#readin words of radiance

[xoshepard]

can't help but laugh bc first dalinar was skeptical about amaram, then shen made kaladin feel guilty about still treating him like a slave, then a fuckin assassin??? rly Kaladin and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day up in this bitch duskdhkd

[psychosistr]

The Stars of the Stage- Chapter 1

Summary:  Jonathan Joestar is an accomplished playwright currently working on his next big production: Phantom Blood. During the auditions for the lead actors, though, a certain blond Englishman catches his eye.

Notes:  So, this story was inspired by this piece of art by @corgi-shorts that I saw back when I did one of the Jonawagon weeks where Jonathan was a playwright and Speedwagon was an actor. I felt a HUGE need to write this as it was such a cute idea x3

In the midst of the already bustling heart of New York, a large theater within the appropriately named Theater District is packed with several hopeful actors currently reading over and practicing lines from sample scripts. Some are seasoned veterans of the theater while others are hopeful new-comers. Despite their level of skill and experience, each one seems eager to land a part in the production.

Through the chattering crowds and lines of people waiting to enter the main theater for their audition, an extraordinarily tall and muscular man with dark hair carefully weaves his way through the crowd, throwing out a “pardon me” or “oh, excuse me” every now and then to be polite as bumping into people in such a crowd is unavoidable given his size.

He reaches the theater doors and turns to the crowd, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard properly. “If I may have your attention, please!” The chatter of the crowd slowly dies down as the actors turn to look at him curiously. Once he knows he has their attention, he smiles and gives a quick bow of his head. “Thank you all so much for coming out. My name is Jonathan Joestar- I am the writer and co-director of this production. In a moment we will begin the auditions, so please give it your best. I will be looking forward to seeing what all of you can do!” He finishes with an encouraging smile. He opens the doors long enough to walk in and close them behind himself, nodding to the two men standing behind the door to take the actors’ resumes and headshots. “Dire, Straights, afternoon. Ready to start?”

“Just waiting on William at this point.” Dire says with a nod of greeting. “I think he’s taking care of the lighting or something.”

“More like finishing off his pre-audition glass of wine.” Straights comments indifferently while glancing away. “Though I can’t say I blame him. This is always such a hassle..”

“Necessary evil of the industry, my friend.” A voice greets the group and the trio of men turn to see a man in a white suit and checkerboard top-hat. He offers them a smile and a tip of his hat in greeting. “Ready to summon the horde, gentlemen?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be, William.” Jonathan says with a grin as he walks with the older man down towards the table waiting in front of the stage with two seats for the pair.

________________________________________________________________

The theater is packed, the auditioning actors having taken up the seats in the order in which they’d come into the room. Quite a few of the seats are already empty, as some of the actors had to leave after their auditions while others have opted to stay and scope out the competition.

The process has been long and grueling, but it is necessary for casting the right people for the parts. Jonathan was glad, though, that he was working with William as the director- the older man often listened to his input regarding casting more than other directors did. As he often said, “Who knows a character better than the man who wrote them?”

Jonathan looks down at the piles of resumes and headshots in front of them. He has kept them organized into a few basic groups: People who had not gone yet were on the far left, closest to himself. The “wouldn’t call them back in a hundred years” pile, as William secretly called it, was beside the first one in the middle. The maybe/later consideration pile was next to that one and closer to William. The last pile on the far right was the smallest of all, reserved for the ones the two had agreed would definitely get the part they’d auditioned for.

Jonathan takes the next resume off of the pile on the far left and calls out the number pinned to it. “Number 157!” He looks at the headshots that accompany the resume, noting that every picture seemed to be taken from the right side of the actor’s face.

As the man in question approaches the stage, he can see why: There was a scar across the left side of his face. Not to say that that was a problem in anyway- the man was still quite handsome (from a purely aesthetical perspective, Jonathan tried to remind his wandering thoughts) and besides, that’s what cosmetics were for. Still, he knew how tough some directors could be and how they tended to avoid actors with visible marks as they couldn’t always visualize a way around it.

“ ‘ello.” The man says with a quick bow of his head once he is in place on the stage and looking down at Jonathan and William. “The name’s Robert Speedwagon, an’ I’ll be readin’ for the part o’ Sir Haste Dray.”

Jonathan is a bit surprised by the man’s accent. He’s clearly British like Jonathan himself, though with a cockney dialect rather than Jonathan’s own aristocratic manner of speaking.

While Jonathan is more surprised by the accent, he can hear others making quiet, hushed, snide remarks about it.

“He does know that’s one of the main characters, right?”

“Talking like that, he’d be a better pick for one of the extras..”

“This outta be good for a laugh.”

Jonathan ignored the comments, curious to see how the actor would do with his own eyes. “Very well then, Mr.Speedwagon. Which section will you be using for your audition?”

The blonde haired man lifted his own copy of the script that had already been opened and turned to the part he wanted to use. “Page 57, line 8. Can I get a read-in?”

“Of course.” Jonathan turned the copy of the script in front of himself to the aforementioned page and cleared his throat before reading the line. “This battle shall be a dangerous one, my friend. I fear we may not escape with our lives. If you wish to turn back, now is the time. I would bear you no ill-will for such a decision.”

Speedwagon closed his eyes for a moment. “I know..yet this decision is beyond me alone.” The earlier chatter and snide laughter was dead in an instant. “It is a decision that must be made by every man, woman, and child of this plane of existence. Unless I were to have every single being upon this world in attendance to answer, then the decision is not truly mine to make.” The man opened his eyes again, looking out in front of him as if speaking to the target of the monologue and only taking brief glances down to see his lines. “Since they cannot be here to tell me not to do so, then I shall take it upon myself to fight on their behalf. After all, if we were to stand by and not do a thing, then who would be left to protect the innocent, unknowing lives of this realm?” Without the earlier accent, his voice held a calm seriousness that perfectly captured the tension of the scene. “I am afraid this daunting task is for us alone to face, lest the evil that hides itself within the darkness of both the world and the hearts of mankind be free to unleash its reign of death upon us all.” The serious expression on his face softened ever so slightly, almost turning into a sad smile that tugged on Jonathan’s heart strings. “Still, even without the threat to all we hold dear in this world, do you truly think that I, of all people, would turn from you at the eve your greatest struggle? Whom do you take me for, old friend? A coward? A fool?” He gave a short laugh, more of a broken chuckle born of melancholy and sadness rather than joy. “Well…perhaps I am both these things. I do admit to fearing the fate that lies before us, yet it is not myself I fear for- rather, it is you. I fear what would become of you if I allowed you to so gallantly face these forces on your own. As for the fool..” His expression softened again, the smile on his face beautiful and sad and full of love and adoration conveyed in a simple quirk of his lips and the gaze in his eyes. “I suppose I have been a fool since we met that one cold, dark winters’ night. With but a touch of your hand, you shattered the reality which I built so flawlessly for myself. I thought myself strong, yet in your presence I am weak. I thought myself a king, yet to you I would gladly play the role of vassal. I thought myself wise, yet the very sight of you fills me with confusion that renders me as foolish as a drunkard lying on the streets. Still, I do not wish for these beliefs to be returned to me. For, in their place, I have gained far more than I ever dared to dream before: Inner-peace. Conviction. Loyalty. And love.” He closed his eyes again, the tragically beautiful smile still on his face. “So, yes, I may be a coward and a fool..but..I am the cowardly fool who will follow you to the ends of the earth and down into the depths of hell itself without fear..for, without you, there would be no point in fighting for this world at all. Above all else, you shall survive. I shall see to it, even if it costs me my very soul- the devil may have it, so long as your radiance remains to shine the light of hope upon this undeserving world.”

Everyone in the room was stunned by the performance, not saying a word as the man opened his eyes once more and gave an elegant bow.

Jonathan, who had been staring at him with stars in his eyes, was the first to react. He quickly stood from his seat, placed his hands upon the table in front of himself, and excitedly declared. “The part is yours!”

William yanked his sleeve hard and pulled him back down into his seat, whispering harshly to him. “You do not say that aloud in front of everyone else here, Jojo. I thought I taught you better than that.”

Jonathan’s face flushed at the realization of his blunder, his voice hushed to the same level as his mentor’s. “Oh..my apologies, William..it’s just..that was perfect! The delivery, the execution, the emotion- I felt as if I was looking at Sir Dray in the flesh!”

“I agree, but there is still a certain etiquette one must follow in these matters.” He chastised the taller man before turning his attention back to the man on the stage. “My apologies for my associate, he became a touch too excited. That being said, that was an exceptional performance. We have a few more auditions to go through and discussions to be had before final casting, but we will certainly be in touch.”

Speedwagon offered them a polite smile. “I’s quite alright, sir. I’m glad ‘e liked it. Be seein’ y’, then.” He tipped his hat politely before walking off stage and back out through the doors leaving the theater.

Jonathan watched the man leave, his heart still thrumming from the effect the blonde actor’s performance had on him. He’d never been so taken by a mere reading before.

Without even looking back to the table, he grabbed Speedwagon’s resume and moved it to the “definite” pile, ignoring the look he was sure to be receiving from William for reaching over him so rudely to do so.

Next Chapter->

End Notes: Speedwagon: *shows up, introduces himself, reveals his accent*

Everyone else: *laughs and mocks him*

Speedwagon: *delivers a flawless read that lands him the part instantly*

Everyone else: *jaws on the floor*

Jonathan: *instantly in love*

[midknightmasquerade]

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Fandom: Radiata Stories (PS2) Characters: Miranda & Clive & Kain Additional Tags: Fictional Religion & Theology, Confessional, Olacion Order, Canon Compliant, Platonic Relationships, Male-Female Friendship, Mentor-Pupil Relationship

Summary: When Miranda is offered the opportunity of manning the confessional for one day, she finds a shameful and shocking lack of sincerity amongst the congregation's confessions. Yet, perhaps hope can be found in the prayers of one the world would least expect.

"Confess thy trespasses to one another that ye may be purified. The effective, fervent prayer of the righteous shall availeth much." Gospel of Saint Celesta 5:16

---

How many times had she heard that scripture? How long had her lips formed those same syllables during every late night sermon and early morning ministry? How ardently did she desire to follow in the footsteps of the saints, despite the sacrifice required?

Yet, here she stood, prepared to practice what she preached, completely incapable of moving a muscle.

"Ease yourself, disciple. There is no pressure to put on a perfect performance, for me or for Our Lady Etherea," the High Priest advised. The radiance of the cathedral in the early mornings caused his soft smile to shine all the more lustrously in the light. "Simply listen to them, Miranda. Comfort them. Soothe their troubled souls. You have healed the bodies of many a wounded man - now it is time to heal their hearts, as well." In that moment, with compassion creasing his brow, Kain seemed all the kinder, if such a thing were possible; kind and encouraging and...and somehow hopeful, somewhere behind those war-worn eyes. "You can do this. You need to do this - for yourself, and for them."

Standing outside of the confessional booth now, she wasn't so sure. You can do this, Miranda. Master Kain said that you can do this, that you need to do this. Somehow, the words lost their luster when not uttered by another.

All that had been asked of her was to receive the confessions of repentant sinners desiring to come home to the order of Olacion once more; that and the priests making their rounds, repenting of vices they surely would succumb to as soon as they left these hallowed halls. Simple, yes, but not easy.

Still, she sought not escape. If Master Kain entrusted her with this honor, the blessings of Masters Achilles and Godwin bestowed upon her, then she feared no evil.

But oh, how she prayed for success in her struggle.

With a shaky breath and a whispered prayer, Miranda stepped inside the confessional booth.

And may the gods have mercy on my soul.

---

Many a man and woman entered that room, weary with the weight of their grief and anger. Some spoke of pain -- of lost children and shattered dreams. Others whispered of fears -- of war and Algandars. And there were those who wished away their strife and suffering, who begged the gods as though they were genies, to grant them the lives of wealth and luxury they rightfully deserved.

Yet was there no one who prayed for repentance? None who sought reconciliation with Celesta? Did any exist who desired sanctuary with their Lady Etherea?

Was there not a single vice-less soul in this once-innocent city of sin?

Only an hour remained until the rising of the moon signaled the end of her shift. Yet, in the entirety of her time inside this one-way window into the hearts of humanity, not one solitary follower spoke with any conviction!

Fernando offered the gods his rage, but bumping into Anastasia outside afterwards proved his repentance momentary. Dwight's plea for funding seemed awfully insincere when his smilodon medicine had made the confessional smell like a bloodied mutt. No one could take Eugene's apologies for alcoholism seriously when his breath reeked of beer, Lulu gossiped more than she gave thanks, and even Alvin's offering seemed self-seeking.

Could there not be one pure of heart? Had such humans been lost in this ever-changing world? Or had they never really existed at all, living only in fairy tales?

"Forgive me, Father, for ah've sinned."

The words shook Miranda from her mental reverie. Had someone entered without her noticing? Goodness! She really ought to get a grip, lest this training be for naught. Refocusing herself, she noticed the speech seemed...somehow strange to her. The words didn't flow well, an accent cluttering the common script. For most, she assumed it might've been an embarrassment to their traditional confession. Miranda found it refreshing -- something to break up the monotonous repetition of unmeant admissions.

Still, she listened.

"Ya see, I...I fear ah've failed ya, Father. I don't know if I can keep up with these here city slickers. They all look so, so fancy! What with their robes and their spells and all that shiny jewelry. Ah wish I could help people like they can, but ah dunno if I could." A pause. A sniffle. A withered exhalation. "I'm tryin' mah best, I promise! Ahm readin' the scriptures every day, just like Flora told me I ought to! And ah've been prayin' mornin', noon, and night to try and get y'all's approval, but ah...ah can't tell if yer there...if yer happy with me. Ah just wanna make ya proud, Papa..."

And then, stillness. For a second, silence saturated the empty space between this confessor and she who heard his hopeful plight.

Her hand rose to her heart, clutching at the broach that fastened her cloak. Perhaps, there is still hope. It might not sound sweet, it might not look attractive, but potential is determined not by what is pleasing to the eye, but what is purifying to the spirit. Maybe salvation could be found even at the so-called bottom of the barrel.

"Our Lady Etherea forgives you. Our Lord Celesta forgives you. And so, too, do I. Go, and sin no more."

A breath of relief from the other side of the confessional. "Thank goodness! Ah was worried the gods mighta given up on me." Just as the door on the other side of the wall opened, Miranda swore she heard one final word of supplication. "Ah...ah can do this! I know I can!"

And then Miranda was all alone, with only her own sin to swear to the heavens above.

That night, for the first time since...well, long since she should have done so, Miranda knelt at the foot of the altar and offered her apologies for the impurities she knew not had existed within her, now exposed in the light of an unknown follower. It was there, seated inside of a crumbling confessional, that Miranda swore she heard the words from on high she always longed to listen to:

"I, Lady Etherea, forgive you. Your Lord Celesta forgives you. Now go, and sin no more.

You can do it, dearest daughter, in whom I am well-pleased."

[sol1loqu1st]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[xoshepard]

kaladin is sooooo funny he's like a little kid that goes "blech" when his parents kiss

[xoshepard]

also other weird cartoons that ive overlaid on stormlight characters in my mind:

cortes from road to el dorado as sadeas

[xoshepard]

"You sent him to the sky to die, assassin," Kaladin said, Stormlight puffing from his lips, "but the sky and the winds are mine. I claim them, as I now claim your life."

KALADIN STORMBLESSED 😭😭😭

[xoshepard]

if kaladin ever dies im succumbing to the despair

[xoshepard]

i didnt make a post at the time but

shallan: are you really acting like this because i lied to you?

kaladin: im doing my job

shallan: your job is to be a dick?

kaladin: no im a dick off the clock too

was the funniest exchange ever dhskdhdjdb i didnt know kaladin had jokes. thot it was all just angst and Pure Heroism in his head. i thought syl had all the jokes tbh

[xoshepard]

every day i ask myself What Is Wrong With Shallan

[xoshepard]

god i knew things couldn't go well with tyn but this is so much worse than i thought girl help when will everything about shallan's chapters stop making me a nervous wreck

[xoshepard]

SHES BACK SHES BACK SHES BACK

[xoshepard]

god damn he just fuckin snapped huh

good for him good for him

too bad he committed a whole murder and now has to pretend he didn't do that GDKDHDKFHJF GOD

[xoshepard]

"I wouldn't have wanted to be the executioner who tried that." He said it with a quiet intensity.

"Me neither," Shallan said. "I think hanging people is a poor choice of professions for an executioner. Better to be the guy with an axe."

He frowned at her.

"You see," she said, "with the axe, it's easier to get ahead..."

GAJDHDJDHD I HATE HER SHUT UPPPPPP

[xoshepard]

i know im not supposed to look at lucy's lb tag especially bc of the COMPREHENSIVE LIST OF SPOILERS SHE HAS FHSKHDKDJDN but this tag is killing me irl

[xoshepard]

got big feelings about poor 14yo shallan trying to save her brothers from despair and insanity