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ajwild220 · 8 months

Note

Hi I just finished reading your "Trust me" Hero x Villain story and it's amazing!! Ik it's a oneshot but would you please consider writing a part 2 for it? Your writing really drew me into the scene and it was beautiful!! 💖💖

-Hello!! Thank you for my first request ever! I originally wasn't sure whether I was going to make another part, but here it is! Hope you enjoy it!-

Part 1

Trust me-Part 2

Hero stood there in the thick silence a slight curiosity growing in their core, wondering what in the world Villain was doing behind their back. One moment turned into two and Hero had to stop themselves from squirming, trying to grip onto the bravery they had offered so freely seconds before. Villain was so silent, so still, it was unnerving. Hero was just beginning to wonder if they should turn around again when warm hands encircled their wrists causing them to jump. The hands were instantly removed.

“Sorry—sorry” Hero offered a quick apology “I just didn’t know where you were.” Their words faded away as Hero hung their head cursing their actions. They had just made a declaration of trust, yet their body had so easily betrayed them. Silence followed making Hero fidget.

“You uhh” Hero looked up at the ceiling, “You can remove the cuffs now.” They paused. “Please.”

Still no response, Hero was beginning to worry that perhaps Villain wouldn’t carry out the offer at all, however a slight rustle came from behind and the weight of their nemesis’s hands once again rested on their entrapped wrists. Hero fought a sigh of relief.

The seconds ticked by and Hero could feel Villain examining the cuffs, tugging, adjusting, the occasional warm breath against their palms as an indication of Villains close inspection. Hero relaxed slightly, the whole situation catching up with them. They shifted their weight slightly from side to side, the sudden lack of intense adrenaline flooding their system leaving them weak and shaky, they really wished they would have accepted the meal henchman had brought in earlier.

“Hold still.” Villains quiet command made them stiffen. Instantly they stopped shifting, cursing how weak their knees felt beneath them. Hero tried desperately to revive the energy they had before but to no avail, they found themself taking a small step forward to balance from falling over completely.

One of Villains hands gripped around Hero’s wrists and the other around their forearm to keep them steady. Hero could feel the intense gaze of Villain boring into the back of their head.

“Sorry.” Hero offered, barely a whisper.

A beat went by before Villain rose from the chair hand still holding their cuffed wrists as their other hand came between Hero’s arm and body pushing against their waist. Hero squeaked yet Villain maintained the contact continuing to push against them.

“Move.”

Hero complied. Villain was acting more like themselves, less like a sheepish schoolboy and more like their usual confident bravado. Hero couldn’t determine if that was a good thing or not. On one hand at least they were in familiar territory, on the other hand Villain was a great deal more imposing a figure. A stray shiver went down their spine, Hero wasn’t sure how to deal with imposing right now. Whatever Hero’s feelings on the matter, Villain continued to push Hero until they were perpendicular to the other chair that occupied the room.

“Now sit down and hold still.”

Hero had no other option as Villain’s hand left their waist and aided them to sit sideways, legs dangling over one arm of the chair and restrained hands just resting over the other side. Villains’ grip slid to Hero’s bicep as they helped them to scooch closer to the back of the chair and not fall embarrassingly onto the carpet. Hero tensed slightly as Villains grip pushed uncomfortably against the hand shaped bruises left by henchmen however to Hero’s great relief Villain said nothing, merely shifting their grip.

When Hero was properly situated Villain backed up leaving a blush of nervousness tingling through Hero’s entire worn-out body. Everything Hero had grown to expect from Villain was flipped topsy turvy on its head, something Hero was not enjoying in the slightest. Sure, it was nice to be looked after, but the way Villain did it…surely butterflies were a horrible aid to the healing process. Hero gulped avoiding eye-contact trying with everything left within them to remember that the fluttering mess at the bottom of their stomach was fear and not something less sinister. Whatever this odd feeling was Hero didn’t like it, trying to dredge up memories about who was across from them. Their tongue ran over the cut on their lip and instantly the funny feeling disappeared. After all gentleness is not weakness, Villain was strong as ever and Hero thought it best to remember that they were still at Villain’s complete mercy.

Villain knelt on one knee posture still immaculate and in control as they held eye contact with Hero breaking them from their thoughts.

“What I am about to do is very precise. You have to let me work and not move unless I guide your hands to do so. If you do the cuffs are going to put out an electric shock. Nothing you can’t handle however it will not be pleasant and—” Villain pulled up Hero’s sleeve. Hero’s eyes widened at Villains observantness trying to tug their arm away. Their efforts were ultimately in vain. “It seems you have had a long enough day already.” Their tone was almost soft yet Hero could have sworn they detected an angry undertone as Villain examined the bruising already taking on a purplish hue on Hero’s arm. Hero stopped fighting it, it was pointless. It was clear Villain was going to check on them whether they wanted it or not. Hero didn’t know what to do other than avert their gaze, no matter how many times the more caring side of Villain showed itself it still took them off their guard.

Villains fingers gently traced the hand marks unintentionally coming over a patch of delicate skin. Hero winced and tried to cover it, eyes still trained on the ceiling.

“Please just get me out of these things.” Their voice was quiet, almost pleading.

Villain allowed Hero’s sleeve to fall back over the damaged skin and Hero could have sworn there was a hint of teasing in their tone.

“If you insist.”

Villain promptly disappeared from view behind Hero as their hands began to once again work on the cuffs. Hero took deep breaths trying to not concentrate on Villains touch and surprisingly it worked better than expected. Although it had an undesirable effect as Hero leaned their weight against the back of the chair in exhaustion. Their body was spent, all they wanted to do was close their eyes and forget this whole sticky situation, but they had to keep their guard up. They could feel their eyelids growing heavier the longer they had to remain frozen for Villain. They scrunched their eyes trying to fight it and bit their tongue in effort to remain awake, it worked for awhile until even the pain was beginning to be drowned out by the wave of exhaustion. Then all of a sudden

*Click*

The cuffs unclamped and fell to the floor with a soft thud. That was enough to wake Hero up. They stood almost too swiftly on their wobbly legs and brought their hands in front of them, rubbing their sore wrists out of reach of their enemy and savior.

Villain remained kneeling on the floor eyes examining Hero from afar as they reclasped the now empty cuffs.

“You’re welcome.”

Hero nodded, still rubbing their wrists absentmindedly.

“No ‘Thank you’? I thought heroes had better manners.”

Villain stood slowly but confidently from the ground once again towering over Hero. Hero swallowed and couldn’t help but glance at the door, Villain followed their gaze.

“You want me to leave hmm?” Their voice wasn’t angry, more amused with what they were thinking, “Alright. Mind your manners and I’ll leave. All I need are two little words Hero.” Villain grinned enjoying their little game.

Hero opened their mouth, but no words came as Villain began to stalk forward tossing the cuffs on the comforter.

“Come now Hero, I thought you wanted to be rid of me.”

They were growing closer, a dangerous smile on their lips. Hero refused to back up, refused to repeat being pinned to a wall. They were a Hero for goodness sakes, surely they could hold their ground. Hero began to doubt that fact as Villain stood right before them causing Hero to tip their chin back to look up into Villains eyes, fighting for some semblance of authority.

Villain reached up taking the end of Hero’s hair and twirling it around their long fingers. Hero clenched their jaw trying their best to offer a worthy glare at their opponent. Both stood eyes locked before Villain smiled and began looking all over Hero’s face, allowing the other to glare all they wanted. Hero’s cheeks began to burn with Villains close inspection and they couldn’t help but look away. Villain chuckled leaning in and causing Hero to go completely ridged as Villain softly whispered, warm breath hitting their ear.

“That’s just it isn’t it, too much of a Hero to show gratitude to a Villain.”

Hero instantly revolted, stepping back away from Villain like a spring wound to tight, a heavy scowl on their face. It was quite a short-lived rebellion however as Hero’s legs decided to completely give way beneath their passion. Hero braced to hit the floor, but the floor never came. Even with their eyes squeezed shut Hero registered a warm arm had snaked around their waist strongly supporting their precarious position. Their eyes fluttered open to meet Villains only inches away, it would have been a simple feat to move forward and bump noses. Villain’s eyes were an all consuming blue gazing so intently, Hero gulped trying to shift in their grip to no avail.

“I had thought better of you than that, Hero”

Heros anger grew, they were a Hero and they hated how helpless they had become ever since Villain had walked into the room. They hated being so afraid.

“Let me go!”

Hero fought Villains grip while trying to keep the distance between their faces.

“You know what I want first.”

“And you know what I want! Now let go.” Hero snapped.

Villains grip was tight, reprimanding yet still not hurtful. Hero’s breath was beginning to speed up, the lack of control blocking out their thoughts.

“Let me go, Villain!”

“Hero.” Hero stopped; the tone of voice Villain used sending nervous signals to their core. Villain was serious. Hero didn’t know what it was about that tone of voice but they knew they should respect it. They paused eyes wide and searching amid the vastness of the blue eyes before them.

“Thank you.” It came out quiet and timid, something that irked Hero deep down.

“It was my pleasure” The tone evaporated as Villain spoke calmly.

“N-Now let me go.”

Villain dropped Hero on their butt.

Hero shot a glare and scooted away as Villain chuckled at Hero’s bothered expression. In fact, Hero looked quite childish on the floor scowling as if they were a kindergartener whom had been denied sweets.

“If only I had a camera to show you how silly your face is.”

“If only I had my powers to make you leave.” Hero spat no humor in their comeback. Villain’s eyebrows rose almost imperceivably.

“Careful hero, I leveled the playing field when I removed the cuffs. Don’t think I won’t rise to the occasion. Just because I can clean your wounds doesn’t mean I don’t have the ability to inflict them.”

Hero had the decency to drop their challenging gaze. Now was not the time nor place.

A strained pause fell over them both before Villain broke the silence.

“I did say I would be going,” He turned swiftly and with a certain elegance strode towards the door making a point to pause “Thank you for your time, Hero.”

Hero shuddered at Villains perfect control as he went to turn the handle.

But the handle didn’t turn. It was stuck. Villains composure was rattled for no more than a second before he tried once more. His fingers flexed around the knob and wiggling and pushing with great effort before he let his hand drop.

“It’s locked.”

A statement, not a question, and the statement was laced with an ill guarded anger.

A note was thrust under the door and Villain watched it for a moment hands clenched before he rigidly stooped to grab it. Hero could see Villains face darken as he read the words and gulped as he crumpled the paper into a ball. In an uncharacteristic fit of rage Villain kicked the door with a yell of anger and hero flinched, subtly dragging themselves further away on the floor.

An ominous laugh was heard on the other side of the door slowly echoing into nothingness as Hero could hear footsteps disappear down the hall.

The room was completely silent. Hero gazed up at Villain who was composing themselves looking quite small but no longer childish as they stared eyes wide. Villain never got angry like that. Ever.

Minutes passed before Villain spoke.

“It looks like I will be staying here for now, my Hero.”

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 5 months

Text

okay, this is a halfway to 7k unedited fantasy au snippet! Out Of Context as usual!

some warnings for this one: blood, gore, major character injury, graphic description of injury <3 i had fun w/ it not sorry <3

The front door slams open, stalling all conversation inside. A flash of lightning illuminates the two forms huddled in the doorway, one considerably larger than the other.

Barnaby staggers a half-step inside, dripping water all over the floor. That alone has Howdy putting down the glass and moving across the bar to better assess the situation. Eddie is struggling to support Barnaby’s listing weight, and both of them are clutching at Barnaby’s belly. They’re both soaked through.

Someone gasps, and the folks seated nearest to the door stand and back away, muttering in alarm. Howdy’s stomach plummets. Some of the water puddling on the floor is too dark to be just that. Barnaby’s front, under where his massive paw is clutched, is drenched dark as well.

Eddie catches his eye - he looks wild with fear.

“Out!” Howdy thunders. “Everyone out! I don’t care about your tabs or if you’re not done - if you have a room, go there, if you don’t, scram!”

Some people cast him and Eddie dirty looks, but they start to get up, grumbling all the while. Howdy couldn’t care less. Not when Barnaby is leaning so heavily on Eddie, his breathing so labored that Howdy can hear it amidst the shuffle and scrape of patrons leaving.

“What happened?” Julie yells, running across the room from the neighborhood booth.

“Make sure everyone gets out,” Howdy says, redirecting her. Julie doesn’t look happy about it, but she complies. The patrons start to clear out faster with her aggressive ‘assistance’. Howdy throws his drying towel off to the side and nearly vaults over the bar to help support Barnaby. He reaches to sling Barnaby’s other arm over his shoulders-

“Don’t!” Eddie cries. He doesn’t let go from the wound, and Barnaby cringes away from Howdy with a breathy echo - “Don’t.”

“Why not?” Howdy says, panic rising in his throat. He looks closer at the wound Barnaby and Eddie are holding - this time he has to swallow down bile. Glistening, blood-slicked pink pulses under their hands. Barnaby whines softly. He’s terribly pale under his fur.

“Everyone’s gone!” Julie announces.

Howdy snaps out of his horrified trance. He points at the bar. “Clear a spot on the floor for him on the floor, make sure we have room to work.”

Julie makes a frustrated noise but complies once again. Howdy slips around to Eddie’s side and trades places with him, but Eddie doesn’t let go of the wound. The sudden weight makes Howdy stumble, but he quickly widens his stance and starts shuffling them to the area Julie is clearing. They help Barnaby lower to the ground, and every pained whine and gasp is like an arrow to the heart. Eddie whispers apologies all the way down. Barnaby’s free paw leaves scratches in the bar’s cherry wood.

“Ed, I need you to get my supplies from my room,” Howdy says, rolling up his sleeves with quick, expert flicks.

Eddie looks at him like he’s crazy. “I can’t let go!”

“I’m here to take your place - four arms are better than two, now get!”

Eddie still hesitates, but slips away once Howdy puts all four of his hands where Eddie’s measly two were. It’s hot, and wet, and - and -

It becomes immediately clear that this is a wound they can’t fix, not without an extraordinarily talented healer.

“Julie,” Howdy chokes out, “get Poppy.”

“Okay,” Julie says faintly, right behind him. She slowly backs away, and all at once sprints for the front door. A burst of fresh, rain-filled air blows inside before the door closes again. The cold shock makes Barnaby flinch and gasp.

“Hold on, Barn.” Howdy forces himself to look at Barnaby’s face instead of the pulsing guts bulging from the gash someone sliced across his belly. The soaked fur under and around it looks purple. “Help will be here in a jiff, so don’t you go falling asleep on me.”

“Tryin’,” Barnaby wheezes, and his voice has never sounded so much like music, “tryin’ not to. It’s - stars, it hurts, Howdy-”

“I know, but you gotta hang in there, pal. Poppy will fix you right up.”

“I…” Barnaby makes a wretched noise that sounds like a sob, “I don’t wanna die.” He whines, a leg weakly kicking out as his guts twitch. “M’ not ready, Howds, m’ not…”

“You’re not going to die,” Howdy insists even as Barnaby’s blood soaks his hands and sleeves.

He doesn’t want Barnaby to die, either, but who knows where Poppy is - there’s no guarantee that she’s home, and even if she is, her abode is clear across town. Julie is a fast runner, but in this weather… with such a distance…

Barnaby is going to die.

Howdy will do his damned best to keep that from happening.

Clattering precedes Eddie sprinting around the corner. He checks the bar hard, but doesn’t fall or flinch. He takes the hit and slides to his knees by Barnaby’s side and opens the pack. Howdy almost reaches out to rummage through it himself, but Barnaby’s paw starts to slip from the wound.

“No no, none of that.” Howdy nudges it back into place with his knee and tries to jostle Barnaby with the same motion. “Eyes open and paw up, Barn.”

“Tryin’,” Barnaby whispers. His eyelids flutter in a vain attempt to stay open. His breathing rattles.

Howdy doesn’t need to tell Eddie what to look for, and thank the heavens for that, because Howdy doesn’t think he can look away from Barnaby’s pained features, much less form words that aren’t incoherent prayers to any god that will listen. Barnaby’s paw slips, and Howdy has to lunge to keep his insides from becoming his outsides. Just his hands aren’t enough - he needs to use his forearms. There’s so much of it.

Eddie scoots forward and holds up a potion, and Howdy nearly howls in anguish. “Not that one! The healing potions - the red ones!”

“I know that!” Eddie snaps just as viciously, which is enough of a shock that Barnaby gains a moment of startled clarity. Eddie uses it to coax him to drink the golden energy potion. “I have some healin’ powers of my own - I can buy him more time than your bruise busters, and you’re fresh out of those, anyway!”

Out?

Howdy stares at his pack in horror. That’s right. He hasn’t restocked - oh, he’s a fool! He allowed himself to grow complacent and reliant on Eddie and Poppy’s healing. He has no time to thoroughly curse his inaction, as Barnaby’s paw comes back up to the wound, and his back arches as he wails his agony. The potion kicked in. Eddie quickly shoves his paw away again and holds his hands to the corner of the gash, his palms glowing orange.

“Oh, oh no,” Barnaby sobs, his boots and claws scraping wood, “Ed, stop-!”

“I’m sorry,” is all Eddie says. He shoves Barnaby’s paw aside when he tries to pry Eddie away. Barnaby grabs for the nearest thing with his other paw, which happens to be Howdy’s thigh. Howdy bites back a pained hiss at the feeling of claws digging sharp through his pants. The cold water saturating Barnaby’s paw soaks the fabric in seconds, creating a contrast to the pinpricks of hot welling up under the claws.

Howdy eyes the healing glow and the strain on Eddie’s face. It won’t be enough - Howdy doubts it will give Barnaby any time at all. The thin corner of the gash slowly knits together, but the rest of it is too wide, too deep. The only reason Eddie can heal any of it at all is due to how clean the slice is. The blade that created this wound must have been freshly sharpened, or enchanted. Howdy can tell at a glance that it cut through Barnaby like a knife through marmalade.

Eddie heals the other tapered end. He and Howdy exchange a glance - Howdy sees it in his eyes that the healing is just a platitude. Blood continues to soak Barnaby’s pants, Howdy’s, their hands, Howdy’s clothes, the floor.

Abruptly, Howdy is keenly aware of how quiet the tavern is. Rain drums on the roof and thunder rolls outside. The fireplace crackles. How long will it take to scrub the blood out of the wood flooring? How long will Howdy spend staring at the scratches etched into the bar?

“How- Howdy,” Barnaby says. He isn’t gripping Howdy’s leg as hard anymore, but he gives it a weak squeeze. “Gotta tell ya - hng - somethin’. Shoulda… told ya sooner, but-”

“Save it for later,” Howdy says quickly. “You can gab all you want when you’re better.”

There likely won’t be a later, or better, and that’s half the problem. Call Howdy selfish, but he won’t let Barnaby make this hurt more than it already does. More than it will. He would rather live with a might’a than a could’a.

Barnaby knows it, because his eyes mist up and he nods weakly. “Yeah. When I’m… when I’m better. Can I ask a fa-favor?”

“Anythin’,” Eddie murmurs. Howdy had forgotten he’s there.

“Find Wally for me?”

Eddie lays a bloody hand on Barnaby’s arm, steely determination flashing in his eyes. “We will. I swear it on my patron’s light.”

“That’s a…” Barnaby pauses to grimace and swallow thickly, “a big promise, Ed.”

“I’ll make sure he keeps it,” Howdy says.

“M’ sure you will. But, but… if Wally really is gone… hey, I’ll say hi to ‘em for ya.” Barnaby manages a shaky half-smile. “At least that’d be one - one good thing ta’ come outta this, huh?”

Howdy’s composure cracks. He chokes down sobs as he slumps over Barnaby, uncaring of the awkward position or the insides sandwiched against his front, drenching his apron and shirt with blood. He hides his tears in Barnaby’s cold, waterlogged ear. Barnaby uses what little strength he has left to turn his head, weakly nuzzling the side of Howdy’s face. His breath is warm. Weak, but warm.

Distantly, Howdy hears Eddie curse and ask “Where are they?” The clink of his armor fades, and the door opens just enough to let in the scent of rain. Howdy hears more than feels Barnaby breathe it in. As close as they are, Howdy can hear the wet rattle in Barnaby’s chest.

Should Howdy do something to make him more comfortable? Would Barnaby’s herbs ease his pain? Even if it would, if anything would, Howdy can’t let go. That would hurt him more, and Howdy refuses to give up that tiny sliver of hope that something can be done.

The door slams open to let in a thunder of footsteps. Howdy snaps upright, and he’s certain that if he didn’t have a job to do, he’d collapse.

“Oh dear, oh-” Poppy squawks loud enough to make everyone cringe, her feathers fluffing up. “My feathers, that’s! Oh! That is much worse than what you told me!”

“One can hardly fault her,” Sally says before Julie can respond. She kneels by Howdy with Poppy right behind her. “Are you with us, Barnaby?”

No response.

Howdy goes cold. “Barn?”

Sally briskly taps Barnaby’s cheek until he twitches, his eyelids barely lifting before falling shut once more. “Still with us!”

If Howdy wasn’t already crying, he’d start now.

“Can you fix it?” Eddie asks from off to the side.

Julie paces anxiously. “Of course she can! Poppy’s the best healer for miles, there’s nothing she can’t do. Right, Poppy? He’ll be up and joking in no time!”

“I.” Poppy’s feathers shake as she dances them over the open wound. “I will most certainly try, but I can’t do it on my own. It’s too severe for my magic to do much of anything. Sally, dear-”

“No,” Sally says immediately, her glow dimming. “You cannot be serious, I won’t - I simply will not-”

“You must. We all need to work together - Howdy and Eddie need to hold the wound shut. It won’t just be you.”

“We need to what now?” Eddie says, even as he settles on Howdy’s other side. “What’s going on?”

Howdy feels sick. “You and I have to make sure his insides stay inside, while Sally will-”

“Sally won’t,” Sally says. “As much of a nuisance as he likes to make himself, Barnaby is my friend! I could never-”

“Then you’re alright with losing him!”” Howdy snarls. “Perhaps you’d like to trade places with me and feel him die under your hands instead!”

Sally gapes at him, stricken. Her mouth flaps for a moment before she shuts it firmly and turns to the wound, lifting her hands.

“What does she have to do?” Julie asks.

Everyone ignores her - not out of unkindness. Poppy nods to Eddie and Howdy. Eddie places his hands in the spaces where Howdy can’t completely reach. They exchange a glance and push.

There was a time when Howdy received an overpacked shipment of linked sausages. He had no room to store it yet, but the sack it arrived in tore. Shoving them back in - even with all four of his hands - was nigh impossible. It was impressive how the sausages had managed to fit at all, because the sack was certainly too small.

Shoving Barnaby’s guts back into his stomach is a lot like that.

Barnaby cringes and moans in his nearly-unconscious state, feebly trying to get away from what is certainly agonizing pain. His brow bunches up, and he whines high in his throat.

Howdy can’t spare a thought to it. Blood and organs squelch as Howdy and Eddie rush to cram it all inside - there’s no time for caution. As soon as the last slip of pink is inside - it’s so, so dark and red past the blue - they squeeze the wound shut to the best of their abilities. Barnaby sobs quietly.

“Now,” Poppy says, and Sally’s palms burn hot enough to make Howdy’s skin itch.

She holds her hands to the sealed gash, and Barnaby starts wailing. Too weak to thrash, he just writhes softly and keens, tears freely spilling down his face and carving dark tracks in his drying fur. His paw twitches around Howdy’s leg, claws digging in again like he wants to grab or yank or something.

“Almost there, Barn,” Howdy lies. Part of him wishes Barnaby would fall fully into unconsciousness. It would be dangerous, but at least he wouldn’t feel this.

The acrid stench of burning fur and flesh fills Howdy’s nose. Sally and Eddie both gag. Heels rapidly click across the tavern as Julie sprints to the nearest waste bin, and she retches loudly into it. Howdy barely registers it - he’s barely breathing, himself.

“Well done, all of you,” Poppy murmurs as Sally cauterizes. She holds her wingtips to the cooked flesh of the wound as Sally continues, and they glow coal red. The wound glows with it, the angry blistered flesh smooths and pales, and blue fur starts to grow back before their eyes.

Barnaby’s paw falls from Howdy’s leg as he starts to slump, cries petering off into agonized whines. Poppy doesn’t seem alarmed, and Howdy just wants his pain to stop, so no one moves to keep him awake.

Soon, Sally has to shuffle in front of Howdy and Eddie to continue. They’re loath to move, so she awkwardly lies across their laps and reaches. As soon as she burns her way to the end that Eddie healed, Poppy gives them the all-clear.

Eddie lets go first, slumping back on his heels. Sally is still draped across Howdy’s lap with her head pillowed on Eddie’s. The three of them catch their breath as they watch Poppy brush her healing feathers across Barnaby’s stomach. Julie staggers over to them and kneels next to Eddie. She leans against him, sniffling. Howdy doesn’t have it in him to protest when Eddie not only loops an arm around her shoulders, but around Howdy’s waist as well.

Barnaby is finally unconscious, his features slack - Howdy places a hand on his chest to make sure, and the shallow rise and fall of it is more priceless than all the coin in the world. Howdy slowly sits. His hand trails down as Poppy pulls her wings back, and his fingertips dance on the silvery smooth line of a fresh scar.

“I’ve done all I can,” Poppy says with a gusty sigh. “So have the rest of you - again, well done. You all did splendidly.”

“I don’t feel splendid,” Sally croaks.

“Well… you are. Quite splendid. Let’s get him up and to a bed.” Poppy’s first attempt at standing fails. Sally all but leaps up to help support her, and she laughs nervously. “I’m afraid that took quite a bit out of me. There was more to heal than I expected, dear me.”

“Will he be okay?” Julie asks.

Poppy looks at Barnaby with a soft, sad look in her eyes. “I can’t say for certain. It’s up to Barnaby, now… all we can do is make sure he’s comfortable. A-and keep a close eye on him! There could be, ah… complications. Infections, and the like. Mh, I’m sure it won’t come to that, though. Sally’s fire should have burned out anything nasty.”

Howdy belatedly realizes that he needs to help carry Barnaby. He kneels on shaky legs and gently maneuvers Barnaby’s dead wei- unconscious weight to the side. Howdy slips his upper arms under Barnaby’s, using his lower set to help support his back. Eddie takes one side, Sally and Julie take the other. Poppy does her best to help, but she can only lift Barnaby’s unbloodied leg with her beak.

They shuffle their way to a ground floor room. There’s plenty, but Howdy once again chooses to be selfish and brings them to one near to his own. Near is subjective - Howdy lives on the second floor, but the staircase to his private suite is as close to Barnaby’s temporary room as it can get. Barnaby will be sleeping right below Howdy. If anything happens, he’ll hear.

They get Barnaby onto the bed, and all of them breathe sighs of relief - and mild pain, in Eddie’s case as he stretches his back. Poppy asks for Julie to stay and assist her with getting Barnaby adjusted.

Howdy doesn’t wait for a dismissal. He stumbles his way out of the room with Sally and Eddie in tow, his heart jackrabbiting. It feels like he grabbed hot coals, or swallowed a bolt of lightning. He’s shaky and ill and he just held Barnaby’s intestines in his hands.

Howdy leans over the bar and blindly grabs a bottle from underneath it. He uncorks it with his mouth, spits the cork to the side, and starts chugging. The alcohol burns as it goes down. It’s cheap, bitter, and easy to focus on. He comes up for breath with a small gasp and coughs, wincing at the aftertaste.

Cleaning supplies clatter as Eddie brings them out of the supply closet - Howdy wasn’t aware he knew where that was. It’s just a bucket of water and a scrubber. Not that he’ll do much good. He’s still caked in blood and mud. Dishes clink as Sally cleans up the ample messes that the patrons left behind. Howdy takes another swig and stares blankly at the shelf behind the bar.

The blank eyes of the Wally-puppet stare back at him. At least the real Wally wasn’t here to see that. Howdy doesn’t know what he would have done, or how he would have reacted… best not to imagine. In any case, Howdy hopes that by the time they find Wally, this whole experience will be nothing but another story.

Howdy goes to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand - oh. Right. It’s still covered in blood. All four of them are. The blood glistens when Howdy holds out his hands. It’s warm and tacky, clinging to his fingers like sap as he spreads them.

It’s Barnaby’s blood.

These hands were inside of Barnaby’s gutted stomach, and Howdy can still feel the sickening heat and the way it all pulsed and twitched and-

Howdy copies Julie’s example and vomits into the nearest acceptable receptacle. The alcohol tastes better going the other way, even if it burns worse.

Once the dry heaving stops, Howdy sinks to the ground, shaking with silent sobs. His legs curl up and he presses the heels of his upper hands to his forehead, hugging himself with his lower arms. The crimson-soaked fabric of his shirt squishes and sticks to his skin.

Everything Sally carries rattles, and every few minutes something falls. Chipped cups, shattered plates, clattering platters. After each breakage, she picks up the shards and keeps clearing the tables. The constant swish, swish, swish of scrubber bristles on wood fill the silence between rattling dishware and rolls of thunder. Eddie scrubs at the one spot on the floor, where Barnaby sat. The water he pours and scrubs quickly turns pink, then red.

The door opens, letting in yet another gust of air. It slowly closes, and Frank’s shrill voice cries out, “What in the heavens happened in here?”

Anger rises sharply in Howdy’s gut - and vanishes as soon as it came. There’s no use in being mad at Frank - they didn’t explicitly go with Eddie and Barnaby on their day trip. He was gathering information. There was no way he could have known what would happen.

Frank belatedly notices the thick trail of blood on the floor, and sidesteps it before rushing to Eddie. “Is everyone okay? Who’s hurt? That’s not your blood, is it-”

“It’s not mine,” Eddie says, not looking away from his task. Swish, swish, swish. When Frank reaches for him, he waves them off. “Stay back, it’s a mess. I’ll take care of it - I’m taking care of it.”

He isn’t taking care of it.

Frank takes a step back, his eyes wide enough that Howdy can see the whites of them clear across the tavern. Frank looks over the trail of blood, the puddle, bootprints, the smeared handprints, and the sheer amount coating not only Eddie, but Howdy too. Sally doesn’t make a move to acknowledge Frank as she stacks wood platters and ceramic plates. More blood stains her from where she kneeled in it, and laid across Howdy and Eddie.

A scraaaaape precedes Julie backing into the tavern proper with a large tub of steaming water. Howdy makes a desperate sound and scrambles over to it. He thrusts his arms into the water and scrubs furiously at his skin and sleeves, ignoring the burn of the slightly too-hot temperature. Julie’s stare sears into him for only a moment before she takes a shuddering breath and steps out of the splash zone.

“Frank!” she says a touch too loudly, oozing false cheer. “You’re back! Did you find anything?”

“Did I - what does that matter! Julie, what’s going on?”

“Oh, Barnaby got a little hurt, but he’s resting now.”

Frank incredulously gestures to the tavern’s general state. “A little hurt?”

“Barnaby’s fine now,” Julie reiterates. “Poppy is taking care of him.”

“How did - why did - what -”

Howdy slowly stops scrubbing. His skin feels raw under his fuzz as he stands, water sluicing from his arms. He unties his apron as he returns to the bar and tosses it over a stool. He sits on the one next to it and snatches the open bottle of - whatever it is. It’s alcohol. That’s what matters. He rests his head in his hands between acrid swigs.

“Everything is okay! Poppy is the best healer around, it’s nothing she can’t handle,” Julie chirps. No one calls her out on the proven lie. She starts collecting straggling dishes alongside Sally. “We’re just helping Howdy clean up.”

In his periphery, Howdy catches Frank side-eyeing him. He chugs from the bottle for a moment and slams it back down, if only to make a point. Frank is the only one to jolt at the sharp bang.

Frank slowly crouches by Eddie, frowning deeper than normal. He mutters something too quiet for Howdy to hear from the other end of the bar. Eddie says something back - Frank lays a hand on his shoulder, and Howdy scowls miserably into his drink. His thigh itches.

Swish, swish- the scrubber finally stills. Eddie shoots to his feet, his armor clattering loudly, and he steadies himself against the counter as his other hand flies to his forehead. “Oh no. Oh, no…”

Everyone stills, and the tension in the room thickens palpably.

“What is it?” Frank asks.

Eddie looks at Howdy with horror in his eyes. “We lost Wormie. Barn dropped his hat when we were ambushed - there was no time to stop. We couldn’t…”

“Show me,” Howdy says, leaping off of his stool and charging for the door. Eddie follows hot on his heels.

The rain is freezing. It soaks Howdy through to the bone as soon as he steps out from under the tavern awning.

Howdy doesn’t dare go back to get a coat, even if all he has on are his thin work clothes. The cold nearly knocks the breath out of him, but he focuses on the alcohol warm in his stomach and plunges into the storm. He slows just enough to let Eddie - and, apparently, Sally - pass him. She carves a way through the pitch black night.

Mud saturates Howdy’s boots and the cuffs of his pants. It sticks unpleasantly to his skin and only worsens the chill as they run past dark buildings. Few windows glow orange, proving how late it’s gotten. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since Barnaby was injured. Even with Sally,’s light, it’s going to be impossible to find Wormie in this weather.

Howdy’s eyes burn as they leave the town’s muddy streets and plunge into the terribly dark forest. What if they don’t find her? The thought is almost too much to bear. Howdy doesn’t think he could face Barnaby when - if - he wakes up. They’ve already lost Wally, and that alone has had Barnaby in shambles. But if they lost his beloved little worm, too?

It feels like they run through the woods for hours. Eddie keeps slipping and tripping, but manages to keep his legs under him. Howdy’s mind whirls with what-ifs and maybes and hows and whys. Eddie and Barnaby were ambushed so far away - why did they come to Howdy’s tavern instead of going right to Poppy’s? How horrible was it to go all the way into town in that state, in this weather? What if Wormie drowned, or was trampled, frozen, taken -

“I think it was here,” Eddie shouts over the thunder and rain. A flash of lightning illuminates the ground through the waving treetops.

“You think?” Sally says. Howdy wishes he had said it first - now is not the time for Eddie’s navigational dysfunction!

“I don’t know, Sally! I wasn’t really paying attention on account of keepin’ Barn’s insides from spillin’ everywhere!” Eddie doesn’t say it to be cruel, Howdy knows.

It doesn’t stop him from feeling unsteady all over again, or stop Sally’s glow from dimming. He glances around like he expects to see more blood, though even if this is the correct area, the rain has washed any evidence away. Howdy turns in a circle, tangling his upper hands in his hair.

There’s no way of knowing. There’s no way of finding such a tiny, sweet little creature- lightning flashes, catching on leather outside of Sally’s glow.

Howdy lunges for the hat, uncaring of how his knees sink deep into frigid mud as he snatches it up. The hat is grimy, but undamaged. Even Ms. Beagle’s feather is intact. But when Howdy turns it over, his heart sinks.

Nothing inside.

Nothing on the ground around it either, even when he digs through the mud to make sure. Eddie hesitantly touches Howdy’s shoulder, and Sally’s warm glow envelops his back.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says. He sniffles. “I should’ve grabbed her. I should’ve-”

“You prioritized our bard,” Sally says. “We can’t fault you for that.”

They can’t. Howdy… Howdy wants to, but he can’t find it in himself. He’s cold, he’s tired, he wants to go make sure Barnaby is being taken care of. He looks around a final time, blinking against the rainwater pouring over his eyes.

Nothing but muddy soil, bushes, trees, darkness.

Howdy clutches the hat to his chest and stands, stumbling slightly. His friends steady him, and his face pinches. He shouldn’t have drank so much at once. It’s finally getting to him, and soon he’ll be of no use at all. He can already feel the faint buzz in his head.

“We’ll come back in the morning,” Sally promises, tugging gently on his lower arm.

Howdy makes a pained noise. She won’t make it to morning. It’s too cold, she’s too small. All they’ll find is her little frozen body.

“Hold on.” Eddie holds out an arm to stop them. “Can you hear that?”

“It’s impossible to hear anything over this storm,” Sally says.

“No, no… I’m sure I heard something. It was a - a little, it was a little…”

Peep.

Howdy’s waterlogged antennae snap upright, and he whips around to stare at a nearby tree. A past storm must have nearly blown it over, as half of the base seems uprooted. Gnarled roots arc and tangle out of the ground. Howdy falls to his knees in front of the dark hole under the trunk.

Another peep comes from inside.

“Sal, I need your light,” Howdy says, fumbling for her. Her golden glow fills the space, and he nearly sobs.

Wormie squints up at them, curled into a tiny ball and shaking like the wet leaves she lies on. Mud covers her colors - if her eyes weren’t open, one could mistake her for a twig. Her harness blends into the rest of her. She peeps again.

“Hey, gal,” Howdy murmurs, reaching into the shelter. Her antennae make a feeble attempt at raising, and she stretches her neck out towards his fingers. He slips them underneath her and lifts her out, making sure to shield her from the rain with his body.

“Thank the stars,” Eddie says wetly. “For a moment there I thought we lost her.”

Howdy curls his fingers around Wormie, his heart breaking at how violently she shakes.

“Should I take her? She must be freezing, the poor thing” Sally says, holding out a hand. Howdy holds her out, and Wormie lifts her head as Sally’s warm glow washes over her. She blinks at the offered trade, then drops her head and nestles into Howdy’s palm. Sally retracts her hand. “Apparently not.”

Howdy hooks the hat over that hand, and Wormie lets out a mournful peep. He lets Sally and Eddie pull him through the forest, staying hunched over the hat and murmuring reassurances. He starts quietly crying again at some point. The rain washes away his tears and sounds. By the time they return to the tavern, he’s exhausted himself. They all stumble through the doorway as a soaked, grimy trio.

Julie and Frank flurry over to fuss over them, but Howdy staggers past their worries. All he knows through the cotton in his head is that he needs a hot bath. He leaves their chatter behind and makes his way down the hallway, only pausing to listen at Barnaby’s door.

Poppy is humming to herself. Howdy sags against the wall for a moment, taking solace in how calm she sounds. For a moment, he imagines going inside and resting at Barnaby’s bedside, but… later, he promises himself. When he’s in clean clothes and feels less like collapsing.

Climbing the stairs to his room is a feat in itself, but Howdy manages it without tripping over the steps. He closes his door behind him and sighs, tempted to just fall asleep on the floor and deal with everything later. But Wormie is still shivering in his hand, and he might as well kill two birds with one stone.

The hat is placed on the table for cleaning. Howdy hates to let go of Wormie, but he places her on the crown while he runs a bath. Not for the first time he thanks his past self for investing in this revolutionary tech called plumbing. All he needs to do is turn a valve, and hot water pours right into a fixed tub in the corner of his large, open room.

For a long moment he yanks at the valve, not understanding why it’s not working- ah. He’s turning it the wrong way. He blinks forcibly and twists the right way, and water pours out. He watches it drain until it registers that he should plug the tub.

Oh, the headache he’s going to have when he wakes up…

Howdy strips as he makes his way back over to Wormie, leaving unsalvageable clothing items strewn about. It’s a blessing in disguise that he was drenched by the rain - it kept all of the blood from drying, so his shirt and pants come off easily instead of sticking to his skin. He’s still stained red underneath them. Howdy undoes his ponytail and picks up Wormie. He carefully loosens her harness and slides it off, revealing a patch of spring blue and green bands underneath.

He holds her to his chest as he steps into the filling tub. Steam rises off of it, and it clears his stuffed sinuses. He inhales it grateful and sinks into the water, clenching his teeth when it laps over the punctures in his thigh. He closes the valve and settles with a groan.

Wormie peeps at him and looks over the side of his hand at the water with longing in her big eyes. Howdy carefully lowers her until the warm water pools over his palm. Wormie finally stretches out as he rubs his thumb over her. Mud flakes and sloughs off of her, and she wriggles happily. She dunks her face and thrashes a little to properly soak herself. He gently runs a soap bar over her until she’s nearly white from the suds, and lowers her into the water so only her head floats on the surface.

Once she’s clean, Howdy grabs a small hand towel off of a nearby shelf, soaks it, and piles it on the side of the tub. He places Wormie on it and she happily starts burrowing. It occurs to him that he could look for some sort of floatation device for her, so that she could splash around to her tiny heart’s content, but just the thought is exhausting. So, a waterlogged towel it is.

Before Howdy completely ruins the water by scrubbing more blood and mud into it, he washes his hair. The rain had already undone the ‘do, so at least he doesn’t have to scrub out the styling paste. He squeezes the water out as best as he can and slicks it back.

Watching the red caking his skin dissipate into the water is nothing short of a relief. He stops when he gets to the minor injury Barnaby left him - he can’t tell if he bled or not. If he did, it was overshadowed by Barnaby’s blood. He sits on the edge of the tub to better inspect it.

The wounds are shallow and nothing to write home about. They don’t need bandaging, though even if they did, the time for that has long since passed. Barnaby must not be dulling his claws like he usually does. Thankfully they weren’t entirely sharp, or Howdy suspects he’d have much larger holes in his thigh. Three punctures on the outside, one on the inside. Howdy opens the water valve a smidge just to wet a fresh towelette and properly clean the wounds. It would help no one to get them infected - Poppy needs to save her energy for Barnaby.

By the time he’s satisfied with his cleanliness - if he weren’t so tired, he’d have gone for a fourth round of soap - Wormie is dozing in her damp towel. He opens the drain before grabbing a fresh hand towel, this one dry. He carefully lifts Wormie out of it and wraps her in the soft fabric. Her eyes open for only a moment before she settles again, purring.

For a long few minutes, Howdy just sits and holds her, watching her antennae twitch as she falls asleep. He absentmindedly rubs the towel, and Wormie’s purring increases as she’s dried.

The sound of the last of the water draining pulls Howdy’s attention away from the tiny animal. He carefully gets out of the tub and puts Wormie back on the table, still wrapped up. Once again, he looks longingly at his bed.

Howdy dries off and dresses in loose sleep pants and leaves it at that, not wanting to bother with a shirt. He rarely sleeps with one on, anyway. Too much of a hassle. He slips Wormie out of her towel and brings her downstairs, once again having to move slowly with much paid attention as to not fall with his leaden legs.

Poppy emerges from the room as Howdy reaches the ground floor. She turns and startles. “Oh! Howdy, you startled me. You look much better… though your hair is still wet - you’ll catch a cold if you leave it like that.”

Is it? Howdy brushes his fingertips over cold strands plastered to his neck. Oops.

“Are you alright? You look quite unsteady…” Poppy comes over to him and squawks softly, her neck pulling back. “Is that alcohol? Howdy, are you drunk?”

Howdy shrugs one shoulder. Talking takes focus and time, but he manages, “I may be a little tipsy. No worries.”

“Many worries, dear.”

“How is he?” Howdy deflects as he walks past her, partially leaning against the wall. He nudges open the door and rests against the doorframe. The blankets cast over the small room’s bed rise and fall in stark contrast to how shallow Barnaby was breathing earlier.

“On the mend,” Poppy murmurs, following him inside. He slumps into the armchair already pulled up to the bed. “He might sleep for some time… he’s been through quite an ordeal. Anyone would be tired after so much healing, let alone after… well.”

Howdy carefully places Wormie on Barnaby’s neck. She stirs, and starts forcibly purring as soon as she registers the shade of blue underneath her. She doesn’t perform her usual party-seizure like she usually does when seeing Barnaby - she just burrows into his fur. Howdy has to wonder if she’s simply exhausted, or if she can tell that something is wrong.

“I don’t believe we’ll encounter any complications with his health, thank goodness” Poppy says. “By my estimates, he should be up and moving within the week. I’d like him to remain on bedrest for a few days more than strictly necessary, but I doubt he’ll want to stay put.”

If Howdy weren’t so worn out, he’d tear up yet again.

Of course he won’t stay. Barnaby will charge out the door as soon as he’s able, hellbent as he is on finding Wally. No one can blame him. The others will likely continue the search tomorrow, if not the next day. All Howdy can hope is they find something promising for Barnaby to wake up to.

He crosses his upper arms on the bed and pillows his head on them. He fights to keep his eyelids open, watching Barnaby’s peaceful face. He looks calm, his features holding no hint of pain. A warm weight drapes over Howdy.

He starts to lift his head, but Poppy says, “It’s just a blanket. Rest, Howdy, you need it. Barnaby will be here when you wake up.”

Howdy means to thank her, but the word comes out as a weary sigh. He lets his eyes slide shut, and slips into deep sleep a second later.

#I PROMISED CHAT I'D POST THIS SO HERE IT IS #tenderly kissing barnaby's unconscious forehead <3 #i do it out of a place of love and affection <3 #my favorite form of gore is gut stuff soooo.... its reserved for my fav characters <3 #love me some insides becoming Outsides!#snippets from the bog #wh fantasy au #alright not much else to say. im tired!#today was... a Lot. need to sleep... need to shower i forgot to do that...#wait no side note #i absolutely fucking love writing wormie. she <3 #actually i have a whole extra scene for when barnaby wakes up maybe ill rb this w/ the addition #At Some Point! when the mood strikes!#but yes i hope that those of you who read this enjoyed <3 #i certainly did!

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thebest-medicine · 4 months

Text

Lustige Geschichten

..a Crit-mas Story for @amazingmsme for Squealing Santa 2k23!!

A/N: Happy Holidays, Merry Chrysler, and Happy Critmas to the amazing @amazingmsme!!!!!! I absolutely loved all your prompts so I tried to combine a few, I hope you enjoy this lovely holiday gift! 💚 (and shout-out to @hypahticklish for organizing and coordinating and presiding over this year’s @squealing-santa)

Critical Role - Mighty Nein - ticklish!Caleb, featuring an assortment of very mean, lovely friends (most of the Nein)

[AO3 Link]

Words: 6.8k

Summary: Jester enjoys a nice story time, and Caleb, despite himself, has a fun evening under the persistent affection of his friends. Errrrybody hops on the tickle-the-wizard-out-of-his-keen-mind train.

...

Caleb stretches his back a bit uncomfortably as he shifts in the wooden chair, having spent the last few hours in more or less the same spot —posture curled forward around the desk.

A cheerful, curious little ‘murrp’ catches his ear. He glances over to find one of the tower cats, Rudi, strolling toward him.

“Mm, guten Abend, Rudi.”

Rudi trots over and rubs up against his legs. His whiskers tickle at Caleb’s ankle.

He smiles, eyes still on his book.

The light, fluffy feeling trails away a few moments later when Rudi pads over to the nearby sofa in the study outside Caleb’s bedroom. Rudi circles a few times before plopping himself down comfortably on a cushion. He ‘mrrow’s and chirrups a few times, tail flicking impatiently as he looks over at the wizard.

“You know, if you wanted some attention you could go find Jester, you know how she loves to cuddle with you at night.”

Rudi meows and rolls over, rubbing his head into the couch cushions.

A few more minutes pass, not without an array of ‘meow’s calling to him, inviting him over.

Caleb exhales, blowing a loose wisp of hair out of his face. “Mmm. You are making it rather hard to concentrate.”

Rudi responds in kind with a trill, rolling back onto his belly. He stretches, then flops onto his other side again in a move to beckon the wizard over to the soft cushions next to him on the couch. He purrs loudly, and then lets out another trilling meow, looking expectantly at Caleb.

“Very well then.” Caleb sighs. “But I’m bringing my book.”

Rudi wiggles, baring his belly as Caleb sits down, a fair bit more comfortable than the wooden chair. Caleb holds up his book in one hand and pats Rudi with the other. He still often denies himself comfort and kindness out of habit — but, it can be nice to be pushed into it by friends (and cats) around you.

“Thank you for the company.” Rudi’s resonating purr sends a wave of calm through Caleb where the cat is pressed up to his hand and thigh.

“Hiiiii. You guys look cozy. Room for one more?” With a colorful blur and twirl around the corner into the doorway, Jester arrives on the scene, a cheerful smile apparent in her voice as she says. “Hey, Caleb.”

Caleb hums in acknowledgement, turning the page in his book. “Hallo, Jester.” He says it without looking up, a dusting of pink on his cheeks at his unexpected guest.

In a few strides, the blue figure in his peripheral gets closer until he feels the couch dip next to him on the opposite side of where Rudi is curled up. “What are you reading?”

“A book.”

Jester harrumphs, shouldering against him with a pout. “A book about what?”

Caleb fights off a smile. He is already thoroughly distracted —so he’s made peace with ending his studies early.

He pretends to turn the page and continue reading, and Jester lets out a whine in a pitch befitting Sprinkle.

He lets her fester a few moments longer before he answers, failing to fully fight off his smile. “Just some texts on Pre-Calamity Exandria I borrowed from Essek’s library— well, it delves into some history as well as specifics on the spells and magic of the time, the ideas behind it, and the history of uses within various schools of the arcane.”

“Oh..” She scrunches up her nose. “I wanted to see if I could read with you. But that sounds pret-ty bo-ring.”

He hums in acknowledgement.

Jester’s tail lashes side to side, impatient and bored —two qualities that, when found in her, tend to lead to an afternoon of mischief.

She sighs dramatically, leans her head on Caleb’s shoulder to look at the book.

Caleb hums again, turning the page.

“If I find you something more… fun to read… would you read it to me and Rudi?” She asks a few beats later.

Caleb’s eyes flick sideways to her, a soft smile on his lips. “Ja, sure, of course.” He turns the page. “None of your smut, though.” He adds, fighting down a smirk.

She sticks out her tongue, and he has the good graces not to call her on it.

Getting up and roaming about his bookshelves, she begins. “Okay, okay. What’s a good one— ummm.. Let me look!”

Caleb marks the page in his text as Jester fingers through his books.

“Oh how about this one! Look at this guy, he’s so scary!” She makes a face, holding up the book. There’s a tall figure with wild, wiry, mad-scientist looking hair sprouting in every direction from his head — his face outstretched in a foul scream. His fingernails are longer than his hands themselves, and scatter, crooked, every which way from his hands.

“Ah, that’s a Zemnian children’s classic.” Caleb sits fully upright on the couch, closing his book.

Jester laughs out loud at that. “This is for kids?”

He sets his book down on the table beside him. “Ja. Der Struwwelpeter.”

Jester bounds over with a giggle, repeating the title in a silly imitation of Caleb’s accent. She plops down and quickly snuggles into the corner of the couch, then turns to Caleb, making grabby hands in his direction.

His cheeks flush a little — as they always do in the face of such open affections — as he leans to sit closer to her on the couch. It’s not a moment before he feels her arm loop around his shoulders.

“Oh— hi, ok.” Caleb lets out a nervous little laugh as she draws him closer. Rudi stands with a stretch.

“I wanna see the pictures- here, like this!”

She shifts him, which he allows with a tired smile, until she’s laying against the arm of the couch and he is dragged back against her, back to chest, his legs over hers up on the couch cushions. Her head comes to rest gently on the mop of his orange hair.

“Perfect! Are you comfy?” Jester asks brightly.

Caleb snorts a little, settling in to his new position practically lying down on the couch. He pretends to be a bit put out, but sighs and stretches one leg out and it bumps into the other arm of the couch. He puts one ankle up on the arm and bends the other leg at the knee, getting comfortable. Rudi find himself a comfortable spot across Caleb’s thighs and plops down, continuing to purr.

“Alright, well let’s see,” he brushes off the cover. “‘Der Struwwelpeter, oder lustige Geschichten und drollige Bilder von Dr. Heinrich Hoffmann’ — this book is a compilation of funny children’s tales and illustrations.” He explains.

“Which word means ‘funny’?”

“It’s this word here, ‘lustig’.” Caleb points to the cover.

“Lustige,” she reads and then laughs.

He reads each of the two first pages in their original form, a cadence coming to his lips at the familiar text. She doesn’t understand what the words all mean, but it still sounds lovely, like an old song from far away.

Then, the story putters to a stop as he pauses to explain to her what it says.

He continues this way, reading, explaining, reading, explaining, holding up the book so Jester can look more closely at the pictures, scrutinizing.

A few pages deep, when he finishes the Zemnian, she suggests. “Hm.. When you tell me what it says… Can you do it in a silly voice?”

“Um-” Caleb is a master of changing many things, but his accent is not one of them. He laughs again, a little sheepish. “Okay…”

He clears his throat and then —in a terrible, silly imitation of Jester— he explains what the passage says in Common.

Jester laughs in delight and follows along.

She ooh’s and ahh’s as Caleb reads each of the next pages in Zemnian and then explains what it says in his decidedly silly voice.

Jester lets out a gasp at the next turn of the page. “Oohhhh my gosh, Caleb, it’s the guy from the front, look at his nails.” She grins, observing the full page of artwork depicting a large child —or, maybe, a small man— with wild hair that looked like it had just taken a bit too much lightning damage, and with fingernails grown out much longer than his fingers. They stretch wildly across the page.

Caleb huffs out a little laugh. “Mmhm.”

And then, because she is Jester, she continues. “Don’t you think they would be..” She brings her own nails up to trace gently along the shell of his ears. “Reaaaaally tickly?”

A shiver runs down his spine. “Heh- ja, yes.” Caleb shakes his head a little, brushing off the flutter in his chest and flare of embarrassment. He takes one of his hands off of the book to swat at her hands. “You would love them, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I really would…” She smiles and wiggles a bit. “I would use them for so many pranks.. ooh and tickle fights. Oh, I would win every time.”

Caleb’s hand has successfully deterred her fingers from his neck.

But, he notes with a shiver, she just reaches down to pinch at his sides a few times instead.

He squirms, readjusting. “You don’t need any extra help. You already do.” His elbows don’t quite clamp down to his sides, but come down enough to gently push her teasing fingers away.

Caleb feels the energy of the evening beginning to shift. There’s something flittering about inside him at that, but he presses on with the task, and the conversation, at hand.

But, a few more pokes and Caleb’s arms press down harder on instinct. “Jester— the book..” He reminds her, voice light with almost-laughter.

The cat shifts in his lap, giving Caleb a look that perhaps on a human would look annoyed.

Jester pulls her hands away from his sides, but quickly redoubles her efforts back up on the side of his neck, quick and gentle. “Mmm. Right, right. Tell me more about ‘dar Schtruvvelpater’.”

“Hey- ehe- hey.” He snorts again, scrunching his neck. “Would you stop it— I-I’m trying to read to you.” His voice is light, fluttering, and it cracks with a laugh around the words —it all comes out a little more high pitched than he intended.

Jester lets out a whine, clearly wanting to continue both. “You can keep reading!” She giggles, pinching down his shoulders and around to the backs of his armpits.

“But—” He pleads, but then Jester’s hands are down around the bottoms of his ribs again. “Ah! Je- Jester I can’t—” He chokes out, snickering and wobbling back and forth between her pokes on either side of his rib cage. His elbows squeeze against his sides, trying in vain to protect himself while maintaining his hold on the novel.

Rudi yowls at them, indignant, and turns to plop up onto the back of the couch, curling up in the middle.

“Oh sorry Rudi!” She chuckles. “But, seriously Caleb—it’s fine, I don’t mind if you laugh!” Jester adds, and wiggles her fingers around and over his stomach.

Laugh he does, pressing the book against his middle in a poor attempt at defense. His arms do their best to attempt to cover a few of his weak spots, but Jester doesn’t seem to mind the obstacle, easily finding others. She tuts at him and crawls her hands back up his sides.

Jester’s fingers work their way up and then jump to his neck again. Caleb clings to the book for dear life, pulling it up to cover his face as he fights a continuous, losing battle with the giggles that Jester is keen to draw out of him.

“Wait— hehe wait I- heh- I thought you wanted— aha- ah— y-you wanted me to read to you!” Laughter cracks through every word, climbing to the surface like weeds sprouting forth between the bricks of a worn path.

“Well I did—I do, but now—” She shifts her legs, wiggling to get them out from underneath Caleb and then wrapping them around his middle to block him in against her chest and the couch. “I thought of something else I wanna listen to.”

Caleb cackles when Jester scribbles, unexpected and intently, over his lowest ribs. “Sch-scheiße! Oh noho- ahaHA NAHA-NEIN JESTER!” He nearly squirms out of her grasp, giggling and chasing her hands with his elbows —but, he’s no match for her leg muscles —plus, he’s still trying to hold onto the book.

He just about jumps out of his skin when he suddenly picks up a green figure in his field of vision —Fjord, who somehow made it halfway across the room without Caleb’s notice. Shit.

Blushing further, the wizard closes his eyes and tries to hide his face between Jester’s shoulder and the couch. “No— don’t!” Caleb squeals between laughs as Fjord approaches.

“What are you two doing in here, hmm?” Fjord asks casually.

Caleb shivers, envisioning the grin on his face. He sucks in a breath and clamps his mouth shut, convinced that maybe he can avoid getting someone else involved if he holds it together—if he just doesn’t laugh again for the next few seconds.

“He’s reading me a story!” Jester responds, chipper.

“Oh, that sounds nice.” And then, closer. “Can I listen too? How can I help?”

Caleb’s heart spins in a swirl of excitement and giddiness and nerves. “Nooooohoho.” He responds, unable to hold back the giggles from his words.

“Shh— I wasn’t asking you.” Fjord scolds.

Caleb whines, a little indignant, with a laugh into the crook of his elbow.

“Oh I know!” Jester gathers excitedly, pointedly ignoring Caleb. “I’ll hold the book and turn the pages, and you can hold his hands because they are probably, like- so, so tired from holding the book up this whole time, hmm?” She nuzzles against Caleb’s ear then, teasing. “Right Caleb?”

Caleb squirms, his legs kicking against the couch. “Mmmmf nooooo—”

“Great idea, Jes.” Fjord answers just as Caleb chokes out another desperate little sound of protest as he breaks down into laughter.

“Here, give me this.” Jester commands, ceasing her light, tickling pokes and reaching to take the book from Caleb’s hands.

He shakes his head, curling his upper body inward protectively. “Nohohoo—” Caleb cries as she pokes at his neck with one finger, bringing his hands back in toward his face.

Fjord’s hands wrap —firm and unyielding as any proper sailor’s knot— around Caleb’s small wrists.

Caleb keens forward desperately with a high pitched laugh, and Jester pulls the book the rest of the way from his grip. “There we go! Okay, okay, now then...”

Jester holds the book up above them, flipping to the page they left off on. Meanwhile, Fjord, standing beside the couch, gently tows Caleb’s shaky arms up over red and blue mops of hair.

Caleb giggles, a few anxious little sounds of anticipation making their way out in between. He tugs weakly at his arms as he is brought back down against Jester’s chest. “Hnnnmf— Fjord,” His voice is light, nervous. “W-wait—”

“Can you see okay? Keep reading, keep reading, go on!” Jester draws the book in toward his face.

A few quick, giddy breaths, and then he manages to read the next line of text between little laughs, his voice shaky, before it’s cut off with a squeal. “und die —CH AHH AHA HAH— NEIN!” Jester has one hand off of the book and wiggles her fingers, close but not quite touching, just above his rib cage. He shakes his head. “Don’t- don’t tease! Bihihitte!”

“Ha!” Fjord laughs at that, squeezing at Caleb’s wrists gently in comfort. “Oh? You’re asking Jester? Not to tease?”

Caleb whimpers, shaking his head more. “I- I..”

Jester grins, pulling her hand even further away and dexterously wiggling her fingers at him. “If I was ‘dare Schtruvel Peter’ I could tickle you from all the way up here!”

“Jester—” Caleb sounds like he’s about to die, his voice strangled.

“Are you gonna keep reading or are we just gonna have to put the book down and focus on tickling you?” She asks, a faux impatience in her voice.

“No! HA NEIN DON’T! Please— I can’t!”

“Sure you can, go on then!” Jester teases, her fingers wiggling threateningly above his rib cage.

Caleb shrieks and hides his head against his shoulder again.

“Alright… well, I guess you’ll have to finish the story later, then.” Jester sighs. “Fjord, can you—” She moves the book up over Caleb’s head, wiggling it in the air.

“No wahahait! Wait—” Caleb shakes his head, trying to wriggle his arms free.

One of Caleb’s wrists is released so that Fjord can safely grab the old book and set it next to his other discarded pile on the table beside the couch. Immediately, the freed arm shoots down and presses against his side, blocking his ribs and armpit from Jester’s teasing. His hand then comes up to cover his red face.

“Oh no you dont.” Fjord says with a sternness as he grips Caleb’s wrist once again, gentle but strong, and pries it up away from his face.

Caleb struggles, he fights him on it with a smile on his face, despite his show of protest.

Well, he struggles for all of three seconds before Jester pinches at the soft spot just under his ribs twice and Caleb flails, melting, and his already limited strength is rendered useless. Fjord gets both arms comfortably back up and pinned and leans over, smirking down at them. “Does that book have any stories about……… tickle monsters?”

“Nein—” He snorts, giggles coming out faster as Jester wiggles both hands toward and away from his prone middle, never quite touching. “But I- I think I could heh—send in ideas for their nehehext publication.”

Fjord agrees with a hum. She is rather terrifying.

“What’s that called in Zemnian, hmm Caleb?” Fjord asks.

“Ehehe— what?”

“Yeah, yeah! How do you say ‘the tickle monster’!” Jester asks excitedly.

He thinks, squeezing his eyes shut. “Hehe it would.. it would be ‘das Kitzelmonster’—” He snickers as he says it, blushing a bit more.

“Aww, that’s so cute. ‘Das Kitz el Monstar’.” Jester pokes at his ribs, whispering a quick, teasing ‘kitz kitz kitz kitz’ with each poke.

As soon as she does this, Caleb jolts. He realizes, too late, that he’s just supplied a new and dangerous fuel for the already devastatingly effective teases they both are. His back rockets up and away from Jester, face flushing hot. “Staha- stop- no! N-HNN DOHOHON’T!” His legs kick up and in toward his middle, but are blocked by Jester’s legs wrapped around him.

With nowhere else to go, they start kicking wildly into the air and at the couch. “BITTE! Don’t— don’t say that!” His voice cracks on a loud laugh, neck and ears red hot with embarrassment.

Jester is known for her teasing and taking apart of defenses, and she’s unmistakably the resident tickle monster of the group. She’s tickled and teased Caleb more times than she can count. He is always a sucker for it —never fails to make things a little worse, a little more sensitive, a little more effective.

But, this time, she notices, he seems even more desperate to get away from the teasing. “Aww, I know how much you looooove it when we talk about how ticklish you are…”

“B-Bitte— HAHA DON’T— don’t!” Caleb wails.

“Is it even wooooorse when I say it in Zemnian? Heehee! What was it? Kitzelmonster? Kitzel? Aww are you too kitz-kitz-kitzel-ish Caleb?” She scratches gently at his sides.

Caleb does his best impression of a contortionist, wailing and struggling against her in a way that seems more keen to actually get away than just for show.

“Did the Kitzelmonster get ya?” She giggles.

He’s taken much harder — and much worse — tickling before, and never reacted quite so viscerally to teasing. Jester feels an evil, delighted little twist in her stomach at the knowledge.

“Eheehee no! HAHA JESTER— Please!! N-not that —don’t say it! Mist, stop it —please.”

“HMMMMmm.” She ponders loudly, gently fitting one unmoving fingertip after another into the grooves of his ribs. With his squirming, he’s essentially tickling himself at this point. “How about… if you ask me to tickle you, I’ll stop saying how cute and kitz kitz kitzel-ish you are!”

“NEIN!” Caleb shouts, indignant.

“I’ll even give you a little break first if you ask nice!” She offers with a laugh. “Because like, you kinda seem like you’re gonna die.”

He says nothing, just laughs and shakes his head.

“Okay then.” He feels her shrug underneath him. Her hands pull away from his ribs.

He takes a nervous, shaky breath —just in time for her fingers to walk up to Caleb’s rib cage under his shirt instead and start doing something very fast and very effective.

He shrieks and breaks into desperate cackles. His laughter pitches up to a scream —and, just as quickly, she pulls her hands back out from under his shirt.

“Now, wanna try that again?” She opens and closes her hands like little claws, a few inches above Caleb’s sides. “Or do you want me to keep talking about how kitz-kitz-kitzel-ish poor little ticklish kitzel-ish Caleb is?”

Caleb shakes his head with a surprising voracity, his body flailing and jolting. Fjord nearly loses his grip on Caleb’s wrists.

Still not touching him, she wiggles her fingers, and Caleb laughs as though her claws are already taking him apart.

“BITTE— NEIN!” He pleads. “AHA— STAHOP!”

She persists, voice dark and scary. “Oh nooooo, Caleb! The Kitzelmonster’s almost got you! And it brought its fri-ends!”

As she speaks, teasing and throwing in every silly variation she can of the word that she can think of.

Her voice gets quieter from Fjord’s perspective as she leans in close and continues, whispering into Caleb’s bright red ear.

Jester teases in a way that should be outlawed, truly a cruel and unusual punishment. It’s— he’s… laughing and squirming so hard already, and- and no one’s even tickling him right now.

Tears in his eyes, face red and blotchy, Caleb eventually whimpers out —his voice desperate, breathless, “Jester- enough, STOP stop- stop saying it, plehehehehease! Okay! Okay— ehehe! Stop!” He groans. “Just- just tickle meheHEHEEHEE—”

Her fingers zip in to do just that as Jester giggles triumphantly. “By the way, next time we do this, I’m gonna make you tell me how to ask for it in Zemnian.” She adds casually.

Through silly giggles, he asks. “NE-NEIN- Jester, ahaha, wh-why?” His eyes flutter shut.

Fjord laughs, the sound radiating warmth into Caleb’s skin. “She really is an evil little ‘Kitzelmonster’, isn’t she?”

“Fjord!” Jester scolds with a giggle as Caleb lets out a pathetic squeal in protest at his words.

Caleb’s legs fly into the air, kicking at imaginary targets yet too uncoordinated to hit even those. His laughter rings out loudly in the room as Jester pokes and scritches under his arms.

“You look like you’re ready to try out for the circus.”

The sudden appearance of Mollymauk’s voice sends a chill down Caleb’s spine.

His head snaps over to confirm that, yes, Molly is leaning casually in the doorway. Smile on his face. Mischief in his eyes. Fingers twitchy in a way he gets when he really wants something (and that ‘something’, often, is to draw lovely laughter from those close to him).

“But really, Caleb, you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep floundering about like that.”

“Hi Molly! Oh, you’re right. I did say I’d give him a break,” Jester smiles, bringing her hands down to rest on his thighs, not tickling.

Caleb’s deep breath out is fizzling with anxious snickers. “Ehehehe M-Mollymauk.. Molly. Molly—” How long has he been standing there?

“Yes?” Molly purrs, drawing into the room.

Caleb looks up at the ceiling, whimpers. “Please,” a breath, “you’ll— ehe they’ll— you’re killing mehehehee.”

“I’m killing you? Ha. Well. It’s a good thing Jester’s close by.” Molly smirks, then, dramatically winces with a waiver of his hand. “Mm. Well, I bet Caduceus isn’t far anyway.”

“Hey! Rude!” Jester shifts to stick her tongue out at Molly. “Anyway. Don’t you think he’s had enough of a break? Go get his feet!”

“What? No wait! But you barely—” Caleb cries out, drawing his legs as close to his chest as possible.

“You bet-ter put those back down…” Jester threatens, tracing featherlight circles into the skin of his sides, just under his shirt.

“No!” Caleb wails in protest. His flailing kicks begin anew.

Well, if he’s going to be stubborn about it… Molly strolls to the other end of the couch, chuckles, and then, like a cat watching a flock of birds, begins batting at Caleb’s legs and dodging kicks, hunting for the perfect in.

Uncoordinated, tickled, and giddy with laughter, Caleb doesn’t make it long before Molly’s towing one of his ankles down to the end of the couch with a victorious snicker.

“Got one!”

His other leg keeps kicking wildly, still unclaimed.

There’s a mixture of Common and Zemnian (or at least an attempt at them) in between loud, boisterous, shrieking laughs as Molly swipes a finger up and down his sole.

Jester moves her fingers up, two on each side, scritching lightly into Caleb’s armpits.

Meanwhile, Molly fully disregards the free foot in order to devote his focus to holding down Caleb’s ankle and wiggling more fingers under scrunched toes.

Molly gets a claw under and between some just as Jester adds more fingers to his underarms, and Caleb makes a sound so loud and desperate that he’s glad —somewhere in his mind where he can remember to be— that they is in his tower and not in the middle of a tavern room, surrounded by other rooms, with people around.

In the moment, he fails to consider, however, that there are in fact still people in the tower.

Caleb’s not thinking about that, though. In fact, he’s not thinking about much at all right now, other than how badly this tickles.

“You have ten seconds to put your other leg down, or I’m gonna have Molly come up here and help me get your ribs.” Jester offers as a threat, pausing her tickling, as does Mollymauk.

A beat of silence aside from quavering laughter, then Caleb asks. “Wh-when… when did you become so evil?”

Jester giggles. “Always been!” And then she blows a raspberry on his neck.

“AAAII— OKAY!”

She stops —and then, denying his better instincts, Caleb brings his other leg down shakily. He allows Molly to wrap both ankles up in the crook of his elbow.

The free purple hand wiggles delightedly, a few inches away from the trapped soles before him. He looks back over his shoulder at Caleb —who looks absolutely lovely when he’s devastated in this way.

Caleb protests without any conviction. “This is— very unfair.”

Jester pokes down his rib cage and over to his tummy.

“Plehe— oh nohoh-AHA haha noooo—” Caleb squirms, his head rolling back with laughter.

Just then, she starts to lightly spider her fingers over his stomach, while Molly does the same technique, alternating over each foot. Fjord watches each of them fondly, Jester clearly having the time of her life — she really is a ‘Kitzelmonster’. They take turns, not wanting to completely overwhelm the tired, scrawny wizard, with Molly and Jester each watching the other and commenting on Caleb’s reactions.

When Caleb opens his blurry eyes again, a few minutes and endless laughs later, he sees Veth, looming over the back of the couch next to a curled up Rudi. She gives him a smug, knowing little smile. It can be intense, electric, unbearable at times —being tickled —but Caleb has confessed under the influence of alcohol and ticklish duress that he doesn’t hate — or even enjoys, much to his chagrin — the opportunities that come up in his life for his brain to slow down and fog up a little bit, til there is no room for guilt and worry. He is in (many) good hands, after all. But, it’s nice to know she knows, she’ll be there, she’ll help take him apart a little too, if she likes, and, eventually, she’ll help reign in the tieflings if he needs her to.

Caleb can’t hold her gaze for long, his eyes close just as Jester’s fingers start poking into his sides repeatedly.

A moment later he gasps, curling his head and neck sideways at the first flutter of a light, fluffy edge of a feather along the shell of his ear.

“Ehe- staha— Veheheheth!” Caleb stutters out through laughter. He attempts a peak at her and finds one of her feather-fall feathers held neatly in her mage hand, twirling about just beside his head. “Ahaha— nein!”

“What is this? You guys threw a wreck-the-wizard party without me?” Beau’s voice cuts through the already overwhelmed sensory input in Caleb’s brain.

His voice is shrill, desperate in response. “No— hehehe nononono— Beheheheaureagard! Aha gehehehet out of hehehere! NOHOHOHO!”

“Oh, please. Don’t bother.” Beau’s response is rippling with smug laughter as she waves dismissively at him.

Caleb soon becomes aware of a hand wrapping around his shins a few moments after she speaks. He curses between laughs and hopelessly tries again to kick his legs.

Beau moves one arm behind his legs and squeezes at his calf muscle once, twice, an attempted scolding for his jolts and kicks of protest. Caleb shrieks. Everyone freezes — it almost feels as though time stops for a moment.

Caleb yelps when she does it again, his breath sucking in a half-second later.

Jester peaks over Caleb’s shoulder. “Oooh, what did you do?” Her hands idle over Caleb’s sides.

Molly looks over his shoulder, smug and grinning. “Look— I knew your knees were bad… but.”

“Looks like someone’s a little ticklish here.” Beau smirks, letting out a little evil laugh. She squeezes the back of Caleb’s leg again, a few inches below his knee.

“No!” He cries out, laughing. “Dohohon’t—”

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it? Laugh?” Beau snickers and begins squeezing the back of each of his legs, up and down the calf muscles. She kneels down beside the couch, finding the perfect angle. Meanwhile, Molly keeps Caleb’s ankles locked up in a solid, tight hold, enjoying the show.

Caleb wails out a few more wheezy protests between cackles as Beau tickles up and down his legs. “Don’t! Beauhoho— hahaha stAHAHOP!”

Jester wriggles underneath him as she repositions and trails her hands down.. down.. down as far as she can, lightly tickling down his ribs and sides as she goes, squeezing his hips, past where her own legs are wrapped around his middle. She reaches out, grabbing in the air at Beau’s hands —fingers still a decent distance from tickling anywhere near his calves or knees. “Ha! You’re ticklish everywhere Caleb!” Jester giggles into his ear.

“Yeah, how’d you manage to hide this spot from us for so long?” Beau asks. “Are your legs this sensitive all the way up and down?” She pinches at the backs of his ankles all the way up to his knees, then continues up, squeezing around his thighs.

“Ehehe- no! Leheheheheave them alone!” Caleb cries.

“Not a chance, man- ha! They so are— look at you!” She pinches at a spot a few inches below his knee that gets him kicking — or, well, trying his best to. “You’re fucking ridiculous!” She laughs.

Caleb lets out a noise somewhere between a snort and a plea. His laughter and thrashing continue to grow frantic.

Beau leans against the couch and wraps Caleb’s knees up in one arm. She pinches and squeezes the backs of his calves with her free hand, a smug grin on her face.

Mollymauk’s tail joins her hand and tries to wiggle against the backs of his legs and knees. Meanwhile, his fingers keep up a quick tempo fluttering across Caleb’s wiggling feet.

“Eeheehee whahahahah-why are you tryhihing to kill mehehehee!?” Caleb cries out.

Jester watches delightedly as Beau and Molly drive him up the wall. She holds tight with her legs as he squirms and wriggles, desperate for escape.

“Aww, you say that like it’s a bad thing!” Jester answers him, wiggling her fingers in a tease a few inches above his armpits. “We wouldn’t do it if you weren’t having fun!”

Caleb turns somehow even more red at that and lets out a pathetic little peal of laughter in response to her teasing.

Veth’s mage hand moves down to start poking at his top rib just under his armpit on the side nearest the couch.

“Ehe— no! Neihihein! Bitte!” He squirms to the side, only to meet Jester’s finger on the other side.

Molly and Beau pause to rearrange a bit, trying to figure out the best way to hold his legs while also watching his helpless little squirms.

Caleb sputters out giggles and half-worded pleas.

Jester ponders aloud. “I should probably call Yasha and Caduceus… I feel like they’re going to be preeeeeetty bummed if they miss this. I know I would be.”

“No— no!” Caleb squeaks.

Molly wiggles a finger up and down Caleb’s arch while Beau squeezes just above his knee.

“Ugh. You’re right, Caleb. There’s barely any room for us. You need to make the couch in here bigger next time you bring up the tower.” Jester chastises, poking at his side in light, random patterns. “There’s not enough room for everyone.”

Caleb whimpers into his bicep through laughter.

“I have an idea..” Fjord grins, transferring Caleb’s wrists to one hand and reaching down with the other to squeeze and tickle at both his and Jester’s sides below.

Caleb cackles with a renewed desperation, while Jester cries out. “Hehehee- hey! Hah-” She gasps in fake offense before breaking into giggles.

“Let’s move ‘im to the bed.” Fjord finishes his thought with a few pokes under Caleb’s arm.

“Mmmf— nooooo heh—” Caleb protests weakly, his face tingling with a happy, giddy silliness —sweet and warm under his skin like fresh honey.

Fjord releases his wrists and reaches down with both hands, and —easily besting the now flailing arms— hooks his hands underneath Caleb’s shoulders and around to his armpits. He lifts up. Caleb squeals. Fjord wiggles his fingers a bit. Caleb makes some kind of choked laugh.

Then Caleb is shaking his head more fervently as Beau reaches to lift him under his knees. Mollymauk releases his ankles with a grin.

“Bitte, you-you’ve had your fun! Y-you’re killing me! Mercy!” Caleb pleads, his eyes wide as Beau and Fjord make quick work of lifting him up.

He scrambles for any sort of anchor or purchase —a steady moore out in the sea of giddiness and laughter he’s found himself caught and floating in.

“Hey!” Almost on cue, a familiar sensation of Jester’s claws make their reappearance on his sides. “That’s mine! Give him back!” She scolds.

“NAHA— ehehehee, don’t!” Caleb can’t stop himself from squirming and flinching away as Jester’s fingers prod and tickle at the wizard above her.

She snickers, delighted, and her fingers follow along for as long as she can reach him. Noticing this, Fjord and Beau seem to take an extra long time moving him up and away from the couch —and out of tiefling range —over to the bed.

Finally, he’s out of Jester’s range. His breath comes in shakily as they deposit him gently on his mattress. He’s red-faced, tears welling up in his eyes with a few running messily down his cheeks. His eyes are squeezed shut to hide from the scrutiny and knowing smiles of his companions above.

“Hee- oh nohoho—” Caleb whimpers with a smile. He reaches up with a shaky hand and grips one of his pillows, dragging it down over his head to shove his burning face into.

“Aww, Caleb! Are you hiding from us?” Jester’s voice alone draws an extra giggle from him behind his pillow.

Caleb shakes his head behind the pillow.

“Come onnnnn, where’s that smile?” The mattress sinks as she climbs onto it near him.

“Nooooooo..” Caleb whimpers, wrapping both arms around the pillow and smushing it tighter against his face. It doesn’t do much to muffle his anticipatory laughter.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Jester scoffs. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

Caleb’s legs kick at that, drumming against the bed as it dips a few more times —Molly and Veth, he concludes, since Jester is already looming next to him and Fjord and Beau still have hands on his shoulders and knees.

“Alright, come on, let’s get him already!” Beau declares impatiently.

“Ah, I love the spirit, Beauregard, but it can be so much fun to drag it out —build him up, topple him over…” Molly traces a delicate nail down Caleb’s chest. Caleb shivers deliciously. The claw lifts away.

Jester snickers. “We already tickled him like soooo much on the couch, Molly, he’s already all mush-brain. Come on!”

“Oh alright —you’re right, you’re right.” Molly shrugs, crawling his way up to Caleb’s other side.

Caleb wails into the pillow when two sets of tiefling claws touch down gently over his midriff with purpose, leaving teasing trails down his sides and over his stomach and lowest ribs. “Mmpppph- n- nahaha- oh nohohoho— eheh oh dohohohon’t! Bitte! Mmmf-aha ahahaha! Please— please!”

Fjord leans down, taking Caleb’s hands with ease into his own and pulling them up over his head. He adjusts, laying on the bed while keeping Caleb’s arms trapped against the mattress. He shifts the pillow over and off of him so that he can get in close to Caleb’s pink face, then nuzzles into the side of his hair.

“Mmm. It’s too bad I can’t use my hands.”

Caleb feels some quiet relief at that. Maybe a little disappointment too, but he doesn’t have the wherewithal to focus on that.

Still, some sliver of Caleb’s mind registers the rumbling chuckle Fjord gives as dangerous as he continues. “—I guess I’ll have to improvise, then.”

Caleb’s voice catches in his throat as Fjord’s words take on meaning just in time for lips and scruff to brush right up against Caleb’s ear.

“Eeheehee- ah! Yeehehehee- you— aha- no NO plehease!”

“Aww, he’s soooooo cute!” Jester squeaks with a few pinches to his ribs.

Caleb jolts under them with a whine. “Ha- aha I- noooo— I’m —ahahaha I’m not!”

“Yes! Yes you are!” She pinches his cheek just as Fjord sucks in a breath. Helpful little Kitzelmonster she is, Jester brushes Caleb’s hair away from the side of his neck.

“Nein!” Caleb cries as the breath comes out as a vibrating, ticklish, raspberry on his neck.

Caleb is soon lost to cackling laughter as Molly and Jester prod and tickle at his middle while Fjord mouths along his neck and ear. And it isn’t too long before he registers two sets of blunt nails —Beau and Veth, his mind helpfully provides— that have touched down on his feet. He doesn’t even try to kick beyond the instinctive flinching away —he knows he’s not going anywhere.

The feeling— a mindless bliss not unlike that of an evening spent polymorphed —builds slowly. But, soon enough, Caleb’s mind feels light, unbothered and untethered, as his thoughts swirl and spark with the ticklish input from what seemed like every nerve. There is a… a warmth that accompanies it, one that Caleb comfortably slips into with a strange familiarity as though it is where he had always belonged.

Jester’s voice cuts through the sound of Caleb’s laughter as she begins her sending spell. “Hey, Yasha? Are you with Caduceus—” Fjord briefly gets a panicked look in his eye as she starts, jerking his head back and realizing he can’t count her words out as easily. He taps his fingers into the skin of Caleb’s wrists one at a time in counting as she continues, “you guys should come up to Caleb’s room, we’re having a lot of fun! Hurry up you don’t wanna—”

Caleb feels Fjord’s fingers wiggle individually against the thin skin of his arms. They aren’t the only ones —all in all, he registers Jester’s fingers fluttering around under his arm and pinching at his lower ribs with her other hand, Molly’s claws spidering menacingly over his belly, Beau’s arm tight around his ankles, her fingers pulling back his big toes while Veth wiggles her nails all over his feet. His mind feels dizzy and fizzling —some kind of gelatinous consistency, perhaps.

One of Caleb’s last coherent thoughts is that it was at least a mercy (or… was it a tragedy?) that this hadn’t happened in Beau’s room, where he could have ended up having to watch this giggling, disheveled vision of himself taken apart in the mirror over her bed by his friends.

As it is, he simply closes his eyes and lets himself be lost, swimming safely in the sea of hands poking at him from every direction.

…

Zemnian (German) | English Translations: von - from bitte - please nein - no der Struwwelpeter - the ‘shock-haired’ Peter (book) lustige Geschichten - funny/amusing stories drollige Bilder - funny pictures Scheiße - shit Mist - crap/shit das Kitzelmonster - the tickle monster guten Abend - good evening Mm yeah ..and I’m just going…to include these… kitzeln - tickle (verb) kitzlig / kitzelig - ticklish das Kitzel/n - the tickle / the tickling (noun)

…

ADDITIONAL AUTHORS NOTES:

A/N: And now friends and readers who are still here, if you look to your…down — what you’ll see are some fun notes I did and things I learned while researching things for this story — also side note — it’s been about 10 years since, but I took 5 years of German from middle to high school, I’m not by any means fluent but I remember decent enough (and I had the power of the internet and search engines on my side)!!:

ANYWAY — I wanted to figure out some strange quirky little Deutsch storybook that I could have Caleb have in his library, something with a catchy (see also: silly) cover or title that would draw Jester’s eye..

Found this very quickly with a search for German children’s stories. <— yeah, my silly little lee brain was like “lol those nails” immediately — had to use.

Fic title was inspired from the book cover and title / description

Link to the book on Amazon 😆

Did a decent amount of skimming and looking over, I was immediately thinking German fairy tale / kids story, and they’re usually kind of brutal in Germany.

Did cross my mind to use der Katzenprinz or not go into as much detail on the book, or have her try to convince him to read Tusk Love… 😏 😈

Oh great! (affectionate) now am I gonna have to write that? (compulsive)

Yes!

I was conflicted on which translation to use to refer to Jester in ‘Zemnian’. I saw Hoffnar (court jester, king’s fool) , Narr/Närrin (fool, jester, joker), and Spaßmacher (joker, jester, clown) but literal translation of this one is fun-maker which I feel fits Jester very well. She makes fun, is fun, joke, jests, and is all around silly and teasy the whole fic so. Yes bby girl. In the end I ended up scrapping this longer title but it was essentially gonna be "Lustige Geschichten von der Spamacherin" but twas shortened.

Moving on from the language and literature … the em..um… erm.. position was inspired from this lovely video (also recently found out she’s very happily lee and I’m like YES GIRL. ITS SO MUCH MORE DJFJFJJG TO SEE AND KNOW THEY LOVE/HATE/LOVE IT hsjsjdkf. Truly inspiring. What good friends. Caleb deserves to be in her position.

List of some of the lovely prompts / ideas that inspired parts of the story - original prompts in green:

Critical Role c2

1. Caleb & anyone

2. Fjord & Jester

3. Caleb & Fjord

4. Essek & anyone

5. Any combo of the mighty nein you’d like

me: yess. yes. now that I’m making this I realize Essek isn’t there. (Neither are cad or yasha, they’re… meditating and drinking tea). Essek needs to have a turn helping them melt Caleb.

A has noticed that B is acting much sadder & moody than usual, little do they know that B is hamming it up in the hope of getting cheer up tickles. Whether the beans are spilled or not is up to you ;) (by beans I mean the fact they were trying to fake it)

me: I had a few ideas from various prompts floating around in my mind but also sometimes these fics just flow out of my brain — they go where they decide they’re gonna go! I’m sure you know! Anywho, it doesn’t exactly go into sad and moody but stoic and boring and drawing the silliness out of them.

We love a good flustered blushing silly Caleb, we also love a stubborn little journey to get there while slowly losing his composure.

I feel that Caleb knew what would happen as soon as Jester

a. sat on the couch with him

b. picked out the book

c. asked him to read to her, or

d. pranced into the room.

But either way he was #ready to be silly as soon as she came in - some serious #leebehavior immediately winding her up

A has really ticklish calves & B finds out while pinning them to tickle their feet, & they immediately switch targets

me: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR OUR VERY OWN BEAUREGARD LIONETT PLEASE!!!

TICKLISH CALVES! TICKLISH LEGS! AHH!

I love this so much fr fr fr fr

See, but…. What if you have multiple friends and multiple hands… :D

A has been trying to get B’s attention when it becomes clear they’re deliberately being ignored.

me: love this trope so much

Caleb’s brain: I MUST ANTAGONIZE JESTER IMMEDIATELY. BUT SWEETLY.

Caleb’s brain: tells Jester how to say ‘tickle’ in his native tongue

Caleb’s brain a few min later: in turmoil over why he makes it soooooo much worse for himself — well for a few more minutes until he gets all wobbly and brain-buzzy

A either has something B wants or won’t do their job & need some convincing in the form of B’s tickling fingers

me: inner Jester monologue ‘Come on Caleb. Read the book. Read it. Do a silly voice. Read while I poke at your ribs. I don’t mind if you laugh. Come on keep trying. Okay I guess Fjord and I are just gonna drop the playful ruse. But you’re finishing that book for me later.’

Final Author's Note —

I hope this holiday gift pleases you, my dear @amazingmsme! Happiest Squealing Santa to Thee! 2023! I’m so happy I got you for the exchange and I hope you have a wonderful holiday season and new year!!!!!!!!!!

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alilbatflies · 4 months

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Hi there, just found your "just cake" fic and I am interested in how it continues.

What i'm saying is, please continue this fic, villainxhenchman is now one of my favorite writeblr tags.

-@the-agency-archives

Hi! I'm glad you liked part 1. Now get ready for...

...

Just Cake #2

The commonly known thing about old-fashioned traps was that when they failed to trap you, you got to tease the creator of it relentlessly. A net, seriously? People have tried before, sweetheart. Better luck next time.

The inconvenient thing about old-fashioned traps was that when done properly, they did their job damn well. It was exceptionally embarrassing to get caught in one. You should have seen that coming. Alas, you didn’t. Fool.

The henchman had tried pushing the villain out of the way once they noticed the trap. So now they were both caught. The villain hovered over them in the really quite cramped space of the net. Wasn’t that wonderful?

The villain gave the net a testing jerk. It didn’t do them any good.

“Who the fuck even uses nets these days?” the villain hissed.

“It does seem we’re quite literally trapped, boss.”

“No, we’re fuckin– not–” the villain tugged on the net violently– “UNSTUCK YOURSELF!”

“That’s not how traps work, boss.”

It was a definitely never to be mentioned ever again kind of situation, really.

The villain settled into a relative silence. They clawed at the net with one of their blades while growling and cursing occasionally. They tended to be silent most of the time, but the henchman knew very well just how varied their cursing vocabulary was.

They were sure the villain had far exceeded their word limit for the day. Their voice was furious. Cutting.

But not cutting enough to slice through the ropes.

Henchman smiled at their internal commentary; glad they didn’t blurt it out like they so often managed.

There was nothing better to do, and so they watched the villain struggle. They hung really quite skillfully above the henchman, somehow not falling down on top of them. Not that the henchman would especially mind. It was quite cold out there.

They briefly wondered who would even set up a trap that far out in the woods. The obvious answer was someone who lived around. Secret hideouts and all that jazz.

The thing which bothered them the most however was that whoever set the trap up was skilled. Skilled enough to have them both trapped. The villain especially was not easily trapped. Once that whoever came around, they would still be stuck and practically at their mercy. The henchman doubted there would be mercy to be found.

The net moved under the villain’s persistent attempts.

Cold air breezed past. The henchman came to the conclusion that someone showing up was better than freezing to death.

The villain’s yell startled them out of their thoughts.

“SCREW THAT!”

“Screw me,” please.

The villain obviously stopped themself from cursing again, turning to look at the henchman. “Hm?” they said, which henchman translated as ‘you’ve said something?’

“Nothing.” Here we go again. Saying stuff.

The villain measured the few nicks they managed to inconvenience the rope with. They huffed an exhale. “That’s not going to work, is it?”

“I’d presume we won’t be able to get out of a net specifically made to capture and hold magical things, boss.”

The villain huffed another exhale. They hid their knife. Then they looked down at the henchman, slumping slightly.

“Do you suppose I could sort of hm… flop down on you? Really uncomfortable up here.”

“Conserve your energy.”

The villain slumped on top of them.

The net was quite uncomfortable under their back even before, but with the added weight, it reached a whole new stage of discomfort. There was nothing the henchman could do about that. Except for maybe miraculously breaking them both out of the trap and acting like it never happened. A minion could dream.

“You’re warm,” the villain said.

“Huh.” The henchman didn’t really manage to figure out a better reaction. They felt too warm entirely, just about bellow the boiling point. It definitely had nothing to do with their proximity. Nope. Not at all.

They both stayed perfectly still.

The henchman considered shuffling, but they had a feeling it would be even more uncomfortable than before.

“Do you regret anything?”

The villain seemed to mumble that mostly to themself, but given the whole situation, the henchman caught it anyway.

“Don’t think about dying yet, boss. We’ll have plenty of chances to make it out.”

The villain hummed, unconvinced.

The henchman hardly convinced themself, so it was no surprise. They decided to answer the villain’s question at least. Death loomed over them with the deft finality of a trap shutting down with chilling-to-the-bones precision. Just like it did.

Nothing to lose but the vague concept of dignity, huh?

“I regret ruining your birthday cake.”

The villain was perfectly still for a moment. Then they lifted themself to look the henchman in the eyes. “My what?”

“Well… you see, the thing that splattered on your doorstep… on your birthday day?”

The villain blinked.

The henchman looked away. It was such an awkward thing, wasn’t it? Of all the things they could have chosen… then again. You make someone cake and then you drop it like a clumsy tool. The sole act of baking the villain cake was borderline ridiculous and entirely unprofessional, too.

“You know when my birthday is?”

“You mentioned you were born on Vampire Day once, in relation to the Candle Parade, so that’s a day after the autumn equinox, so… That’s that.”

The villain hummed quietly, thinking. They rested back down.

The henchman held perfectly still, as if that could somehow remove all of their embarrassment. They measured their breathing, for all it was worth. They had a feeling the villain could sense how uncomfortable they were anyway, but hopefully played it on the whole stuck-in-a-net situation.

“Nobody’s ever given me birthday cake before.”

“Oh, really?” The henchman tried to see the villain’s face. It was a whole new of an uncomfortable movement, so they stopped.

“You’re the first.”

“But I’ve…” Ruined it. Splattered it. Fucked up spectacularly. “…dropped it.”

“Worse things happen,” the villain said. “I appreciate the effort.”

“I didn’t even wish you… anything.” It had been a busy day. The henchman forgot about the villain’s birthday, except for all of the inconvenient times when they really couldn’t say their thing. Like in the middle of a fight, when they were in the bathroom, or when the villain finally fell asleep and the henchman didn’t want to wake them up.

Might as well fix that now. “Happy belated birthday.”

“Hm. Thank you.”

It made the henchman very comfortably warm. Convenient for the villain, they supposed, since they were being used as a personal heater at the moment.

“What’s your regret?”

“Hm?” The villain sounded almost startled.

“Your regret.” Henchman tried to adjust their head to get at least a little bit more comfortable. It only got worse. They rested back to the way they were. “You know my regret. I want to know yours.”

It took the villain a long time to make a sound again. The henchman thought perhaps they crossed the professional line too far, stepped just beyond the acceptable. They prepared their sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that but the villain spoke first.

“I suppose that’s fair.”

They are very fidgety all of a sudden. But at least they sounded like the henchman’s head might stay on their neck.

“So.” The villain cleared their throat. They searched for words and seemed to come out short.

“You don’t have to tell me if you’d prefer not to.”

“No, I’m…” The villain inhaled deeply. In a wave of composure, they spoke at once: “Actually, it partly involves you—I mean, it entirely involves you—and the thing is that you, sincerely–”

The villain’s attention shifted.

The henchman felt the silence settle over them. The last words were like stones falling into the lake, vanishing to leave but circles running on the surface.

In the silence, the henchman finally registered the someone moving closer.

The villain shifted in an attempt of a defence position despite the power-suppressing net and the inconveniently squished henchman underneath them. They bared their teeth in a snarl.

“Look who we’ve caught,” an entirely too sweet voice said. “Well, aren’t you two adorable?”

...

Part 3

#snippet #writeblr #writing #creative writing #heroes and villains #villains #villain x villain #villain x henchman #i copied the text to tumblr and did the whole formatting thing and then i found the internet connection had just vanished since its stormy #luckily it saved in a blip of internet before our internet shut down entirely #but yeah that was a Stressful moment #anyways. hope you enjoy the second part

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twisted-wonderland-shenanigans · 7 months

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Twisted Monsterland: Painted Wings

So a random thought came to me as I was writing the pregnant!Yuu fic (which is getting closer and closer to being done, along with a fic involving mini!Yuu in the Marine Biologist!AU!), and it made me think of something.

Remember this post here where I mentioned how humans painted their bodies to create art? Well, it made me realize:

Why wouldn't the monsters paint parts of their bodies, too?

Of course, it wouldn't be anything extreme or tedious as the full-body ones that were done in the above mentioned post, but they can create interesting patterns!

Temporary paint sprayed on their fur or using stencil designs acting like those temporary tattoo stickers? Yes!

Doing highlights and creating a rainbow of hair with their tails or manes like in this video? Imagine how gorgeous it would look seeing the wind fluff their fur/hair and you just see a rainbow of effects!

Painting scales and thorny spikes/horns with elegant henna-like patterns? Imagine the ink colors they could use to make it pop off their scales!

Feathers painted with extra bright and flashy or cool and delicate colors? Imagine Cater having fun creating patterns on his wings as the hippogriff flies around the dorm or campus!

Imagining the possibilities of what sort of patterns and designs they could do sounds so amazing! I can see any human in this AU having fun painting or helping out with these designs~! >v<

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland monster au #twst monster au #faun speaks #I'm slowly chipping away at everything again!#I wanted to give you guys something to tide you over that's not just snippets #Hope you guys enjoy the fics when I get them done as there will be lots of sweetness and cuteness!

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astrhae · 1 year

Note

i really enjoyed your latest six of crows fic!! this is probably going to sound so strange, but kaz's brief cameo was so on point that it made me wish for a concurrent fic of the other crows and what they're up to in this au

hi hello!! thank you so much 🥰 and that isn't strange at all! i'm really glad that you liked it down to all the little cameos 💙 i can't promise a concurrent fic but here's a little scene i deleted that has kaz in it (this is when wylan actually first meets kaz, a little bit after jesper reads their marriage contract for them)

"Why the change of mind?" Kaz didn't bother addressing Wylan. "All your letters until a month ago told me you despised your husband."

Jesper swallowed, and cast a guilty glance at Wylan, his fingers drumming nervously on the windowsil they were perched on. "I, uh," he shrugged, smile turning suddenly coy to smother his guilt, "was reminded of some things."

Kaz didn't look remotely impressed. He simply stood in the palace guest rooms they'd prepared for him and Inej, looking both distinctly out of place and perfectly suited to the gilded halls and carpeted floors. "I need to know I can trust your reasons, or I'll be taking my kruge on my walk to the palace vaults."

The only reason he doesn't steal from me, Jesper had told Wylan, is because good standing with the royal family is a better long term investment than a crown jewel.

"I blew someone up for him," Wylan answered before Jesper could, and that made Kaz turn to him, a hunter catching a sniff of prey.

"After I shot a guy for him," Jesper grumbled.

Kaz ran a gloved hand over the corner of a framed oil painting. De Kappel, the matching painting given to Wylan's father as part of his dowry. Stealing Wylan's flute from the mansion had turned out to be proof of concept: that it could be done.

"You didn't tell me your husband had marketable skills," Kaz said.

"I'm not for sale," Wylan frowned.

Jesper snorted at Kaz. "And if he was, you wouldn't be able to pay for him."

"Is that a challenge?" Kaz asked.

"Wylan's a sure bet," Jesper said, "Besides, it was a change of heart too."

What? Wylan didn't catch Kaz's little scowl, or what he muttered next, too busy running his mind over possibilities, turning Jesper's words around in his head. A change of heart -

"I've decided my terms of payment," the snap of Kaz's cane as he walked closer was muffled by the carpet, but it was sharp all the same. "I'd like Wylan as my consultant."

Jesper scrunched his nose. "No."

"Yes," Wylan said. He knew what Kaz had planned was likely illegal. He also knew that Jan Van Eck's accounting books never added up. "I can tell you everything you need."

"Let me rephrase," Kaz said. "I want you as a permanent consultant."

"He's a Prince!" Jesper protested.

Kaz raised a brow. "So are you. It's called career diversification."

Jesper groaned when Wylan laughed. "Wylan's already diversified into a royal mess."

Wylan sniffed. "I melted a table once, and I cleaned up the mess."

He declined to supply that he'd spilled the chemicals because he'd been a little distracted, by Jesper's little laugh, and the spin of the gun that followed.

"Melting tables," Kaz didn't allow himself to be sidetracked, his eyes taking an edge of wildness to them, a stormcloud flashing lightning. "What about melting locks and safes?"

Wylan nodded. "I just need to change the formula a little."

"See?" Kaz smirked. "Marketable skills."

Jesper groaned again, and Wylan wondered what he'd gotten himself into. Marriage, his mind supplied, and then friendship and family, and, as he thought of Kaz burning Van Eck's power to the ground, he thought, just maybe, home.

#asks #anon #wesper #fic: quid pro quo #my fics #shadow and bone #six of crows #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #i had to delete this because the fic was getting INSANELY long already #but i might one day write a companion fic with jesper's pov #where it's just jesper complaining about being married and kaz reminding jesper #that kaz runs a gambling hall #NOT a marriage consultancy #akdjdhdhdhdk i hope you enjoy this little snippet tho!

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bi-bats · 9 months

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@generatorcat of COURSE!! your wish is my command 💕

“We’re three minutes out,” Tim said over the comm, and the moment he finished talking, he burst out of the alley Jason had been eyeing, six feet in front of Jason’s bike.

Damn Tim and that lean little figure. Jason would never have been able to maneuver his bike through that shortcut so fast, would've been too busy trying not to scrape his shoulders against the bricks or smack his knee into a dumpster.

But what he lacked in the lean-figure department, he made up for in sheer audacity. He sped up, maneuvering his bike just recklessly enough for Dick to scold him over the comm.

Not that he could hear it over the sound of his own bike pulling back in front of Tim’s.

“Make it two minutes,” Jason smirked.

“One if we grapple once we see the bridge,” Tim shot back.

“Could you two move the foreplay to a private line?” Steph snapped.

“Everyone stays on the main line. Boys, cut it out.” Bruce said over the comm, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of him throwing down a smoke bomb.

“Sure thing,” Jason scoffed.

“You got it, B,” Tim agreed easily.

Then Tim reached up to his comm and switched to a private line. By the time his hand was curling back around the handle of his bike, Jason was talking in his ear.

“I’m serious, Red. Don’t get fucking hurt again,” Jason grimaced, thankful that the helmet hid the concerned look he was throwing Tim.

“You worried about me?” Tim asked, smirking a little wider.

“Worried about our contest,” Jason defended. “If you get hurt twice in a row, they’re gonna put an end to it.”

“They couldn’t if they tried, but fine. The night is voided if either of us gets injured.” Tim pulled his bike back in line with Jason’s, but let him keep the lead, just for the moment. “Can’t have you getting shot either.”

“Oh, so now you’re admitting you were shot?”

“No, I’m admitting that you’re more likely to get shot than grazed.”

“Sorry, short stack," Jason teased, and Tim could picture the wide, smug grin his helmet was hiding. "It’s nice being tall and broad. Must be even more noticeable from all the way down there.”

“I was calling you reckless, actually, not commenting on your figure,” Tim said, hoping Jason wouldn’t look over and notice the faint blush on his cheeks. “But if you want to bring that into it, my size has its advantages.”

#♻️🐈‍⬛️ generatorcat #<- you did not have a bestie tag!!!!!#unbelievable i bestow this upon you i hope you enjoy the tag and the snippet #I'm also about to post another snippet cause Kieran also asked about this one 😂#batsasks #batwrites #jaytim #petty #tag games

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iforfitthelife · 3 months

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' "Promise me that you will come back."

"....."

"Kim Dokja, Promise Me."

Dokja smiled lovingly as he caressed Joonghyuk's cheek softly. He stared up at him with soft eyes as he responded.

"I will always come back to you, no matter where we both are or who we are with, it is fate that we both find each other inevitably once again my love. I promise you that."

And with that, Dokja left, going somewhere far away which is left unknown to his companions, including his love. Over time, Yoo Joonghyuk gradually forgets the face of his companion, his lover, his one true light that forever shone in his life. But the feelings and emotions he felt for the person could never be forgotten or erased as he continued to wait and search for the face he could no longer recognize in his memories. '

If you liked this little snippet of my one shot story, then go check it out on my account on Wattpad! {Blank}

#orv #kim dokja #yoo joonghyuk #angst #orv angst #they are in love #omniscient reader's viewpoint #memory loss #statue #fanfic #Wattpad snippet #criticize #hope you enjoy #tumblr fyp #fyp

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honestlydarkprincess · 6 months

Note

Hello, I was wondering if you had any au fic recs?

hello hello! i do! now i haven't read fic reading beans for a very long time so i haven't actually read these, instead i'm gonna give you a list of aus that are on my tbr list!

wood you be mine? by @monsterrae1 (lumberjack!buck)

you had to kill me (it killed you just the same) by @monsterrae1 (assassin!buck)

to you i'm just a man (to me you're all i am) by @eddiebabygirldiaz (first son!buck)

i'll heal you eventually (but faster if you're next to me) by @loserdiaz (school nurse!eddie/gym teacher!buck)

made my way to a life i would choose by @loserdiaz (dispatch!buddie)

traded by @princessfbi (hockey player!buck/bartender!eddie)

she made herself stronger (by fighting with the wind) by @princessfbi (bookstore au — madney and teen buddie)

and so many more i could go on for a while but i'll stick to these few recs!

#please feel free to reblog and add your own recs!!!#i don't read a lot of fic other than snippets these days so i'm not quite in the know #but i hope you enjoy these anon!#buddie #buddie fic recs #madney #911 #911 abc #911 fic #911 fic recs #anon #jess gets mail! 💌

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palioom · 1 year

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Daniel Brühl for GQ Germany Men of the Year 2022

Full interview below the cut (in German)

Herr Brühl, in Ihrem neuen Film „Im Westen nichts Neues“ spielen Sie den deutschen Diplomaten Matthias Erzberger, der versucht, die Friedensverhandlungen im Ersten Weltkrieg voranzutreiben. Sie sagen im Film: „Seien Sie gerecht zu Ihrem Feind, sonst wird er Ihren Frieden hassen.“ Was macht Ihrer Meinung nach einen erfolgreichen Frieden aus? Dass beide Seiten aufeinander zugehen und in den Dialog treten. Auch wenn das heute immer schwieriger wird, müssen wir im Kleinen wie im Großen miteinander sprechen, zuhören und versuchen, uns gegenseitig besser zu verstehen. Erzberger war eine sehr wichtige Figur in der Geschichte und Politik Deutschlands, über die zumindest ich in meiner Schulzeit viel zu wenig gelernt habe. Ich finde es bewundernswert, wie er trotz all der Anfeindungen, die ihn erreicht haben, nie nachgegeben hat und bis zum Schluss großen Mut bewies. Solche Persönlichkeiten brauchen wir heute. Wir sehen ja gerade mit Erschrecken, wie uns die Thematik des Films eingeholt hat. Als wir drehten, hat keiner von uns im Entferntesten damit gerechnet, dass sich ein Krieg mitten in Europa einstellen würde. Umso wichtiger ist es, den Appell gegen den Krieg, den die Geschichte von Erich Maria Remarque vermittelt, noch einmal hervorzuheben.

Man hat den Eindruck, dass Propaganda früher wie heute funktioniert … Ja. Es ist schockierend zu sehen, dass wir in der Welt eigentlich keinen Schritt weitergekommen sind. Früher war es einfach, in die Köpfe der jungen Menschen einzudringen. Die meisten Leute sind nie aus ihrem Land rausgekommen. Man konnte Feindbilder schüren, Propaganda machen und manipulieren. Heute, in einer vernetzten und globalisierten Welt, ist das, so würde man zumindest meinen, nicht mehr ganz so einfach möglich. Theoretisch. Praktisch funktioniert das dann leider doch noch recht gut. Neue Angriffsflächen werden gesucht, Mauern werden hochgezogen, und es herrscht Krieg. Das ist sehr ernüchternd.

Wovor haben Sie mit Blick auf die Gesellschaft aktuell am meisten Angst? Vor dem Auseinanderleben. In Zeiten, in denen globale Krisen herrschen, ist es eine bittere Erkenntnis, dass man sich mehr und mehr isoliert und wieder klein denkt. Wissend, dass man diese großen Krisen eigentlich nur gemeinschaftlich bewältigen kann. Da liegt wieder der Instinkt des Menschen zugrunde, sich erst mal abzukapseln und die Schuld beim anderen zu suchen. Das ist der perfekte Nährboden für Populisten und Nationalisten, um ihr Gift zu versprühen. Es sind keine leichten Zeiten. Ich habe aber allein schon durch meine Rolle als Vater die Verpflichtung, die Hoffnung nicht zu verlieren und nicht in Depression und Bitterkeit zu verfallen. Ja, wir befinden uns gerade in einer Talsohle, aber es kommen auch wieder bessere Zeiten. Daran muss und will ich glauben.

Wie bleiben Sie in solchen Zeiten hoffnungsvoll? Indem ich mich an den kleinen Dingen erfreue. Wir verbringen als Familie gerade viel Zeit in Spanien und lernen dort neue Menschen kennen. Ich liebe es, neue Einblicke in unterschiedliche Kulturen zu bekommen und mich mit den Leuten über ihre Ansichten, Ängste und Wünsche auszutauschen. Das verbindet und gibt Kraft. Es hilft einfach, über den Tellerrand zu schauen.

Spielt es sich mit dem Gedanken an all die Krisen als Schauspieler aktuell schwerer? Ja. Aber es hilft gleichzeitig auch, damit umzugehen. Bei „Im Westen nichts Neues“ hat es mich motiviert, an etwas zu arbeiten, an dessen Botschaft man glaubt und dessen Quintessenz für die Gesellschaft auch aktuell von großer Bedeutung ist. Und natürlich ist es am Ende des Tages nur ein ganz kleiner Beitrag, ein Film, die Arbeit eines Schauspielers, aber trotzdem ist es richtig und wichtig, seine Stimme zu nutzen, um solche Geschichten zu erzählen.

Muss der Film in solchen Zeiten auch pädagogisches Mittel werden? Oder ist das der Anfang vom Ende der Kunst? Er darf es. Ich würde mir sehr wünschen, dass „Im Westen nichts Neues“ als Unterrichtsstoff an die Schulen kommt. Wir müssen den jungen Menschen klar machen, dass Krieg nicht cool ist. Er ist kein spannendes Abenteuer und hat auch nichts Glorreiches an sich. Und diese Botschaft wird im Film sehr deutlich.

Sehen Sie sich als Schauspieler eher als Dienstleister oder als Künstler? Beides. Ich versuche seit Beginn meiner Karriere, mein Spektrum nicht einzuschränken und für alle Genres offen zu bleiben. Einige Geschichten gehen tiefer und sind im künstlerischen Sinne anspruchsvoller, andere sind leichter und erreichen mehr Menschen. Solange die Kernbotschaft dahinter stimmt, mache ich beides gern und mit Leidenschaft.

Sie waren bei „Im Westen nichts Neues“ nicht nur als Schauspieler, sondern auch als Co-Produzent tätig. Inwiefern hat das Ihre Arbeit verändert? Der Film bedeutet mir dadurch noch mehr. „Im Westen nichts Neues“ war mit Abstand unser größtes und ambitioniertestes Projekt bei Amusement Park Film. Ich bin dieser Firma vor ein paar Jahren beigetreten, um meinen Einfluss zu erweitern und meine Liebe zum Film noch mal anders auszuleben. Als Regisseur oder Produzent hat man natürlich ganz andere Möglichkeiten, Dinge nach vorne zu treiben und Stoffe umzusetzen, die einem wichtig sind.

Wie gehen Sie damit um, als Schauspieler permanent von der Gunst anderer abhängig zu sein? Es ist nicht einfach. Dieser Beruf ist immer unvorhersehbar, und man weiß nie, ob man eine interessante Rolle angeboten bekommt oder nicht. Und wenn man sie dann bekommt, kann man sich je nach Team, Regisseur und Produzent mehr oder weniger einbringen. Das ist nicht immer leicht, gerade wenn der Film dann doch in eine andere Richtung geht, als man es sich selbst gewünscht hätte.

Deshalb auch das Regiedebüt mit „Nebenan“ im letzten Jahr? Genau. Es ist auch mal schön, der Kapitän zu sein, der am Steuer sitzt und für die gesamte Reise die Verantwortung übernimmt.

Sie sagten in einem Interview: „Gute Bücher sind rar.“ Wird es in unserer gesättigten Film- und Serienwelt immer schwieriger, gute Geschichten zu schaffen? Das Problem ist, dass schon so viele gute Geschichten erzählt wurden. Man läuft Gefahr, sich zu wiederholen. Einen neuen Ansatz zu finden, ist heute schwierig. Bedient man eine Formel, so muss man in ihr trotzdem überraschen. Und wenn es gelingt, sich ganz von diesem Korsett zu befreien, dann wird die Herausforderung umso spannender. Deshalb freue ich mich immer, wenn ein besonderes Buch auf dem Schreibtisch landet.

Wie gehen Sie als Schauspieler damit um, dass Filme und Serien immer mehr zur Nebenbeschäftigung werden? Es ist schade zu wissen, wie abgelenkt die Menschen sind, wie selten sie ins Kino gehen und wie wenig Zeit sie in den Filmgenuss investieren. Aus diesem Grund müssen wir noch genauer überlegen, was wir wie erzählen.

Man hat das Gefühl, es herrscht ein ständiger Kampf um die Zeit der Zuschauer … Man muss das als Schauspieler ausblenden. Das wäre ja der Horror, wenn man bei der Arbeit daran denken müsste, in den ersten Minuten ein riesiges Feuerwerk zünden zu müssen oder ganz viel und schnell zu quasseln, um den Zuschauer bei der Stange zu halten. (lacht) Stattdessen muss man an die Stärke des Stoffs glauben und sein Bestes geben, damit dieser auch aufgeht. Bei „Im Westen nichts Neues“, der ja als episches Kinoerlebnis angelegt wurde, setzen wir auch auf ein Tempo, das nicht den heutigen Sehgewohnheiten entspricht. Wir lassen Momente ohne schnelle Schnitte wirken. Wenn eine Geschichte Kraft hat, muss man daran festhalten und auf diese Kraft setzen. Und den Mut auf bringen, sie in der Ruhe zu erzählen, der es bedarf.

Ertappen Sie sich auch manchmal privat dabei, Serien und Filmen nicht mehr die Aufmerksamkeit zu schenken wie früher? Nein. Wenn ich etwas anschaue, dann schaue ich es richtig an. Ich habe es auch noch nie ertragen, nach Filmbeginn ins Kino zu kommen. Aber natürlich hat man immer weniger Zeit dafür, Filme in Ruhe zu genießen. Gerade bin ich Teil einer Online-Jury und genieße es sehr, die Filme von vorne bis hinten an zuschauen und mich mit den Geschichten tiefer auseinander zusetzen.

Sie sind seit knapp 30 Jahren im Business. Wie schafft man es, seine Leidenschaft für den Beruf zu erhalten? Ich habe es immer als Privileg empfunden, mit dem, was mich erfüllt, meinen Lebensunterhalt zu verdienen. Ich bin jetzt 44 und habe mit 15 meinen ersten Film gedreht. Dass ich überhaupt noch dabei bin und spielen darf, ist ein großes Glück.

Gibt es Produktionen, die Sie eher fürs Herz, die Reputation oder den Geldbeutel annehmen? Auf jeden Fall. Rein fürs Geld mache ich nichts, das kann ich nicht mit mir vereinbaren. Ich habe in der Vergangenheit schon ein paar Projekte abgesagt, bei denen die Gage ordentlich gewesen wäre. Wenn man dann Nein sagt und auflegt, muss man erst mal kurz durchatmen, danach aber habe ich nie wieder an diese Projekte gedacht. Auf der anderen Seite gab es künstlerisch inspirierende Angebote, bei denen man vielleicht bereut hat, nicht dabei gewesen zu sein. Oder andersherum: dass man nach einer Zusage während der Dreharbeiten merkt, dass die Vision des Regisseurs oder der Produzenten nicht mit der eigenen übereinstimmt. Aber genau diese Unvorhersehbarkeit macht den Beruf auch so spannend. Die Rollenauswahl ist wie ein Roulette- oder Lottospiel.

Und wann hat man das richtige Los gezogen? Ich persönlich achte sehr auf das Endergebnis, also den Film an sich. Mir ist das Resultat einfach wichtig. Wenn der Film gut geworden ist, erinnere ich mich später im Leben auch gerne an die Drehzeit zurück. Ich werde heute noch auf „Good Bye, Lenin!“, „Die fetten Jahre sind vorbei“, „Inglourious Basterds“ oder „Rush“ angesprochen, und diese Projekte liegen teilweise wirklich schon lange zurück. Trotzdem bin ich nach wie vor unglaublich stolz darauf, und darüber zu sprechen, macht mich sehr glücklich.

Welche Rolle spielt Geld in Ihrem Leben? Na ja, ich bin froh, dass ich welches habe. Es ist natürlich immer leicht gesagt, dass es nicht nur aufs Geld an kommt. Aber es ist zum Glück nicht meine größte Motivation. So bin ich nicht erzogen worden, und das ändert sich auch nicht mehr. Die Gier nach mehr hat mich noch nie angetrieben. Und trotzdem weiß ich natürlich, dass ich wahnsinniges Glück hatte.

Die Schauspielbranche ist aktuell gesättigt. Wie schafft man es, Regisseure und Produzenten für sich zu begeistern? Eine Fähigkeit, die häufig unterschätzt wird, ist, Nein sagen zu können. Auch wenn es gerade läuft, darf man nicht zu viel machen. Man muss immer spannend bleiben. Und das ist heutzutage gerade durch die sozialen Medien gar nicht so einfach. Ich habe mich vor einigen Jahren überreden lassen, Instagram zu nutzen. Ich habe verstanden, dass man die Leute über andere Kanäle erreichen muss, man muss etwas von sich preisgeben. Aber auch nicht zu viel, sonst geht das Geheimnis um die eigene Person flöten.

Ist das auch Ihr Tipp an jüngere Kollegen, die mit Social Media aufgewachsen sind? Nicht zu viel von sich preiszugeben? Ich wollte Schauspieler werden, weil ich Geschichten erzählen will. Ich will die Menschen damit erreichen, sie neugierig machen, zum Nachdenken anregen, berühren oder abstoßen. Der Beruf des Schauspielers wird nach wie vor häufig aus den falschen Beweggründen gewählt. Wegen des Glamours oder des Ruhms. Wenn das der Grund ist, sollte man es lassen. Es gibt heutzutage ja viele andere Wege, um auf dem roten Teppich zu stehen.

Man sollte es lassen, weil es dem Beruf nicht gerecht wird? Weil so viel mehr dazugehört. Als Schauspieler muss man dickhäutig sein. Man wird permanent beurteilt und lebt in ständiger Unsicherheit, weil man nie weiß, was da noch kommen wird, man lebt in einer Abhängigkeit. Das ist nicht ohne, dafür muss man gewappnet sein. Man muss als Schauspieler dazu in der Lage sein, bei den äußeren Stimmen den Pegel runterzudrehen, um sich selbst noch zu hören. Man braucht definitiv ein dickes Fell, das ist ein psychisch anstrengender Job, darüber muss man sich im Klaren sein.

Für viele ist Schauspiel mit Nacktheit verbunden und mit der Bereitschaft, eigene Wahrheiten und Gefühle preiszugeben. Ist das Spielen vor der Kamera auch immer eine Art Therapie? Viele Kollegen beschreiben es so. Natürlich muss man bereit sein, emotional aufzumachen, und sich immer wieder an sein Innerstes rantasten. Bei diesem ganzen Umgang mit sich selbst und der Aufmerksamkeit, die man als Schauspieler genießt, muss man allerdings auch aufpassen, offen zu bleiben, neugierig zu sein und zu - zuhören. Schauspieler, die nur von sich erzählen, sind sehr anstrengend. (lacht)

Gibt es Rollen, von denen man eine Art Entzugsphase braucht oder bei denen man Angst hat, dass sie einen nachhaltig verändern? Natürlich beschäftigen mich intensivere Rollen auch häufig noch nach der Drehzeit, hallen nach, färben ab. Im besten Fall hat man etwas fürs Leben mitgenommen und schaut anders auf bestimmte Dinge. Man taucht in so viele Gefühlswelten und Lebensrealitäten ein, mit denen man sonst nie in Berührung gekommen wäre. Das ist ja das Aufregendste an meinem Beruf.

Sie sind zweisprachig aufgewachsen und sprechen vier Sprachen fließend. Ein Pluspunkt beim Schauspiel? Ich bin meinen Eltern heute noch sehr dankbar, dass sie mir die Chance boten, mit verschiedenen Kulturen und Sprachen in Berührung zu kommen. Das ist eine totale Bereicherung, die den Kopf und die Augen öffnet. Jede Sprache hat ihre individuelle Stärke. Und es gibt immer Emotionen, die man in der einen Sprache besser ausdrücken kann als in der anderen.

Inwiefern hilft Ihnen dieses Sprachgefühl am Set? Eigentlich kam meine gesamte Karriere durch Sprache ins Rollen. Ich habe mit acht Jahren meine ersten Hörspiele im Radio eingesprochen und war folglich lange nur auf die Stimme reduziert. Bis heute ist das oft der erste Schritt, um mich einer Rolle zu nähern. Ich versuche, mir bewusst zu werden, wie jemand sprechen würde. In welcher Sprache, mit welchem Akzent, mit was für einem Tonfall und Tempo? Wenn ich das dann für mich gefunden habe, macht es klick, und ich weiß, dass ich der Figur ein großes Stück nähergekommen bin.

Werden Sie beim Sprechen der unterschiedlichen Sprachen zu einer anderen Version von sich selbst? Ich selbst bekomme das immer gar nicht so mit, aber mein Umfeld bestätigt das. Wenn man eine andere Sprache spricht, verändert sich automatisch auch die Persönlichkeit, die Haltung und die Körpersprache. Im Spanischen klingt meine Stimme laut meinen Freunden zum Beispiel viel tiefer und maskuliner. (lacht)

Sie sagten in einem Interview, dass es in der Natur des Schauspielers liegt, etwas narzisstisch zu sein. Welche Rolle spielt die Optik in Ihrem Leben? Narzissmus ist ein weites Feld. Häufig vereinnahmt einen der Beruf des Schauspielers so, dass man nicht mehr sieht, dass es da draußen noch andere wichtige Dinge gibt. Da muss man aufpassen, dass man den Bezug zur Außenwelt nicht verliert. Im Alter sollte man auf sich achten, das ist auch wichtig für den Kopf. Ansonsten sieht man eben so aus, wie man aussieht. Mit meinen 1,78 Meter werde ich wohl nicht die erste Wahl für die Rolle eines Basketballers oder eines Türstehers sein. Das ist so, und das kann ich nicht ändern.

Sind Hauptrollen eigentlich immer attraktiver als Nebenrollen? In letzter Zeit habe ich tatsächlich auch einige Nebenrollen angenommen. Man kommt in ein Alter, wo es auch nicht immer die Hauptrolle sein muss. (lacht) Die Prioritäten verschieben sich. Das Zitat: „Es gibt keine kleinen Rollen, nur kleine Schauspieler“, ist vollkommen zutreffend. Zudem hat man mehr Freiraum für sich selbst und die Familie. Nach den letzten Monaten freue ich mich jetzt aber auch wieder auf spannende Hauptrollen.

Man hat das Gefühl, dass die Filmbranche in den südlichen Ländern viel mehr gefeiert wird als in Deutschland. Fehlt Ihnen manchmal dieser Enthusiasmus? Wir Deutschen sind leider nicht wirklich dafür bekannt, uns überschwänglich füreinander zu freuen. Ein bisschen mehr Euphorie und Feierlichkeit würde der Branche mit Sicherheit guttun. Ich komme gerade von einem Projekt aus Boston, und da konnte man am Set solch eine Herzlichkeit und Energie spüren, das ist unglaublich ansteckend. Trotzdem liebe ich Berlin und arbeite nach wie vor sehr gerne in Deutschland, weil wir hier fantastische Leute haben. Ich habe auch meiner Karriere in Deutschland meine ganzen Rollen im Ausland zu verdanken. Mein Ziel ist es, aus Deutschland heraus spannende Geschichten zu erzählen und tolle Filme zu machen, die auch international eine Strahlkraft haben.

Wann sind Sie mit einem Film so richtig zufrieden? Wenn Kritiker ihn loben, Fans die Kinos stürmen oder gibt es ganz persönliche Parameter? Ich bin sehr selbstkritisch. Das heißt, in erster Linie muss ich mit dem Ergebnis glücklich sein. Wenn ich das nicht bin, können die Kritiker tolle Dinge schreiben und die Fans in die Kinos stürmen, und ich habe trotzdem schlechte Laune. Wenn ich allerdings einen Film toll finde und alle anderen nicht, ist das auch nervig. Meine schärfste Kritikerin war und bleibt meine Mutter. Da merke ich auch immer schon direkt am Tonfall, ob sie einen Film wirklich gut findet oder nur so tut. Ich lese mir auch nur noch selten Kritiken durch; außer ich erkenne direkt an der Überschrift, dass sie positiv sind. Negative Kritiken habe ich für den Rest meines Lebens genug gelesen, das bringt mir nichts mehr.

Sind denn immer die guten Filme erfolgreich? Oder gab es Filme, über deren Erfolg Sie sich gewundert haben? Es sind leider auch sehr oft die nicht so tollen Filme, die erfolgreich sind. Aber mittlerweile stört mich das nicht mehr. Solange es nicht irgendwas total Verwerfliches oder Geschmackloses ist, dann ist das doch o. k., wenn es den Leuten gefällt, ich will kein Geschmackspolizist sein. Man sollte dann auch nicht so rumjammern, sondern sich der Herausforderung stellen, die Leute mit etwas Gutem zu erreichen, egal wie schwer das geworden ist.

Und wenn ein Film supererfolgreich wird, für den Sie zuvor eine Rolle abgelehnt haben? Dann freue ich mich auch. Für die ganze Branche. Und vor allem wenn Kollegen oder sogar Freunde mitspielen. Albrecht Schuch zum Beispiel, was der gerade zeigt in all den Filmen, ist so beeindruckend! Oder Felix Kammerer in seiner ersten großen Rolle in „Im Westen nichts Neues“, das haut einen um. Ich muss nur aufpassen, dass ich im Kontakt zu den jüngeren Kollegen nicht schon was zu Väterliches bekomme. (lacht)

Also kein Neid? Überhaupt nicht. Ich finde, wir sollten uns generell von diesem ätzenden Neid befreien, das bringt einen ja nie weiter. Man darf nicht in diese Bitterkeit verfallen, wenn ein eigenes Projekt nicht so aufgegangen ist. Niederlagen gehören dazu. So viel Altersweisheit habe ich mittlerweile erlangt.

Welche Dinge beschäftigen Sie, wenn Sie nicht drehen? Ich bin und werde kein Rafael Nadal, aber ich lasse mit dem Tennis nicht locker. Auf dem Platz wird man dazu gezwungen, nur über den nächsten Ball nachzudenken. Da hat das permanente Dauerrauschen, was sonst im Kopf herrscht, kurz Pause. Neben Kultur und Musik halten mich natürlich auch meine Kinder auf Trab, in jeder Beziehung! Und ich liebe Tapas.

Stimmt. Seit November 2021 sind Sie Botschafter des Welternährungsprogramms der Vereinten Nationen (WFP). Wie hat Sie diese Aufgabe verändert? Die Klimakrise ist kein Blick in die Zukunft mehr, sondern eine tägliche Realität für Millionen Menschen auf der ganzen Welt. Sie verschärft bereits existierende globale Probleme wie Konflikte und die dramatischen Auswirkungen der Pandemie. Ich glaube, es ist unsere gemeinsame Verantwortung, uns für eine Welt ohne Hunger einzusetzen. Ich möchte meinen Teil dazu beitragen und WFP als Botschafter in diesem Kampf unterstützen.

#daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #interview #i hope there's no more weird formatting issues #no translation bc I don't have the time to do that alone rn #if someone wants to help - i'm open for that lmao #me: snippets #also me: lmao 'snippets'#hope you enjoy

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