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firstofficerwiggles · 3 years

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Sending a Message

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Rating: T, there are sexy situations, i.e. touching, but no actual sex, one use of the f-word, but mostly fluff and some longing

Summary: Basically, you and Din are in a cantina and you need his help to get men to stop hitting on you. You have an established friendship with him but neither of you have expressed your true *romantic* feelings. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2900ish

Author’s note: I love fanfiction and have been reading it for a looong time now, but I finally decided to take the plunge and write one myself. What can I say? Din is very inspiring. It’s very self-indugent and I hope you like it.

I wrote a Part 2 to this story (18+ version) (T version)

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The child is a sticky mess having eaten his way through a bag of ripe berries as you were trying to keep him occupied so the Mandalorian could suss out information for others of his kind who might know where to find the Jedi.

It’s been roughly three months since you joined the Mandalorian’s crew to help out with the child. You were enamored with the sweet little green baby the moment you saw him with Din in that marketplace back on Tatooine. Stressed and exhausted, Din let you pick up the child and entertain him while he loaded supplies on to a cart. You accompanied the two of them around on the rest of their errands that day, offering helpful advice and somehow gaining the Mandalorian’s trust fast enough to have him offer you a job as the child’s caretaker by the end of the day. You surprised yourself with how quickly you agreed to the arrangement, but in the end, you knew there was nothing left for you on Tatooine but memories and an empty house.

So now here you were, fairly content with your role as nanny to the child, although not quite prepared for how risky travelling with the Mandalorian could be. There were days when you could not believe the situations you found yourself in, yet through it all, you knew you had made the right decision. This was largely in part to the Mandalorian himself. There was just something so undeniably compelling about him. He was an execptional hunter and frankly, a deadly assassin, but he always seemed willing to put his violent skills towards a good cause, no matter how hopeless it may have seemed. But yet, no matter how lethal he could be, he was also so heartbreakingly soft and gentle with his small son, demonstrating a fierce protectiveness that had spread to you too. At first, the Mandalorian wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but little by little, you had begun to get to know him and had fallen into an easy friendship of sorts with him. All well and good, but, the more you knew about him, the more you started to feel an attraction to him. It started slow, and you played it off as just a weakness for his handsome armor and, let’s be honest, his strong, fit physique underneath all that beskar. But then, he started to share small jokes with you, ask you more about yourself, and reveal details about his own life, including his name, Din Djarin. After that, you really couldn’t deny your feelings, but you kept them to yourself not wanting to upset the contented balance you had achieved nor wanting to put him in the uncomfortable position of having to turn you down. Still though, the longing was there, even when you tried to distract yourself.

“Wow, look at you! I think we have a new record, kiddo.” Din has made his way back to you and is gently teasing his son. He scoops him up into his arms and the child coos with glee but also puts his berry-smeared hands all over his father’s shiny armor.

“Oh no! I thought I’d have a chance to clean him up before you returned.” You apologize a little embarassed.

“It’s not a big deal; we’ll take care of it.” Din has accepted the messiness of fatherhood in stride, “Let’s head over to that cantina. We’ll get cleaned up and you two can get some food while we’re there.”

As Din heads to the back of the cantina in search of a fresher to deal with the berry mess, you spy two seats at the bar and carefully make your way through the crowd. Several people, mostly men it seems, smile widely at you as you pass. It’s packed in here, but the warmth of so many bodies together is welcome after the blustery wind that had picked up outside. You shed your heavy cloak and drape it over the back of one of the barstools both so you can save the seat for Din and, you think eagerly, give him the chance to see the pretty dress you decided to wear today. It’s one of your favorites but he hasn’t seen it yet, however, with the cooler weather on this planet you were beginning to think you wouldn’t get a chance to show it off. Not that you should be thinking like that, you roll your eyes at yourself and your silly crush on the stoic Mandalorian. You’re just getting yourself settled at the bar when the bartender places a brightly colored drink in front of you. Confused you say, “I haven’t ordered yet.” as he just points behind you to a burly looking man with a scruffy beard. The man is grinning confidently at you,

“My treat, pretty lady! We rarely get strangers like you in here!”

“Thank you,” you demure, “but I really can’t accept.”

“Nonsense! You go ahead and enjoy and then we can get to know each other.” He winks at you.

“Maybe she’d prefer one of these,” another man has sauntered over, this one a lanky man with a bottle of something in his hand, “I think she might prefer something with more of a bite to it.” His entendre not lost on you, you hold up your hand and shake your head to fend him off when yet a third man tries to get your attention,

“Don’t let these bozos tell you what you want; I’ll get you whatever your heart desires!”

“I can buy my own drink, thanks,” you cut him off, turn back to the bartender, and manage to order your own drink and some food for you and the child, but this last guy is persistent and sleezy, coming over and perching himself on the barstool you were saving for Din. “Hey, I’m saving that for my…” what should you call him? “friend,” you finish lamely.

“Well, no problem, I’m looking forward to meeting her too.” he waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively. Giving him a sarcastic glare, you retort, “I don’t think he’d be interested.”

Things are starting to get out of hand, but thankfully, Din has spotted you amongst your crowd of admirers and with a small, rather amused tilt of his helmet and a bit of a shove, he’s now by your side with the child cooing happily from his satchel. “How about a booth?” he suggests, and you swear you can hear the amusement in his voice.

“Great idea” you reply, hopping down from your stool and snatching your cloak back from the other one.

“Oh c’mon baby, that tin can can’t make you happy like I can” the guy who rudely stole Din’s seat calls after you. Your face erupts in a blush and you hope to hell that Din didn’t hear him amidst the noise of the cantina. The other men voice their frustrations too at your departure. You put your hand on Din’s bicep steering him away from these guys just in case. You don’t need Din starting a bar fight over you. You’re still holding his arm and following Din closely when yet another man comes up to you,

“This Mandalorian isn’t bothering you, baby, is he?” this idiot dares to ask.

“No. He is not.” you grit out as Din says, “She’s fine.” in his best don’t-fuck-with-me voice. It’s lost on this drunk fool though as he just lets out “Woo hoo! She sure is!” and tries to slap your ass, but thankfully you dodge him just in time.

You’re starting to doubt the wisdom in coming into this cantina but now that you’re making it to a booth with Din, you figure you should be all right. The booth has a curved seat following the shape of its round table and as Din places the child in the middle of the seat, he sits down to his right. You slide into your side of the booth opposite Din but before you can get fully seated, a man from the booth right behind you leans over, grabs your wrist and leeringly says, “I got a much better seat for you, mama.” and gestures to his crotch. Repulsed, you slap his hand away and head over to Din’s side of the table. That creep was disgusting but he did give you an idea.

“Will you do me a huge favor?” you ask Din, “Always” he replies instantly. Putting your hand on his shoulder, you climb into his lap while sliding one arm around his neck and then bringing your other hand to rest on his cuirass. You can sense his surprise, yet his arm wraps around your waist instinctively.

“Play along, please?” you whisper to him.

“What are you doing, exactly?” he wants to know.

“Sending a message.” You tuck your head in closer to his in a clearly affectionate way and place a kiss on his helmet where his cheek would be.

“What message would that be?” Din asks still a bit stunned by your actions.

“That I’m yours.” You pause as he absorbs this and then you tell him quietly, “I need you to be a little handsy.”

“Handsy?” he tilts his helmet at you “This feels like a trap.”

“No, I want you to. Be handsy.” You tell him again.

“Ok” he drawls out, “but don’t punch me.”

“I won’t.” You flutter your lashes at him to give the impression to this room of horny strangers that you’re flirting with Din.

Din gives a tiny shrug that you can feel more than see but then brings his free hand up to your face. His gloved hand slowly strokes your cheek as he then lets his fingers trace over your jaw and then down your neck and chest, slowing down even more as he reaches your cleavage and then just gently ghosts his fingers between your breasts before resting his hand just beneath them. You feel your breath hitch and get caught in your throat at the intimacy of his touch and you have to remind yourself that this is just for show, just to get these losers to stop hitting on you. Reminding yourself of the message you want to send, you wonder if this is too subtle. You need to make this definitive.

“Be a little more obvious,” you tell Din, the blush returning to your cheeks, I can’t believe I’m doing this.

“More?” Din tries to confirm, “What do you have in mind?”

“Put your hand up my skirt.”

“Ok, now that is definitely a trap.” he chuckles lightly.

“Do it. Put your hand up my skirt,” you practically demand.

“Well, I’m not going to say no to that,” he responds appearing to be amused by this whole situation. He takes his hand, starts to play with the hem of your dress, and then slowly starts to slide his hand up your thigh under your skirt kneading gently as he goes. You feel like you are dying, it is so sensual and so exactly what you have been dreaming of for weeks now. You knew he would be good at this and it’s killing you that it’s just an act. You squirm a little in his lap unable to help yourself and you think you can feel his own arousal, but you tell yourself you must be imagining it.

Din cannot believe this is happening, how is he this lucky? When he caught sight of the men hitting on you at the bar, he figured it was inevitable that you’d be surrounded by would-be suitors and he cursed himself for leaving you alone in a place like this even for a few minutes. A quick scan of the room showed him that you were absolutely the most beautiful woman there. Not that he was surprised, as he’s rarely seen anyone as stunningly gorgeous as you in his opinion. Plus, given this sexy dress you have on, he’s lucky he didn’t have to pry one of them off you. He noticed it right away before you left the ship earlier and had to put on your cloak, but he was hoping to keep that sight to himself. He knows he shouldn’t think of you that way, but he has given up trying to ignore his feelings for you. It’s not just your beauty, but who you are as a person. He’s never met anyone who’s so easy to talk to and who treats him with such respect and kindness. It shocks him how strongly he trusts you and the way he’s let down his guard around you. You might not realize it but you are the best friend he’s ever had, and although he wants more, he’s not quite ready to risk your friendship. If he messes this up, you might see him as just another jerk hitting on you.

Speaking of, Din figured his intimidating presence would keep the jerks away once he got back over to you, but these fools had clearly never met a Mandalorian before because they didn’t have the good sense to leave you alone even when he was standing right next to you. He had been sure he was going to have to punch the creep that grabbed you but then you were sitting in his lap before he had a chance to stand up and defend you. And now, now, he was cuddling with you in the middle of this crowded cantina, touching you in ways he hadn’t let himself dare to think about. He didn’t need the child’s powers to feel the waves of sheer envy coming off of the men in the room. He smirked to himself under his helmet, letting his hand slide up even higher on your thigh than he would have dared but just because he could.

You are becoming entirely swept away by Din’s ministrations on your thigh, and you hear yourself sighing his name, making him smile even more unbeknownst to you.

“Hmm?” he responds gently

“I--,” but you’re cut off by the waiter finally bringing the food.

“Here’s your order, sir” the waiter gives Din a look that is both impressed and jealous as you hide your face in Din’s neck mortified that you have gotten so carried away with this charade.

“Thanks.” Din tells him, slowly removing his hand from under your dress. You slide off his lap into the booth next to him so you can eat. Din keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulders though and you’re still pressed up against his side. You turn away slightly towards the child who has been amusing himself somehow all this time. You give yourself a chance to regain your composure as you focus on giving him some food. You had started to forget the kid was even there and you feel your face flushing again at your shameless behavior. You take a deep breath and remind yourself that this was necessary, and as you glance around the cantina, you can see that no one is paying attention to you anymore. Your message was clearly received. You sigh to yourself and start to eat your dinner.

Din is relaxed and is enjoying the feel of his arm around you. Every so often, his other hand finds its way to your forearm and brushes over your wrist and hand, not quite trying to holding your hand but almost just to remind you that he’s there. It’s flirtatious and romantic in a way that you both love and can’t stand because you know you just want him to keep doing it. You finish your food slowly trying to find a way to prolong this interlude as much as you can, even if it’s not real. Din notices when you’re done though and says, “Ready to head back to the Crest?” You nod at him, knowing it’s for the best and figuring he must be hungry too. You pick up the child and slide out of the booth following Din. He takes the baby from you and secures him in his satchel before reaching back to take your hand. Din threads his fingers through yours and leads you out of the cantina before the jealous eyes of all the other men who tried to claim you for their own earlier. He holds your hand all the way back to the ship and you let yourself bask in the moment, imagining the two of you as a real couple.

Once you’re back on the ship, you busy yourself with putting the child to bed. He’s already drowsy and practically asleep when you get him secure in his hammock. When you turn back around, Din is just watching you, standing there. You can’t imagine what he’s thinking. You suppose you should give him some privacy, let him have a chance to eat his own dinner, but before you do, you figure you ought to say something after all that.

“Thank you, for doing… for helping me out,” you feel rather flustered and it’s making you babble, “back there.” “I just couldn’t get those guys to bug off.”

“It was my pleasure,” he responds rather cheekily, “I figured I was going to get into a bar brawl, but I liked your idea a hell of a lot better.” He tilts his helmet at you and you can swear that you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Well, thank you, again” you say softly. He steps closer to you and you’re practically touching him as he looks down at you and says with a chuckle, “Any time you need me to feel you up again, just let me know.”

And before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “I will.”

He laughs and tips his head down to you, “Message received.”

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#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din dijarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader

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bestworstcase · 3 years

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i’ve been thinking about this post from a couple days ago and how i shared my four questions of character development but didn’t actually give an example of what my answers look like and it’s bugging me a bit because it occurs to me that it’s kinda just. lobbing a tool out there without documentation on how to use it properly rip

so uh. further details with examples ft. the bitter snow cast.

#1: what are they looking for?

all characters have an UNFULFILLED DESIRE that motivates them to action. the more central to the story the character is, the harder this must be to attain, as a general rule. this is, ideally, NOT an exterior goal. instead, it is the intrinsic wellspring from which the character’s goals and aspirations emerge.

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: it’s complicated. she is a character defined more by what she lacks than what she wants, per se; she does not feel secure of her place in the world, she craves trust because she feels she is distrusted, she craves respect because she feels she is overlooked, she craves love because she feels unloved. she doesn’t want to be a servant. she is terrified of insignificance, of being forgotten. she does not fit, and this hurts her. she is riddled with self-loathing and self-doubt because of the discrimination she has endured due to her saporian heritage. but if pressed to explain what she wants… she can’t summon a true answer. she doesn’t know what she wants, so what she is looking for fundamentally is to figure that out.

rapunzel: complicated again. she is a character defined in large part by what other people want from her. a people-pleaser who becomes anxious, persistent—even forceful—in her efforts to make everyone happy. she isn’t accustomed to paying attention to her own desires, and tends to neglect them unless she is acutely unhappy. i think she is looking for herself, more than anything.

varian: he is searching for answers. he wants to understand how the world works, to discover what it has to teach him. simple.

caine: she is looking for freedom. her life has been a long succession of horrific losses: her father was brutally taken from her, her mother became horribly ill, poverty and familial obligation robbed her of what remained of her childhood, she became disillusioned with the faith her aunt tried to share with her, her best friend died in her arms. she wants vengeance, and she also wants to stop carrying these ghosts with her, and she also wants to stop looking over her shoulder all the time and waiting for the next loss to catch up with her.

zhan tiri: she is looking for peace. she is the oldest living being in existence, and she came from nothing, and every single significant moment in her unfathomably long life has been soaked in blood and pain and death. her intrinsic nature is to hunger—always needing, always restless, always empty—and more than anything, she longs to break this endless circle of want.

#2: what’s stopping them?

every character must have an OBSTACLE which DISRUPTS their pursuit of what they’re looking for. it is the thing standing in their way. this is NOT the antagonist—it is the reason the character cannot easily overcome the antagonist. ideally it is something intrinsic.

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: she has, again, a complicated answer—because the very thing she is looking for is the same thing that stands in her way. how can she discover her basic, most primal want if she can’t even articulate her goals? she wants, at the beginning of the story, to join the watch—but not because she wants to join the watch, so much as joining the watch is a proxy for cassandra assimilating fully, for being coronan through and through, for scrubbing herself clean of the stain of her parents’ legacy—and that proxy is itself merely a proxy for her desire to belong—and her desire to belong is, in turn, a proxy for the agony of not knowing herself. she is piling bandaids on top of bandaids on top of bandaids on top of hemorrhages.

rapunzel: she is trapped in her own story. an evil witch kidnapped the magical lost princess, who escaped and came home; a miracle. the sundrop gifted its power to the lost princess; destiny. she a peacemaker and a mediator; it is her job to fix problems. narratives piled on narratives and she’s lost—or rather, never had—the insight to recognize that there is more to her than the stories people tell about her.

varian: his crushing need for approval is the key thing standing in his way. it isn’t just that his father’s disappointment or his village’s distrust make him warier of free experimentation; it is also, and perhaps even more so, that he is afraid of finding the wrong answers. answers that won’t help people. answers that his friends and allies won’t like. answers that change his basic view of the world in ways that feel antithetical to who he is. this fear holds him back from pursuing the truth.

caine: she is looking in the wrong direction; she is trying to not care, as if by not caring she can trick the universe into not taking anything else away. she is someone who cares so deeply trying to sever herself from everything she cares about without actually letting it go, which is of course an exercise in futility.

zhan tiri: what she wants is, quite simply, impossible. this is not a human answer because she is not human. contentment is and will always be something she is not capable of feeling, and chasing it is nothing but another exercise in insatiable hunger.

#3: what are they going to do about it?

this is about ACTION. it is not an option for a character to do nothing; the nature of the unfulfilled desire is that they are COMPELLED to seek it, somehow, by some means. if the answer to this question does not involve the character DOING SOMETHING, you need to return to question number one and fix the answer there.

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: she is going to fling herself headlong and without hesitation after whatever concrete goals feel like they might “fix” the lack she feels. even if a short term goal (like helping rapunzel sneak out) clashes or is contradictory with a longer term goal (like joining the watch). even if it is an obviously stupid idea (like her secret correspondence with rosalia morcant). even if it is an impulse with little if any rational basis (like fixating on finding varian, or joining the fight in socona). she is, essentially, throwing stuff at the wall to see what sticks, because without knowing what she wants, she can’t form a coherent “quest” for herself.

rapunzel: she is going to follow the path of least resistance with whatever narrative feels the least restrictive to her at any given time. when she is fresh out of the tower, reconnecting with her real family and throwing herself into becoming a princess is that narrative. later, taking adira’s and xavier’s advice to pursue her destiny by questing for the moonstone replaces that narrative. since none of these narratives fully suit her—they are all boxes she tries to fit into—she will eventually grow discontent and cast them aside to try something new, until she finally breaks this cycle.

varian: he is going to fall into a cycle of hesitant side-stepping leading to crisis leading to frantic charge forward until he identifies this pattern and chooses to step calmly but courageously into unknown territory. his instinct is to try to go around, to find an oblique solution, but to get what he wants he will ultimately need to just face his fear head on—and deep down he is willing to do that.

caine: she is going to run, and fight, and keep running and fighting until her legs give out beneath her. vengeance appeals to her, and she’s going to chase it with everything she’s got while trying to protect what she has; her intense drive is tempered by caution, which manifests in a pragmatic approach to pursuit of her exterior goals.

zhan tiri: she is going to continuously and experimentally refine and broaden her definition of “hunger” with the aim of hitting on something that allows her to feel satiated. she is going to line up goals and systematically chew threw them until there’s nothing left. she is, eventually, going to devour the whole cosmos and then probably die.

#4: who do they think they are?

this is a question about the character’s SELF-IDENTIFICATION. how do they PERCEIVE themselves? how do they choose to DEFINE themselves? what do they see when they look in the mirror?

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: she is untrustworthy. she is ignored. she is likable but not lovable. she doesn’t fit anywhere. she’s empty. she’s unsure. she’s drowning in doubt. she is insignificant, unimportant. she has been wronged, somehow. she wants to be a hero. she is someone who wants to do the right thing. she never stops trying. she’s stupid and reckless and incapable and doesn’t deserve any of the things she wants. she probably cares too much.

rapunzel: she is good. she is kind. (she is better than other people, in some small way. she sees the potential for goodness that other people can’t, or won’t.) she is worthless. she exists to make the world a better place. she is a princess, so she has to lead. she is the sundrop, so she has to heal. she is strong. (she is weak.) her determination to be kind and willingness to trust are her best qualities.

varian: he’s probably a lot smarter than most people he knows. he doesn’t know anything, but he wants to. he’s reckless. he’s not good enough. he can’t replace his mom. he’s accident prone. he’s a disappointment. he moves too fast. he thinks too fast. he doesn’t really need to sleep. he’s better with chemicals and formulas and machines than people. he’s not someone people want to be friends with. he could do great things if people—especially his dad—would just believe in him for once.

caine: she is an asshole and there is nothing wrong with her. she’s callous. she’s selfish. she’s out for her own interest first. she’s fine. (it was her fault cornaīn died. it’ll be her fault if her mom dies, or if neasa dies, or if any more of her crew dies, or if cassandra dies.) she isn’t afraid, she isn’t hurt, she’s angry. the only person she can rely on is herself, and the only person she wants to rely on is herself. she’s not anxious, she’s being smart.

zhan tiri: she loves, and it hurts, and she loves anyway. there is a way to break the circle and she is going to find it; it isn’t over until the end; but nothing lasts but hunger. she has done nothing wrong, ever, in her life. she has so many regrets she could drown in them if she weren’t immortal. she is beautiful, stop screaming.

…and that’s the bedrock of a character.

every individual action, every specific goal, every thought and feeling, is ultimately guided by the clash between this internal core with the realities of the setting, plot, and choices of other characters. cognitive dissonance between answers #1-3 and answer #4 is a breeding ground for inner conflict, and answers #1-3 are the raw material from which the spine of the character’s arc is sculpted.

[bonus round: this method comes from a scene in the pre-broadway houston run of the musical wonderland, wherein a character poses these questions to alice; her answers are:

#1: “i’m looking for my lost child.*”

*this being both literally her child who is lost but also metaphorically her own sense of wonder and discovery, which she has lost touch with.

#2: “i do! i keep getting in my own way, it’s all i do!”

#3: “i’m trying to figure that out!”

#4: “i’m chloe’s mother. i’m married to jack. these people are my friends. i’m a writer. i’m a teacher. i’m the dreamer of this dream. i’m lots of things; i’m my own invention!”

and when i first listened to this audio i was blown away by just how perfectly this distilled the character of alice down to her purest essentials so i immediately adopted it for character building purposes and i have never looked back because it is simple and it works.

in this scene there is also a fifth question, “what are you afraid of?” (paraphrasing: “losing the people i love”) which i have over time sort of just lumped in with how i answer the other four, because i find it to be less evocative on its own. however, it is useful information to know about a character and i recommend keeping it in mind when answering the other four.]

#[flings writing advice into the void at 5:30 am] hello

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diyunho · 4 years

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The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 3

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Same day, later in the evening

“What are you doing, Pumpkin?” The Joker crawls next to you although he has an idea about why you look upset.

You’re on your tummy scribbling on a piece of paper and he can tell you are concentrating hard while working on the current project: writing down your name. Only got the first three letters then the rest went blank.

“I….I can’t think…” you intensely stare at the blue pen in between your fingers.

“Of course you can!” J reaches over so he can guide your arm since it’s clear you need help. “There you go… done. Now try to copy it bellow, alright?”

“Hm?”

“Try again Princess,” he taps on the sheet and watches Y/N struggling to imitate the word. “Well done!” The King of Gotham praises. “Wanna give it a shot with a few more simple words?”

“Mmmm…” you debate. “OK?...”

You analyze The Joker’s movements as he depicts four letter words, one of them getting your attention in particular.

“Love?” you smile, happy you deciphered the meaning.

“Yes, a basic…”

“Love?” you scoot over, more and more excited and it clicks for your boyfriend.

“It’s just an example for you to exercise and relearn how to write, understand? It doesn’t mean anything!”

You giggle and touch his nose with yours.

“Love!”

“No Pumpkin! I don’t love you, how did you get such atrocity from my note??!! It has no hidden meaning! I barely, from very afar, remotely, not even similar to love, sort of like you and that’s it!”

You snicker and quickly slide to grab the yellow teddy bear, whispering in its ear:

“Love.”

“Aren’t you listening Princess?? Don’t start fake rumors!!”

Still…Y/N lives on her own little planet and her damaged brain grasped a wonderful concept despite The Clown vehemently dismissing his actions.

“Serves me right for being supportive,” he grumbles and resorts to diversion, the best weapon against your new found logic.

“Wanna read to me?” he points at the pile of children’s books resting on the nightstand: they are the best to use in your present circumstance.

“… … Read?... ” you ask, confused.

“Here,” J picks a random publication and gives it to you.

Might as well fully take advantage.

“Spoil me!” he buries his cheeks in your cleavage, guiding your free hand towards his green locks.

You never figured out how he doesn’t suffocate with his face glued to your skin; sometimes he sleeps like that for hours. Must be a special talent.

“The … ummm… the…. The duck…” you read the first page and massage his scalp, frowning at the words you can’t make sense of. “Cross… … crossed?...”

“Yeah,” The Joker’s mumbled voice agrees.

“… the… g-glass…” you stutter at the sentence.

“Grass,” J corrects you.

“Hm?...”

“Grass Pumpkin, not glass.”

“Ummm… grass…” you continue to read the best way you can and he rectifies your errors until no more sounds emerge: The King is softly purring, a clear indication he’s dreaming.

You toss the book on the floor, fed up with the difficult task of organizing your thoughts; pampering him is better. You slowly tilt his head backwards so you can kiss him: The Joker frowns in his daze and you pinch his butt, chuckling.

“What is it?” he opens one eye and you pull down on his boxers. “Princess, we had sex an hour ago. Do you think I run on batteries?” the complaint is fast to follow.

... … … Batteries?... …

You jump from the bed and stump to the closet, fumbling around for a couple of minutes before returning to a puzzled Clown.

You stretch the elastic of his underwear, dropping two batteries you snatched from the flashlight inside.

“How… how long do we w-wait?” you innocently ask.

The Joker bites his lip, attempting to contain himself yet he can’t: he bursts out laughing at your quirky solution while dragging you on top of him.

“You’re the funniest and smartest person I know, Pumpkin!” he cracks up, actually convinced he’s telling the truth. “Who’s my clever girl, huh?”

He’s talking about a girl again…What girl?...

Y/N peeks behind her and J reminds his baffled half:

“For God’s sake, Princess! I’m talking about you; you’re my girl! Can you get my phone?” he gestures at his mobile ringing by your pillow.

You give the cell to J, ignoring his conversation with Frost: you keep kissing him with the sole purpose of getting undivided affection.

“I guess Adam is here to pick up the cars you damaged,” he finally ends his chat. “Let’s go supervise the process. Don’t be disappointed, Pumpkin, we’ll have fun later. It’s your fault for destroying my collection!”

****************

The Joker watches his crew sweeping the concrete in the garage: broken glass, pieces of metal and debris scattered on the pavement after his vehicles were hauled inside huge trucks in order to be transported to Adam’s workshop for repairs.

“Thanks a lot, Y/N!” he growls, frustrated.

“Y-you’re welcome,” you serenely reply without a care in the universe.

“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me, Princess!” he huffs at your indifference.

“Love,” you confess to the fluffy toy squished in your embrace.

“I heard that and it’s an aberration! Why do you keep persisting with this nonsense?! I’m literally stating the opposite!” J admonishes but who’s listening to him?

Not Y/N.

“Nolan is texting me,” he changes subject. “He wants me to meet him at his warehouse to inspect the boxes of ammo for the deal. Will you accompany me?”

“Hm?”

“Car ride?” The King of Gotham simplifies his request.

“U-hum!” you nod, preparing to enter the purple Lamborghini which luckily wasn’t in the garage when you smashed J’s cars.

“Frost, if you see me parked up the street in the driving alley, don’t come investigate, got it? This woman’s been pestering me for extracurricular activities, might not make it inside the mansion.”

“Of course, sir!” Jonny finds it wise to consent to his boss’s rambling.

“Tell everyone: if the Lamborghini’s rockin’, don’t come knockin’!”

**************

You’re sitting on J’s lap, completely blocking the arrangements happening at the table: you’re more preoccupied with your game than whatever it is they are negotiating about.

“What are you playing, Y/N?” Nolan curiously inquires because your thumbs are surely moving at a crazy speed on your cell’s screen.

“Hm?” you stop and gaze his way.

“What are you playing?” the man repeats.

“Mmmmm… Tetrixx Bricks.”

“What level are you on?” Nolan leans over, his eyes getting big at the revelation. “Holy shit, Y/N! How did you make it this far??! I’ve been striving to pass level 98 for a month!”

“She’s smart, that’s how!” your boyfriend sassily underlines.

“Do you think that you can help me?” the guy slides his phone in front of you.

“I’m sorry, is this a gaming party or a business matter?!” The Joker scoffs.

“Well, we’re pretty much done: we accepted the terms, we just have to move the merchandise in the morning.”

You are already matching the colorful blocks on Nolan’s game, his face ecstatic when the obnoxious song announces with great fanfare: “Level Up!”

“Holy cow!!!!” he shouts and you return his phone. “Thank you!”

“Hey Y/N,” one of the mobster’s henchmen dares to voice his demand. “Would you help me too? I’m stuck on level 76.”

“I’m dead on 105,” another goon mumbles under his breath, stepping in the line forming to your left.

J would normally cut off this useless waste of his precious time yet he can’t deny the gratification building up in his heart: heavens knows how it feels to be trapped inside your own mind and his girl has definitely battled unimaginable odds to be where she’s at right now.

Living with cognitive impairment is not easy, but she’s still here and it beats the alternative.

“Good job, Pumpkin!” The Clown boasts at the long string of cell phones parading through your fingers while you aid Nolan’s team leveling up on Tetrixx Bricks.

And somehow his hands are holding you tighter, not even bored with the random outcome of his meeting.

**************

You escaped on the terrace for a break and J is discussing the last details with your host: tomorrow you have a routine checkup, thus he has to wrap it up soon.

“Out of my way, half-wit!” Derek aka Nolan’s oldest son pushes you. Would he have done it if you were the same individual from almost a year ago? Nope. Apparently he believes he’s entitled to take advantage of Y/N since she’s alone outside.

“Why did Mister Joker bring you anyway?” he lights up a cigarette, annoyed. “Stupid monosyllabic bitch!” he ogles your summer dress, swiftly lifting it. “Are you wearing diapers?” he chuckles as you walk backwards, trying to process what he’s throwing at you. “Come on, show me!” he approaches and carefully scouts the premises to ensure you two don’t have company.

Perhaps the neurons in your brain are overcharged for the moment; nevertheless, they warn of imminent altercation: the dude’s a total douchebag.

“Are you shy?” Derek grins. “C’mon, lemme see!! Oooohh…fuuuuck…” he bends over in pain when your knee unexpectedly kicks him in the crotch: you used all your strength and he drops down, curling up in a ball. “God…dammit!” Derek shrieks at the defense he didn’t anticipate.

“I…I’m not wearing diapers!” you stammer and because he landed on the edge of the pool you roll him in the water also.

The loud splash makes The Joker wave at you, glad he eventually found you: he’s been searching around the warehouse for the last 5 minutes.

“There you are! Quit playing around, Pumpkin; we have a swimming pool at home!”

You rush by his side eager to bail before the asshole pops up from the bottom of the pond.

“Sushi for dinner?” J suggests and Y/N is not the type of individual to reject one of her favorite dishes.

“I…I love sushi,” you smile elbowing him. “Love.”

“Don’t start with me again!” The King barks at your obvious hint.

*************

“Are you eating the last piece?” he glares at your salmon roll.

“No,” you offer the treat to him. “You…you need it more,” Y/N verbalizes her concern regarding his well-being.

“Can’t disagree, Pumpkin. You exhausted me you naughty girl,” J pretends to be super tired. “What can I do? Princess wants, Princess gets,” he inhales, resigned.

You’re not focusing on his whining: frankly, your intellect has been challenged enough for today. You cuddle in his arms while he chews on his food and watch TV without paying attention to the movie.

“Don’t forget tomorrow morning you have your doctor’s appointment,” J mentions. “I have to stay and wait for the guns I purchased from Nolan; you’ll have to manage without me. I’ll send an escort, deal?”

“U-hum.”

“Don’t yawn, Pumpkin. I’m the one that should yawn,” The Joker scratches his thigh. “This move sucks,” he pouts and turns off the TV. “I have a better idea,” he chooses a kid’s book from the stack. “Read to me.”

You open the textbook and although your brain is overwhelmed, you still make an effort for his sake.

“Mmm… Rainy… sky… Skies?...”

“Yup,” he turns on his side and nuzzles in your hair.

“Float over…hmm… t-town…”, your voice echoes in the room, soothing a worn out Joker.

Strange he can’t properly rest unless you read to him: after all J barely, from very afar, remotely, not even similar to love, sort of likes you.

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker imagine #the joker fanfiction #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #jokerleto #joker #joker fanfiction #joker imagine #joker suicide squad #dc #dcu #mister joker #mister j #Mistah J

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colde0channel · 4 years

Text

[ENG] 180530 COLDE - DAZED INTERVIEW

Q. I was hesitant right before I came to see you. I wasn’t sure what questions to ask. I assumed ‘music’ was the only clue that explained your name ‘Colde’.

Colde: That’s absolutely right. I never had the intention of creating a visual stereotype of the work I’ve been doing so far. I’ve rejected using other elements besides music. It’s the same reason why I wear a hat/cap when I sing. That’s why I’m reluctant to be exposed in the media and I hardly do interviews very often. I’ve been doing that for the past two years, I’m now working as a solo artist as of this year. I thought this time, I’d have to brand myself differently. This is my first magazine interview with Dazed. (t/n: He feels more confident performing on stage. He explained in previous interviews that he’s in fact a ‘timid’ person. This interview took place in 2018. Colde officially debuted with 0channel as ‘offonoff’ in 2016.)

Q. That sounds great. So let’s start this with, what’s the meaning behind the name ‘Colde’ ?

Colde: There are certain words that I love, and one of them is ‘Cold’ . When I visualised it as an image, I thought it fit well with my voice and appearance. I’m naturally not a bright person but the name ‘Cold’ goes well with a calm feeling. There are lots of meaningless typography (names) so that’s why I put an ‘e’ at the end of ‘Cold’. (Cold + e= Colde) (t/n: He mentioned on Red & Yella, that he got the name using a word generator. Although his name is Colde and with a voice that sounds ‘cold’ too, he wishes to bring warmth with his music.)

Q. What type of person is ‘Colde’ aka ‘Kim Heesoo’ like in real life? Are you as quiet and calm as when you sing?

Colde: I like to think positively, and I’m usually quiet. However once you get to know me, I like to joke around. I tend to discuss deeply about what I love; like collecting vintage items, old books and I love taking film photos that I can directly connect to music. Which I then keep in a stack of archives. Also riding an old car. I write songs with that kind of inspiration. I know a lot of people have been curious. (t/n: In fact he has a tattoo of an ‘old car’ on his right arm. Also the film photos he took in Texas (2019) were used for his LOVE PART 01 EP cover)

Q. What other things do you do, when you’re not doing music?

Colde: Talking (to friends)? Or watching a movie. I enjoy drinking tea peacefully while reading books. I like going to clubs but only when it’s for work, like planning a performance or parties. (laughs)

Q. Don’t you sometimes dream of escaping in a fit of anger?

Colde: Hmmmm, well I would take a walk on the Han River Bridge and just sing. Then sing loudly until I can’t hear my voice and the sound of cars.

Q. When you know you have enough control of yourself, it’s not as easy as it looks. So far, do you think you’ve been able to compete only with music rather than revealing yourself (into the public).

Colde: When me and 0channel moved together as a team, we solely focused on ‘offonoff’ as opposed to individuality. Our concept was not to let anyone know about us, like Margiela (brand). It was difficult to continue with that kind of concept as a crew (team). But with that, it’s constructed well in its own way. I would express it as ‘branding’.

(t/n: It’s almost saying as if ‘offonoff’ is a brand of its own. Martin Margiela who owns the brand, remains to be a private person. “Constantly challenging people’s expectations, the label persistently presents the idea of anonymity within their collections, and often sends models down the catwalk with their faces concealed so the concentration is on the clothes.” source: vogue )

Q. I agree. Nowadays, we do the branding ourselves. Offonoff and Colde’s music reminds me of the phrase you either ‘like it’ or you ‘crave for more’ . Without a doubt, both of you have different opinions. When you work on an album, how much do you or both express your own preference(s)?

Colde: For my solo music, they’re all centered around me so everything is decided by my opinion. Whereas in comparison to teamwork (offonoff), our opinions are half and half. We combine both of our ideas, well enough to make it work. That’s why it takes longer to work on the album. Which is the same for other things besides music. From a month before the album was released, we gathered every week to have visual meetings. Discussing ideas on how we would like the music video(s) to turn out. So I think we have good teamwork and synergy based on that.

Q. I heard that your first solo single ‘Your Dog Loves You’, from song writing to music video and album promotion was done without any label.

Colde: When we were still promoting as ‘offonoff’, our previous label (HIGHGRND) positively reflected the opinions of artists. So there weren't any conflicting issues. When I wrote this song (YDLY), I told myself “I’ll pursue this, there’s no one stopping me.” I started working on the album (YDLY) thinking about my dog; Samna. Even though we’ve been apart for a while, I still feel a sense of happiness. I realised that love is truly incredible. I wanted to express the meaning of my love and gratitude (for her), so that’s why I wrote about Samna as my first single. ‘Your Dog Loves You’ is a song that conveys my honest self and emotions with sincerity. Thus recording (the song) is important when doing music.

Q. What type of branding will be added to this song?

Colde: For this song, I think my real name ‘Kim Heesoo’ best represents me than Colde. To Samna, I live as ‘Kim Heesoo’ (laughs). We will be selling T-shirts with the release of this album. Some of the proceeds (from selling the shirts) will be donated to ‘CARE’, an animal shelter organisation. They also helped with the music video shoot.

Q. Is Wavy a type of movement?

Colde: That is correct. It's not just a concept or a crew but it's going to turn into a ‘brand’. Essentially it will then form as an ‘official label’. I'm still thinking about how I'm going to make it interesting, once it's unveiled. I can't tell you any more details, please keep an eye out . (laughs)

Q. It seems that promoting the song strategically is as important as good music.

Colde: I guess you could say that. When me and 0channel made our first song (Mood. mixtape [2015]) as ‘offonoff’, we tried to complete it with a high quality visual. With that, we started a website for it. The goal was to make the site accessible for everyone to access, and I paid attention to the small details. (offonoffart.tumblr.com) Which I think played a part of the promotion. It’s the same process for my solo music. I’m not only good at making music, but I should get the most out of using webzine, youtube channel and SNS websites (instagram etc). I also like to observe and explore how people use these websites.

Q. Are there any public figures (eg. actors, writers, artists) or anything that you are interested in nowadays?

Colde: Vintage shopping. In my spare time, I would make a trip looking for only vintage items.

Q. In your opinion, is nostalgia for old (things) any special?

Colde: Without them (old things) what would be left after the person passes away? Money? I don’t think so. If I leave something that is special (to me) I’d regard it as if it’s my child. I believe that whoever is influenced by me, will be greatly inspired. If you have a distinctive preference, the meaning of life will look even more different. Then I’ll be able to explain that clearly to someone, before I die.

Q. What’s the latest thing you’ve purchased?

Colde: Yesterday I bought a candlestick decorated with crystals on it. There’s a favourite shop that I like, whenever a new item comes in the owner would always contact me first. I also bought postcards and old magazines.

Q. Does that kind of preference also similar with fashion?

Colde: I love anything vintage in Japan and the UK. When I talk to my friends, ‘vintage’ is always the subject of the conversation. (t/n: He visited both countries before.)

Q. It is evident that cool musicians like you dress well. I think that’s why we’re able to film Eli’den Men with you today.

Colde: I’ve been offered a lot of fashion photoshoots and I’ve disappointed many, even though it’s a great opportunity. I had to decline them. I’d rather make a proposal for myself first, planning to do projects which connect music and fashion. Having the chance to work on Eli’den Men, I was so excited that I knew it would be fun. Even wearing eleven outfits was a challenge for me.

Q. How do you feel after filming it?

Colde: I feel great because I got to wear many pretty clothes. (laughs)

Q. What is the relationship between fashion and music for you?

Colde: I think my own criteria of fashion determines whether I'm an artist or not. Anyone can identify if an artist’s identity is connected to fashion. It doesn’t necessarily mean an artist has to dress well. I don’t think I can look my best, without that connection between work and clothing. It’s very important to show your personality through fashion. For example, when performing as offonoff’s Colde, I would wear my cap pretty low. Because that’s the character I set up for myself. I’m the type of person who doesn’t want to make eye contact with people, who’s also timid, passive and a reserved person. But in reality I’m gloomy and an introvert. After becoming a solo artist it’s getting better, now that I’ve started to open myself up to the world. Hence why I decided to appear on the show ‘BREAKERS’. The process of opening myself is revealed through fashion.

Q. I can feel the sincerity from your honesty. From now onwards I have high hopes of what’s going to happen next (for his next music release).

Colde: For my next second single; the keyword is ‘Fashion’. (Colde - WAVE [EP]) These days, I’ve been so immersed in my work. I’ve been planning this (album) since last year. It’s going to be a lot of fun. I’m planning to get a head start on this around June to July.

Q. So will we meet again next month?

Colde: I’d love that (smiles). I think it’s more meaningful if it’s with DAZED. Please look forward to my new music and upcoming projects.

✧ original source here

Translated by @colde0channel. Please credit when reposting. Thank you!

#offonoff #colde #interview #kim heesoo

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ironforgedrp · 4 years

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♛ MORRA GREYJOY

↳ details; female, 27. 479 AC ↳ status; pansexual, single, no children. ↳ faceclaim; summer bishil ↳ hails from; iron islands ↳ loyalty; iron islands, the ironborn, her family

↳ title; lady greyjoy, captain of the shadow of the tide ↳ religion; the drowned god ↳ spoken languages; common tounge, some bastard valayrian from her mother and other small bits of languages from her travels ↳ reason for being in sunspear; to represent the iron islands in the negotiations

♛ PERSONALITY

↳ type; the commander ↳ alignment; chaotic neutral ↳ star sign; scorpio. ↳ positives; intelligent, outgoing, determined, gritty, affectionate ↳ negatives; manipulative, cunning, proud, blunt

♛ BIOGRAPHY

↳ family lineage.

it was often said that looking at the greyjoys, one might think they were looking at a complete group of strangers instead of a tightknit family. almost each and every child looking different from the next, as almost all of them had different mothers. their father balon greyjoy had always wanted a large family to help the greyjoy family spread and get stronger. after his first wife passed away, he soon married his second, both wives giving him children. of course, there were also the many salt wives the lord of the iron islands had taken over the years and many of them bore him children as well, creating a mixed but united family.

morra greyjoy was born from balon’s second marriage to her mother lady myria jordayne of dorne. when she was young child she had asked her mother time and time again what drew her away from the sunny shores of tor to the rocky harsh lands of the iron islands. at first her mother didn’t answer the question. morra had assumed it was because her mother didn’t actually know and was only sent to balon greyjoy as some kind of treaty for trade. morra was persistent though and even though she was a young child she wanted to know. her mother eventually gave in, telling her that she wanted to wait until she was older but felt like she might be ready now. she told her that while she did love balon but she loved the sea more. she claimed that one night while out on the beach back home in tor, the drowned god himself appeared to her in dream or vision. he had told her that she has a destiny before her on the iron islands and with balon greyjoy. balon’s children were destined to conquer the seas and conquer the land and that with her their children could be even greater. her mother knew that nothing was written in stone but even the thought that her children had a destiny before them that would lead them to great places and they could become great people she knew she had to go. morra had never questioned her mother before and her mother was not the type to joke around with ideas like that. so from a little girl she knew she could grow up to be someone special if she pushed herself, so that’s exactly what morra did.

growing up in a family like the greyjoys had its ups and downs. her father and mother pushed all of the children to be the best. while not outwardly cruel they were not always the softest parents. if morra fell down in training or took a hard hit her mother did not rush over to pick her up and hold her if she cried. instead, she stood by, cheering her on to get up and to keep fighting. there would be time later to bandage wounds and for some comfort but in those moments she could not give up.

when she was deemed old enough morra underwent the ritual drowning of the drowned god. even as a child she wanted to show she was ready for the destiny set before her. she joined her brother’s crew for a few years, training under him as he pushed her to get better and better and better. while back home on the islands her mother taught her other lessons that most ironborn never considered important. she learned reading and writing and more importantly how one might fit into court life. if morra and her siblings were going to help the ironborn take over more land then she needed to know how to deal with other westerosi nobles. at first morra was not too thrilled with those lessons but still she took it all in knowing it could help. her mother even took her on test runs when she would take her on visits back to dorne. often it ended with some snobby lord getting a broken nose after exchanging some heated words with the greyjoy

morra was still a teenager when she captained her first ship that had been gifted to her by her siblings. it was small and the crew wasn’t large but morra couldn’t have been more proud. overtime her ships and crews got bigger and bigger until she was gifted her pride and joy, the shadow of the tide. while still, young morra earned the respect of her crew as she proved herself time and time again with the choices she made, the fights she won,her strong demeanor, but also for the care she had for her crew. after years of sailing with her, there was little to no men or women who would speak ill of their captain. both out of respect and fear of what might happen to them if they did.

as the chaos in the capital happened around them, morra was too busy with her crew and her business to pay attention much. that was until other ruling families stared splitting from the iron throne. morra was ready to get word that her brother, now ruling lord, had also declared the iron islands free as well. but no such word came. it was no secret that the greyjoys were a prideful family and she was shocked that her brother didn’t declare himself a king. but despite that she knew she had to trust her brother on his decision. he was a smart man, a very smart man and there had to be a good reason why he did it.

the reality of what was happening hit her in the face one night while her and her crew were ashore. most of them had found their way to a local inn and were enjoying a few drinks when drunken lord of the islands slinked over to her table that night and called her a coward along with a string of other names. like a true ironborn he was not shy about getting in her face with threats and morra didn’t back down to the older man. her crew seemed to be getting more and more agitated as the man raged in front of her. he said that her brother was weak for not leaving the iron throne, that the ironborn were once free men and they should be once again. morra stood strong by her brother’s side, she would not weaken his stance by talking out against him. the lord didn’t take too kindly to mor’s laughter back and him and how quickly she seemed to shut him up. that night she traveled back alone to her ship when the man jumped from the shadows and attacked her. as the two of them fought, he told her that he would hunt down her ship and take it over. once he killed her crew he would take her as his salt wife to prove to her brother that the greyjoys could be taken down. morra would not stand to be insulted in that way, or her family to be. this man would either kill her or take her as a wife and neither of those things would she ever do. as they continued to fight, her mind was already made up. she was a greyjoy and she was trained by the best to be the best. victory swiftly was hers. even in her anger, she did not want to spill the blood of another ironborn. instead, she dragged the man to the edge of the water and drowned him. giving his life back to the drowned god.

she has no regrets from that night and if given the choice she would do it again. it wasn’t like she had never killed anyone before but just never another ironborn. but something about his words had gotten into her head. did others on the islands feel the same or was that just the drunken rambling of an idiot with a death wish. after staying up most of the night mulling over, she decided she wanted to show the strength of not just the greyjoys but the iron islands as a whole. the next day she set sail with her family to dorne ready for whatever might come her way, but the strength of her purpose pushing her forward.

↳ personality.

many things make a good captain, according to most ironborn. morra has felt she embodied most of them. she’s studied under some of the best captains on the iron islands and has gained a lot of knowledge from them. she also has a very keen instinct that has helped her in a lot of situations. unlike some of the other captains who are completely stoic and ruthless morra has always had a bit more of an effervescent personality. she gets to know not only her crew but her friends well and they become like a family to her. morra has never been described as someone who would be shy. she is who she is and she’s happy about it. she’ll tell you how she is feeling and what she thinks about you if she wants.

pride is something that most greyjoys have to struggle with. being not only a greyjoy but a captain herself morra has a high view of herself and sometimes that pride can get in her way. often that combines with the enormous pressure that has been on her shoulders since she was a young child. her parents were never shy in letting her and her siblings know that they had a great destiny to fulfill and they needed to be the best they could. morra sets very high expectations for herself because of this. she wants to keep trying and trying to do better and do something more. even when she does do something good, it can be a double-edged sword for her. she’s got incredible confidence in herself but her accomplishments can feel not enough for her at times. morra isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty to get what she wants. in fact it was encouraged by both of her parents. no one gets far in life if they are afraid to make tough choices or do tough things.

↳ the splitting of the kingdoms.

morra is in sunspear to help show her family’s strength and to perhaps expand on the power they already have. morra honestly doesn’t care too much about the other kingdoms splitting off from the iron thrones since it doesn’t have a huge impact on her. though she is curious why her brother decided not to split off and wondering if he’s just waiting for the right time. but the iron islands have a lot to offer some of these new kingdoms and she’s ready to negotiate and trade if need be.

♛ STATUS: TAKEN.

#hannah.#iron islands.#house greyjoy.#taken.#taken female.#female.#( queue )

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theagencyrp · 6 years

Photo

[[LOADING FILE]]

>>:// [[ACCESS GRANTED]]

ALIAS: AGENT MONROE NAME: [[REDACTED]] POSITION: FIELD OPERATIVE ACCESS LEVEL: ONE

>>:// [[AGENT MONROE INTEL]]

>> Agent Monroe prefers to have blonde hair when possible, despite not being naturally blonde. >> Top Proficiencies: Stealth; Interpersonal Skills; Reconnaissance >> Peer Evaluation: Agent Monroe’s personality on missions has been compared to New England weather: If you don’t like it, wait five minutes; it’ll change. In the bunker, while not an unpleasant person, she is not as deliberately charming. >> Agent Monroe has been known to do impressions of founders and other agents with mixed responses.

>>:// [[AGENT MONROE IS TAKEN]]

Faceclaim: Samara Weaving

>>:// ATTEMPTING TO ACCESS CODENAME: MONROE >>:// DECRYPTING >>:// TEMPORARY ACCESS GRANTED

Character’s real name: Anna Daphne Miller

First choice FC: Samara Weaving

Second choice FC: Skyler Samuels

Character gender and pronouns: CisFemale, She/Her

Character age: 25

Please list at least two reasons why the Agency looked to recruit your character:

Drama Queen: Anna’s experience with theatre (and party crashing) taught her how to read people and situations and to have a very malleable outward persona. Not only can she shift her apparent personality drastically, she can do so rapidly, allowing her to blend into different environments as she moves through them and gain people’s trust as she goes. Studying theatre also required her to study movement, so even though she had no experience with hand-to-hand combat prior to being recruited, she was physically fit and flexible, leaving her in a good position to learn.

Behind the Scenes: Anna also learned valuable skills from her involvement in the technical theatre. Just as she knows how to bring attention to herself, she also knows how to send it away and direct it elsewhere. She is resourceful, attentive to detail, good at working within a team, and focused under pressure. Additionally, she has no trouble walking around oddly shaped spaces littered with obstacles in absolute darkness.

Anna Daphne Miller was born to Christine Miller, a museum curator, on December 21, 1992. Anna grew up as a latchkey kid in a nice suburb in Western Massachusetts. Christine always loved reading to Anna, who inherited her mother’s love of books and ended up spending a lot of her spare time at the local library. At school, she was focused and excited to learn and on weekends she loved going to the museum with her mother.

She had her first experience with theatre at the age of ten. Her fifth-grade class spent the spring preparing to put on (a significantly shortened version of) Peter Pan. Anna was assigned to play one of the extra lost boys her teacher had invented so there would be enough rolls for everyone, but despite having only half of one line, she was instantly hooked. When Anna started middle school, she quickly found more opportunities to participate, and it quickly became her primary extracurricular. In ninth grade, when she didn’t get into the fall play (it was a small cast and seniors got priority), she was crushed until Christine suggested she could still be involved by joining the crew. She loved it, and soon she was choosing to be backstage almost as often as she was on stage.

Anna did well enough in her other classes, with particularly strong marks in English, but her true passion was theatre. Still Christine insisted she go to college somewhere where she could study a range of subjects, wanting Anna to receive a well-rounded education. She was accepted to a liberal arts college in the Midwest with a good theatre program, satisfying both women. Everything seemed to be going perfectly.

Christine died in a car accident about a month after Anna graduated high-school. She was able to defer her enrollment a year, and took that year to get her mother’s affairs, and herself, back in order. When she did start college, she was fine. She made friends, got good grades, and quickly declared a major in theatre and a minor in literature. Still she did her best to avoid coming home, staying on campus or with friends whenever she could, and she began to lose touch with the people she’d grown up around.

Her junior year, she and her friends started crashing parties. Maybe it was spurred on by a need for adventure, maybe it was a lack of parental guidance, maybe she’d started to realize that theatre wasn’t enough for her any more, or maybe it was just a desire for something that wasn’t dining hall food, she couldn’t tell you. They started small, sneaking through the cocktail parties of on-campus weddings to grab hors d’oeuvres, but soon enough, they wanted more. They started going off campus, going thrift shopping to match dress codes. At the time, it seemed silly and harmless. Occasionally one of them would get caught, get sent out with a light scolding and a “kids these days,” since they weren’t actually causing any trouble. Sooner or later they each had a similar story.

Except for Anna. Anna never got caught. Her friends would tease that she’d called in advance, bribed the host for a real invite. She would just roll her eyes and tease back, “No. I’m just good at this.”

It was winter break her senior year when she broke her perfect record. She was staying with one of her friends, Megan, who lived on a street lined with houses that were practically mansions. Someone new had just moved in down the road, Megan explained, and they were throwing a big, fancy holiday party. “We should go,” said Megan, knowing Anna wouldn’t object. Then she added, “And we should take something, so that everyone believes us when we get back.”

Megan got spotted within fifteen minutes of getting there, cover blown by a mutual neighbor, but Anna stayed. Eventually, she found an opportunity to sneak further into the house unnoticed and was able to snatch a monogrammed hand towel and hide it in her purse. She returned to the party for a few minutes, and once it wouldn’t have been suspicious, left and made her way back to Megan’s house. She thought she’d pulled the whole adventure off unnoticed, and it was true, she hadn’t been noticed yet. However, she had failed to recognize the security cameras tucked into the sconces in the hallways.

The next day, the host of the party stopped by Megan’s house, but asked to see Anna. He was an older gentleman, polite and amused, and only requested that Anna return the hand towel, which Anna was more than happy to do. He didn’t tell Megan’s parents, and he didn’t call the police, he assured Anna. What he didn’t tell her, was that he’d made a different call entirely.

Anna thought that was the end of it. She went back to school and continued life as normal, not realizing she was being watched. It wasn’t until spring break that it came up again. She was reading in the campus library when someone she’d never seen before approached her. They knew all about her and about the holiday party too. Apparently, they were a friend, she could hear the italics in their speech, of the gracious host, they explained. Then they made her an offer.

She started training as soon as she graduated. At first, she felt out of place; her background felt so different from everyone else around her. She wasn’t a science genius or an experienced fighter. Still, she persisted, because she knew she wouldn’t get an opportunity so perfect again: it was everything she loved about theatre, and yet, so much more. She learned what she needed to, practiced as much as she could, and graduated training feeling like she’d found a new purpose and maybe a new family as well.

Character personality:

Pros: Determined, Passionate, Resourceful, Playful

Cons: Impatient, blunt, abrasive

Anna is happy and friendly, she’s just not always the best at expressing that. She spends her assignments constantly pretending to be people she isn’t, so when she’s back at the bunker, she prefers to be as honest as she can. It’s how she shows that she trusts people, but it can come off insensitive or critical sometimes. She doesn’t mean to hurt anyone; she cares a lot about those around her, considering the agency her family. She truly wants to be helpful, she just doesn’t have the patience to “sugar coat” anything; it feels like lying to her, and she does her best to leave the lies outside the bunker.

That being said, she loves to make people happy whenever possible, especially by making them laugh. She’ll do whatever she can: funny faces, bad puns, melodramatic responses. If it’s safe and she thinks it’ll make a friend’s day at all better, she’ll do it, no matter how ridiculous.

Anna is persistent. She’ll try to do whatever it takes to complete a mission or accomplish a goal, and she hates feeling like she’s being held back or unnecessarily made to wait.

OTHER:

Her favorite suit (she has a few for different situations/dress codes) is a midnight blue evening gown. The skirt is tear away, in case she has to fight, and makes a rather effective shield.

She has a solo room as she appreciates having a space where she can just get away from people. Besides her bed, its main features are a simple vanity (with plenty of drawers), a couple of bookshelves filled with her ever growing collection of books and movies, and a flat screen TV with a DVD/Blu-Ray player and a fancy sound system.

While she doesn’t have a favorite, the most important book in Anna’s collection is a copy of The Hobbit. It was one of the first books her mother read to her growing up, and they read it again together many times. This copy is particularly special: Her mother wrote a letter (equal parts heartfelt and cheesy) on the title page and gave it to Anna as a graduation gift (at the time, she teased that it was just because she didn’t want Anna stealing her copy to take to college). Anna keeps it in her bedside table, rather than on the shelf, because she likes to read the letter before she goes to sleep sometimes.

Her skin care routine isn’t insane, but she does have one.

She wears reading glasses when reading for extended periods of time.

She sings in the shower.

She likes tea (especially anything with jasmine).

She doesn’t bleach her own hair. She tried it once in high school, and it went badly. Really badly. There are photos. She won’t share them.

She picked up some ballroom dancing in college and is happy to teach anyone who want to learn, mostly because she wants someone to practice with.

She has a pretty serious sweet tooth, and a particular weakness for anything with dark chocolate.

She hates needles.

She’s very close to her mentor, as they provided the guidance and reassurance she’d been so sorely lacking since her mother died.

#monroe #field #one #taken

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griffinsanddragons · 7 years

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Unexpected Developments [Part Three]

She knows she doesn’t need to, but Hawke continues to pursue this ‘Illusive Mage.’ While seeking aid in Darktown, she begins to question her own motive and suddenly retrieves another lead.

Read: Part One and Part Two on Tumblr!

Also on AO3!

I finally got the chance to write–happy reading!

Her Father was a good man; He set himself up as an apothecary in every village, town, and city they lived in.

No one accused the man who brought good fortune to their doorstep of being a mage𑁋but if they did ever grow suspicious, their lips remained sealed. They treasured their fortunes too greatly to sell him down the river.

He’d begin with smaller things: a bad back, an ailing brother, or a pregnant wife with aching feet𑁋small favors in trade of little luxuries like honeyed bread or strawberries.

‘Friends,’ he used to say, ‘help life run smoothly.’

With time and the passing of seasons, the ailments would turn into ridiculous pleads.

A young man would ask for a potion, hoping to find himself in the arms of Teffenia, a certain nobleman’s bright-eyed daughter. But Teffenia would have her eye on Jona, the younger sister of the man who ran the Inn but lacked the courage to communicate.

Her father would forewarn against it, but never failed to mention his passing knowledge of an ‘old Rivaini trade.’ Hawke, or Filia as she was better known back then, could never be sure if that were true, or if he’d simply hoped to be viewed more humbly.

Whatever the case he’d send the troubled party away, asking they return the next day.

Like potions, these charms cost nothing to make.

It was magic𑁋mostly. Small magic, he called it, persisting spells that didn’t bother with specific circumstance but attracted small fortunes anyway.

‘Nothing can be precise,’ He’d tell them, ‘but you will have what you need.’

So while the boy wouldn’t have Teffenia, he’d soon meet someone who’d return his fancy and Teffenia and Jona would come to share a timid kiss behind a crumbling barn and fall in love over the succeeding days.

Only once was he given trouble: the first time a curse made its way out their door.

[Keep Reading]

Filia was six years old when a man, a seafaring Merchant from the time they lived near Denerim, the capital city, asked for a charm to keep his shipments from sinking down into the depths of the Amaranthine Ocean or Waking Sea. He had sugar to trade in exchange for the gift, her father agreed, and, as always, instructed the man to leave.

But he refused, hoping to be the first to stay and watch her Father work his secret spells.

Filia stood behind her father quietly, clinging to the wood of the doorframe, her weight shifting down to buckle at her knees; she never took well to the strangers who came and went and demanded her father’s energy.

‘It isn’t the type of work you can see. It’s something that must be felt.’ He explained, his voice an impossible mix of stern and friendly.

Eventually, the man left, disappointed and probably angry (though he had no right to be.) But because of him, her father was troubled, then pensive, but soon appeared to resign himself to something.

The next day the seafaring merchant returned and that was the last she’d seen of him.

A new merchant settled into their village not too long after the adults began whispering, citing the story of the ship that sunk into the waters of the Waking Sea. The crew survived but the captain went missing. Some wondered if he ever made it to the ship in the first place.

Whatever the case, she couldn’t fault the man for wanting to stay. Her Father’s work was fascinating. And if she were good and minded her mother properly, he’d let her play the part of his assistant.

She’d bring him stones or feathers or a book from his trunk and, if she were lucky, help him gather plants outside.

She remembered trudging through the mud with her Father as he scoured the field for sprouts after a heavy rain.

‘Aha! Here we are!’ He’d grin, standing proudly as though he discovered a gold growing from the soil. She’d never forget the look on his face.

She could still see him in his favorite room, surrounded by books and clear colored vials. But most intriguing were the plants𑁋they were the only constant factor in the things he made: Myrtle for beauty, and prettying the skin, Wintergreen for easing pain, yarrow for stress relief…

Those were the best days. Filia would kick her feet on a stool or chair and watch him, always excited to learn a little more about everything.

She liked to think she had a talent for herbalism and that, some day when her family stopped running, she and her father could buy a shop together𑁋a big one𑁋and get Carver to call to the people walking by, bringing in their business and money.

But that was a dream that died with him. She simply didn’t have the time.

Still, keeping his plants gave her comfort and made her happy in those tough times.

So why, she wondered, couldn’t she have stayed happy?

Why, instead of tending to her plants, was Filia in the dark, subjecting herself to the awful stew of smells𑁋mold, bridge and something akin to bread burning𑁋that clung to the walls of Darktown and made her skin feel dirty? To tie a loose end? For the thrill of destroying something?

Was there something wrong with her? Was it so obvious even someone like Dirty Fingers could see it? She scowled at the very thought. Still, she replayed their encounter over again in her mind, looking on her actions and what he’d said.

There had to have been another way, but it was too late to change her mind.

And even if she could…well, he probably deserved it anyway.

Darktown, as always, managed to live up to its name; It was dark, the torches on the walls barely made a difference and a thick cloud of despair hung closely overhead, spreading like the leaves in a bad cup of tea.

Isabela hummed a song beside her, some manner of shanty Filia knew she’d heard her sing before, but she could hardly pay attention let alone remember the words (that and Isabela was hardly a songbird, she couldn’t be sure if she’d heard the lyrics correctly the first time anyway.)

In fact, she’d been so distracted by her thoughts, Filia hardly noticed the open door that marked their destination. So once they arrived, she hesitated for the briefest moment.

They’d gotten here too quickly𑁋she didn’t feel at all prepared.

But as she scanned the room, looking across the tables, cots, and chairs, everything began to feel lighter.

Anders had been standing near the back of the clinic, exchanging whispers with a man she didn’t know but thought she might have seen somewhere before.

He was handsome enough, with a sort of pinched-in face that squeezed his features into a sour look of disgust. And he certainly looked reclusive, with dark curly hair and a heavy black cape set around his narrow shoulders𑁋but he wasn’t tall; Anders had to look down to converse with him, and the thought put her sword arm at ease.

She didn’t need to kill him. There was no need to fight.

Instead, she smiled at Anders when he looked her way and watched his expression shift from surprise, then confusion, and finally joy, as though he’d found a warm pair of slippers or a handy set of swords in a place he didn’t quite expect them to be.

He spoke quietly with his friend for a moment longer, something about their conversation prompting him to glance her way. He looked she and Isabela over, an unreadable expression on his face, before pulling up his hood and walking away.

“Who was that?” Isabela asked, folding her arms as she watched the handsome stranger leave.

“A friend,” Anders told her, “Javier. He works for Lirene.”

“From the Ferelden Import Shop?” Confusion filled Filia’s voice as she filed through her memories.“The woman who said you had ‘nice eyes’?” She wasn’t sure why that particular detail stuck out in her mind or why she felt the need to bring it up, but it did her no favors to pretend she hadn’t said anything.

Isabela made a sound, a strange mixture of a snort, scoff, and giggle, as though she alone were privy to a special secret or something. Anders appeared to be out the loop as well.

“I’ve been meaning to come see you.” He confessed, taking a few strides closer till she could see the light reflecting in his eyes.

“And here I am! How lucky.”

“Did you have a run-in with one of the gangs?” He asked, shifting his attention from her to Isabela’s injuries. They were minor, but he sped the process of their healing with a simple wave.

“They were more like drunk fisherman really,” Isabela leaned back against the table where she found a towel to wipe the excess blood away. She tossed it somewhere and began picking through Anders’ things.

“Do I want to know?” He turned back to Filia, who, for all intents and purpose, agreed with Isabela’s assessment of their attacker’s failings.

“Probably not.” She shrugged. “We’re actually here to ask you something𑁋but you can go first since you obviously missed me.” And she wasn’t exactly sure how to breach the topic of what she wanted to say. ‘I’m searching for someone I need to kill, would you happen to know where he is?’ Didn’t seem appropriate.

Anders seemed hesitant at first but resolved himself to speak, guiding her away from Isabela’s prying ears and eyes.

“…I spoke with Aveline about you.” He confessed as though he’d done something dirty. “How are you feeling?”

“Hmm?” She wished he hadn’t asked.

Her day spent hunting for the mysterious sender of that letter, or ‘Illusive Mage,’ as Isabela named them, was meant to distract her from thinking of her little sister wasting away in a prison and angsting over thoughts of her little-broken family.

Part of her was grateful for the unexpected developments that lead to this mystery. It meant she could avoid that question, (that how are feeling?) for a little longer.

“Oh, I’m fine.” She leaned away, pushing the tip of her boot into the stone. “Peachy, really, when you consider my sister is trapped in an impenetrable prison thrusting up from the middle of the sea.”

“Hawke-”

“It’s alright Anders.” She stopped him. “That was a joke.” Mostly.

“…Bethany’s a special girl; She’ll do well for herself in The Circle.” He assured her anyway, his kind words pulling her attention back from the floor and to his eyes. They really were lovely. “I have a contact𑁋a friend of Karl’s. I’ve asked her to look after Bethany.”

“You did?” She could feel her own eyes growing wide and the fast-paced beating of her heart and wondered what one said when a simple ‘Thank You’ would never suffice.

So she stood there, staring at his eyes, lips parted in silence. She had no words to say.

Grateful for his friendship and more than overjoyed, Filia may have cried then𑁋wept even𑁋had it not been for the angry voice that swept the mood away.

“Anders!” It hissed, speaking his name through gritted teeth. The familiarity of it striking her like a butcher chopping meat.

Aveline entered the clinic like a storm on the raging sea, stopping only when she saw them all together, her brows furrowing down to make herself look mean.

“Well if it isn’t the ‘Captain of The Guard,’” Isabela smirked, her own brows rising to compliment the wily grin that eased its way across her face. “What did I tell you, Hawke. She’s come to oppress more free enterprise.”

“The three of you together I see. I should have known that would be the case.” She set her helmet down upon the table, ignoring Isabela to the best of her ability.

“Is there something wrong, Aveline?” Filia asked. She seemed to be in such a bad mood lately.

“Very. My guardsmen found another body. This time near the foundries.”

“I don’t recall hearing anything about a body,” She thought back. “I just left from there.”

“Hawke-”

“But I didn’t kill anyone today.” Or so she didn’t think. Filia waved her hand dismissively. “And Isabela’s been with me.”

“Except for when I was with Fenris,” Isabela added thoughtfully. They turned their glance to Anders who answered with a simple “No.”

“Well, there we have it. We’re not guilty.”

“I believe you𑁋Oh don’t look at me like that.” She scoffed at Filia’s wide-eyed look of disbelief.

“What happened to this man was…beyond any normal person’s capabilities.”

“Any normal person’s?” She tilted her head to the side, hoping Aveline would elaborate fully.

“We believe he was killed by magic.”

“Of course. You think the killer is a mage so you come to me.” Anders folded his arms and looked away.

“I came to you because I now have a lead. There was a witness,” Aveline explained, “She told us she saw a drunken man enter the alley, she heard screaming and suddenly…there was a body. He looked badly beaten just like the others but she hadn’t seen anyone else come leave. We suspect something similar may have happened with the others.”

“That was her thrilling testimony?” Isabela spoke with disbelief. “It isn’t much.”

“I never said it was a good lead. But due to the nature of the attacks…We may have a blood mage on the loose”

“Another blood mage, you mean.” Isabela corrected.

Anders muttered something under his breath with a clear look of exasperation drawn across his face.

“Do you think this is our ‘Illusive Mage?’”

“It may be.” Filia sighed, shifting her weight from one leg to the next. She had doubts. Given her history, Blood Magic was likely to blame. But Blood Mages had a talent for making bodies disappear in the darkness of the night. Why would they leave the body behind if they could help it? Why be that sloppy?

Anyone with stealth or light footsteps could make a daring escape, but not everyone could make a body disappear. Filia knew from experience that it could be quite grueling work, actually.

But what did that mean? Was Aveline’s killer and the person she wanted not one and the same?

“You’re what?” Aveline raised a brow but Isabela dismissed her worry.

“It’s a long story.”

“It doesn’t matter who it is, so long as they’re brought in to face justice.” Anders scoffed at her words.

“Do you know where they may be?”

“We have an idea. But I won’t ask my men to go in unprepared.”

“Isn’t that the point of the city guard?” Isabela chided, placing her hands on her hips for emphasis.

“I’d hoped to get more insight on what we might be up against.”

“Well, there’s no way of knowing until we get there.” Filia decided to speak. Helping Aveline was the right thing to do𑁋and there was still a chance she’d find this ‘Illusive Mage’ or whoever they’d turn out to be.

“Whoever it is may very well be more dangerous than we suspected, the guard will need help.” Blood mage or not, she didn’t come this far to let him be arrested by the city guard or, and this was more likely, escape.

The killer’s hideout was a warehouse near the channel not too far from the Hanged Man. The owner had been forced to shut its doors when a careless worker poisoned the fish and cut the fishing lines. Fortunately, no one died but the mishap stole the owner’s credibility.

“Why does it seem like we’re always walking?” Isabela spoke with an exasperated sigh, folding her arms as they followed Aveline’s lead.

“I’ll pay a few handsome men to massage your feet,” Filia promised.

Though they moved forward with caution, there was no sign of any of Lowtown’s ever present gangs lurking around the streets.

It seemed this particular area was neutral territory and the peace suited Filia fine; She didn’t feel like cleaning her sword any more than she had to this evening.

It wasn’t as large as the Foundry by the harbor nor was it as imposing, but the unrelenting Lowtown fog curled around it, shifting its edges like a sinister dream.

Aveline looked back over her shoulder, hoping the section of Guards she made follow were still, in fact, following.

“Let’s move in, she instructed but the door didn’t seem to agree. “There shouldn’t be a lock here.”

“Looks like someone knows we’re coming.” Despite the drawback to their plan, Filia’s lips curled up into the smuggest of grins. There were certain advantages of her name being whispered across the lower reaches of the city: no one but fools really bothered her and sometimes she’d get things for free. There was the occasional challenger, however, but she wasn’t just known for being dangerous𑁋she was.

And she wouldn’t let something as simple as a locked door stop her from reaching her target once and for all.

“Can you unlock it? Or should we try to break it down?” She turned to Isabela who met her smile with a sly beam of her own.

“I’m sure I can manage something.” Isabela kneeled down, but not before sliding a slender pouch of needles from the inside of her high leather boot.

She made quick work of the lock, (much to Aveline’s relief,) but the old hinges on the door made a loud, unpleasant screech as though to warn of intruders approaching.

Hawke and Aveline readied their shields, Isabela her daggers and Anders his stave, the four all ready for a frontal assault or clever attack by the enemy𑁋but nothing came.

The inside was quiet, unbelievably empty, and heavy with the scent of soap and lye as though someone had gone through great pains to wash something unpleasant away.

They all turned their eye’s to Aveline.

“Is this really where your lead said he’d be?” Anders lowered his stave.

“Yes.” She confirmed, “We need to search every room. If he’s here, there’s no telling where he may be.”

“And when we find him?” Isabela wondered, putting away her knives.

“We do what we must. But I want him alive for questioning.”

Filia frowned but didn’t raise her protest vocally.

Aveline might have wanted him alive, but she herself felt differently.

They split the search.

The warehouse was far too large for the group to stay together but they managed to play to their strengths perfectly.

Filia noticed narrow walkway above, so Isabela, who seemed to have a history with walking those types of things, would take the upper level to see what she could find alongside Aveline. Despite their mock and teasing, they’d keep one another safe.

Aveline and Anders had no easier of a friendship (in fact it was worse,) and it was clear Kirkwall’s Guardian had no clue how to fight beside a mage.

She was a soldier𑁋trained by her father to see the battle, find patterns and disrupt enemy lines. She was trained to lead troops who fought with honor and instinct, not men who’d set the room ablaze to make an escape.

Anders was powerful, but he had no combat training𑁋no real combat training besides what he learned fighting alongside his Warden Commander in Amaranthine.

His attacks were wide and flashy, better suited for slowing pursuits than facing down an enemy. He wanted to survive more than fight𑁋his skills were better suited to aid Filia who could adapt to change more easily.

So together they searched the ground floor𑁋though the task didn’t make itself easy.

The warehouse seemed to stretch on and on, it’s bland design and empty rooms all melting together in a seamless gray streak.

“I wonder if they’re faring better than we are.” He whispered.

“Well, I haven’t heard any fighting yet.” The warehouse seemed to be completely empty, yet she felt as though someone was there, watching.

‘It’s nothing,’ she told herself, ‘just a cruel trick of the mind,’ but it didn’t ease her in any way. There was something, something in the darkness, something as silent as a shadow on the wall.

She didn’t like this feeling. So she filled the space with quiet banter as she and Anders moved forward toward the next room.

“I didn’t get the chance to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“For Bethany. Aveline interrupted me before so, um, Thank You.” She smiled awkwardly, knowing it could never be enough but needing to say it anyway.

She felt as though there was rope in her stomach, twisting itself into knots and braids.

She’d never felt this strange talking to him before. It was almost as though she were feeling butterflies.

“It’s the least I could do.” He smiled and her eyes darted away.

“I’m glad Bethany has someone to look after her.” Because she couldn’t. Not anymore.

They reached the next door.

Unlike the others, it had been locked from the inside. It took a great show of magic from Anders to force it from the hinges. But once it opened, Filia took a step back from the scene.

The room smelt as sterile as the others but was hardly bare. Its long tables were full of plants and flasks with metal apparatuses between them. One wall was devoted to supporting a towering pile of books and the other a small cot similar to the ones in Anders’ clinic.

It might have been a perfect workshop, had it not been for the body lying still in the center of the floor.

“Maker,” she squatted, eyes rolling over the shards of glass that were shattered around him on the floor. They glittered beneath the light cast by the moon and were dotted red with blood. Even so, the man wasn’t bleeding (or at least not anymore) but he was scarred.

One, in particular, was jarring: it extended from someplace beneath his blood-stained tunic and across the left side of his cheek, reaching out to his eye like the branches of a wayward tree. It spread beneath purple bruises and cuts that sparked something in her memory.

“Dirty Fingers?” She blinked a few times but the dead man did not respond to the calling of his name.

“You knew him?”

“I…I met him earlier this evening.” She hadn’t expected to see him again, not this soon anyway. What happened? How did he get this far away?

“It seems he’s been struck by lightning.”

“Was that before or after he’d been hit over the head?” She gestured to the glass scattered across the floor. What could have occurred here? There weren’t many signs of a struggle or fight but how could there have been? She was the one responsible for his battered body.

He screamed the first time she stabbed him; she remembered the tears that rolled from his eyes. But it hadn’t been enough.

There was a reason she sent Isabela away: such an unholy act that followed was not to be seen.

He begged for her to stop, to end his torment as early as his second finger breaking (or had it been his hand slicing ?) but she didn’t listen.

In fact, she smiled. And that seemed to be what frightened him most of all.

‘Enough of this,’ Filia told herself. There was no use dwelling.

She made her way toward the desk at the back of the room.

The candles were still lit on the table.

“Let’s see what we have,” Filia slid a heavy book into her arms, it’s binder worn by constant use “ ‘The Alchemist’s Encyclopedia, by Lord Cerastes of Marnas Pell.’ She read, squinting against the ever dimming candle light. “Well, that’s a lengthy title.” She flipped through pages, careful not to let her armored gauntlets tear the diagrams, pictures or their lengthy explanations.

“This looks like it should be banned by the chantry,” She mused, running her finger over an illustration of, what seemed to be, a rough outline of the human body. “Seems like our ‘Illusive Mage’ has been studying.” Turning her gaze, Filia glanced around the flowers and leaves scattered across the table.

One, in particular, caught her attention though it was more of a grass than a houseplant. She picked it up at though to observe its contents.

“What do you have there?”

“It’s a Vetiver, I think, and judging by everything else on the table someone seems to be brewing something to help them sleep.”

“I wasn’t aware you had a talent for herbalism.” He sounded surprised, but also somewhat amused by the revelation and she paused, unsure of what to say.

“I don’t.” She decided to dismiss him, setting the plant down on the table so she could walk away. “Not really, anyway.” Thinking back, those days felt as though they’d come from a dream, or perhaps a different life.

Those were the dreams of a girl who deserved to be happy. A girl very much different than the woman she’d become; a disappointment to her father and a failure to her sister.

“We can tell Aveline about that guy and let the guardsmen handle it from there.” She directed, leading Anders out the room, shutting the door and tearing her gaze from the deceased.

She needed to focus, to steady herself for the mission and aim solely for the goal at hand.

She curled her fingers tightly around the grip of blade sword as a reminder.

She had to tie up a loose end.

Because it didn’t matter what she did anymore𑁋she’d lost𑁋she’d never have the chance to be happy.

#its been 84 years #but i finally got it done #forgive me lol #filia art #things i write #anders*#the next chapter should be the last #I'm crawling out of my coffin here

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otheatreopenproject · 5 years

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Open Project: Stage 3# texts and props scouting - 12/1/19

This rehearsal, only Dawid and Gabrielle were present in Crewe due to Delya and Dannielle being away from campus. We began by rehearsing in Axis 17. We added a layer of paint to the boxes so that the white stands out more over the strong blue. While we were painting, we were going over the stage 2# text that we have. Our supervisor sent us some notes regarding the text we are learning with some adjustments and notes that we can take into consideration. Dawid and Gabrielle took it on themselves to amend all 7 texts (as Bragolin is silent) for everyone else so that we can continue with line learning as before. We also found an alternative to the moving flat. It is another board on wheels. It is, however, a horizontal whiteboard instead of a mirror with a bigger metal skeleton. Ideally, we need to find the mirror.

Here are the new stage 3# texts:

Haring:

A dynamic man. Dynamic figures. Dynamic lines.

A man whose activism shone brighter than the prints he handed out on the streets of New York City.

Are you even aware of who he was?

Or were his actions simply not impressive enough to catch your eye?

What would grab your attention?

Do crack epidemics fail to plague your streets?

Are international acts of racism and greed not entirely on your list?

Then perhaps he is not for you.

His depictions of love and respect would only dissatisfy your taste for injustice.

Maybe some of you should remain within your borders, happily ignorant of the world and its deterioration.

It is possible that some of you could step away from your herds and think beyond your own borders.

Step outside and act with a cause.

Remember the man. A dynamic man. Dynamic figures. Dynamic lines. …who refused to walk away from the concerns that few others shared for the world.

Monet:

This could be a place of fairytales. A spectacular place. A happy place. Everything is superb. You take in all the colours, lots of colours, So much colour, of every kind. This could be Monte Carlo. Where the grand lines of mountain and sea are admirable. So beautiful. Imagine the exotic vegetation around you, the walls dripping with greens, pinks and blues. It is certainly the most beautiful spot on the entire coast.

Life there is… more complete. More picture like. This could be a landscape painting. This could be the French Riviera. This could be Paris. Where colour becomes a day long obsession. Joy. And torment. Where you find yourself looking at your beloved’s dead face, and systematically noting the colours, like some automatic reflex. It could be grey, blue, black.

You could try and understand, but it is not necessary to understand. It is simply necessary to love like the fallen petals that gather on the surface of a pond, a wish to build something for the pleasure of the eye. You could be in Giverny. With a pond. Water. Beautiful, blue water. You could be following nature. But you will never be able to grasp your beloved again.

You could be in picture of flowers. Beautiful flowers. Beautiful nature. You could stay like this. This could be you. You could be living quietly in a corner of nature, remembering the colour of your beloved’s face.

Van Gogh:

Imagine a soul that sees much, does much, and hurts many. Even the knowledge of your own fallibility cannot keep you from making mistakes. Even the fisherman, knowing that the sea is dangerous, cannot stay to shore. Imagine that you are still far from being what you want to be.

The emotion buried inside you is the great captains of your life, and you obey it without realizing it.

And what would life be if you had no courage to attempt anything, and live in fear? We must keep our love of nature, for that is the way to understanding. And thus, you put your heart and soul into your work, wear it on year sleeve, and lose your mind in the process. These paintings have a life of their own; they derive from your soul. Your delicate, fragile soul. You believes that there is nothing more artistic than to love people, as a good picture is equivalent to a good deed. Some days, you may hear a voice in you say, ‘you cannot paint’, then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced, as painting is a faith, and it imposes the duty, to disregard the public opinion.

And thus, you might dream of painting, and then you may paint your dreams. You may experience a frightening clarity in those moments when nature is so beautiful. You may no longer be sure of yourself. In spite of everything, you should take up your pencil.

Imagine closing your eyes. Imagine catching the cold nights breath. And dream.

I confess, I do not know why, but looking at the stars always makes me dream. And you may not know anything with any certainty – but when the stars dance in the night sky it is more alive and more richly coloured than the day. And if you truly love nature, you should find beauty everywhere. But you will find that there is no blue, without yellow, and without orange.

Klimt:

There seems to be nothing special when looking at this. No real attention to detail. No real polish to it. No refined edges. You begin to see marks of tiredness and dust on their faces. The cracks open. The skin falls onto the painting. Dust and Gold. True relaxation, which would do you a world of good, seems nonexistent. You imagine that the weather is good. You imagine going into a nearby wood. There, you will see a small beech forest with the golden sun falling from the sky. There, you will sit until the sun is no longer with you, then you will return home.

If you wish to know anything, you should look attentively at the picture and there, you should seek to recognize what it is and what it wants. You will not find a self-portrait. You may believe that all is erotic, but you are not art. Art can be a line around your thoughts, a grasp around your tongue. Imagine dust gathering over days and nights, and yet you still do nothing.

Place yourself inside this house. Imagine the four walls. On your first day inside this house, you did not start working straight away, but as planned, you took it easy, maybe you flicked through a few books, maybe you studied Japanese art a little. And maybe after tea, you would return to painting. You do nothing, yet you do so much, it just seems like nothing. Imagine a painter who paints day in day out, from morning till evening – figure pictures and landscapes, more rarely portraits. You believe that he can paint and draw, and others seem to believe this too. But the painter himself seems uncertain.

Delacroix:

Is this heroic, or distasteful? Criticism, like so many other things, risks keeping to what has been said before and not getting out of the rut. There has been a certain amount of fuss surrounding the 'Beautiful'. Some see it in curved lines, some in straight lines, but all persist in seeing it as a matter of line. The lark is singing, the river sparkles with a thousand diamonds, the leaves are whispering; but where, you should like to know, are the lines that produce delicious impressions like these? They refuse to see proportion or harmony except between two lines: all else they regard as chaos, and the dividers alone are judge.

For, weaknesses in genius, is usually an exaggeration of personal feeling, which in the hands of feeble imitators become the most flagrant blunders. Entire wars have been fostered through these blatant misinterpretations. Entire schools have been founded on the misinterpretations of others. Lamentable mistakes have resulted from the thoughtless enthusiasm with which others have sought inspiration from the worst qualities of remarkable artists because they are unable to reproduce the sublime elements in their work.

You could austerely, as Plato did...you could try to live a more solitary life.... Be convinced that the things you experience for yourself would be stronger on your own...

How infinitely happy, is the person who reflects nature like a mirror without being aware of it, who does the thing for love of it and not from any pretensions to take first place.

You should be desiring or hoping for something. When one can hope for that which one desires, one enjoys the greatest happiness of which our thinking apparatus is capable. To obtain what one has been desiring is the first step to the depths of sadness and even pain, from which one can never emerge.

Bragolin:

NO TEXT

Picasso:

Absence. The absence must be acknowledged. Obscene, pornographic, incomprehensible.

The lack of coherence is a result of loneliness, depression, war, superstition, love.

Meaning might be the problem. The disease of our age; an age that is anything but, believes itself to be more practical than anything else.

For, how can we expect to behold or experience this image as they experienced it? A picture comes to mind a long time beforehand; who knows how long beforehand. They sensed, they saw, they made it and yet even they claim not to understand what they have done.

To penetrate dreams, instincts, desires and thoughts, which take a long time to come to the surface…

The image is a receptacle for emotions: from the sky, from the earth, from a piece of paper, from a passing figure, from a spider’s web. This is why they do not make distinctions between things. There is be no aristocratic quartering. You must take things as you find them.

I assure you that it is not truth. It is but a lie that makes us realise truth... Washing away the dust of everyday life. Art is not chaste, it is dangerous. To show what has been found rather than what you are looking for.

Pollock:

It’s the paint

It’s the liquid paint

That’s dripping in your ears.

Cuts of colour across your vision.

The painting isn’t finished,

It does what it wants,

Not what you want,

You are not done, it is not complete.

It needs more!

It needs less!

A masterpiece!

A disgusting mess!

Magnificent.

Such a tortured soul.

You let it in

It has a life of its own

You do not control

You are not in control

You have no control

It paints itself

You have no fear

No fear of change

No fear of destruction

It has a life of its own

It creates itself

You make no mistakes

You make no errors

You are not aware of what you are doing.

But it knows what it wants you to do.

It does not come from an easel

None of those tools are used.

It doesn’t need them.

It has you.

You do not need tools.

Not to create

You know a thing or two about control

How you crave it

How you’ve lost it

Your hands got carried away from your thoughts.

It may be strange

This idea

This modern world

But the strangeness will wear off

The deeper meaning will swallow you

It will use it and you will let it come through

You must find it,

Over, and over again

And again

You will be used.

You shall be its pallet

Your blood its paint

Your fingers its brush

It paints what you are

You are a painter

You are a painting

A vessel

A tool

Don’t be a fool

Don’t be drained of your logic

Until there is nothing left to drip.

Regain control

And refuse to accept it

Water down your commands with spirits,

Wait for the tree branches to spread

Like paint across a broken windscreen

After the text was finished, we scouted B&Q for last materials so that we are ready for after out colour run. We found that the prices were almost double than in other shops, such as screwfix. We decided that we will go tomorrow after rehearsal. Once we returned, we created the poster, facebook banner and ticket design for the performance. We are taking care with our advertisement. Once the colour run is done, we will create a trailer for our performance with the footage we obtain (if at a good standard).

For next rehearsal, we need to: gather the last equipment, order the paint, finish learning lines, prepare for the colour run.

Companies present in rehearsal:

Dawid Wiczynski

Gabrielle Benna

- Dawid Wiczynski

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