfc @angryknightstatesmantrash @kiss-themoongoodbye @rudysbay @thedarkqueenofavalon @caitsymichelle13 @calamitykaty @wiselight @kcd15 @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @stars-soph @kinda-really-lost @notasofti @alexpjoyner @n0wornever @kaitieskidmore1 @tefilovesreading @pxperphxntom @crybabyddl @parkeret @headheartbellarke

Names crossed out are the ones I couldn’t tag.

Lemme know if you wanna be on my taglist!

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #jatp #jatp x reader #jatp cast x reader #charlie gillespie #owen patrick joyner #jeremy shada #madison reyes #savannah lee may #tori caro #jadah marie #sacha carlson #julie and the phantoms cast #dream-a-little-bigger-x Christmas Countdown #dream-a-little-bigger-x's countdown to christmas(ish)

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jwillowwolf · 3 years ago

Text

Magic and Miracles - Prologue

Tag List: @sandersidesbigbang @thomassanderssidesbigbang2021 @theimprobabledreamersworld

First Chapter > | Masterlist

This is a multi-chapter fic I've been working on for the last couple of months as a part of the 2021 Sanders Sides Big Bang. The original idea came from this post by @remy-please-come-back [thanks again for letting me use the idea 💜].

Summary: Ever present, never seen. Feared and admired by all beings. The life that bursts from the earth, the secrets hidden in stone. It dances in the fire’s flames; it gives the wind its mournful tone. Here it is, this is it. Defined yet unexplained. In the depths of the ocean, and of your own mind. In the veins of all creatures, including humankind. For magic is in everything, yet unknown all the same.

For the longest time, Logan wanted to learn magic. So, when he was offered the chance to study it at a new magic school, he decided to follow his dreams. Along the way, however, he'll learn about so much more.

Warning/s: food mention.

Characters: Logan, Emile, Remy, OCs.

Read on AO3

0 | The Underdog's Debut

Ever present, never seen. Feared and admired by all beings.

The life that bursts from the earth, the secrets hidden in stone.

It dances in the fire’s flames; it gives the wind its mournful tone.

Here it is, this is it. Defined yet unexplained.

In the depths of the ocean, and of your own mind.

In the veins of all creatures, including humankind.

For magic is in everything, yet unknown all the same.

Perhaps this was why people found it so intriguing from such a young age. They wanted answers to what magic was, and while they didn’t find what they sought, they did learn how it could be used to their advantage. Spells were created to do anything that their caster’s heart desired. From creating a small orb of light for reading in the night to manipulating a tidal wave that could crash down on your enemies.

Magic was something not easily understood, which was one reason why the Council of Wizards evaluated all potential magic users. They wanted to gage that these young mages could safely use the power they were wielding. If not, then they needed to be properly dealt with before things got out of hand.

This was a good thing, but also not because to learn magic safely you would need someone else to teach you first-hand.

Now that doesn’t seem like much of an obstacle, except the only established wizards were of the nobility, and therefore only worked with nobility. The system was pretty much rigged to make it hopeless for average people to learn and use magic. Or it was until our protagonist came along.

He rose from poverty to royalty, became a hero among heroes, and faced off against one of the greatest threats to humankind that ever existed! But I’m getting ahead of myself -sorry- let's start from the beginning, shall we?

Oh, but where to begin? Ah! We’ll start from his first test with the Council of Wizards when he was only a young lad of 15. It was the beginning of spring, which is when the COW always held the learner’s test. This test evaluated your magical potential and gave the council a heads up on how many new mages there were. Yes, COW, don’t ask me why they went with that acronym.

The ceremony was being held in the grand hall of the palace, and it was open for anyone from the Srednas Kingdom to come and watch. The test itself was rather simple but the festivities that came with it made things feel like a special holiday. Nobility and common folk alike were gathered to watch and see what new wizards would be taking on learning magic. There was even a small market of sorts set outside the palace to take advantage of the crowds and sell foods, drinks, and commemorative merchandise.

Inside, people were everywhere, talking excitedly to one another and trying to find good places to view the proceedings. At the end of the room, there was a dais with two thrones where King Thomas and his husband, Prince Consort Nico, sat to watch. In front of the dais were nine chairs for the COW members, who talked with the royals and amongst themselves. Even they seemed eager for what was about to happen, and yet no one knew truly how monumental today was going to be.

The event had begun the same as any other year. Noble children from across the land showed off whatever three spells they’d learnt for the test. Most were common tricks like lighting candles or making plants grow. A handful showed off with advanced versions of these spells, such as holding the flames in their hands or making entire trees grow. Still, regardless of how many times these spells were cast, the crowd watched in awe with each new user who passed their test.

And then a young man in a simple navy tunic and black trousers stepped forward. He looked to be in his mid-teens, the same as most of the young mages and walked with an air of subtle confidence. He had a slender form and soft features that pronounced his youthful appearance. His hair was raven black, swept neatly to the side, and his eyes were such a dark brown that they seemed almost black.

“Please state your name and title.” Silvia, the eldest council member, said.

“My name is Logan Picani.”

“Title?”

“I don’t have any.”

Silence fell over the hall. “Pardon?”

“I don’t have any titles.”

“How do you not have any titles?”

“I’m not a noble.”

Some people audibly gasped and began whispering conspiratorially to one another.

“Young man, you do understand what this test is, correct?” Allen, another council member, asked with a thinly veiled look of disgust.

“Yes sir, I do. I also know for a fact that there are no rules against my taking the test because of being a commoner.”

Allen frowned and opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by Silvia. “I suppose not. Well then, let’s see what you can do.”

Logan took a deep breath and then held up his hand, “Ignyght.”

The tip of his little finger began to glow with golden light. The crowd watched on in silence as he carefully moved his hand to draw the necessary rune with the trail of light that flowed from his finger.

Once the rune was complete, he spoke again. “Solhart.”

The rune turned stark white and then disappeared. For a moment nothing happened, then a small white orb appeared where the rune had previously been floating. This earned a few excited claps from the crowd and an approving nod from two council members. But Logan didn’t stop there.

“Groh.” This time the light from his fingers was bright green. He made a different rune then repeated the sealing word, “Solhart.”

The orb multiplied until nearly fifty of them were floating in a cluster before Logan.

“Stahwynd.” A deep blue light flowed from Logan’s finger as he drew the final rune. “Solhart.”

The orbs burst apart from one another like birds flying off a tree in fear. Some people from the crowd shouted in shock as the balls of light zoomed off in all different directions until finally, they stopped. Now they were floating all around the room above the spectators who gasped as they realized what Logan had done. The hall’s ceiling was pitch black, so the lights looked like stars in the night sky. It was a breath-taking sight that inspired many to cheer and clap for the young mage.

“Alright, please settle down,” Silvia called over the noise before looking at Logan with a thoughtful expression. “Where did you learn this?”

“I taught myself.”

Silvia nodded then turned to talk with her fellow council members in hushed tones. Allen and two others seemed upset, while the rest of the council were neutral if not mildly impressed. After a few minutes, she looked back at Logan with a soft smile.

“Mr Picani, you are officially granted your learner’s license. I hope when we see you again in a few months time, you will once more surprise us all.”

The crowd cheered and Logan nodded before walking away with a look of pride. As he made his way through the crowd, he received congratulations from many strangers. And then he was tackled to the ground by an enthusiastic brown-haired girl.

“You did it! You did it! I knew you could do it!”

“Everleigh, my ribs.” Logan wheezed, causing the girl to release him.

“Oops, sorry. My bad. Is your chest okay?”

“It’s fine.” Both youths got up with smiles on their faces. “I did it.”

“Yep. In a couple of months, you’re going to be an official grand wizard.”

“Considering I just got my learners, I don’t think I’ll reach such a title that quickly.”

“You just created a night sky in the palace ballroom! I think you’re underestimating yourself.”

Logan smiled softly, “Come on, we should head back to the bakery to celebrate.”

Everleigh nodded in agreement and linked their arms so they could walk side by side. As they walked, Everleigh excitedly told Logan about how incredible it had looked from the crowd, and what kind of reactions the people around her had had.

Logan was uncharacteristically grinning by the time they’d reached the bakery. Walking inside only made his smile widen as the smell of fresh bread and sweet pastries filled his senses. It was after all the smell of home, so of course, it made him feel warm and welcomed. His father, Emile Picani, was standing by the counter helping an elderly customer when Logan and Everleigh walked in.

“Thank you, dear.”

“Oh, I should be the one thanking you, Mrs Goldstone. The brownie recipe you gave me has become a bestseller.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Have a nice day dear.”

“To you as well, ma’am. Oh, Logan, Everleigh, you’re back. And smiling,” Emile gasped, “did you get it?”

“He’s a wizard!” Everleigh dramatically announced.

“Not yet, I still need to finish the second test in a couple of months. I do have a learners’ license though.”

“Well, I think this calls for some celebratory tarts,” Emile said, ushering both youths into the back of the shop where the Picani’s sitting room/kitchen was located. “I’m proud of you logan. That hard work really paid off.”

“Speaking of hard work, you are going to take a break, right?” Everleigh asked.

Logan looked away from her sheepishly. “Well…”

“Come on, Lo. You’ve been working hard non-stop for months.”

“Yeah, kid, you work with me in the bakery all day, then study well into the night. And don’t think I haven’t seen you pull an all-nighter here and there.” Emile chastised.

It was true that Logan had worked long hard to get to where he was. it wasn’t exactly a simple task when books on magic were hard to find, and what knowledge they had was even harder to grasp. Figuring out pronunciation for the initiation/sealing words and learning to keep his hand steady as he drew the runes.

It had taken him many long nights of studying by candlelight to figure out the spells he’d performed. But with Everleigh’s library apprenticeship and his own persistent nature, he’d managed to learn a good deal about the basics. And now it was paying off. He officially had a learner’s license and would get a chance to become a genuine wizard.

Then he could use magic to help so many of the villagers who couldn’t afford the high-priced assistance of other magicians. Medicinal potions? Enchanted prosthetics? Transition spells? He would be able to give all this and more at prices his peers could afford.

Logan knew that what he was doing seemed near impossible, but he was going to do it or die trying! …okay, so maybe Emile and Everleigh were valid in their concern for his health, but this was his best and only way to study magic.

Before Logan could argue this, however, a stranger walked into the bakery. He was tall and slender, with a bronze tan and confident bearing. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a clean white tunic, black trousers, and dark brown riding boots. His short curly hair was the same dark brown shade as the boots, and his eyes were hidden by black tinted glasses.

“New customer, how do you how do?”

The stranger smiled. “Hey there, gorgeous. Sorry but I’m not a customer today. Is this where Logan Picani lives?”

“Yes, that’s my son.”

“Son? No offence honey but you look too young and handsome to be a dad.”

“Is there something I can help you with, sir?” Logan asked, taking over the conversation for his blushing father.

“Ah, yeah, I’m here to offer you a very special opportunity on behalf of the crown prince.”

Logan and Emile gaped. “The crown prince?”

The stranger nodded. “My name is Remy Animosni, and on behalf of his highness, I’m here to extend an exclusive invitation to the Srednas Magic School.”

Logan frowned. “I wasn’t aware that there was a magic school here in Srednas.”

“Well, that’s because there wasn’t, not until now anyway. It’s something that the prince arranged to start this year with a few students to show how good it could be to the council. You particularly caught his interest today with your starry spellcasting, hence the personal invite. You would learn alongside six other students under me about everything there is to know concerning magic, from the full basics of spells to how you can modify your own enchantments.”

“That sounds incredible,” Emile said.

Remy nodded. “Yep, and not only that but you will be given your own room at the school and anything you may need or want during your stay will be provided by us, free of charge. The location of the school is just an hour out of town, so you could visit home on weekends if you desired. So how about it, kid?”

Logan was gobsmacked. The crown prince had not only seen him but was impressed enough to send an invitation to learn magic at a special new magic school.

“Wait, what do I have to do for the prince in return?”

“Absolutely nothing. The offer is completely free of any fees or deceptive dealings. I promise. The prince even sent this with me to make sure you could have physical proof if so desired.” Remy stated, producing a scroll from inside his jacket.

Emile and Logan both looked over the document and found no problems. It was a straightforward invitation for Logan to study magic at the prince’s new school, with promises to provide anything he could need while he was living at said school, and nothing more. The father and son shared a thoughtful glance. It was definitely an opportunity.

Emile smiled. “Do it.”

“Really? You think I should accept?”

“A chance like this only comes around once, and I can always hire someone if I need the help. Follow your dreams kiddo.” Emile said with an encouraging smile.

Logan bit his lip as he considered things. He really hadn’t thought today could get any better, then this happened. He was worried about leaving his dad, but Emile had told him to take this chance. And he was right about this being a once in a lifetime opportunity. Besides, Remy had said he could still visit the town on the weekends…

“Okay. I accept.”

---

A/N: thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. I'll be posting two chapters a day until the full fic is up, so if you want to be tagged, you can just ask. [Also, here's a link to chapter 1]

I'd love to hear what you thought about the chapter if you wouldn't mind commenting. Thanks again for reading! Here's hoping you have a magical day 💜

#sanderssides #sander sides #sanders sides fic #logan sanders #ts logan sanders #ts logan #remy sanders #emile picani #fantasy au #Thomas Sanders Sides Big Bang 2021 #food mention tw

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