#i simply think.... no i shan't speak.

[platoapproved]

2.06 || 2.05

[musicallisto]

· · · · ♡ IF (SAINZ WIN == TRUE) (cs55)

… starring carlos sainz x f!engineer!reader ... 4.4k words ... in which carlos is an effusive, self-assured lad to every member of his team... except ferrari's head software engineer, making her wonder if he secretly hates her guts. ... based on this request ... warnings for language (minor) ... my first ever (posted) fic for carlos aaaaa (i have written A Lot More about this man because he occupies my every waking hour, but i shan't share it yet). in honor of me missing my communication networks final last week i made the reader a software engineer, but you would Never catch me willingly coding anything in c++ outside of my mandated assignments. no not even for carlos sainz jr. i have morals. this is open for part 2 if you guys enjoy it <3

He speaks the language of princes.

It's not in anything he says, no, he's much too industrious to waste time boasting, but rather in all that he doesn't. Carlos walks into the Ferrari motorhome, with that good-natured smile and that slightly disheveled hair from the morning's cycling session, and heads bow. Not out of plight, or even obligation, but mostly because it's hard not to. His warm greetings to everyone—Ciao's and even Come stai?'s to his team members strolling down the hallways before the weekend—, his keen interest in remembering little things about engineers' and photographers' lives, his nonchalant stride around the parc fermé all force camaraderie at least; reverence to most.

Wherever the red car goes, Maranello or any other corner of the world, religion follows, and though Carlos Sainz has never quite fit into the nooks they keep for their idols—their walls are carved for Monégasque shoulders—, he's at least always carried the air of a rebel leader on unforgving land.

But if Carlos is Ferrari's bastard prince, then clearly you are a subject he would not go to war for.

Or so he makes you think, once again, on that hot Singaporean afternoon.

You hadn't meant to interrupt, really, but with only one hour to go before FP1, you needed to talk to Riccardo Adami; something about the software updates, optimization of the data acquisition systems to account for Marina Bay's sweltering heat—run for half a second too long, overheat half a degree too much, and everyone's calculations would be going to hell. So of course you'd corrected it, supervised a brand new version of your code for the weekend, for that tenth of a Celsius; competition drove you. Almost just as much as those solar eyes boring into you when you walk into the room.

"Riccardo, about the softw—oh. Carlos. Hi," you timidly trail off when Carlos' eyes meet yours.

The room gets quiet, and it is only then that you notice how much space his laugh takes. Usually, you would've recognized the accent from outside the door, the boisterous voice regaling the Fifty-fives with another funny story—how could you not, when it sends shockwaves down your stomach? He seems to have been in an animated conversation with his race engineer, but as you get closer to the two men you notice the crinkles lengthening Carlos' eyes are fading with his smile. You aren't sure he's even said hi back.

"We've changed the code for acquisition, but some loops could still cause problems with overheating, particularly the engine oil temperature sensors…" you explain, though half your attention is directed to your peripheral vision, in which Carlos sways on his two feet, averting your gaze at all costs.

But you're not a college girl with a crush, you're Scuderia Ferrari's head software engineer and so you go on with your precisions to Riccardo. What to expect during free practice, how to overshoot any nonessential sensors that might fuck up the data analysis... until, mid-sentence, Carlos excuses himself awkwardly, pats Ricky on the shoulder, and walks out of the room.

You will your face into not betraying the sudden ache in your throat. How he simply acted like you weren't there... didn't even inquire about the updates. About the race. About your flight, about how much you loved Singapore's twinkling lights, about... you.

"Xavi and Charles know this already, but we really gotta test it all now before it gets cooler for FP2," you conclude with a too-hard swallow. Back firmly turned to the door Carlos just disappeared out of.

Riccardo thanks you, offers his own insight, some banalities about the risks of rain—no, you shouldn't consider them banalities. Nothing, on a Friday, is a banality anymore; yet everything is when you remember how Carlos' entire face shuts close when you're around, how his tone quietens down, how he repeatedly and stubbornly conceals all his rays of brazenness from you.

Does he hate you? Despise you? Are you not worth his effrontery?

This is ridiculous. You're not a college girl with a crush, you're a damn senior member of the team with responsibilities and he doesn't owe you anything more or less than you him—

"Riccardo," you neither ask nor plead. "Has Carlos... said anything about me?"

"About you? Like what?"

"I don't know... but you did see he just... left while I was in the middle of talking, right? And he looked annoyed as soon as I came in." And for all that's holy, try to pass this off as mere politeness and not a heartache that is eating you alive.

"Maybe he was just bored."

"So I'm boring?"

"No," Riccardo wheezes, in uncharacteristically high spirits for the conversation. "But I've worked with a ton of drivers, and you know, they're all the same. Less time discussing boring analytics is more time they spend in the sim. Or on track. What, you think he's angry at you or something?"

"I just... don't get why he's always so guarded and distant with me but so outgoing and confident with you guys. Charles isn't like that either. It makes no sense. We're a team, all of us."

The Italian looks at you for long seconds, amusement noticeable on his features, and you would shake him up and tell him to stop giving you those pity eyes if you lacked the tiniest bit of respect for the man; instead, you frown and cross your arms.

"He'll be in a good mood tonight when we top free practice," Riccardo assures you before you can ask him if he needs anything else. "and even better tomorrow after getting pole. You can talk to him then if you want."

A smile creeps its way on your lips without you conjuring it. There it is, that loyal veneration that only men and women of the Scuderia possess. Something in those southern eyes Carlos shares with legend has made you religious, too.

"I'll hold you to that... we could all use a Singapore miracle."

Singapore is a miracle.

Surely any other team would scoff at the word, bragging that a pole position has nothing to do with miracles, that it's all meticulous teamwork and endless iterations on calculators, but Ferrari is deeply supersitious at its core. You—the centenarian team, its red-hot beating heart—don't shy away from thanking divine intervention. Maybe that's the reason why it still works.

After Carlos' last pole in Monza, the whole Scuderia had dared to dream of something different, a glimmer of scarlet in the season's overwhelming orange. Of course, an uncatchable Max had put a dampen on the fervent Tifosi's mood, but the formidable hope machine had revved back to life...

and now it's roaring in Marina Bay.

Leclerc's side of the garage claps for a hard-earned P3, but it's the Spaniard's team that erupts into cheers and rushes out into the pitlane to congratulate their hero. You stare at his lap time on your monitor with a grin—1:30.984, not even a tenth faster than his teammate—as cheerful screams, in Italian and Spanish, fill the garage; they get louder when Carlos walks back inside, grinning ear to ear and not even bothering to dodge the strong-arm pats on his head and back.

"Twice in a row, cazzo!"

"And this time you won't have Verstappen underfoot!"

"Perfect lap, Carlos, that was a perfect lap..."

"Grazie a tutti," Carlos beams, fire suit down to his waist, running clammy hands through his hair—he parts the red sea as he walks deeper into the garage, close to where you are. "I think we all did a very good job today, and now we gotta finish the job tomorrow..."

He laughs with the mechanics, a sun of fire and victory casting its rays onto the tarmac, and maybe it's the euphoria of the moment, but a sudden wind of courage rushes through your blood, and you walk up to him.

"Bravo, Carlos."

Your voice hits him like the purr of an engine in the ruckus, overshadowing any other sound; he whips his head in your direction, shiny eyes colliding with yours, and for the first time you don't back off but hold them in awe, and his smile doesn't fade, but rather shifts. To surprise, or... coyness?

"You were incredible out there, we're all so so proud of you," you praise, and the more you look at him the wider your smile grows, and the quieter the rest of the world gets.

"Thank you, Y/N," he rubs the back of his neck, his free hand fiddling with the hanging sleeves of his fire suit. "We... I couldn't have done this without you. Because, you know, the overheating, or what you were saying to Ricky before? I didn't understand everything, but at least I didn't cook to death."

Coyness? In Carlos Sainz? When he's still sweaty and panting from qualifying first? What a bizarre sight, one that makes you giggle.

The way your nose scrunches up beneath sparkling eyes is so endearing, Carlos almost feels his breath hitch in his throat, almost reaches out to lightly brush your arm, hold the steady coolness of it.

"Great, that was what we were going for, pretty much," you reply, and for a second you could've sworn he wanted to touch your arm and changed his mind, but...

you bury the idea before a craving for his warmth can nestle in your chest.

"Great," he repeats. "So, I'll... see you later," and with that he leaves you there, stranded in the middle of the garage, to be lauded by the press and fans.

You'd be lying if you said his shadow disappearing out the backdoor as quickly as it had come doesn't slice a gash in your heart—always whisked away to some important obligation, and you, like everyone else, duty-bound to pick up the pieces behind him. But this time around the cut doesn't run as deep, doesn't bleed as red; because for the first time in months Carlos talked to you, joked with you, and looked the tiniest bit glad to be doing so.

If that's how good of a mood a pole puts him in... then clearly you'd better make damn sure he wins this race.

Ferrari is deeply superstitious at its core. Maybe that much is true in any sport—when victory eludes you, athletes find obscure laws to trick themselves into believing they still retain control—, but a team so old, on which glory has rained so often, does not withstand the passage of time without a few pillars of faith. And so it makes sense that Ferrari drivers, of all people, would have their pre-race traditions.

Leclerc plays the piano on Saturday nights; you hear him every time you pass by the team hotel's lounge, his melancholy tracks grounding you in a precise time and place. Now the car is out of bounds, the comfort of your object-oriented programming and optimized lines of code off-limits; now's the time for withdrawal and rest.

Typically, you like to hang out in the lounge while Charles plays, trying to distract yourself with a book or simply basking in the music. The predictable, calculated flow of Charles' arpeggios soothes you, like lines of code running one after the other. So does the Monégasque driver's easy conversation. Although it doesn't shoot butterflies in your belly like Carlos' does... but you're not supposed to play favorites.

This Grand Prix eve is just like any other, save for the unordinary trepidation that carpets the hotel. With one of their own sitting on pole, it's obvious strategists struggle more than usual to drop the words "tire management" and "pit stops". Eager to escape the nervousness, you excuse yourself from the dinner table, and make your way to the lounge.

Charles is already there, if the usual pieces echoing in the distance at dessert are any indication, and you barely even get lost in the elegant halls before you find the lounge... though there is no piano to be heard. Maybe this hotel has two music rooms—maybe Charles went to bed early—or maybe...

maybe he's sitting on the piano stool and chatting with Carlos, wet and sleepy from his evening shower.

Neither driver notices you at first, and you stop dead in your tracks, wondering if you should just leave. You wouldn't want to intrude—intrude on what, the rational part of your brain says, but with Carlos I always feel like I'm intruding on something bigger than myself, the rest of your body answers—, but you really enjoy this unspoken tradition with Charles... and, well, this is everybody's lounge, and...

"Y/N," Charles sees you eventually and beckons you over. "Sorry, I don't think there'll be a lot of music tonight, Carlos is distracting me."

"You could kick me out anytime," Carlos remarks good-naturedly, but you don't miss how he angles his body away from you ever so slightly. The sight sends a dagger through your heart. So he actually hates you then. So you didn't breach any barrier earlier at the circuit, didn't melt any ice. So he didn't look pleased and a little excited to be talking to you.

"That's okay, I'll just head to bed then—"

"Oh no no no," Charles interrupts, "come sit with us. I was trying to convince Carlos to give the piano a go, maybe you'll be more successful than me."

"Absolutely not, mate."

"Come on Carlos, it will relax you!"

"No, you're the musician, not me. One of us has to be the sportsman, no?"

Unsure, you flick between the two men, Charles' inviting face and Carlos, who's still doing everything he can to avoid looking at you in the eye. And then you decide—fuck it. You're just as much a member of the team as he is. He cannot drive you away with his... stupid cold shoulder tactics any longer.

You take a seat on the sofa opposite Carlos, and watch in half delight, half annoyance as he turns his shoulders away from you. Though his body language appears relaxed, one leg strewn across his knee and elbows hugging the backrest, he is, as usual, going to hell and beyond to not acknowledge your presence.

Charles has the merit of lightening the mood with his jokes and fan encounters of the day: some bizarre, some endearing, because he seemingly never has a boring day in the paddock. His easy laughter mixes with the distant voices down the halls when your attention drops—too fast, too soon, as always, it's irremediable—to Carlos, the soothing scent of his shampoo and the little droplets that run down his temple whenever he shakes his head in amusement... before you know it, you're staring again, eyes shining with undisclosed heartache. Something Charles sees, and recognizes very well, with a jot of curiosity.

Charles may not be the most perceptive when it comes to these things, but he is in love too, and he'd know the signs anywhere. That's why after a little while he lets silence blow his last words away like wind does the mist, and stands up from the piano stool.

"Well, I'm going to bed," he announces with an air of conniving finality, and he smiles his crooked smile at Carlos. "Gonna need all my energy to take the lead in turn 1."

This snaps you out of your reverie. Half-gone, you bid him goodnight at the same time as the Spaniard does, and you brace yourself for his own excuse... but it doesn't come. Carlos lazily watches as Charles leaves the lounge. You don't dare to move, as if your slightest sound could remind him you're there and trigger his fight.

You would've thought a tête-à-tête with you to be Carlos' worst nightmare... but he makes no sign of leaving. And sends solar flares up your chest and throat. "Whatever problem he's got with me, he'll have it sort it out with me like an adult" sounds much more intimidating when it's so plausible.

"You think he has the slightest chance of overtaking me in turn 1?" Carlos chuckles.

You look him straight in the eye and read no resentment, not even that sheepishness from before—just relaxed delight, and the slightest hint of reddened cheeks against tan, damp skin. It takes you a second, maybe even two, to realize there's no one else in the room. He's talking to you. Joking with you.

Why is the script running without error all of a sudden, even though you changed no variables?

"Maybe," you give a noncommittal shrug and a smile. "Why not? It all depends on you."

"He can lead the first lap if he wants. That will just make it more fun to cross the finish line ahead of him after."

"You better win this one, Sainz, because I..." you start, and midway through your sentence are hit by how absolutely ridiculous you're about to sound, but he's leaned in already, intrigued by your words, and his burning gaze and strong hands fiddling in his lap have you losing all notions of propriety. "I've... coded a little something for you. If you win. A surprise. It's not much, but... yeah."

Your whole face burns deep scarlet as you trail off... and the light in Carlos' eyes darkens, then goes out completely. His smile fades back to the usual professional grimace he reserves for you. Distant. Cold. He rises to his feet.

"I should get some sleep."

Terror strikes you. Incomprehension too.

"No, Carlos, wait."

He turns his head to your outstretched hand... your pleading eyes almost rip through his heart.

"Why do you dislike me so much?"

And then his shoulders slump, like crushed by an immense weariness, and he sighs, long and hard, before his gaze falls back to yours. Those big brown eyes, gentle, compassionate, and those fingers tapping against his thigh like they're waiting for an invisible cue to reach out for yours.

"... Can we talk about this after the race?" he says, shooting daggers through your stomach.

So he didn't deny it. Didn't reassure you, tell you it's all a misunderstanding, that he bears no ill will towards you, that you're imagining things as usual and that you two could be on the best of terms if you just got out of your head a little bit.

One more time, he's running away. Sweeping everything under the rug, for just one more session, one more race, hiding behind the excuse of concentration and professionalism.

But who are you to revoke him that? It's a damn good excuse. You need to win. He needs to win. Not be bothered about... interpersonal relationships while clipping walls.

"... Alright," you concede, voice and bones all broken, glistening under your frozen skin. "But if it's something I've done, then I'm sorry. I really do... enjoy your company. And you."

"It's not something you've done," he speaks quietly. Gosh, your frailty in this moment—you, so proud and unshakable on the pit wall, so dedicated and thorough on TV, so immeasurably devoted to Ferrari, to Charles, to him... "Or, well, I guess not directly..."

If he looks into your confused, imploring eyes one more second, almost brushes your arm with his one more time, then he's done for. But he thinks he knows this already.

"I don't dislike you," he starts speaking and as soon as he opens his mouth he knows there's no stopping himself now, so he blurts it all out as quickly as he can to get it over with and hopefully bury some meaning in the pits of his accent. "Not at all. In fact I really like you. I think you're gorgeous, and smart, and clever, and fun, and every day I wish I could spend more time with you outside of races and get to know you better but then I remember that can never happen and it's so frustrating and I have the hardest time concentrating. So I just avoid you. It's easier."

Silence thick as a thundercloud tethers you to one another. He runs a hand over his face, sighing deep, and you blink. Once, twice.

You've always prided yourself on your brains—not everyone gets to be in charge of all the computing for a Formula 1 car—but right now, you are all utterly lost.

"Carlos, I... I don't get it." Or maybe you do, heart thumping in your ears, but you're too scared you might be wrong.

"In any other life I would've asked you out on a date." This time he speaks more slowly, more purposefully, too. Like he's imbuing every syllable with the depth of his confession. "But it kills me that it can't be this one."

"... Why not?" you tentatively ask after an instant, feigning not to notice how his hand is now resting on the back of your sofa, right next to your ear and neck.

"Because you're a senior engineer! That would be like... like dating Ricky. Even if you're much prettier than Ricky. But you don't need to tell him that," he adds with a nervous laugh, which you mirror; though you fall silent as soon as his hand comes to rest on your shoulder, right where your collar ends, millimeters away from your skin. His body's warring with his own words... one wants to resist, the other to give in. "What if I leave Ferrari? That's a crazy conflict of interest."

"That's a silly idea, you're not leaving Ferrari anytime soon. Are you?"

"I don't know, it's... hypothetically... you know what I mean," he exhales in defeat. His hand clasps a little tighter on your shoulder, his scent dizzying, closer than ever before. Can he feel your frantic heart thumping underneath your skin? If he keeps licking his lips like this, will he sense your breathing getting more erratic?

"I do. But... the problem is I like you too, Carlos."

If embers could burn back to life, light a hearth out of nothingness... they wouldn't shine as bright as Carlos' eyes just then.

"Don't mess with me."

"I'm not messing with you. Why wouldn't I like you?"

"Because you're not supposed to have a favorite."

"I won't tell Fred if you don't."

He laughs, a brittle but adorable little thing, like a small bird taking its first flight. If you could hear the sound more often, see that bashful smile on his handsome face more every day... you wouldn't need any other prince to die in war for.

His hand runs down your arm, his thumb lightly caressing your skin through the fabric of your shirt before he grabs your shaky hand in his.

"Now's not the best time, but... I think we've got to have an important conversation after the race tomorrow," his deep, soft tone pacifying you just as much as the abstract shapes he traces on the back of your hand.

"After you win, you mean."

"Right. After I get my surprise, no?"

"After you win," you repeat with a grin, and he squeezes your hand, smiling too. Something, deep down, tells him he'll win regardless of the race result.

"Cosa diavolo sta facendo?"

Even in spite of the roaring crowd and the bellowing V8s speeding down the straight, the dumbfounded voices around the pit wall come to you clear as day.

"Russell 1.4 behind Lando," Ricky, sitting on the other side of Vasseur, speaks into his headset.

The team principal keeps quiet, eyes fixed on the cascade of numbers and brackets on your screen. He understands before the rest of the wall what his driver is doing; and as you relay all the information you get to the race engineers, you understand it too.

"Lando .8 behind, .8 behind with DRS—Russell no DRS... Copy that."

He's doing it on purpose. Keeping Norris just close enough to shield him from the Mercs while making sure he can't catch up. You'd laugh in triumph and disbelief if you weren't gritting your teeth so damn hard, heart on the verge of exploding as the last laps tick out in a blur.

Just a few more minutes. Just a few more seconds, and the night sky over Marina Bay will explode in crimson lights...

Mechanics spring to their feet and climb the wall to the track, bumping their fists in the air. Cheers, claps, exclamations, a bouquet of red roses swaying in the wind to greet its champion at the finish line. And then, the unmistakable roar of a racecar speeding past the chequered flag at three hundred kilometers an hour. Liberation.

You spring to your feet right as the fireworks go off, yelling to the sky. Carlos won. Carlos won! Your Carlos—in the middle of Red Bull's flawless season...

"¡Vamos Fred! ¡Vamos Ricky!" Flashes of red and gold pass his high spirits by, diligently braking into the first corner.

He laughs, he screams it all out, unclenching all his muscles, woozy from the G's, from the adrenaline, from the win... from you, watching him from the pit wall. From the memory of your skin against his, your adoring eyes and the formidable lightness inside his chest that has him feeling like he's the king of the world.

In a few minutes, he'll be posing with his trophy and the team in front of his P1 plaque for the group photo, and he'll drench you in champagne—your lively laughter will fill his heart with the gold of medals. And later in the evening, before the afterparty, he'll pull you aside and tell you maybe this victory has made him reckless, and he'll kiss you senselessly like a prize he fought for.

For now, though, he's nodding his head at Lando who gave him a congratulatory wave from his car when his on-board screen lights up with an unexpected message. Glowing red letters read, "Great job, smooth operator! 🌶️" Laughter escapes him as small virtual fireworks go off on his screen... and he presses the radio button on his steering wheel.

"Did she have one of these ready for Charles too?"

A few seconds of white noise, and then, your mischievous voice, dripping with joy.

"You know me, Carlos. Never play favorites."

… f1 taglist; @retvenkos @giuseppe-yuki (want to be added? send me an ask!)

[visualtaehyun]

Pronouns, my beloved!

Disclaimer: not a native Thai speaker, still learning 🙏

นี่คุณจะไม่เลือกผมจริง ๆ ใช่ไหม /nee, khun ja mai leuuak pom jing jing chai mai?/

-> คุณ /khun/ = polite, formal 2nd pers. pronoun -> ผม /pom/ = polite, formal, respectful male 1st pers. pronoun

As Mahasamut is the younger one, he might just keep using ผม /pom/ throughout the entire show, just as Sky did in LITA. What he calls Tongrak is surely gonna change though! คุณ /khun/ feels too distant for P'May characters - even LomNuea in Wedding Plan, who met in a professional context and long kept using คุณ /khun/, ended up switching to the more familiar and informal พี่ /phi/ to refer to Lom.

So my predictions include:

a variation on his name, e.g. Rak, instead of any pronoun (like Prapai calling Sky just Sky, no pronouns), or later down the line maybe just ที่รัก /thee rak/ (= lit. beloved, comparable to darling, honey etc.) as it's sweet and would be a lovely switcheroo from Tongrak ต้องรัก /dtawng rak/ (= have to love)

a more intimate pronoun like เธอ /ter/ (based on YiwaMarine from Wedding Plan foregoing seniority by having younger Rine call her older girlfriend เธอ /ter/ for most of the show)

or simply พี่ /phi/ (as a 2nd pers. pronoun) which- I was just considering how that might not be sweet enough for a P'May top but then the sheer potential of P'Rak พี่รัก /phi rak/ sounding so close to ที่รัก /thee rak/ occurred to me and now I'm gonna need that to happen!!

ต่อให้ผู้ชายทั้งโลกเหลือแค่นายคนเดียวอะ ฉัน ก็ ไม่ เอา /dtaaw hai phuu chaai thang lohk leuua khaae naai khohn diiao a- chan. gaaw. mai. ao./)

-> นาย /naai/ = informal male 2nd pers. pronoun (it's kind of filed away as the male equivalent to เธอ /ter/ in my head, even though เธอ /ter/ is perfectly usable regardless of gender but might sound too flirty to Tongrak, maybe?) -> ฉัน /chan/ = informal, familiar 1st pers. pronoun, not respectful or polite but also not impolite; used when speaking to someone younger/of lower status or between equals, is used predominantly by women, and in turn by men when talking to women

I love this choice so much! 1) Because both ฉัน /chan/ and นาย /naai/ rarely make an appearance in BL, from male characters, even though they delight me every time I do hear it in a BL (e.g. NuerSyn in Cutie Pie calling each other นาย /naai/ for a good long while), and 2) because ฉัน /chan/ can give both Mafia Boss (as can นาย /naai/) as well as Sassy and no, I shan't elaborate 5555

My prediction is that these too might change. ฉัน /chan/ here feels like- attitude? almost? Like both a level of self-confidence as well as some sass so I'd wager that mellows out into:

พี่ /phi/ (as a 1st pers. pronoun)

or he might just as well keep using ฉัน /chan/ (if paired with เธอ /ter/ for example that's like prime romance trope right there lol)

or, which I think is most likely, he'll just use his own name or variation thereof, e.g. Rak.

I remember seeing Peat tweet something aaaages ago when the announcement for Love Sea first dropped where he called Fort 'Mut' -

/diiao juuhr gan loei, ai moot/ = See you then, Ai'Mut!

Except this is spelled differently from Mahasamut's name because หมุด /moot/ (= pin/needle) is the phonemic spelling of the last syllable in มหาสมุทร /ma haa sa moot/. So! I think it's entirely possible that Tongrak's gonna call him Mut หมุด or Nong Mut น้องหมุด in the future.

คุณต้องรักมหาสมุทร /khun dtawng rak mahaa samoot/

= Khun Tongrak Mahasamut = You have to love the ocean. = You have to love me.

The Thai title is ต้องรักมหาสมุทร /dtawng rak mahaa samoot/ = TongrakMahasamut; Gotta Love the Sea; Gotta Love Mahasamut

[averageallogene]

hi! ive been thinking abt this for a while but could you do lyney x mermaid! reader 🩷

Lyney ♡⊹˚  Solace [SFW]

fem. reader (3rd person) ; fluffy fluff with a side of hurt/comfort, just because Lyney deserves the love :( ♡ ; reader is a mermaid! cw for diving (in case of any phobias!) ; Also mild spoilers of Act I of the first Fontaine Archon Quest. 

3k words.

notes. Hi dear anon! ♡ Your wish is my command. Lyney with a mermaid reader is such a sweet idea, my fingers just began flying across the keyboard <3. I went with a fem. reader this time, I hope that's okay! If not, don't be shy to request a gn! version and I'll see what I can do. I hope you enjoy! ✧˖°.

The crowd cheered wildly, a standing ovation following as the pair extended their arms. Embracing the whistles and the praise was a reward the magicians were more than welcoming towards, even if reacting in different ways. A deep bow followed suit, the clapping growing louder, the cheering continuing for long minutes straight. The wooden floor boards beneath them even trembled, the mere satisfaction of their audience being utterly felt by the two even as they finally were released from the spotlight as the curtain slowly descended. 

Lyney and Lynette had remained there, hands held together, him smiling and her remaining elegantly still up until they were no longer faced with their crowd. It was only after the maroon fabric concealed them that they could finally relax their muscles, their hands lowering before letting their breath go freely. Another show was successful, much to their pleasure. 

"Good work, dear Lynette." He'd congratulated his brilliant sister, smiling with pride whilst attempting to conceal the way he was tired. It was unsuccessful, yet his sister didn't comment on it.

"You as well." She quietly hummed, the two exiting the stage before equally congratulating their team for their efforts. It was only as they were assured they were alone, that she spoke again. "Did you find anything?"

Lyney took his intricate hat off, gently placing it on top of his vanity. He focused to no point in particular, his gaze getting lost on the most minor of details as he sighed quietly. 

"No, I didn't. I couldn't… Go far." Beneath his breath he admitted, his fingertips tracing the edge of his top hat as he could watch from the corner of his eye his sister, who remained still. "I think it's too early for us to go back on the hunt so boldly, no?"

"You might be right," Lynette's brows visibly furrowed. "Yet still, we can't fail Father either."

Silence. Lyney -could feel the knot on his throat tighten. Suddenly, his dressing room felt suffocating. 

"I know." Was all he mustered. Nothing more was needed, anyway. Lynette knew she was touching a sore topic, and as such she herself stopped from speaking further about it. 

It simply was still too fresh. Lyney feared he'd get himself, or worse his sister, in any trouble were he to attempt to further investigate the Oratrice right now… surely Father would understand. Right? 

His head weighed heavy, spinning uncontrollably with everything that swarmed his mind for those past couple of days. He barely managed to account for everything being in its right place before he was already out the door and towards the Opera's exit, his sister inquiring hastily.

"Are you leaving?"

"Yes, I just need some fresh air." He offered her a tired, albeit still honest smile.

"Ah, I see." She was quick to understand, nodding her head. "Just be back in time to spend some time with Freminet. We promised."

"Do not worry dear Lynette, my little brain shan't fail me." He waved her off with a hum, his feet quickly sending him flying off the tall and imposing building.

The bustling sounds of the crowd slowly dissipated, the blurry conversations blown with the wind as Lyney felt the breeze caress his face. His black boots carried him off to one of the shore lines of the sea, his expression finally letting go of all the tension he hadn't realized he had up until then. 

There were no roaring cheers, no suffocating applause, no rush between his colleagues to rearrange and secure props. There were no Archons to amuse, no Fathers to make proud. There was no need for a charming magician, nor the need of loyalty of one of the House of Hearth.

"Lyney! You made it!"

There was only need for him to be Lyney, himself. And at that moment he smiled vividly, rivaling the very sun with how bright he shined. His pace became slightly quicker, crossing through the pearly sands as he reached one of the taller rocks near the shore. 

There stood one of the very few people he knew he could be truly himself with. One that cared for him as he was, one that had no ulterior motives for wanting to love him. An enchanting figure to his life, a breath of fresh air that helped him calm from all his worries. 

"Of course I made it, I'd never promise something I didn't intend on upholding my dear!" He laughed quietly, carelessly entering the refreshing waters until they were up to halfway his thighs. He opened his arms with twice the energy and yearning he’d usually display, enveloping his love in his warm embrace as she giggled blissfully. “Have you been waiting for too long? You’ve dried up already…”

“No, don’t worry.” She reassured him, shaking her head before holding both his hands. “It wasn’t long, I promise.”

“Is that the case…” His eyes squinted, a hint of playfulness evident in his features as he reached closer. His pretty eyes scanned her figure, noting how only her tail that was still submerged in the freshwater was obviously wet. Even her lovely hair had, at that point, half dried. If those weren’t the dead giveaways as they were, the way her tail had begun to slowly sway from one side to the other whilst creating the smallest of ripples on the water definitely was. “This keen eye tells me otherwise, mon coeur.”

Her face finally cracked, morphing into the prettiest of pouts that did wonders at pulling at his heartstrings. “I… I just- I just missed you a lot, so I might’ve come up ashore a little earlier than usual…”

Ah, Lyney’s very eyes seemed to reflect hearts as his very own melted. “Oh, my dear [F/N]... I’m sorry, had I known I would’ve rushed quicker!”

“N-No! No no no, absolutely not, there is no need!” The mermaid squeezed his hands tighter, all the while her magician remained there, leaning against the same rock where she sat, a loopy smile never leaving his lovestruck face as she spoke. “You have a lot to do, a lot of responsibilities, I don’t want to impose anything upon your schedule, Lyney!”

Well, there was the smallest part of him that… Perhaps hoped that she would. True, Lyney had a lot of responsibilities to his being, and he knew better than to avoid them; but it was those small escapades he’d do with his lovely [F/N] that refreshed his existence, recharged his batteries to take on everything else he needed to do. She was his solace, his comfort, and there was about nothing he’d deny her were she to ask. 

Yet all the same, the fact she didn’t ask of anything more of him than his true self to be with her when he could, was one of the many reasons he loved her so dearly.

“Ah, I remembered,” Her back straightened up, the prettiest pink rising to her cheeks as she eyed him ahead with a cheery smile. “I-I had… Something I wanted to give you but, I didn’t know where to hide it until you came and…”

“You got something for me?” He seemed genuinely surprised, his eyes sparkling with curiosity as he remained fully focused on her figure. 

[F/N] in turn nodded her head. “It’s nothing special really, but still… I was hoping I could give it to you.”

“Oh now I am most curious,” Lyney breathed out with a wide smile, his hand quickly finding her face before stroking her cheek. “I’m certain I will absolutely adore it, love. Anything you give me is worth the world.”

The mermaid could feel her heart beating louder at his honeyed words. [F/N] knew that he meant it, too. And so, even as she herself wasn’t fully convinced, she kindly asked him to wait for her, before diving right down the fresh waters. Lyney watched as her tail swayed quickly, the figure slithering into the translucent waters before vanishing. He remained there as asked, the smile ever present on his face as he waited.

It was quiet… It felt nice. His head was mostly rested, emptied of all that troubled him. All he could focus was on the soft sounds of the water, ripples as the small waves reached his skin, up until they were stirred as his [F/N] reemerged to the surface. Her pretty hair now clung to her figure, a few strands hiding her glistening eyes as the color on her face rivaled the blooming roses he too adored. She swam his way, his endearing smile beckoning her as he sat himself comfortably to properly welcome her back. With his legs slightly parted she rested against him, her long shimmering tail hanging close to his legs as she doted on his very presence. 

“I… It really isn’t anything special, honestly.” [F/N] spoke softly, all the while Lyney listened attentively with an encouraging smile. “It truly pales in comparison to the gifts you’ve given me but still. I hope you’ll like it, Lyney…”

She shifted, her arms bringing to the surface the subject of the conversation. The magician gently held his hands out, the wondrous gleam of a child present upon his face as he waited in anticipation for the kind gesture of his lovely girlfriend. Carefully his hands were blessed with a small object, a delicate conch with the most simplest yet beautiful shapes. It was a cleaned clam conch, its exterior seemingly mundane as it sported its most common shade - this much he knew, from the few times he’d witnessed Freminet freely talk about every little trinket he’d find during his divings. Still, the smile he gave [F/N] didn’t fade, in fact it seemed to only grow, his mind only swarming with how she’d picked that conch specifically for him. It had been something she’d gone out of her way of giving him, and no matter how simple it might’ve been, the gesture made his heart burst in happiness. 

In turn, his mermaid remained silent, a shy smile on her damp face as she calmly turned the item around. It was finally time to study Lyney’s face, her heart hoping for any sight of wonder. And truly, Lyney’s expression didn’t fail to amuse, his pretty lips parting as he let out a soft ‘oh’ - the inside of the clam wowing him with its exquisite colors and shades. Its interior gleamed, the hues of violet and pink dancing in a beautiful array of color. It seemed to glitter when wet with the crystalline waters, in its small surface hiding away the sparkle that could truly outshine a starry sky.

“My, [F/N]... It’s beautiful.” Lyney had breathed out, the corners of his mouth lifting in the most genuine of smiles he’d bless her with. His eyes glanced to her own, the smallest pink dust now on his cheeks as he held it close to his heart, his sweetheart in turn smiling as well with his honest reaction.

“I’m glad!” She sighed softly, her arms resting on his lap as her shoulders tensed slightly. “In truth, I got you this conch because its interior… It reminds me of your beautiful eyes.”

The smile he previously had slowly faded, though it wasn’t due to anything more than the sheer surprise her statement brought him. The magician blinked twice as he took her words in, his hand reopening to examine the gift once more. That same wondrous shade of violet the conch had… Had it reminded her of his eyes? Did his [F/N], perhaps, see his eyes in such a light?

“They’re a similar shade, though I still think your eyes are far prettier…” [F/N] confessed, her voice nearly drowning amongst the waters as she whispered in such a soft tone. By that point she rested her head on his lap, the love in which she gazed upon him with being enough to rival an entire ocean. “Everytime I swim through the waters, I find myself fixating on the prettiest little things. They always seem to remind me of you… Whether it be due to the similar color of your eyes, or how they remind me of the stories you’ve told me- L-Lyney?”

He hadn’t even realized how the tears had begun to overflow, streaming down his round cheeks as he attempted to compose himself. He simply couldn’t however, an embarrassed and short chuckle escaping from his throat as he attempted to clear the droplets of water away. His smile was trembling, the blush on his face worsening as his eyes grew a little red. Why was he even crying? It certainly wasn’t what he wished for, worrying his sweetheart in such a way… One thing he was certain of though, it wasn’t due to sadness. He felt his heart bursting instead, overjoyed despite the delicate state in which his emotions were. It was as though everything had overwhelmed him, the way in which [F/N]’s words patched a hole in his heart and soothed him, sending him over the edge as he tried to fight back against the knot that was forming on his throat.

“Ah, I’m sorry, darling. I-I’m okay, I ap-pologize for crying in such a sudden way, I-I didn’t want you worry you-”

“It’s okay, look at me…” [F/N] hushed him softly, bringing herself a little more out of her water before coaxing him to pry his hands away from his face. Lyney could only oblige to her, feeling as her damp hands gently caressed his hot skin, cooling his cheeks as her thumbs cleaned the tears away. Her eyebrows were furrowed in honest concern for him, gazing deeply into the same violet eyes she had declared to adore so deeply. “...You’ve been feeling overwhelmed, haven’t you my love?”

It had been her turn to read him like an open book, the weak and semi-forced smile he’d mustered being enough of an answer for her. He was by that point attempting to hold back the sobs from escaping, though it was as though Lyney himself wasn’t even sure how he’d suddenly unraveled in such an indecent way. He was happy at that moment, he was sure of it, yet it had been as though [F/N]’s pour of pure love for him had opened the lock that kept everything else away, as well. 

In truth, he hadn’t felt so… Loved, for a long while. 

He knew he was loved and cared for, yet still. Those past few weeks had been rough. And the mere way his dear [F/N], an innocent person who had little to no idea of all of his uglier sides, could so deeply love him to the point where the most simplest and beautiful things reminded her of him - it had shattered him into the most beautiful million pieces, like glitter that fell down into oblivion.

“Here...” [F/N] softly hummed to him, her embrace enveloping him as he didn’t think twice to reciprocate. Lyney held her tightly, her tail close to his lower body as she held him carefully, letting him seek the comfort he needed on her shoulder as she lulled him above the water. “It’s okay… You must’ve been very busy with everything in your life, haven’t you? Are you doing okay?”

He could only nod, attempting to reassure her he was alright, hanging by, at least. [F/N] never pressured him to reveal more, which was always something he deeply cherished. He never wished to hide anything from her, yet all the same, he knew he was selfish for never wishing to warp her perception of him… After all, once upon [F/N] knowing of all of him, would he still be able to be only Lyney with her, too?

“And are Lynette and Freminet okay, too?” She questioned gently, her voice humming as they stood there, floating in the refreshing waters. Again he nodded, a sigh of relief escaping her as she stroked through his hair gently. “I’m glad.”

“Sorry, love, I didn’t want our little date to go this route,” He heaved softly, finally gathering the courage to lift from her neck, eyeing her with a small frown. Instead of finding any look of concern or disappointment however, his lovely girlfriend instead smiled gently at him. “I assure you, I am very happy with your gift and your presence, it’s just…”

“It’s okay Lyney, don’t apologize. I will love you regardless, you don’t have to always force happiness. Everyone needs to let it all out from time to time.” His grasp on her only tightened after that, his smile more genuine as he basked in her words. “You don’t have to tell me everything if you don’t feel ready to, I’ll still be here for you! Now, how about we go for a swim to try and lighten up?”

“That sounds… Like a wonderful idea.” He hummed, leaning into her touch as she cleared the last few tears that spilled out. It was his turn to rest his hand on her cheek, caressing her skin with all the love he had for her, leaning in before planting a small yet still meaningful kiss to the corner of her lips. 

In turn, the mermaid giggled in satisfaction. “Good, are you ready?”

“Ah yes, let me just…” Quickly he secured the gift she’d given him to one of his pockets, ensuring it wouldn’t float away to his possible dismay. [F/N] watched with endearment over how he seemed to cherish the small gift so religiously, her hands guiding him deeper into the waters before they finally submerged. 

The waters were tranquil, enveloping the two of them like a welcoming blanket. The current was soft and welcoming, the bright sun allowing them to view the ecosystems perfectly as they swam. [F/N]’s hand remained locked with Lyney’s, her pace slower than what he very much knew she was capable of as they went side by side. Together they went through the lesser known paths of the giant coral reefs where [F/N] resided, the small otters she shared her home with welcoming them with cute squeaks as they swam nearby them. Lyney smiled as one brought another conch to him, this one simple and pink in color, his girlfriend giggling along before having another look at it.

“They seem to adore you!”

“Is that so?” He laughed softly, his hand squeezing hers tighter as they swam a little quicker. “Mhm, do you think they’d find a magic trick a fair payback for their kind gesture?”

“Oh, I’m sure they’d find it amusing,” He watched with happiness as she laughed at the mere idea of him entertaining a bunch of otters with his cards. “Even I am curious about how that would go, now!”

“Then next time we come swimming, I will be sure to bring my deck.” Lyney nodded his head, utterly serious about his next endeavor. After all, an audience of cute otters… Well, they weren’t cats, but cute and easier to please nonetheless.

[F/N] cautiously led him through the shoals of fishes that swam throughout the pristine waters, smiling as she pointed along, telling him more of each species. The magician could only smile and listen, the mere sound of her voice easing his heavy heart, casting all pressure aside as his worries were washed away with the current. Their swim wasn’t long, yet it seemed to be effective in easing his mind, providing him the comfort he needed to rebalance his state of mind. Before he knew it and wished for, the time for him to leave approached, and knowing so as well, [F/N] gently led him back to the surface, their journey ending on the same rock in which they would regularly meet at. 

Lyney still remained there for a little longer, his body soaking in the sun that was still up in the sky. He patiently waited for most of his clothes to dry, conversing with his lovely [F/N] all the while as they shared laughter and reminisced over fond memories. And when he no longer could avoid his inevitable departure, he leaned down, meeting [F/N] halfway as she remained mostly submerged under the water. 

“Thank you, mon coeur. I can’t properly express just how much you mean to me…” He’d breathed out, it fanning over her face in a gentle notion that caused her to blush in response. 

“It’s nothing, Lyney. I love you, after all. Anything I can do to help you, I will.” She smiled sincerely, the magician swearing he could only hear his heart bursting with the loveliest of fireworks. 

“Then…” He leaned closer, his fingers stroking her jawline softly. “Will you give me your afternoon tomorrow? I would love to whisk your attention away for myself, if you’ll indulge me…”

The way her eyes sparkled at his suggestion made him fall in love all over again. “Of course! I will wait for you here, as always.”

“That’s my good girl.” He smiled with both mischievousness and adoration, his lips capturing hers once more. Against his chest he held the conch she’d gifted him, having ensured he hadn’t lost it amidst their voyage. “I will be back tomorrow, okay darling?”

“And I shall be here, my love.” [F/N] whispered, another faint kiss being shared before Lyney forced himself to finally get up.

It always was as though a piece of him remained with her each time he left, a small and painful gap in his heart remaining unfilled until he would inevitably return. Yet still, he would have it no other way, for in his beloved mermaid’s hands lay his heart, bare and true, for her to safekeep. 

Lyney was many things - a magician, an older brother, a member of the fatui. But with [F/N], on those waters that would wash his worries away, he could be simply himself, no labels attached. And were anyone to call him selfish he’d fully embrace it, for it was something he would always protect, and never give up. She was his solace, and he would forever treasure her for the unconditional love she provided.

[renee-ckstrong]

My Favourite Wrestling Match of all Time

In 2006, a Canadian wrestler became Captivated by a Japanese man for whom standard limitations on human athleticism don't apply. Twelve years later, they had the greatest professional wrestling match of all time.

I'll keep the background explanation brief because there is already a better explanation than I could ever do. Read here if you do not know the story of the Golden Lovers: https://medium.com/we-need-to-talk-about-wrestling/that-one-tweet-thread-about-the-golden-lovers-annotated-e9fc604e3a7f

Now Kenny Omega and Kota Ibushi have wrestled each other three times in their lives. And their second match from 2012 is arguably better than their the 2018 match that I am supposed to be looking at. So why would I say that the best match is worse than another one from six years prior. Well the twenty twelve match back in DDT is generational, and the greatest spectacle of athleticism in wrestling ever. The 2018 is far more emotional. With six more years of context they put on a match that made me feel more than any other match.

An important thread in the plotline of their story is this, Kenny Omega has never beaten Kota Ibushi. And because of that there is an unconfirmed insinuation that Kenny Omega can't beat Kota Ibushi. And it was because of this that Kenny grew resentful of how much better Kota was than him, and he turned to the dark side.

Kenny Omega is a fighter who compromised his morals to become the best in the world.

Kota Ibushi is a fighter who ran away from a fight and lost his chance to become the best in the world.

Kenny would join the Bullet Club, which at the time was like a villainous biker gang. He not only joined Bullet Club but he also distracted Kota costing him the top men's singles championship in all of Japan. After this Kota left New Japan Pro Wrestling unable to face the person his boyfriend Kenny was becoming. Kota did have some success in his absence, including but not limited to getting to the final of WWE's Cruiserweight Classic (but it has come out since that the plan was for him to win but the plan was changes when he expressed that he didn't want to sign with WWE). But he wasn't achieving success to the level he perhaps could. Kenny on the other had become THE GUY. The first non-Japanese person to win the annual G1 Climax tournament, won the IWGP Heavyweight Championship and had a match against Kazuchika Okada that broke the scales of how good wrestling matches could be.

So that is the state of play going into this match. Kota Ibushi had returned to NJPW after Kenny had taken over the Bullet Club and become the top star in the company. It is during the 28th G1 Climax tournament and these two have been matched up to fight each other. Kenny Omega is the best wrestler in the world right now, so can he beat Kota Ibushi now.

Another important detail is that the two men (in storyline at least, I can't speak for them in real life) are in love. Like genuinely actual queer storytelling, and it's not shit if you can believe it. So they obviously want to win but they don't want to hurt each other. They are worried that they will go to far.

And that's I think the beauty of it. The question of whether Kenny has surpassed Kota or whether he's still unable to beat his boyfriend even after all he's done. And the question of how far they'll go without wanting to do permanent damage to the other. Like their 2012 match is technically more impressive simply because men in their 20s can do feats of athleticism that men in their 30s can't. But that helps build the plot of the G1 match. In their 2012 match they do a disgusting spot where Kenny takes a hurricanrana of the top rope to the floor. In the 2018 match they tease doing it again but both men know that it isn't the kind of thing that either of their bodies can take these days.

It's brilliant. It's really beautiful. And I want to talk about the result of the match but I shan't because I want anyone reading this who hasn't seen it to go watch it. You can probably find it in full somewhere if you search 'omega vs ibushi g1'

So yeah that's my favourite wrestling match. It's pretty cool.

[nyhti]

I wanted to draw him more accurately to how Breyfogle drew him in Batman: Shadow of the Bat #1-4 You know what caught my eye as I was flipping through these issues again? Jerry calling Maximilian Zeus "Maxie". It's evident that Jeremiah's character changed a lot over the years that Grant wrote him. Most obvious change is him never being the villain again in Grant's stories after The Last Arkham, but there are other changes as well, like him becoming more mellow, more mousy, more boring over time, unfortunately. But one little change that I liked was in the way that he speaks. He speaks so normally in The Last Arkham that, after reading later Jerry stories by Grant, feels almost out of character. In later stories he started speaking in that: "We mustn't" and "I shan't" kind of way. That's why the line: "He'll never walk again, man!" from Batman: Shadow of the Bat #1 fucks me up every time, because I just simply cannot imagine Jeremiah ever saying ”man”. Another thing is him developing a weird allergy for using nicknames later on. He just refused to use nicknames for some reason, so when he said "Maxie", it really stuck out to me. Jerry in later issues would've 100% called him Maximilian. Even though I think Jeremiah's character really went down hill after Madmen Across the Water (Showcase 94' #3-4), it is incredibly interesting to look at all the ways he changed.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I would like to request something for cotl

A follower Leshy with a reader who is kind of a plant worm like him but they're always covered in flowers and herbs that can be used for medicine, like, it grows out of them and they give the flowers and herbs to lamb as their way of helping in the cult among other simple tasks.

"Hello [y/n], may I have some-"

"NO!! They're busy, stupid Lamb!" Leshy snarled, turning his head in the direction of his "leader's" voice, wishing he could scowl at them. "If you want camellia, go find them in the land you robbed from-!!"

"Leshy, it's okay. What do you need, Great Leader?"

"....what..?"

Your fellow bagworm was dumbfounded as Lamb calmly requested some mint leaves from you. Nodding, you carefully plucked some of the freshly-grown herbs from your arm and handed a bunch to them.

They graciously thanked you, saying it'll be an excellent ingredient in the tea they wanted to brew, before walking away.

Leshy, on the other hand, was displeased at your actions.

While you were both the same species, you had a unique magical ability that allowed you to grow flowers, herbs, and many other plant-based resources from your own body.

They were painless to pluck off when they've fully sprouted, and quite frankly...it's better that you did so during that time.

Otherwise, you'd constantly be weighed down and unable to see where you were going..

You were once Leshy's follower, the head of medicinal operations in Darkwood, so he was understandably furious when he arrived and saw you here in the cult as well.

He firmly believes that Lamb "stole" you to abuse you as a resource, rather than treat you like a person.

Yet when he pointed this out, you simply laughed.

But he was dead serious.

"Stop laughing! You can be honest with your former leader. Admit it...you're tired of them taking and taking from you!"

"Oh Leshy, that's complete and utter nonsense." You shook your head. "Lamb has never once taken any flower or herb from me by force. I'm giving them away out of my own volition. Darkwood grows more dangerous everyday, so why should they risk they safety to gather camellia when they can just ask me for some?"

He scoffed in response. "At least put a price on your flowers if you're just going to give them away all the time.."

You were about to respond to him, when you saw one follower approaching you. They seemed to be blushing, eyes shifting around to ensure the coast was clear before speaking to you.

"[Y/n]? Sorry to interrupt, but I..I-I think I'm in love with someone!" They stammered, hiding their face in their hands for a moment, looking back up at you. "But they don't know I exist....may I please have some flowers to woo them with?"

Leshy was silent as he glanced in your direction, wondering if you were going to take his advice.

"Sure! But it'll cost you.."

He quietly snickered, seeing the follower looking quite nervous as they started fishing for change in their robe pockets.

"....just kidding, my friend. Lucky for you I've grown a bunch here." With some small clippers, you trimmed the bottoms of the camelia stems, gathering about four of them before handing them all to the follower. "Be sure to tie them into a bouquet so they don't get lost to the wind." You winked. "Best of luck to you."

"Oh thank you! Thank you!! I shan't forget this!" They squealed in joy, a bright grin on their face as they hugged you for a few quick seconds.

Then, with the flowers clutched closely to their chest, they dashed off to bequeath this gift to their crush.

"Unbelievable."

"Leshy, that's enough." With a frown, you turned to the ex-bishop, growing a tad bit annoyed with his whiny attitude. Since you were both on an equal plane now, you could talk back to him without fearing any consequences. "You're acting like you're the one growing flowers out of your head. Why does this bother you so much?"

"....it just..does, alright? But if you're okay with being a walking garden for all these unworthy morsels-"

"I am very content with my role here, thank you very much." You smiled politely, wanting this conversation to be over with. "Now, don't you have a morgue to attend to?"

"That's my brother's job.." He grumbled, glancing over at the pit of corpses, shuddering. "Damn him for going on a "spiritual journey" at this hour. I may be the youngest, but at least I don't run away from my responsibilities!"

"Right. So...what's stopping you from going over there? Those bodies aren't doing any good lying in that pit.."

"Have you been over there recently? It reeks." Leshy shuddered in disgust. "I can't go anywhere near that pit of rot. The smell alone makes me wanna vomit.."

"Then...would it help if I planted some roses around it to absorb the stench?"

He did a double-take. "Huh?? Since when did you grow roses???"

"Just recently." You chuckled softly, holding up your arm so he could see the blood-red rose buried in your leafy exterior. "I've followed you for years, Leshy, and yet..somehow I keep surprising you."

"You sure do." Sighing, he smiled a bit and decided to accompany you to the morgue, hoping your roses would do a good job masking the awful smells.

Even though he knew exactly where it was, he ended up holding onto your arm as you both walked.

Until now, Leshy never noticed how lovely you smelled, surrounded by aromas that weren't too overwhelming for him at all. If anything..it felt rather comforting.

He couldn't even scent the dead bodies anymore--there was only you and your beautiful flowers.

It seems Lamb's cult allowed you to tap into your full plant magic potential.

[des-no9]

some HCs on Githyanki language, specifically the words of love and affection

Writing the githyanki, I've been thinking long and hard about their relationships, views on intimacy, languages and words of love - and what love means to them.

Then, with that, writing Orpheus/Voss, with them being so old and that they were (probably) around when they gained their freedom from the Illithid, but most definitely during the Pronouncement of the Two Skies, that to them, language would have been different to the gith that is spoken now.

For language is alive. It evolves, changes with the people who speak it, their culture and events. And from their people breaking free, then splitting in two, and over the thousands of years beneath Vlaakiths, to what they are now-

Finding that Orpheus and Voss say 'I love you' to eachother in one branch:

I noticed that a variant of 'sha va', 'sha'vah' is also used in another phrase both called out by Voss, Lae'zel and player Githyanki when they see Orpheus.

How the words are so closely related, but now when they're cheering for the return of Orpheus, it's more of a praise and formal respect/adoration.

I HC that since before Orpheus was imprisoned, until now, the githyanki have been so hardened that words and the acceptance love, affection, empathy, gentleness have been crushed out of them slowly, as we see in creches and well, how githyanki are now. And with it, the words lost, no longer existing in their language.

For example, even Lae'zel says they don't have a word for thank you.

So, when Orpheus and Voss say 'I love you' I HC that these were words lost or changed over the years and when they say it to eachother, they understand the meaning, they know the meaning. They remember, and feel.

But a githyanki of today overhearing them might not even understand the words, or the meaning may simply be muted now. Different. Lost.

I also think Orpheus would use these older words because he still stirs with some of that which the gith left behind, crushed, split in two.

Shamelessly plugging some of my Orpheus/Voss fic but this kind of sums up a little of how I see Orpheus and who he might be, and what maybe, some of the now githyanki were, too (now that's all bled into the githzerai).

Voss had seen some with heart and soul like Orpheus in their new creches, some leftovers from the last civil war, hearts dancing the edges of doubt. Most quickly had those doubts beaten, extinguished out of them. Focus shifted, purpose realigned. Voss had always believed Orpheus would have been one of those githyanki, realigned, if he were not the Prince. That influence spread to his honour guard. And quietly, those that admired him still.

I've also made up a couple of words while writing my githyanki fics, and one specifically I had in mind centreing around his HC is:

Rrav'kil - term of endearment for someone below you in rank/your underling

I took this from:

Ra'stil - Ally

I HC ra'stil is derived from rrav'kil and is now the term used for someone close to you, no matter the rank, mostly, that you respect, can trust, would stand back to back with.

But rrav'kil back in Orpheus and Voss' youth was a gentler term. Affection, for Orpheus, reserved for his favourite vin'iisks (Voss); for Voss with a lover, close friend beneath his status. But it held a different weight, then. More affection and informality.

I have a few other HCs regarding githyanki language and some I've used in fics, but I shan't go on too much. and I may add to this later on. But for now, feelies.

[thedeafprophet]

20. Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.

for Jamie and May because I think Jamie deserves to be taller than May for once sdfghkfds

20. Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.

Upon The Stair

'...Is this an intrusion?” He moves forward, closer into their space, a gloved hand coming up to cup their cheek and tilt their gaze further up towards him. “And here I was, under the impression that my presence was invited. How kind of you, to remind me of my manners.” A moment between The Manager and The Author, for one must make up for any rude transgressions upon ones space.

Word count: 866

Rating: Teen Tags: Kissing, Height Differences, Mostly Just Fluffy Cute Stuff For Once

Also on ao3

Prompt list from here.

“You know,” Jamie says leaning against the archway in the hall with the quirk of a brow,“it is quite rude to intrude upon someone's home, no matter how many times you take it upon yourself to see yourself in.”

It was late too, Mary-Anne having already retired for the night, or no doubt she would have thrown a fit to see him in the home with no prior calling once more. For the best really, Jamie sheepishly knows they put the woman through enough stress already. 

Jamie had been settled in the sitting room for a late night cup of tea, reading into the latest novel they'd gotten their hands on, when they heard the oh so familiar tap of a silver capped cane, vision fuzzy on the edge of their peripheral. The clearest sign of any for an unexpected visitor, though not, of course, an unwanted one. 

Getting up to investigate, they found him standing in the entry hall, seemingly fascinated by the new painting Jamie had gotten hung upon the wall - an impressionist piece they'd purchased from an up and coming artist, always finding themself inclined to support the arts that were pushed back against. 

The Manager turns to look at them as soon as they make their statement, his ever present smile seeming slightly more genuine when his gaze meets theirs. 

“Is that so? Is this an intrusion?” He moves forward, closer into their space, a gloved hand coming up to cup their cheek and tilt their gaze further up towards him. “And here I was, under the impression that my presence was invited. How kind of you, to remind me of my manners.”

Jamie's not entirely sure why he's here tonight, as they glance up to meet his gaze. They're not in any particular state this evening, no more out of it then their baseline is these days. They shan't presume he's come just because he wanted to see them but- well, certainly he must get lonely too. A single performer can be grand, but it's only with a company that a show can truly be performed.

Jamie steps back slightly, moving out of his hold, before turning to dive under his arm in a quick movement. They move backwards toward the stairwell, turning to face him as they speak, the inkling of an idea forming in their mind.  

“Yes, it is!” Jamie can't keep down the amused smile at their play. “In fact, I think I'm rather quite insulted. It's very presumptuous of you - and a disgrace upon my honour!” They take a couple steps up onto the stairwell, before leaning on the banister to stare down at him.

Even now, it doesn't make them that far above him. They smirk down at him regardless, basking in the brief moment of being taller (or at least, being higher up). 

The Manager simply looks amused at their antics, seemingly in the mood to play along with their games. It was always fun for Jamie when he was - though, they never really did begrudge when he had other plans in mind.

“I see I have made a great error in my judgment. “ His words are laden with humour. Both of them know that Jamie cares very little about his habit of showing up unexpectedly. (Both of them know there's very little they could do about it anyways.). “Perhaps, then, there is something I must do? To account for my transgression?”

 Jamie's eyes flick down to his lips, smirk spreading out on their own face. “Oh, I don't know. Perhaps there is something, if it is to be on offer.” They lean forward towards him, leaving it to him to close the rest of the gap. 

A hand reaches up to lightly hold at the hair on the back of their head, before The Manager leans up, his lips at last meeting theirs. The scrape of his beard against their chin is familiar to them by now, but Jamie's pulse flutters all the same at the contact, eyes closing as they lean into the kiss. 

Jamie moves their hands to hold the base of the back of his head, trying to pull him closer as possible, aiming to avoid knocking his hat off just yet. They are oftly unused to this angle - it is rare that they're on the taller end of kisses, and most certainly not with him. Most events require some form of bending on his part - or other, different ways to put them on a more equal level. At least he's able to pick them up, not everyone has such capabilities.  

They're still smiling as they pull back from the kiss, breath quickened just a bit as they open their eyes to look down at him. 

The Manager smirks up at them, evidently feeling as if he'd won the interaction, but even he was still leaning forward himself, closer into their space. 

“And has that laid everything on account for? Or must I continue to abate my actions?”

“Hm, let me think on it.” Jamie says, a mischievous twinkle rising to their eyes.“What else might you have on offer?” 

They'd like to know their options first, before they decide.  

[adamsvanrhijn]

do you have any advice for writing olden days dialogue? i feel like i just kinda leave out all the contractions and call it a day, and it never sounds quite right, whereas your dialogue really does sound like oscar, etc. how do i gain this superpower???

well thank you first of all!!!

i will say first that leaving out the contractions is a trap... definitely frequent in my early writing but people have simply always loved to smush their words together. when you have characters who presumably have had speech training and their language is a social signifier then like it's Less So but i think this is at times overrepresented in modern historical fiction. contractions existed and were said! sometimes in the same sentence as not using them

e.g. 2nd chapter of pride & prejudice

& then obviously some were more common historically than now, such as 'tis & shan't for example

+ letter shorthand was like. wild.

unfortunately i can't give you a magic bullet or anything. the best fic writing advice i have is to read a lot and to pay close attention to the source material such that you hopefully can pick out what makes the source material different from other material where language is concerned and start to identify unique voices. reading a lot of contemporary work will then contribute to your mental database of Historical Language.

because i do think the main things that contribute to how i write dialogue, on top of just paying close attention to the things characters say, is like, having exposure to multiple kinds of speaking & having the linguistic knowledge i have which are both deeply related anyway - it is a lot easier to pay that close attention and then actually Remember when you have a solid understanding of syntax and grammar and can Name Things. not just subconscious pattern recognition you know? if you have a mental framework for how a language can fit together you are more likely to recognize and remember the specific ways that happens for a given character - at least in my experience

also for tv shows (the entire two) i usually pull a transcript of the shows and label the lines associated w/ my characters so i can double check on that while writing too which is not something that i expect normal people do. immensely helpful though when i need to remember what someone said or how they said it

idk if this is helpful but it's what i think is my secret sauce! :-(

[fitzrove]

Hi, Fitzrove, I wanted to ask you, since you've been to the Perman Production of JCS; could you please tell a bit more about your opinion of the staging (strengths/weaknesses)?

I like your analyses of Elisabeth and would like to hear your opinion on JCS too :)

(On a sidenote - it's been a while since I've seen it - why is Mark cradling Oedo after the torture scene? 👀 I kind of didn't remember Pilates having a moment with Jesus there)

Hii!! Thanks for asking!

Omg disclaimer - my analysis is NOT going to be very good, this is the first JCS production I have ever seen and I first listened to any cast recording (the 2005 one) two hours before going to see it 😂😭

I think strong parts were: costuming (it's a concert but if the budget is limited I'd argue that nice simple "modern" costumes can look better than cheap historical costumes. Loved Marjan in a long flowy red dress, Oedo in all white - with a bloody crucifix shirt at the end - and the priests in black. Only one I'm not sure about is T-shirt mark, that was just kind of weird and was not giving much Pilate...), the torture scene w Oedo standing on a table and being pulled w strings on each arm (the table was like. the only setpiece but worked well esp with his acting), and the way the ensemble used the entire stage space during choreographies etc., and how soloists walked up and down the stage if necessary etc. The only thing that stood out to me as weird was the entire cast sitting down around the table at the beginning/prologue in the last supper position, like just chilling in the background while it was happening, that was a bit weird and awkward to me, like them just Being There not doing anything akdkfkfk.

And with the torture scene - the cradling part is during these lines:

And I thought it was very well done, it could've been more homoerotic though DJKFKFKF but I think it still worked! Was grateful that Mark actually remembered to act during that part 😅😁

Sorry I think this is a very bad reply 😅😁 I simply don't have a lot to compare to since I've only seen this one staging, and I was also struggling to remember what happens next because I'm not a Christian (I mean I am culturally but I left the church as a kid due to lack of belief, and haven't been to church or bible story lessons since age 11...) 😂😭. But overall I think it was an effectively staged concert version, there's no weird random choices happening like in some other concert productions we shan't speak of...

[kitty-is-writing]

Nightcat story snippet!

if you missed my Nightcat lore post you can find it here. hope you enjoy this little preview!

Alit Bright-Claw examined the furless closely, using all their senses. It seemed harmless, as much as any furless could be, and carried Soft-Paw’s favoured dogfang. It was a mark of trust, but as Alit they must be certain of anything they allowed into their territory. “Moon-Eye will check it. Step aside so our Runecat may work,” they instructed the rest.

The circle of cats parted, letting the wise Runecat through. Moon-Eye approached slowly, his eyes shining with the spirit light as he watched the furless.

For a moment, the two simply watched each other, Moon-Eye likely listening to his spirits, the furless perhaps thinking the strange thoughts of its kind. Tiny spirit lights danced from his eyes to circle the furless, each a different colour, each with its own mysterious purpose.

When the lights returned to him, Moon-Eye purred loudly. “This furless is like me,” he told them. “In all my years I have never seen a Rune-furless. I see that he can be trusted, and we may learn much from him. The decision is yours, Alit, but I suggest allowing him to stay.”

“Thank you for your wisdom, Runecat Moon-Eye.” Bright-Claw looked back at the furless, who had simply stood quietly the entire time. “Soft-Paw, you know a little furless speech. Tell him he may stay, provided he causes no trouble.”

Soft-Paw blinked slowly at Bright-Claw, and stepped forwards to speak with the furless. After a few minutes, the two of them speaking in that odd, clipped tongue of the round-eared furless, a couple of the catlings in Soft-Paw's care tumbled through and pounced on him.

The furless seemed pleased about that, and immediately began rolling on the ground with the catlings. Bright-Claw watched for a moment, eyes fixed on the one who had perched on top of the furless’ head.

“It is good that you worry, Bright-Claw, but not needed this time. The spirits know this furless well, and tell me he has a kind soul.” Moon-Eye watched the catlings and furless too. “He and Star-Heart will become great friends in time.”

Bright-Claw turned to look at the old Runecat. “Star-Heart? The spirits have already named them?”

“Of course. Each catling has their own spirit guide from birth, though most will never see them. That spirit knows their name, and whispers it to Runecats like me.” Moon-Eye had a knowing look. “She is kin to you, isn't she?”

“My brother's catling, yes. Sharp-Claw and White-Tail had just the one.”

“I remember. The spirits were most excited for her arrival,” Moon-Eye said. “I shan't spoil the surprises for you any further, though. When the catlings tire of their play, have the furless come speak with me, if you would. I have many questions for him.”

[potionwine]

Friend!!! Speaking of Anabella!!! I was always so curious about her relationship to Joshua!!! I mean it was always easy to hate Clive, but Joshua IS the Phoenix, but he is also sickly! She mentions later how hurt she was when people talked about that! How Clive must've been born out of wedlock and her real child is weak!

She contradicts herself when talking about Joshua! "He wasn't good enough!" "He was my everything!" She doesn't want to let Elwin drag her little boy to the frontlines but she also HATES that he cannot *perform*!

She kills herself not immediately when Olivier dies, but when JOSHUA comes towards her and offers a hand in sympathy! I WANT TO KNOW MOREEE

ugggghhhh this is my SPECIAL INTEREST.

I also found it really really fascinating that she seemed to harbour some lowkey, semi-conscious resentment towards Joshua for being weak and frail! Even in modern day, when a child turns out less than what people perceive to be "normal", whether that's physically or mentally, people still instinctively blame mothers for those "defects", and as someone who's actually responsible for carrying on noble lineage, I can only imagine the intense scrutiny over every child she produced.

Her hurts runs so deep that it makes me wonder if Elwin ever did anything about it or ever protected or defended her on that front. The game portrays Elwin as all sorts of good---and I've got an incredible rant in me somewhere about that but I shan't be a hater today---but I can easily believe an Elwin who doesn't truly realise and comprehend the level of insult that his wife feels and experiences about all of this. I mean, oooff, even in daily life, in the workplace and such, I encounter male colleagues who I would genuinely consider to be decent people, who every now and then say things to dismiss a thing that their wife/female partner is rather extremely hung up about? Like you've described this anecdote to me and even from my outsider perspective this thing sounds like it's really important to your wife and OKAY it sounds funny and illogical to you, or maybe you even do take it seriously but you just reassure her verbally in private instead of doing something about it? Then in my head I'm just thinking, no you don't understand, she needs you to defend her, she literally needs you to say the thing to your family/do the thing in front of your acquaintances so that she feels VALUED.

And that's why, there's a question mark about Elwin's conduct. Putting aside whether or not he actually did have affairs, since the game is silent on it, if we are starting from the premise that Elwin as head of state is busy with wars and governance and whatnot, hasn't got the time and effort and caring to spare for his wife's "paranoias" and insecurities about people laughing behind her back about rumours that directly concern his behaviour? Yea, that's a recipe for resentment and marital strife. Of course it is. It's practically the age-old story of marriage: one person thinks it's a big deal, the other person doesn't think it's a big deal, and the real indicator of love and respect is how partners choose to respond to each other.

However, I am open to the possibility that he may have done his absolute best to reassure her and appease her and be honourable and righteous and everything the game tells us to expect of Rosfield men as a baseline, so I am prepared to accept that Anabella's hangups are not something that he could ever have solved, even if he did defend her repeatedly and continuously with all the vigilance of a good husband. It may be that Anabella's definition of a good husband is one who simply accedes to her every wish, and that is not something Elwin would ever do, not on his characterisation, whereas it is something Sylvestre repeatedly does for her.

It's bizarre if people truly assumed a strong child couldn't come from her? Was she herself weak and sickly in her childhood, I wonder? Or is it just that Joshua is so indisputably hers that Clive, in juxtaposition, seems so different that he must come from a different mother. The whole thing is senseless, but also, who's actually being nonsensical here: Anabella herself and her warped interpretations, since she was obviously unravelling, or was the Rosarian court filled with nasty rumours from malicious actors who wished to hurt her and/or the ruling family? Only because I would assume her births are literally matters of national importance, probably attended by a huge amount of physickers and with the entire population, nobles and commoners alike, waiting anxiously for every scrap of news. If Clive popped out from her truly, there would be eyewitnesses aplenty, surely? It's baffling how these rumours were allowed to fester and gain traction, if we assume they are more than a figment of her insecure imagination---and if so, she seems to have fallen completely in their trap too, by never checking her assumptions and stewing in the perceived injury to herself.

After all, in the prologue the onlookers said something like "imagine treating your own flesh and blood like this" after witnessing Her Grace's treatment of Clive---so even though she treats him like trash in public, that's corroboration that people do believe he is hers! They don't say "oh the Archduchess treats him like dirt because, you know, his father, nudge nudge wink wink".

She does contradict herself when talking about Joshua and it drives me crazy in the best way. There's this tinge of contempt when she talks about him huh, a degree of disappointment she can't fully bury in the loud insistence of her love. Even she wanted Clive to be the Phoenix. I think of the prologue, of the little scene where the young brothers talk beneath the moon, of Joshua's little fists shaking with the knowledge of his inadequacy when he said to his elder brother "it should have been you". It gives me the feeling that Joshua knew all along that not a single person ever thought he'd make a better Dominant than his brother.

Olivier... what did she get from Olivier that she did not already have better with her existing sons lol. She loved him like a doll-toy I suppose, which is the one thing her (real human boy~) sons could not become. Personally I think because the game had no sympathy for her, it could not allow her to have any meaningful interaction or confrontation with post-PG Joshua, because to truly see him would be the beginning of self-understanding---something something the tragedy of King Lear. But where works like King Lear are very sympathetic to the foibles and misguided pride of their central Tragic figure, the game doesn't want us to give a shit about Anabella because the creators themselves don't care about her, which is why she never has the opportunity to finish her Tragic arc. She is never allowed to realise exactly what blessings she gave up, never allowed to realise how wrong she was, never allowed the privilege of true insight or the possibility of repentance or even simple regret.

In that way she remains only a wretch, the object of disdain and hatred from the playing audience, instead of a realised Tragedy come full circle.

(Quietly, my little pet headcanon about Joshua being very like his mother in impulse and nature, but who consistently makes different choices and the sum of these choices make him the person she ought to have been as Archduchess? Yea I want her to see this more than anything else. But then Anabella might actually learn how to become a better person, and we can't have that.)

[the-kcm-muggleborn]

Kind For You

Fandom: Hogwarts Legacy

O/C: Sebastian Sallow x Edwart Thompson x Ominis Gaunt ✨️platonic✨️ (My OC)

Warnings: Light swearing.

Word count: 1k>

Chapter 4

Part 9

“Alright. Stay here. I won't take long.” Ed said as he looked around the Pub. He noticed Poppy standing in the corner of the room. He was hoping Sebastian would behave… for once.

“This is a change of pace from our last outing.” Edwart smiled.

But Poppy groaned slightly. Don't remind me. The thought of that tent still makes my blood boil… Sebastian came with you?” She smiled with interest.

This time Edwart groaned. “Don't remind me. He simply tagged on. He needs my help. Anyway…”

“Yes," Poppy nodded. "I've been thinking about those poor dragons in the fighting ring. The collars they were wearing. They appeared to be goblin silver. I think a collar is precisely what we found at that poacher camp. I've never known poachers to use anything like that before”

“Fascinating,” Edwart said thoughtfully. “The dragon that attacked my carriage was wearing a collar and Professor Fig was genuinely baffled by its behaviour.”

“That attack always did strike me as a little strange, seemingly coming out of nowhere” She frowned. “Surely you aren't suggesting that the collars somehow control the poor creatures.”

“That's exactly what it all looks like to me.” Edwart confirmed.

“Merlin. I don't think the dragon we set free was wearing a collar, but we should check. And if we can find her, we can return her egg-”

Edwart whined. “Must we? That seems a lot of trouble to go to for a creature we already rescued.”

Poppy chuckled a little. “I know you don't like creatures. But we should see this through let me find out where she is. There's no half-measures with all this.” Poppy took a pause. “There was something else that I wanted to discuss with you. I didn't want to press it before.”

“Shoot,” Ed said, but he already knew what it was regarding.

Poppy hesitated. She put a hand on Edwart's arm. “It seems I may have caused you more trouble with Victor Rookwood. Why is he after you? You can trust me.”

“Oh, Poppy.” Edwart cooed. He put his hands on Poppy's shoulders. A gesture he nearly never did. “You never caused me any trouble. They were after me before I even started helping you.” Edwart looked around as a safety precaution. But the only person looking at him he noticed was Sebastian. His eyes were as dark as if he wanted to murder Edwart and Poppy. Ed furrowed his brows, and Sebastian quickly turned around. “Strange…” Edwart thought but quickly shook his head and focused his attention back on Poppy. He took his hands off of her. “Rookwood is working with Ranrok. So are the Pochers I presume there’s a hefty award for catching me. And Ranrok is after me because of something I found at Gringotts. Fig had a Portkey that led us there after the dragon attack. It's a bit of a long story, and Fig had asked that I not speak of it yet.”

“Goodness! Well, that certainly helps to shed light on what we saw at the tent. That's quite a lot…” Poppy's eyes were the size of coins from bewilderment. “I shan't press for more details. In fact, I should probably be going. I'd like to track that dragon down as soon as I can.”

“I'll tell you more over a butterbeer or two… I promise.” Edwart smiled.

“Sure. Thank you for telling me.” Poppy smiled genuinely as Edwart walked away waving a short goodbye.

“Now… what to do with Sebastian. He's behaving very unusually.” Ed thought as we walked over to his friend. "Maybe it is best to just ignore it." He quietly cleared his throat. “Hey. I'm all done. We can head out.”

“Ah. Alright.” Sebastian cleared his throat and got to his feet. “Thanks, Sirona.”

“Come again, anytime.” She said back with a smile as both boys finally headed out to Feldcroft.

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

“Sebastian, that relic you mentioned…” Edwart spoke as both boys were walking towards the catacomb. He had a bad feeling…

“From what I read in a report by that Slytherin student, they weren't permitted to take it with them. So, I must assume it's still here. As I mentioned earlier, this relic grants its holder the power to reverse Dark Magic curses.” Sebastian answered, focusing on the path they were walking on.

“Mhm.” Edwart mused.

“If it's in this catacomb. I have to find it. For Anne. I need to see her.” Sebastian's voice was pained. Edwart silenced his overthinking brain. Decided to trust Sebastian for once.

Edwart sighed. “I'd be interested to know what else the student discovered.”

Sebastian took a look behind his shoulder with a slightly raised eyebrow. “Have a look.” He handed Edwart a yellow torn paper. “Unfortunately, there's no name on it and it's all smudged, makes it harder to read. But, I suspect if it was important enough for Slytherin to stash in his spellbook.”

“It's worthy of further study,” Edwart muttered.

Finally, Sebastian stopped, announcing they've reached the catacomb. “We’re here.” He said.

“Let’s explore then. Perhaps we can visit Anne when we've finished.” Edwart said with a small smile.

“Perfect. By the way,” Sebastian furrowed his brows. “Ominis has been asking about you. You didn't tell him what we were doing, did you?”

“Asking about me? But... why?” Edwart thought. He cleared his throat and spoke. “I didn't. I promise.” He sighed. “...Wish I did, though.” Edwart finished that sentence in his mind.

“Good.” Sebastian exhaled relieved. “Ominis would be livid if he knew what we were about to do… I'll be interested to compare what lies inside to what I've read about this catacomb.”

Edwart kept quiet. He didn't know what to say. All this felt wrong to him. Like he was betraying someone. But what Edwart really needed was to shut his emotions. And he did.

“I'm sure that foul smell is the scent of success - try not to lose your nerve just yet.” Sebastian joked as they entered the catacomb.

They kept walking on the long dark corridor in silence when Edwart heard something. “At least now we know we're not alone in here.”

“Ah, blast,” Sebastian said as the spiders started crawling around both boys with an awfully characteristic sound. They both shot spell after spell when finally all the spiders were dead.

“Perhaps that was it, and the rest of the tomb will be insect-free.”

Edwart chuckled. “Yeah, spiders aren't insects.”

“Don't start.” Sebastian furrowed his eyebrows, but his smile betrayed his true, playful emotions.

Both boys kept walking through the dark and dusty catacomb. Edwart was stuck in thoughts. Thinking of how Sebastian could turn any situation into a laughing moment. He was grateful for such a… friend.

“Now this is the sort of great room I want to be buried in,” Sebastian said with a big smile.

Edwart raised an eyebrow with a smile and chuckled. “Surrounded by grandeur?”

“Grandeur and then some. Even an altar with a pile of bones - lovely.” Sebastian said as he took a step closer to the centre of the room.

Edwart smiled and shook his head in disbelief. “You're so strange, Sebastian.”

Sebastian looked at Edwart with a smile. “Alright, you. Where would you like to be buried?”

Edwart's smile shifted into a small, reminiscent one. “With my mother. If I… got to choose.”

Sebastian's smile dropped. “Shit… I-I'm sorry.”

“No, no. You… you asked. I just answered.” Edwart tried to defuse the situation. He crossed his arms. “I don't talk about her often. But I miss her, you know?”

“I know...” Sebastian turned around as both boys looked around the great room. “Did you hear that?”

“Look at those bones outside a sarcophagus. Seems… odd.” Edwart ignored Sebastian and looked under his feet. “There's something here by the altar.”

“What did you find?” Sebastian came behind Edwart's shoulder.

“Looks like part of a student's diary. It mentions plans to return for the relic and conjuring barricades using bones.

“Of course!” Sebastian said. “The student summary referenced a space beyond the Great Room. Which means this can't be a dead end. Let's divide and conquer. You work on sorting out the bone barricades, I'll look around and see what we missed…Hold on to that diary entry. There may be more to it.”

“Sure. It does mention something else - it says their next assignment was… learning the Imperius Curse.” Edwart stumbled. He did not want a repeat of the scriptorium.

“Really? Interesting.” Sebastian muttered thoughtfully.

“What do you mean inte-” Edwart spoke but was interrupted by Sebastian. “We need to focus on moving beyond this room - but let me think for a moment”

Edwart grimaced at that. “I'll start to search for those barricades then.”

It took Ed a moment to collect everything, but he managed to solve it. To Sebastian's approval. “You've done it! I knew we'd get through. I felt it in my bones.”

Edwart couldn't help but genuinely laugh at that perfectly timed pun. “Nice.” He chuckled.

"Hold on just a moment.” Sebastian stopped his friend with a serious face this time. “Before we trudge on further, I've just realised something.”

“What is it?” Edwrt furrowed his brows.

“The student's diary mentions the Imperius Curse. I wouldn't be surprised if we're going to need it here. It's an Unforgivable, but useful when you're outnumbered. Places the victim completely under the caster's control.”

Edwart scoffed, not wanting to hear a word more. “Absolutely not Sebastian. Let's just… keep going.”

“Really? But we've no idea what may lie ahead.” Sebastian spoke, but Edwart once more interrupted him. “Sebastian!” He said with a sharp warning tone.

“Alright Alright.” Sebastian put his hands up in a surrendering gesture. “I shan't press you. I'll have your back no matter what we face in there.”

“Mhm.” Edwart was having that bad feeling again.

"Oh, look, another barricade? Considering how well you did on the last one, this should be a cinch.”

Edwart sent Sebastian a sinister look. “Oh, how gracious of you.” He said sarcastically.

But Sebastian wasn't fazed by that comment and winked at Ed. “I Try.”

Edwart sighed, not wanting to fall into Sebastian's seductive behaviour. “He's probably talking like that to everybody… everybody who's been dumb enough to help him.” He thought. "Like me..."

Ed swiftly solved another puzzle. They weren't as challenging as they seemed.

“You are head and shoulders above these bones. Nicely done.” Sebastian complimented again.

Edwart simply smiled before Sebastian had ruined it yet again. “I see why Slytherin's student was so entranced with this place.” Sebastian smiled excitedly.

Edwart groaned. “Sebastian just… shut it. Looks like there's another fight on our hands.”

Sebastian and Edwart entered a big hall where about a dozen spiders were waiting. The fight was intense. Sebastian got slammed against a wall once or twice, but Edwart was the one who got beat around more. Possibly because of his recent hospital stay, he was slower. When the fight finally came to an end, all spiders were dead. Sebastian looked around to make sure they hadn't missed anything while Edwart was sitting on the floor, holding himself by his bleeding shoulder.

“Blast! Are you alright?” Sebastian kneeled beside him.

“S’fine…” Edwart muttered. He took a swig of Wiggenweld as his shoulder wound slowly tied itself up. He chuckled. “For a moment there, I thought that'd never end.”

Sebastian frowned and helped Ed up. “Dead end. Lovely. All that for nothing.”

Edwart smiled comfortingly. “We’ve been here for 5 minutes. Don't give up yet.”

The Hufflepuff student cast a powerful Confringo, burning away spider webs. Under a wall was standing a table with a triangle-shaped object and two notes.

Edwart’s eyes widened as he called for his friend. “Sebastian! The relic. Look.”

“Could it be?” Sebastian came along.

Edwart read the notes thoroughly. “The note and rendition of the relic - it matches. This must be where the student left the relic.”

“I can't believe it. After all this, it lines up. We've really found it!” Sebastian's eyes were lit with excitement.

“What do you suppose is meant by 'the Dark sacrifice required to realise the relic's potential'?” Edwart frowned.

Sebastian shrugged indifferently. “I have no idea, but we're here for the relic.”

“The note advises to leave the relic alone.” Edwart scowled and looked hopefully at Sebastian, but it was no use.

“I assure you, we were meant to find this. For Anne's sake. I'm taking it. Let's get to Feldcroft."

Ed signed heavily but decided it was for the best... to help Anne. Both boys started walking towards the exit.

“I must keep this relic secret. Especially from my uncle. I-... Is that - Ominis?”

<Part 8 /// Part 10>

MASTERLIST

-------------- Author's notes:--------------

Thanks so much for reading Part 9! I'm pretty sure this chapter is gonna be the longest. Woah I added so many pics here! I deliberately made the journal pages look smudged and unreadable (bs they spend most likely ages in that scriptorium book) so it's more realistic. But since im not an ass. I'm leaving the readable version down here:) Eddie freaking out, but yk Sebastian is persuasive. Anyhow, another part is coming soon.

[speciosuspoematis]

ANONYMOUS ASKED: What are your thoughts on Ares? Do you think you could be friends?

MENTION: @confluxium

He's quiet, eyes stating forward at the beauty of the sunset in order to soak in the wonder of it, previously logical thoughts about cross pollination giving way easily to the question posed - Ares?

He closes his sharp eyes, able to conjure forth the sight of the being in question right there on the very back of his lids in milliseconds and yet his brain had no answer formed soon after. 'T was hardly a surprise, not for he, not when he found himself dwelling over details for far too long and then, more often than not, does he find his answer comes too late.

"He's... Mysterious." His first answer was just as so, one might argue. "I know absolutely naught about him, and yet that general aura begs the wish to find out more."

Frankly, he knew not quite how to direct his thought process from there but he allowed his thoughts to briefly wander and simply see where it ended up.

"I'd... Like to know his hobbies - or what he likes to do when he's on his own, resting. You can find out much about a person when you know that - and what his favorite time of day is." Stupid questions some may say, but Achaeus saw things in those answers that many would look past. Little things, of course - but the little things meant the most to someone like the botanist himself.

He takes pause, then - allowing thoughts to momentarily cease as eyes fixate upon the horizon once more. His hands wring together in his lap, nervousness brewing within his chest as idle happiness once more gave way to melancholy and anxiety.

"There is something... Scary about him. It's likely because I know so little of him, and not knowing much is... Petrifying but---" He stops himself rather swiftly, clamping his jaw shut so not to say aught more. Did he want to not be afraid? Of course - - but he nigh always was, of anyone and everything." - - it's just how life is. "

"Friends -?" He pauses, lands clasping one another far more tightly, jaw clenching tighter than before: "-- why would he want to be? It's no secret among the folk my parents run within that I'm a failure in all aspects and I believe he would know of that. He may not know the full extent of the intracasies but..." It just was how it was, and Achaeus had learned that very bitter truth from a youth. He was known as the failure and that would never leave him.

"He's successful and respected. Being seen even speaking to someone as... Imbalanced and lacking as I would be entirely counterproductive for him." It was why Achaeus had no friends, why he kept to himself: he may as well let those who could do all they were able.

"But... Scary though he may appear, I'm sure he's lovely beneath. 'T is a shame that I shan't find out, but - - I do wish him the very best."

[onewomancitadel]

My last thing though is that if you go off of what [certain individuals say about R/WBY] and then what [the fandom] thinks, Cinder would've been dead in Volume 5, I/ronwood would've been the great hero and protagonist of the story, Ruby and Weiss would've been as canon as Blake and Yang, Penny would've been around forever to be best friend Winter Maiden, Qrow would've... no I shan't say.

I don't know, like, maybe use your noggin, because none of these people and all the misdirection and fanservice have been correct. Maybe the most frustrating thing is that I view R/WBY as this optical illusion: they want to cater to this fanbase but they also don't really want to, and they can't choose. You can see it one way or another.

This is why I suspect anything genuinely crazy - that is, the things which centrally interest me, Cinder's redemption/Jaune and Cinder/Ozlem redemption - really shouldn't happen until the last volume of the show. You just simply cannot textually - it can exist in the subtext with clarity, though - commit to that stuff without alienating your core fanbase who are not actually a fan of your show who are still mad about [character death] or [character redemption/corruption]. This speaks to the particular weaknesses of V9 and earlier weaknesses in the show as well and is what I would criticise the most.

On the other hand, if they're not actually paying attention to what they're watching, you can really do whatever you want, and that's why I think catering to them is bad. It's this double bind, this optical illusion, that I have to acknowledge: because I do think fans are misled on purpose at times (especially in the metatext) and I do think that there is a part of the story trying to court them. It's what makes the contradictory elements so discomfiting. I'm willing to acknowledge it because I want to approach the text holistically and seriously try to understand if their version of events is correct. They would, comparatively, never do the same for me.

And I think for people who are fans of the same thing I'm interested in - maybe not for the same reasons, but even so - still have a habit of falling into this trap in thinking they're that same fanbase used to being catered to. You're not. Nobody seriously thinks Cinder's redemption, or the Jaune/Cinder romance, or the Ozlem redemption, is going to happen and this side of the fandom is completely irrelevant. In part I think it makes it a really good twist which is actually justified. But if you think any of this is going to be comfortable or was ever comfortable, and you're going to be catered to like you were with the rest of the story (in your head), or in other fandoms you've been in, you're wrong. I have more experience with it because I was never "one" of them and started the show in its infancy before all of this crystallised, so I have some perspective. Hopefully I can lend some.