#and now i need to go for a wedding hair trial

[theladyofbloodshed]

i am so tired. i haven't had a single day in about 4 weeks where i've not had to do something major like pack boxes, carry furniture down 4 floors, go to banks, have a meeting ahhhhhhhhhh

#we went to the notary today to legalise our house papers #and now i need to go for a wedding hair trial #then after lunch for a make up trial #tomorrow we need to go back to the bank to sign more papers #our friends keep asking when we can meet #i just want to lay in bed and eat crisps

[karolinevassalor]

Anything for you. Pantalone x Reader

Warning: Mention of cheating, false accusation, theft, imprisoment, starvation,preg!reader, cheater! Kaeya,

Ie: for the people who love Kaeya. I also love him, one of my favorite playable char, but i want to try him this kind of situation.

It was a rainy night in Liyue. Everyone is either their home or one of the city inns. Just  a few, mostly homeless people who remained outside in the cold weather. One of them, a young woman silently cried and gently patted her stomach.

-I know love you hungry…so i…but don't worry…mother will get you food somehow…somehow…- her tears became in one with the raindrops what fell from the little rag what she managed to get from the back alleys. She collected a little water to drink in her free hand, but it just make her stomach grumble more.

-Im sorry baby…im sorry…- She sobbed and slowly stand up, stumbled over the road , but a moment later someone caught her and shortly after a heavy dark jacket landed on her back. She heard a  calm male voice. 

-Oh my…It's too cold out here darling. You’ll catch a cold if you…- She looked up to where the voice and the jacket came from. By the archons. It was a handsome man with luscious long black hair and glasses.

-I-im sorry sir. I did not want…- she tried to move away, but he gently grabbed her shoulder and with another hand he moved her face to front of his.

-My, you look really weak darlin’. You eat something today?- Maybe she just imagined but his voice was surprisingly concerned just as his eyes. After his question she started to cry even more. The young woman's trembling lips are not open for answer. He quickly pulled his hand from her face and lifted her in bridal style. 

You need to go to a doctor. Lets go.

Later, in the clinic.

“This cant be real. Why he helped me?” She thought as she slowly gulped the warm soup what the nurse gave her earlier.

The doctor and a man who brought her there  talked not far from her.

Thank you kind sir for bringing her in time. She was seriously malnourished and her fever almost get worse. It was deadly to both her and the baby.

…Understand. Thank you doctor. - The raven haired man looked at the woman. - May I ask for some minutes of privacy with her after you finish the necessary checks?

Of course. I just finished the papers.  Take your time. - And then he left the room. The other man grabbed a chair and sit next to bed.

I'm sorry for the vulgarity, i'm not even introduced myself to you. Name is Pantalone. May i ask yours? - She just put the empty bowl on the counter and bowed her head. She weakly told her name. Pantalone let out a worried sigh.

Beautiful name. So, you’re not from Liyue?

I'm from Mondstadt. I was from there.

And may i ask what happened to you in this condition?

…I did not know either. - She muttered and grabbed the  bedsheet. Pantalone raised a brow, but before he opened his mouth, she continued- Just one month ago I was in the middle of the preparation of my wedding with my fiance and the next moment i was accused for stealing relic from the temple.

You did that?

Of course not! - she cried out. - I would never do such a thing! And turn out…that said relic was not even stolen from.

Hooh? Then what happened? - She gripped the sheets with more force, he put his hand on hers to ease her a little bit.

My own fiance, who is one the knight of Favonius, came to arrest me. They put me in the jail without a trial.

Thats kinda suspicious.

At first i dod not understand either, but later i found out.

??

The two guards who  was on night patrol talked about how Kaeya already moved another woman in our house and tomorrow they will get me out of the town to ‘put another place’. They don't even cared about i heard them.

Now you safe darlin’.- Pantalone gently moved his hand toward hers.- They dont hurt you anymore.

But why? - she cried. - Why did he did this to me?! I was his fiance! With his child! He told me to get married earlier! 

He did not think about it seriously. He did not care about you and the baby at all. - He said the with a cold tone. She froze from his words. Then she let out a sigh and a weak smile toward Pantalone.

Thank you, for saying this…Maybe i …i just want to hear what i tought. - His face are softened after her sudden comment and start to caress her hands with this tumb.

Tomorrow i need to travel to Inazuma. Would you mind to accompany to me on this journey?

…Why did you care about me, Mr Pantalone? - She asked weakly.

Because i know the feeling when you been left all alone without any hope. I don't want you to feel that anymore.

…Thank you.

6 Years later, Mondstadt

Around noon, a big fancy carriage arrived to the town. Folks gathered around it, and when the door opened 3 young children jump out from it, all boys. After them a tall male with an expensive looking dress came out and reached his hand toward a woman, who also wore a beautiful dress but also covered her face with a silvery colored vail.

Boys, dont run so far. Wait for me and your mother.- He hold her hand and they start to go after the children. Everyone looked at confusion the faces, the knight, the restaurant owner and even Mondstadt  most wealthies man, Diluc came into their view. And he did not like what he saw at all. As they make a stroll over the stairs, one of the guard stop their way upstairs.

Im sorry sir, but this is way is restricted. Military personel only.

Oh, dont mind good sir - Pantalone smiled as the boys hid behind him and their mother. - I was just here to talk with lady Jean.

And may i know what interest?

It really nothing..- Now he slightly opened his eyes, showed a more menacing side of his - i wanted to talk about her how much this city cost? I want to buy it.

To be continue…

#genshin impact #pantalone #kaeya #genshin kaeya #mondstadt #liyue #pantalone x reader #fatui harbingers

[heartsofbeskar]

the red wolf

mockingbird

oberyn martell x named fem!reader

warnings — language, sexual content, 18+ only

words — 3.8K

a/n: yall remember this?? yes??? i hope so!!

series masterlist — writing masterlist

prev — next

“I am going to be most blunt with you, Lady Stark. Have you and the Prince been intimate?”

The entire room seemed to still; the inhale of a fire breathing dragon moments before it expelled its deadly barrage of heat and destruction. They waited. 

Count one. 

Count two.

An exhale.

The steady thrum of your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Lord Tywin, I—” A glance spared to Oberyn. He sat, impassive, as if he were a portrait that had been painted long ago, left in place of the man of flesh and blood. “No! No, of course not, I am— I would never—”

An unexpected reprieve came in the form of Mace Tyrell. His face was blotchy red, as if an inexperienced young girl had applied rouge at random to his uneven skin.

“Is it really appropriate, my Lord, to so publicly question something so sacred as the young girl’s virtue—”

“It is no more or less appropriate than the murder of my grandson on his own wedding day!” Tywin’s voice was raised with what an onlooker may have described as unrestrained anger — but it was measured, carefully meted out, as all the words that had come before.

Your hands shook where they were clenched together under the rim of the dias— they may as well have been chained as Tyrion’s were. The smaller man looked at you now, and it felt like the weight of a great boulder crushed into your chest as you realized there was pity in his eyes. You didn’t want it, and it soured in your stomach the longer you felt it — as if it would rot you from the inside out, the contents of your soul spilling out for all to see.

Finally, Oberyn spoke. The tone of his voice was casual, but you could hear the underlying strain, that sense of unease that crept into it like a viper slithering through the bed of a garden.

“Forgive me — I fail to see the relevance of my relationship with the Lady Stark to your son’s trial.” He gestured with one ring-covered hand at the older man adjacent to him. “A relationship which, I assure you, is most platonic in nature. We have both known the great depths of grief and it is a comfort to speak about it with someone who understands such things.”

The crowd was uncharacteristically silent as the two men held each other’s gaze, elevated upon the judge’s platform, on full display. Their facades seemed to be stripping away, layer by convoluted layer, hurtling towards the exposure of the raw core that lay underneath this entire charade.

They ordered the butchery of my sister, and her infant children.

Oberyn’s words — it seemed like so many lifetimes ago that the two of you had sat in the shared sanctity of that abandoned section of the gardens — echoed through your head, forming a haunting rhythm that beat against the inside of your skull, and your muscles throbbed with the intensity.

He seemed larger now, a hulking dragon that Tywin was all too eager to attempt to slay, as he had slain a entire house of dragons in the years before. The latter’s eyes shone with the potential blood that could be spilled over the dark stone floor. His brow twitched up his forehead by a hair's breadth.

Oberyn seemed to speak without need to open his mouth. Go ahead, old man. I have no fear of the true heart of this matter. Do you?

For a moment, a dizzying beat of time, you thought Tywin Lannister would rise to the silent taunt, that his cold demeanour would crumble and crack and scatter debris about King’s Landing.

He drew in a slow breath, and he lowered.

“Very well.” His tone was jovial, but a hand remained closed in a tight fist at his side. “I only feared, Prince Oberyn, that the young Lady Stark presumed to use you for your vast knowledge on bodily poisons to better inform a plot to kill the King … since he was poisoned.”

The blood continued to rush through your ears, a steady charge that echoed the days you spent in the woods of Winterfell. It was the streams in high summer, which would flow with the same ferocity and vigour towards lower ground, a race they did not even know they had entered into against nature itself. You went there now, eyes squeezing shut with a pressure almost painful. 

Your feet would sit in the running water, the bottom of your skirts tinted dark where they had been splashed upon, the breeze kissing along the bare skin of your ankles. The image of your toes was rippled by the waves distorting their shapes and colours where they were submerged. Rays of sun would glint off the surface of the stream. You would stare up through the canopy of trees, hints of the sky beyond breaking through the thick overlay of their leaves, blue and bright as you’d always imagined the Summer Isles to be. Some days, you would lay on the gentle forest floor, the soft moss and mud providing a welcome respite from long afternoons in lessons with your young sisters.

Oberyn’s voice, warmth and honey, pulled you back, to your feet solid on the wooden dais, your breath sharp where it sat in your throat. It had been pulling you back for some time now.

“I am glad we were able to assuage your fears, my Lord.” He leaned back in the grand wood chair. You noticed, for the first time, the ornate carvings that adorned its edges, the grandeur of design in all the judges’ seats. It sat in stark contrast to the dirt and hatred of the accusations thrown across the room all day. “I hope you can rest in the knowledge that Lady Stark is as innocent in these matters as you are in them.”

You did not miss the double meaning to Oberyn’s words — and you knew Tywin did not either. They held gazes for another long moment.

“You are dismissed, Lady Stark,” he finally spoke. His voice was low, a lion crouched in the grass, prey helpless in its sights as he decided whether he should let it live or snap its neck. “I have no more questions for you.”

Numbness washed through you as you stood, and followed you as you approached the bench — Lord Varys looking on you with another set of sympathetic eyes you didn’t want — and you passed it entirely, the Gods themselves guiding your feet to take you out, out, out, until the warm air mercifully kissed your skin, and you swallowed it down in great volumes, though the sanded path before you swam in your vision.

The bushes lining the path swam, too, as you retched into them.

—

The stillness of your room unnerved you as you sat, sat and waited for a fate that wasn’t even yours, but felt heavy on you all the same. It was Tyrion Lannister who would lose his head if he was found guilty. Tyrion Lannister who would stare down the execution block, stained with the blood of all those who came before, including that of your own father. Tyrion Lannister who would be sentenced to death at the hands of his own family.

So why did it feel as if his fate would become your own?

You waited so long that the sun began its descent through the sky, cutting through clouds and painting them hues of violet and orange. Children who had played among the bushes, ducking and weaving as they exchanged the role of seeker and sought out their companion, were called in for their evening meal, the sound of their light footsteps fading as they rushed towards home. And you waited. For someone, anyone, to enter through the door and give you news that you weren’t even sure you wanted to hear.

Relief was a sweet drug in your veins when it was Oberyn.

Unabashed, uncaring how it appeared, you rushed to him, wrapping him in an embrace the moment the door closed securely behind him. You knew him — trusted him — to be clever enough to make his way here unnoticed.

You clung to him, hands fisted in the back of his robe, as if he were an anchor and you were in a storm at sea. One of his hands cupped the back of your head, warmth emanating from the point of contact.

“He’s demanded a trial by combat,” he said softly. His breath fanned over your hair. You pulled back, just an inch, to tilt your face toward his. You couldn’t read the expression in his dark eyes. “Tyrion. He knew men would never grant him a fair trial … but the Gods may.”

Your hands tightened in the fabric. You had never known the Gods to be so kind as to bestow proper justice.

“It is an ordeal for another day,” Oberyn murmured. He searched your face, pouring an intensity into you that made your head spin. “You must trust me. Do you?”

“You know that I do,” you breathed. You watched his throat bob, brows drawn together tightly.

As his hand descended down your back, the thumb making a soothing motion against the material of your bodice, you felt a weight drop through your chest, and you surged forward.

Your lips against his felt like coming home. His hand in your hair tightened, and he took half a step back in surprise before pressing back with just as much strength, moulding his mouth to yours in a comfortable and familiar pattern. They played well together, your mouth and his, and for the first time you admitted to yourself it was a game you never wanted to end.

It could have been a moment or it could have been a lifetime before you broke off from him, heavy breaths intermingling in the spare inch of space between your lips. Words seemed impossible to form, your mind filled with sweet syrup that dripped through your body where it pressed against his. You tugged, insistent, on the edges of his jacket, knuckles brushing against bare his skin underneath. 

His free hand, warm and strong, came to rest on your waist and put pressure there, and for a terrifying moment you thought he meant to push you away. But then he followed your backwards movement easily, not giving room for any additional air between your bodies, and relief was a palpable taste in your mouth. He wanted this too.

You cupped your hands over his jaw, thumbs tracing along the hair styled there. It was longer than you were used to seeing on him, it’s shape less clean cut and more unruly, indicating that he had not shaved for several days now. Your mouth followed the path of your hands, descending from the sharpness of his jawbone to the smooth column of his neck. He tasted of the golden rays of the sun, of the steady richness of the earth beneath your feet. His skin underneath your mouth was the ground, and you floated down from the stars to meet it.

At your ministrations, he groaned, the sound vibrating out from his throat into your very bones, settling there. His thumb rubbed circles on your hip, the fabric just barely starting to bunch there.

“Raya…” he rumbled. “Little wolf.” You preened at both of your names from his lush mouth, pressing a hand to his arm and squeezing. “You must stop this before we go some place you cannot come back from.”

You pulled back, further this time, your eyes meeting his. They seemed to pass an infinite set of words between them before you could form any from your lips instead.

“I wish to go there, Oberyn,” you breathed. Even in the silence of the room, it was a strain to hear your own voice. “They all believe it anyway. Let me … please, I—“

His brow furrowed, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “This is not a kiss, little wolf.”

“I know.” Your voice came sharped this time, honed by the blade of frustration and the dissolution of hope. “They have taken … everything from me. My home, my family, my future.” You choked on the words as they clawed their way through your throat, leaving wounds over the scars that had existed there. “I want this and I want … I want to know someone who is kind and gentle. I want that, and I want it to be you. Please. Do not condemn me to a life without it.”

His eyes seemed to soften, and you closed yours as a familiar burn built within them. You felt a hand — so soft you could almost believe it was the wind — brush back the hair that had fallen into your face.

“Then it would be my honour.”

Before your eyes could open again, his lips were on yours once more, this time with a softness that threatened to melt your body from the inside. A single tear slipped free from its reins, spilling over your skin, leaving a hot trail behind. Oberyn wiped it away with a slow stroke of his thumb. He began to walk, urging you backwards, your steps clumsy but unhurried as he continued his attentions upon your mouth.

You were feeling dizzy with it by the time your legs made contact with the bed behind you. With a sharp inhale, you broke off the kiss, your eyes blinking rapidly to adjust. His hands wasted not a single moment, moving down — your neck, your arms, circling your waist before settling behind you, where he deftly began to unstring the intricate laces of your bodice. You mentally cursed your own dressing decisions from that morning, but he seemed not to struggle, the fabric falling away from your body as it was an enemy he’d cut down on the field of battle without a second thought. The cool air rising from the bay kissed the bare skin of your shoulders, your back, you legs, as the dress pooled ever downwards, leaving you only in your light shift beneath.

A shiver crawled up your spine. Upon seeing it, Oberyn brushed a gentle hand down the bones. 

“Will it hurt?” you murmured. Your mother and Old Nan had imbued you with stories of the loss of maidenhood, a woman’s first battle, where she would adorn the sheets with blood not so dissimilar to her own flowering. 

He pushed you back further still, leaving you no choice but to climb onto the mattress behind you, gooseflesh rising where your bare skin met the silks of the bedding. The pillows gave way beneath you, a soft space to land as he hovered above you. Oberyn lowered his face into the crook of your neck, his breath pooling there.

“No, my little wolf,” he whispered into your skin. “It will, most assuredly, not hurt.”

Despite his words, you struggled to believe him, and you couldn’t help but feel your muscles tense slightly as his hand crept lower, running along your stomach, still covered by your shift, until he reached the tops of your thighs. His fingers played along the skin there, testing, as he propped himself up on his other elbow. His jacket had fallen open fully, exposing his chest underneath. It was smooth, golden, radiating a warmth that compensated for any chill entering the room from the open window.

His eyes poured into you as his hand slowly ran along the edge of your smallclothes, seeking permission at every step. You brought a hand up to the back of his head, running it through the close cropped but soft hair. You nodded almost imperceptibly, but he saw.

Drawing the last of your clothing down, pushing your shift up around your stomach, Oberyn touched you with reverence you had never imagined possible as he approached the place which no man had ever seen. You spared only a moment’s thought to the belief you’d had, once, that your husband would have been the first and only one to know you this way. He was faceless, nameless, some lord or knight whose face was soft and manner was kindly. Not yours to chose, but yours alone to have.

Oberyn was none of those things, but he was the one you wanted regardless.

Never breaking eye contact, his hand grazed along the apex of your thighs, light at first but increasing in pressure as you didn’t push it away. Your breath was caught in your throat, at first solely because it was cold — not because of the temperature of his skin but because of the sheer heat coming off of you in waves. You could feel it burn along the skin of your inner thighs. His hand was ice in comparison.

He continued to increase the pressure of his fingers on you, harder and harder still, but gently stroking all the while, and something began to build. You gasped into his mouth, hovering now above yours, eyes shutting unbidden against the sensation you struggled to make sense of for the first time in your life. His hand now worked masterfully on the very core of you, the blazing embers of a fire you had never imagined you possessed. 

Time seemed to slow to a syrupy crawl under his ministrations, and you began to feel suspended from it entirely. All that was, all that had ever existed, was the two of you in this bed, his hands on you, and yours on him where you grasped the back of his neck, nails digging into his skin whilst the pleasure built under yours.

“Howl for me, little wolf.” Oberyn’s voice was light and breathy, and his mouth descended onto your neck as his own body moved in rhythm with yours. You felt the hardness of him against your thigh, thinly veiled by the linen pants he still wore. You tried your best to oblige him, but all that passed your lips was an equally breathy moan. He laughed, not unkindly. The flow of it over your skin only heightened what you were feeling. “I suppose that’s close enough.”

You could not help but to laugh in return, but it was soon cut off by a gasp as he pressed one strong finger inside of you. 

It was fast becoming too much for you to bear, and you buried your face into the side of Oberyn’s, legs tightening of their own will around his forearm. He placed soft kisses onto the column of your throat, as if in encouragement. His finger crooked just so, his thumb pressing in succession, his lips searing hot against your skin, and the waves crashed upon the beach inside of you, your whole body tensing with an exquisite ache.

“You are beautiful,” Oberyn said. His eyes saw into your soul, into the essence of your being, and were full of nothing but admiration as he looked upon you. Gaze never straying from yours, he shifted, and with a few slow strokes pulled his hand away. 

He admired the remnants you’d left on his fingers, before bringing them back down to tend to his own garments. In a blur his pants were discarded, and you heard the soft sound of them landing somewhere undetermined on the stone floor. He came to settle between your legs, and you secured him there with your limbs in turn, but still — he hesitated.

You drew a hand along his jaw, cupping it in your palm, thumb gently tracing over his cheek. It felt as if your life hinged on this moment. All of the things your family had imagined for you fell to one side, with all that you wanted falling to the other. And, for once, you had a choice to tip the balance. With just three words, you did.

“I want this.”

It seemed that Oberyn needed not a word more. His mouth descended on yours, a kiss so reminiscent of the first one shared between you as he entered you. Instinctively your hands came up grasp his arms to either side of you as you processed the barrage of feelings coming over you.

As he continued to move within you — to make love to you, to take you, to fuck you — your mind spun. You could not believe that this was the woman’s duty as so many had spoken of it to you, from the time you were a young girl not yet flowered. A service to one’s husband, they had said. A responsibility most serious, to provide men with heirs at their behest.

But this… this was no duty, no sacrifice, no service you were to perform. This surely must be something different entirely, something sweeter than summerwine and immensely more intoxicating. With every movement of Oberyn’s hips, pleasure rippled through you, building impossibly high and crashing through every inch of your skin. You were on fire, you were submerged in ice. You were alive and you were dead. You were everywhere and you were nowhere, all in the same moment in time.

One of his hands explored your body at will, grazing against a breast, still hidden by the thin fabric of your shift, his thumb tracing around where you could see one nipple peaking a tent through it. Continuing its path, his hand descended between your thighs again, and this time you let out a stream of moans as the feelings layered within you, pooling in your centre.

“Oberyn. Oberyn.” Your voice came out as a whimper, saying his name like a prayer. He groaned, a long and low sound in the back of his throat, and his hips stuttered in their rhythm. Warmth grew within you, emanating from the point you were connected, settling in your limbs. His hand redoubled its efforts, and you followed him back into the waves, where they once again washed over your head, pulling you underneath to drown in the waters.

Moments later — you could not say how many or how you got there — he cradled you into his warm chest, his hand stroking along the bare skin of your upper back. You let yourself settle against him, your mind finally wiped free of kings and lords and wars and trials. It was only the two of you, and this room, and this bed. He had you, body and soul, and you him. And since the moment you’d left Winterfell, this felt like the only correct turn you’d been able to make.

You drew back for a moment to admire the planes of his face before pressing up with a gentle kiss against his lips, which were full with colour and swollen. You did not want to imagine what yours looked like.

“Raya,” he murmured against your lips. You smiled, only for a moment until the next words escaped him. “I’m going to volunteer as Tyrion’s champion.”

——

oh hello! im not sure if.. anyone still wants to be tagged in this but ill do everyone i tagged last chapter and if you dont want that lmk!

@radiowallet @pedros-mustache @magpie-to-the-morning @heavenseed76 @dazedrhapsody @highsviolets @sherala007 @adancedivasmom @skeletoncowboys @xsadderdazeforeverx @iamskyereads @mswarriorbabe80 @prettylilhalforc @elinedjarin @spoopyredacted @frannyzooey @fan-of-encouragement @djarinsbeskar @fucktheforce @leannawithacapitala @starla1979

love u all mwuah

#game of thrones fanfic #oberyn martell x original character #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell #game of thrones #oberyn x reader #oberyn x you #mywriting

[copiousloverofcopia]

🌟🍾✨ HAPPY NEW YEARS EVE 2024! ✨🍾🌟

It's crazy to me that I have been writing for this fandom another whole year!

I wanted to take this moment to tell you all how much your love, support and friendship has meant to me. I have never felt so welcomed and accepted by a group of people as I do by the Ghost community. You all make me smile and give me so much joy. Thank you and I wish for you all the most wonderful 2024, to much more fluff, romance, and a fuck ton of smut!

🌟🍾✨🍾🌟 Cheers to 2024!!! 🌟🍾✨🍾🌟

To celebrate here is last Ghost snippet for the year, a little gift to my ghestie @cardinal-copia-popia 💗

I hope you all enjoy!

Commissions are OPEN, please see pinned post for Carrd info!

La Serenata

The Night before she is to wed Papa, his Prime Mover to be is awaked by peculiar sound.

Also available HERE on AO3!

Definitely NSFW below the cut!

The moon was so bright it lit up the sky. Stars, like strings of lights, hung high overhead as the Abbey settled in for the night. The crickets were chirping and the wind rustled gently through the trees. All the makings of a peaceful evening were falling into place, yet she could not sleep. 

She laid in her bed, facing out at the open doors of her balcony. Staring past the dark, grand vastness of her private room. A luxury she'd only been afforded in the last few weeks, when their engagement was officially announced. It had only been a short time ago that she was in the siblings' quarters. Sharing a room with a few other sisters, all who spent their nights giggling and swapping stories—the daily antics of ghouls and jealous proclamations of Omega for having gained Terzo's favor. 

Times when Stella had worried little about the trials of love and more about her devotion to her studies and her service to Lucifer. It was only in them did she find true salvation—a true purpose. Her heart, however, was made anew when she was instructed to work with the meek Cardinal. An assignment, only meant to last for a short time before his tour—turned to a whirlwind romance. 

A shared confession of love, and a few nervous spurts of laughter, led to an endless night of passion. Copia and Stella, inseparable ever since. It came as no surprise to the Ministry as a whole or the other inhabitants of the Abbey, when she accompanied him on tour. Returning together, after months of rituals, as Papa Emeritus IV and his bride-to-be. 

Now, after weeks of rigorous planning and careful attention to detail, the night before their wedding was finally upon them. Daylight only a few short hours away and Stella had finally decided to give up on the tossing and turning. Reasoning that if she must be deprived of sleep, then she would at least allow herself to take in the moonlight. Basking in it as her thoughts and the sounds of night surrounded her. 

She walked out on her balcony. The walls, like much of the Abbey, shrouded in flora. Plants like veins, crawling on every brick and pillar they could reach. Embedding themselves there for eternity. Their grip, like the nerves that had taken hold of her. 

She closed her eyes as she reached the railing. The wind, drifting smoothly through her dark strands of hair. Feeling the grain of the wood against the softness of her palms as she took hold of it. There was so much excitement she held inside—Stella thought she might burst. Counting down the hours, minutes, and even seconds when she would finally become truly his. 

She took in a deep breath and exhaled. Trying to let go of her anxiety as she listened for Copia's voice in her head. That soft sweet tone, telling her how she needed her sleep. She smiled, thoughts of him comforting her as she decided to make her way back to bed.

Stella climbed back beneath her covers with his voice lingering in her mind. She rested her head into her pillow. Breathing in his scent left there from the night before. Finally her heavy eyes began to close. The burden of her thoughts succumbing to the call of sleep.

It could have only been mere moments later when Stella awoke to the sound of rustling outside. Whispers and hushes echoing from below her balcony jarring her awake. Stella grabbed her night robe and carefully walked to the archway of her balcony. Hearing familiar voices beneath her in the courtyard below. 

“You didn’t wake Mountain for this.” whined Dew, dragging his feet while the others prepared below. 

“Well that might have something to do with the whole drum set thing…don’t cha think?” Aether quipped, shooting a sly smile over to Dew. 

“Can the two of you manage one night without a tiff, please.” Copia hushed, nervously pacing as he waited to begin. 

“Sorry Papa.” Aether and Dew apologized. Copia pressing his lips into an understanding smile. They were doing him a favor after all. Up at this late hour, all so he could serenade the love of his life on the eve of their nuptials. Hoping to prove his devotion one last time before he’d be seen awaiting Stella at the end of the aisle. 

Stella had managed to sneak outside unnoticed, peering over the rail as she watched Copia with his ghouls in tow, setting up beneath her. Adjusting the fit of his collar and clearing his throat as the ghouls gave him the signal they were ready to go.  Music started playing and quickly Copia's melodic voice carried the words straight to Stella's heart.

🎵 Can you hear me say your name forever? Can you see me longing for you forever? 🎵

He had sung, Aether and Dew playing acoustic on their guitars, and Cumulus doing her best on the violin. Stella instantly felt the pang of tears in her eyes as she approached the center of the rail. Her soft brown hair, glistening in the moonlight. Igniting a fire inside Copia as their eyes met.

🎵 Would you let me touch your soul forever? Can you feel me longing for you forever, forever and ever...🎵

Stella had never been more in love. His words felt wholly within her soul. His heart on his sleeve and his voice, beginning to quiver the longer he went. The emotions had hit them with all the force of the cosmos. Messy and chaotic, but perfect and beautiful. 

This song…Copia’s song more than anything was his way of pledging undying love. Knowing that Stella too would cherish him forever. The depth of emotion spilling out from him, as he sang the final words of the song—overwhelming. Copia and Stella, having felt all the joy and pain that it was truly love someone. 

As he stopped, he climbed up the terrace. Like something out of a Shakespearean play. Scaling the wall to find her sweet face waiting for him. Stella, kissing him so deeply he thought he might fall backward to the ground. 

“Oh Cope…I’m sorry.” She laughed against his lips. Both of them, amused by the situation as he quickly regained his balance. Tears streaming down their cheeks and love between them melting away their surroundings.

“It’s alright amore…everything is now that we are together.” he assured her. Hearing the ghouls agree it was time to take their leave. Stella hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest. Intoxicated by the familiar scent of bergamot, rosemary, and musk. All things she had come to love—a reminder of him.

“Cope this…this was…perfect.”

“No amore…you are perfect.” he asserted, finally climbing over the rail and into her arms. The two of them holding on to one another for dear life. Kisses like wildfire—burning with passion and need before Copia had stopped to take Stella’s face in his hands. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked him. Copia smiled, thumb wiping away the tear that had fallen from her eye. 

“I don't know what the future holds amore, but regardless of what may come…it will be incredible with you by my side.” 

“Oh Cope!” she cried, pulling him back to kiss her. There was a shiver in her breath. The anticipation of his touch, tingling along her skin. Their lips, never leaving one another as they made their way back to her bed. 

Stella laid back onto the silk sheets. Her eyes still filled with tears as her husband-to-be hovered above her. Fingers gently touring her body like a well known map. Touching her, just right across the swell of her breast l, trailing over her stomach—finding paradise in the warmth held between her legs. 

His fingers gently pushed through her folds and his tongue filled her mouth. The evidence of his need, achingly pressing tightly against the inseam of his pants. Begging for release so that he might find himself inside her once more. 

“Copia!” Stella called out as his thumb swirled against her clit. His pace hungry and desperate. Longing for the feel of her tightly squeezing around his fingers. He worked her insides, carefully. Methodically pressing into the spot he knew sent her teeth on edge and her body at the brink of release. Delighting in every moan, whimper, and cry. Her legs, shaking as he continued on.

It wasn’t long before he had Stella coming hard and fast over his fingers. Her hands, still grasping the fabric of his shirt. Almost having gone numb as she released her grip, body limb with ecstasy.  

“Stella, I need you…please.” Copia spoke. His breath heavy against her lips. His heart, pounding inside his chest. 

“I need you too.” she cried, both of them working to remove all the barriers between them. Piles of clothes discarded, painting the room with their desperation. Stella made a space for him between her legs. Copia, settling into it with ease. A place he had been welcomed many times before. His cock, quickly nudging against her entrance. The soft, yet hardened head teasing her so perfectly.   

Without hesitation her hips, raised up to meet against him. Her body, calling out to him without having to say a word. Their eyes locked as Copia pushed his way inside. Mouths falling open as he buried himself to the hilt. 

Stella was overcome with the sensation as he slowly began moving in and out. Copia too, reveling in just how soft and silky she felt inside. Her walls, that of a temple, his own personal place of worship. Never was he closer to any god than when he was inside her. Their eyes, beginning to close as she wrapped her legs around him. Drawing him in deeper with each of his thrusts. 

“Ah Cope…” Stella moaned, her nails digging into the flesh of Copia back. Copia grunting and growling with the delicious sting as he carefully picked up his stride. Both of them, too drunk in pleasure to think or care of anything else but the feeling between them. It wasn't long before he could feel the telltale sign of her orgasm.

Stella's body forcing his seed to spill deep inside her. Moving with intention as they both came down from the high. So lost in their love making that they reached the point of exhaustion. The two of them, quickly finding their way into slumber—held closely in one another's arms.

The dawn broke over the horizon. The western woods, illuminated in the golden sunlight as the date of Copia and Stella’s wedding had finally come. They might have slept the day away, had they been allowed, but a loud knock at the door awoke them.

“Sister Stella are you in there?!” shouted a familiar voice. Sister Imperator's commanding and foreboding tone, unmistakable. 

“Uh yes…I...ah.” she panicked, quickly wrapping herself in the sheets as the door came swinging open. Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil rushing in with a look of concern upon their faces. 

“Pardon the intrusion sister, but we are having trouble locating Pap—oh my!” Sister Imperator staggered. Watching as her son slowly rose from his spot on the bed beside Stella. 

“Seems as if you've found me.” He chuckled, his eyes going back to his bride-to-be. A smile, slyly growing across his face. 

“So it does.” She huffed, rolling her eyes as her and Nihil took their leaves. Copia and Stella left chuckling to themselves in bed. His hands, holding her face as he kissed her. 

“Are you ready to be my wife Mrs. Emeritus?” he asked her. Stella pressed her cheek against his palm as she turned to kiss his hand. 

“More than anything Papa…more than anything.”

#NYE 2024 #NYE!!! #✨🍾🌟HAPPY NEW YEAR 2024!!!! #NY2024 #gift for my ghestie cardinalcopiapopia #ren writes #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfics #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction #copia #papa iv #papa emeritus iv #copia x sister of sin #copia x sister of sin stella #papa iv x sister of sin #papa emeritus iv x sister of sin

[foone]

Hi I'm Foone Turing. I've been here a while but never really did an introduction post, so...

Hi. Yes, that's my name. I'm an asexual trans enby (they/them pronouns), I'm married, and I'm both older than you expect and younger than you expect, depending on what you know me from. I'm a writer and programmer. I'm better known on Twitter, at the moment. I'm well known for being severely ADHD and I'm also on the autism spectrum, somewhere near ultraviolet. I live near Oakland, California, USA, but I grew up on a farm in the south. I'm a furry, but I don't have a fursona yet.

I'm big into retrotech stuff, especially floppy disks. 80s and 90s PC stuff mainly, but I have a passing interest in everything else. I loves me some weird tech that you have no idea ever existed. I'm also big into analog media. VHS tapes, laserdiscs, that sort of thing.

Fandom wise, I'm a Trekie from way back, primarily in the TNG/DS9/VOY/ENT era. I haven't yet gotten into the new stuff, and I have only a passing knowledge of the original series. I'm also a big fan of Babylon 5, Red Dwarf, and Doctor Who (4th doctor, and new who doctors 9,10,11). I watch a bunch of British panel shows: HIGNFY, Mock the Week, Nevermind the Buzzcocks, 8 out of 10 cats (primarily the countdown spinoff).

I am a Big Hater on crytypocurrentseas and AI art. I used to be famously mad at the JWST, but now that it's in space and functional, I've calmed down. They just need to rename it and I'm golden.

I'm currently splitting my social media presence across three sites:

* Tumblr, obviously. Shitposting, jokes, queer stuff, and queer joke shitposts are all going here.

* mastodon: I'm putting my tech stuff here. Teardowns, building new death generators, fun historical weirdness.

* Twitter: formerly my primary platform, but now I just use it to keep in touch with people and make fun of the impending collapse of Twitter.

Stuff I do and have done after the readmore.

(I'm on mobile now but I'll get back to this on the desktop and add more links)

* I run lettuce.wtf, a webcam showing a lettuce to see if it will outlast Twitter. (My money is literally on the lettuce)

* my long running site The Death Generator: a tool for making fake video game screenshots, with user supplied dialogue.

* I run some Twitter bots, one of which is more popular than me, and all of which will need to be migrated soon: Gay Cats, WinIcons, Print Shop Deluxe, and Every Clue Line.

* I got Microsoft 3D Movie Maker open sourced

* I got rickrolled so hard that it ended up on national TV

* I ran doom on a pregnancy test

* I have made many horrible and weird keyboards. Keyboards with hair, keyboards which write poetry, keyboards that take 5 hours to say "hello world", keyboards with randomly placed keys, keyboards with 7 toggle switches instead of buttons, and many more.

* I tear down random electronics and try to figure out and explain how they work. (originally on Twitter, but moving over to mastodon now)

* I pissed off the FBI on more than one occasion. They tried to get me fired, they delayed my wedding by over a month, and they mentioned my 4chan nickname in a federal trial.

* I used to work for 4chan. I was a moderator and coder, I created /rs/ and /r9k/, and I convinced moot to destroy the original politics board (for obvious reasons). Things went further to shit after I left, but I am still glad I left. Oh and I also inadvertently prevented the creation of the 4chan dating/meet up site by being too ADHD to actually complete development of it. You're welcome.

* I ran a windows 95 machine for the maximum amount of time. There's a bug where it crashes after 49.7 days of uptime, so I let it happen. I livestreamed the end on YouTube.

* I've done exhibits at the Vintage Computer Festival on the history of floppy disks and optical discs.

* I've worked with the Video Game History Foundation (and others) to preserve old games and game development resources (source code and such). I'm big into archival!

* I wrote a really famous Twitter thread about the surprising way our vision works, which is still circulating in screenshots (including on Tumblr!) something like 5-6 years later.

* I made my old apartment play the Zelda Ocarina of Time shop music when you walked I the door.

* I run the Tumblr animefloppies, collecting screenshots and GIFs of floppy disks in anime.

* I run several other sub-tumblrs for collecting weird things, but I'll have to link them later.

* I am technically a speedrunner. I did the TAS of Duke Nukem 1, episode 1, and a joke speedrun of Solar Winds, where I beat the game by ignoring every single possible objective and just flying to the end, which takes over an hour.

* I used to make games. Some of them are available for download.

* but it still do, too: I'm working on a (currently unnamed) game about managing a dairy farm. Both the developers have ADHD. This is going to take forever before it comes out, if it ever does.

* I'm currently working on three books. Two are compilations of stuff previously twitterized, one is a novel:

- Always Screaming Forever: non-fiction, stories about my career in the tech industry and various other tech/science/history stuff I love ranting about.

- The Other Side of Screaming: fiction. My short stories.

- Mundane Kaya Sona (placeholder title): a linguist gets pulled into an FBI investigation into a car crash. An unknown language leads to the discovery of a wizard living in a forest in Oregon, and an interdimensional plot to smuggle nuclear weapons to another world, and break a cold war stalemate we (the planet earth) didn't realize we were in. I've been working on the setting for this story since I was about 7 years old, and I'm excited to finally get it out of my head and into yours.

* I'm probably forgetting like 5-10 major things I've done but ADHD is a hell of a drug. I'll add more as they come to me.

#Introduction #Foone

[inamindfarfaraway]

I can perfectly picture a Batman: Wayne Family Adventures two-partner that properly introduces Harvey Dent, Two-Face, their relationships with Bruce and vice versa. But I can't draw in the slightest. So I'm going to script it and you'll have to use your imagination. It’s a little longer than the average WFA two-parter. But given how many thoughts and feelings I have about Harvey, I’d say it’s impressively concise. For me. If you like how I write Harvey, I recommend my fanfic spotlighting him as a teenager, compared to which I must warn you this script is positively fluffy. Read it on AO3 here! If you want to draw any of this, please tell me in advance and use the updated original post or the AO3 fic, not necessarily your reblog.

A Second Opinion

Part 1

[Panel one. Vertical rectangle, full screen. Nighttime. The exterior of an abandoned building that is notably more decrepit on the right side, Two-Face's current base of operations, from a distance and high angle. The Batmobile is parked outside. Bruce as Batman is seen on the rooftop from behind, striding stiffly toward the skylight. A speech bubble floats in the air above him.]

Barbara: Are you sure you don't want backup?

[Panel two. Barbara as Oracle watches with a frown of wary concern at her desk in the Clocktower.]

I know these confrontations are very personal for you -

[Panel three. Bruce leans over the skylight seen from below it, about to kick it in. His fists and jaw are clenched, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed sharply; even for Batman on a mission, he's in a bad mood.]

Bruce: I'm fine. I have him right where I want him.

[A speech bubble floats in the space below the panel.]

Harvey: I have him right where I want him!

[Panel four. Fade into a flashback. In stark contrast to the dull and dark blues, greys and blacks of the present scene, the flashback panels are full of light, saturated and warm colours. Harvey Dent stands at a round red table outside a café on a sunny day, beaming. He's a handsome, sturdy man with neat, short black hair, a semi-formal brown suit and wide brown eyes. He was seated, but has risen and slammed his palms down on the table in his enthusiuam. Slightly low angle, like the camera is on the table, and to the right so we have a better view of his left side. A gold wedding ring gleams on his finger. His introduction box reads: ‘Harvey Dent, District Attorney. Gotham’s best lawyer, technically and morally.’.]

And think of the implications! If the Salvatore Maroni can face justice, so can anyone.

[Panel five. He paces a little behind his chair, gesturing animatedly. Motion lines trail and curve around the other way behind him. His right side is now in profile. Same angle, but pulled back to see over the shoulder of a younger Bruce wearing a nondescript black shirt.]

If his empire can crumble, so can any criminal organization or corrupt institution, no matter how powerful. This trial could be a beacon of hope for Gotham. Proof that the law can actually help people, that the spirit of it is alive.

[Panel six. Opposite Harvey, Bruce is sitting comfortably. He has notable eyebags and less light in his eyes than Harvey, but smiles in earnest admiration.]

Bruce: I think you're right. Maroni used to own the city, but ever since you, Jim and Batman started working together...

[Panel seven. Side shot of both of them from Bruce's right and Harvey's left, showing them down to their legs. Bruce leans forward. Harvey has sat back down. In the background, their memories conjure a vision of Batman and Harvey shaking hands before the Bat-Signal. The figures' lower halves fade to translucent above and behind their real counterpart's heads. That Harvey is smiling too and the one leaning forward, while Batman's mouth is a flat line but his eyes are soft.]

things have changed more than I could have imagined.

Harvey: I just hope we can keep it up. Maybe in a few years, Gotham won't need a Batman.

[Panel eight. Close-up on the right half of Bruce's face, a narrow vertical box in the upper left section of the screen. His expression is of shock and vulnerability, although he isn’t offended. He has simply never considered being able to end his crusade before. Panel nine. A bigger square containing his entire face and taking up the rest of the screen.]

Bruce: Do you really believe that?

[Panel ten. Closer front shot of Harvey at eye-level. We can now see that he actually does have bags under his eyes. He's more pensive and his smile drops.]

Harvey: Yeah. I mean, Bats is a great guy. I don't want him to just disappear. But his methods...

[Panel eleven. Deep shot. Two petty crooks run through an alleyway at night while Batman looms behind them atop a ledge, a huge, hulking silhouette crouched animalistically with piercing white eyes and clawed fingers raised to pounce. The scene is somewhat abstracted to highlight the criminals' emotions. The alley walls seem to be closing in on them and Batman's curling cape flows into the surrounding darkness. Angle is above the very small-looking criminals, but below Batman such that his striking, soulless eyes glare right at the reader. Harvey's speech bubbles are in the top left and bottom right corners, framed by the blackness.]

fighting violence with violence and terror with terror... they're hardly ideal, are they?

[Panel eleven. Harvey places his right hand on Bruce's left arm in pride, who is too busy processing to return his smaller, softer smile of personal affection. Side shot from Harvey's left and Bruce's right that cuts them off at the torso.]

In my opinion, the work you're doing with the Wayne Foundation does better at lowering crime rates in the long run.

[Panel twelve. Over-the-shoulder shot again, Harvey's this time to show Bruce full of love, relaxing and leaning into the touch.]

Bruce: Well, in my opinion, you're a better person than me or Batman.

[His second speech bubble descends into the empty space.]

And I’d love to see the day Batman can retire.

[Panel thirteen and fourteen occupy different vertical halves of the screen and the same horizontal space for half of their lengths, the former higher, the second lower. The first shows Harvey from the right cut off at the thighs, in a courtroom, delivering some kind of unwritten passionate declaration; on his left and in the background, the defendant, the aforementioned crime boss Maroni in a nice black suit, holds an opaque bottle labelled as cough medicine and smirks viciously. The second is a close-up of Harvey’s head on the floor. Only the right half of his face is visible, the left turned away, and he is howling in unfathomable agony, tears streaming down his cheek. The stem of his speech bubble reaches down to the top of panel fifteen. This is a straightforward frontal shot of Bruce in the present. He stands tense and grim, poised to throw a Batarang with his right arm. Silver moonbeams shine through the broken skylight. Layered in front of the panel’s top border and behind Bruce, Harvey’s scream appears to ring through the cowl’s bat ears and extends continuously offscreen in extra large, blood-red lettering. The bubble fades around it to make it stand against the background.]

Harvey: ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Bruce: Two-Face.

[Panel sixteen. Same angle of Harvey and Two-Face. The left half of their face is ravaged by raw, pink chemical burn scars and has a bloodshot eye with burned lids; even their right eye is sunken and shadowed with a menacing glint; their hair is the same on the right, but bleached white, longer and wild on the left; they wear an angular, elegant suit divided vertically in alternating black and white. They’re smiling smugly, posture calm, confident and commanding. Their right hand aims a pistol at Bruce, and the camera. The other hand, bereft of a ring, holds their two-headed coin. Their introduction box reads: ‘Harvey Dent & Two-Face. All the drive. Fractional sanity. Half the morals, or less.’. The outlines of their speech bubbles are smooth as usual on the right and rough and scribbled on the left when both alters in the system are in relative cooperation - a dual consciousness referred to as ‘H/TF’ in the script - completely smooth when the still goodhearted, but deeply troubled Harvey is speaking alone, and completely irregular for the much more merciless, callous Two-Face personality alone.]

H/TF: Bats! Let us guess: you didn’t bring any backup because you have a self-righteous hero complex about us in particular?

[Panel seventeen. Closer frontal shot of Bruce scowling and hunching his shoulders in shameful concession.]

Two-Face: Good. Those Robins are nothing but trouble.

[Panel eighteen. Long rectangle panning down the room. Bruce and H/TF are in the background as H/TF gesture with their left arm to two men dressed like high-level businessmen in the foreground, tied to chairs with a gun pressed to each of their heads by H/TF's identical twin henchmen. The captives are bruised, cut and slumped in exhaustion.]

H/TF: Now, take one step toward us and the hostages get it. Don't go feeling sorry for them. They work for Oswald Cobblepot. His reform is fake -

H/TF and Bruce: Obviously.

H/TF: And they've already told us everything.

[Panel nineteen. Horizontal side shot from Bruce's left and H/TF's right, to frame the hostages between them.]

H/TF: But if you go after us, you'll lose your best lead on his criminal activities.

Bruce: And people will be dead.

H/TF: Yeah, whatever.

[Panel twenty. Close shot of H/TF from the left. They look left, contemplating their coin in their open hand. One face is corroded and blackened by acid, the other shiny and clean, both visible as it's drawn in a motion frame while spinning.]

You say that making our decisions based on chance is irrational and unhealthy, but believing in free will isn't all roses either. So many tough choices.

[Panel twenty-one is small box in the middle of the screen capturing the impact of the Batarang knocking the gun out of one of the henchmen's hand. H/TF's speech bubble floats in the space below it.]

There's never a win-win, is there?

[Panel twenty-two, a vertical rectangle. In the lower foreground and to the right, a gleeful H/TF bolt to the slight right of the camera, relishing both their escape and how unhappy their enemy is. In the background, Bruce restrains the armed henchman with a bolas while knocking the unarmed one out behind him with a backhanded blow. His cape billows with his rapid movement.]

At least the coin lets us be unpredictable!

[Panel twenty-three. Angle is essentially Bruce's POV. H/TF glance over their right shoulder, showing their unscarred features twisted in mockery, and sarcastically wave with their gun. They're just beyond the doorway.]

By the way, we're very good at getting two things done at once. You might wanna check your car.

[Panel twenty-four. Outside. Bruce's shadow falls from below the border diagonally over the Batmobile. Its tyres are slashed. Its fuel is leaking out into a puddle underneath it. In the next panel, we see him at eye height past the front end of the car. He has fallen to his knees, head hung.]

Bruce: Oracle? You were right. I need help.

[The black sheen of the Batmobile fades into a flat black background below. But then, within the darkness, floats a speech bubble.]

Barbara: You've already got it.

[Panel twenty-six. The first two sentences are in a bubble at the top, connected to the final sentence’s one dead in the middle. She's viewed from behind at a low angle looking up at her computer monitor. Her shoulders are assertively squared. Her security camera footage is split in two; Bruce and the crippled Batmobile are in the left window and H/TF's getaway car (also black on one side and white on the other) racing along a road in the right.]

We've been gathering intel. We know where Two-Face will strike next - and you know him as well as he knows you. Let's make a plan B.

Part 2

[Panel one. Distant establishing shot of a brightly lit black-tie gala in a vast, ornate hall, the tasteful decor dominated by white, light blues and silver. A caption informs us that this is 'The Cobblepot 'Charity' Gala'. Oswald Cobblepot is in the heart of the crowd, shaking hands with some official. Bruce Wayne is within earshot, but nearer the double doors. Panel two is a lower, tighter horizontal rectangle where Oswald and his guests are staring at the camera with tiny black dots for eyes in alarm at the doors slamming open. H/TF’s shadow falls over the floor. Panel three shows that Harvey and Two-Face have invited themselves, holding an assault rifle in both hands. Three smaller vertical panels on alternating sides of the screen show the doors being locked by pairs of Two-Face's minions in contrasting, complemetary outfits and wielding guns. The bird’s eye view of panel seven makes it clear that the guests are surrounded and trapped. Panel eight cuts back to H/TF.]

H/TF: Good evening, scum and enablers. We're -

[Panel nine takes us closer to focus on their - or rather, Harvey's - surprise.]

Harvey: Bruce? What are you doing here?

[Panel ten is a frontal shot of Bruce, like the camera's been reversed in the same position. His confusion is an act, but his concern is real.]

Bruce: I'm the richest man in Gotham and this is a high-society gala. What are you doing here?

[Panel eleven. Side shot that doesn’t show the scarring. Harvey lowers the gun, eyes softening as Bruce reaches out to him.]

I thought we agreed that you still needed treatment.

Harvey: I…

[Panel twelve. Frontal short. Remembering his mission, Harvey loses a degree of control and the two embittered alters lightly push Bruce away and point the gun straight ahead at Oswald with a glare. Motion lines trail from their arm.]

H/TF: That doesn’t matter! What matters is taking down the Penguin!

[Panel thirteen. Oswald presses a hand to his chest, somehow at once mortified and supercilious. You can hear the melodramatic sad violin. Beside him, his associates are cowering and aghast.]

Oswald: Why, everyone knows that I’m reformed. Attacking me when I’m doing good just proves how far you’ve fallen.

[Panel fourteen. H/TF snap at him furiously, and their speech bubble is large, spiky (still with the different texturing) and has a red outline for emphasis. Their eyes are stylized as flames; their right eye’s flame is orange and the left’s blue. Bruce is giving Oswald an intense sidelong glare. His lettering is smaller and his bubble's outline dashed to indicate that he's speaking under his breath.]

H/TF: SHUT UP!

Bruce: Shut up.

[Panel fifteen. Wide low angle shot up into the shadowy rafters. Damian, Dick and Tim are hiding in their vigilante identities and watching the scene below intently, at the ready. Their speech bubbles are dashed as they’re whispering. Damian is tense like a coiled spring, hand is on the hilt of his sword. Dick’s facial expression is blatantly disdainful of the villain in question, but his position and body language are calmer. Tim is all business.]

Damian: Shouldn’t we -

Tim: Not until the signal, remember? We don’t want to escalate and endanger the civilians.

[Panel sixteen. Close-up profile shot of Dick.]

Dick: Yeah, I hate Two-Face, but Bruce has got through to Harvey before.

[Panel seventeen. H/TF aim their gun with their right hand as their left reaches into their pocket to take out their coin. Their jaw is tight in composed ire. Diagonal angle to show Bruce on their right, overlaid by the gun. HT/F's speech bubble is near their head, but Harvey's is under the panel-dividing horizontal line of the gun.]

H/TF: You have the right to remain silent, forever.

Harvey: Bruce, get out of here.

[Panel eighteen, a square. Bruce is alone in the frame. He folds his arms, Batman's stern, steely presence creeping into his expression and posture.]

Bruce: Whatever you're willing to do to those people, you can do to me.

[Panel ninteen. Same composition with H/TF. They frown, the unscarred features looking regretful while the scarred ones look annoyed and disdainful.]

H/TF: Fine. Just stay out of our way.

[Panel twenty. Close up as they flip their coin. We get the blurring motion displaying both sides again. The next panel is a repeat shot where Bruce’s right hand snatches the coin in midair.]

H/TF: HEY! Give it back!

[Panel twenty-one. Extreme close-up, narrow horizontal parallelogram focused on Bruce's defiant stare. His speech bubble floats close underneath.]

Bruce: No.

[Panel twenty-two. He holds the coin out of reach. The camera is angled over and to the side of Bruce's left shoulder, to put as much visual distance between his outstretched right hand and H/TF as possible, Bruce's body in between them. H/TF’s left hand is balled into fist around the lowered gun while their right gestures like they’re arguing a case in a courtroom. They look resentful, but also coldly resigned. The speech bubbles can extend out of the panel. In the backgroud, some of the guests are depicted as simplified, featureless figures.]

H/TF: They aren’t worth sticking your neck out for. Nobody in Gotham is -

Harvey: I learned that the hard way.

Bruce: And I’ve learned otherwise. This won’t make things better, Harvey.

[Panel twenty-three. Two-Face fixes the gun on Bruce with a sadistic, unhinged snarl that’s distinctly his own.]

Two-Face: Listen, Wayne, I don’t care for you a bit. Give us our coin back or I’ll -

[Panel twenty-four. Bruce raises an eyebrow.]

Bruce: But what if it’s good heads?

[Panel twenty-five. Two-Face freezes. A ‘Twitch’ sound effect is at the corner of his right eye. Panel twenty-seven. A henchman aims his own gun with nervous eagerness.]

Henchman: I'll get your coin for you, boss!

[Panel twenty-six. The vigilantes leap down from the rafters. Dick's already thrown a Wingding to disarm him that flies downward rotating and seems to cut the shape of the panel, which has a tapering lower end.]

Dick: No!

[Large red 'BANG!' sound effect between panels. Panel twenty-seven is a small box in the middle of the screen showing the Wingding knocking the smoking gun away a split-second too late. Panel twenty-eight. Bruce and Harvey in the background and the bullet in the foreground are centred. Harvey slams into Bruce and knocks him down with his full weight, briefly putting himself in the path of the bullet.]

Harvey: Bruce!

[Panel twenty-nine. Long, vertical rectangle panning down from above the vigilantes standing in dramatic heroic landing poses at the top of the frame, wearing varyingly emotive expressions of shock, to Bruce lying propped up by his elbow and Harvey on his hands and knees at the bottom. The discarded assault rifle hits the floor between Harvey and the vigilantes with a 'Clatter' sound effect in yellow, uneven text. The coin slips out of Bruce's hand with a motion line to rest between him and Harvey. Panel thirty. Angle at eye level with Bruce and Harvey. Bruce sits up. He stares at Harvey with shining eyes and the beginnings of a smile as he processes what just happened, and what didn’t precede it.]

Bruce: You saved my life.

[Panel thirty-one. Angle is behind Bruce’s head. Harvey avoids eye contact, showing Bruce his unscarred profile. He’s solemn and though he too has a relieved hint of a smile, it doesn’t reach his eyes.]

Harvey: You never stop trying to save me. It was the least I could do.

[Panel thirty-two. Harvey’s POV. Low angle, tilted up at Bruce on his feet, offering his hand to help him up. We can tell that it’s Harvey’s perspective with both eyes because the left half of the image is dim and blurry due to the damage the acid did to his left eye. The speech bubbles are exclusively on the right.]

Bruce: It isn’t too late, Harvey. You can still heal. You can get better, be better.

[Panel thirty-three. Close-up on the right half of Harvey’s face, a narrow vertical box in the upper left section of the screen. His expression is of tentative, wary hope and raw vulnerability. He has wanted to end his crusade throughout its duration, but never been able to. Panel thirty-four. A bigger square containing his entire face and taking up the rest of the screen.]

Harvey: Do you really believe that?

[Panel thirty-five. Side shot that now only shows the side shot of Harvey’s face. Bruce kneels down be closer to eye level with him.]

Bruce: Yes. Always, I’ve been where you are. Feeling like you can never be more than all your pain and anger. But if you want a second opinion, I think you’re a better person than you know.

[Panel thirty-four. A square in the middle of the screen. Harvey’s right hand reaches out to Bruce’s waiting one, but lingers, tense and trembling, above the coin. Panel thirty-five. Vertical rectangle. Harvey shrinks in on himself, hunched over with his face buried in his arms and hands clutching his hair; perhaps he doesn’t trust himself not to pick up the coin and give Two-Face a means to make harmful decisions, just can’t make another choice of his own or both. Around him blackness with spiky, scribbled inner edges consume the screen like reality is fracturing or dissolving, or some all-consuming destructive force is coming for him.]

Harvey: Just… just take us to Arkham. We deserve it. We need help.

[The black extends, replacing the white background. But then, within the darkness, floats a speech bubble.]

Bruce: You’ve already got it.

[Fade into panel thirty-six. Horizontal rectangle. Distant, high angle. The black lightens to purple and becomes the night sky, which is warming to pink at the first moment of dawn. Harvey is handcuffed, about to enter a police car on his right. A cop is escorting him. However, Bruce has his left arm around his shoulders and they’re both in relatively good moods, similar to how they were in the flashback.]

Harvey: When did you get so optimistic, Mr Gothic McBrooding?

Bruce: Someone has to be. And hey, I had a good teacher.

#i would DIE AND GO TO HEAVEN if somebody drew any of this #the tone of wfa makes a softer happier bruce and harvey friendship story that they desperately need fit so well! #GIVE US THE HURT/COMFORT #but then again #at this point i kind of don’t want wfa to give harvey more focus because they won’t do it like this #featuring: #harvey being a fundamentally good person! #harvey and bruce being best friends and soft with each other! #bruce’s faith in harvey getting rewarded by the end! #two-face also having good intentions and targeting other criminals as a dark mirror to batman with none of the restraint #bruce being a foil to both harvey and two-face with several thematic verbal and visual parallels between them #a tragically hopeful flashback to before the maroni trial! #bruce having guilt and trauma over harvey that makes him especially vulnerable when they clash! #the objectively best two-face suit design of half-black and half-white #harvey and two-face knowing batman so well (without even knowing that he’s bruce) that they can very effectively outwit him #babs as oracle being cooler and doing a better job than bruce (offscreen but still)! #two-face’s hatred of all the robins! #dick’s hatred of him right back! #harvey dent #two-face #bruce wayne #batman #bruce and harvey #batman: wayne family adventures #wayne family adventures #bwfa #wfa

[kirythestitchwitch]

Klaroline WIP Wed - waffle house au - Homoerotic Frenemies™️

There was nowhere to gracefully end this scene so y'all are getting a huge chunk today, please enjoy.

Part One here

Part Two here

Part Three here

“Especially me. But not about this.” The sound of a toilet flushing and then hands washing came faintly through the walls, and Caroline’s hearing focused on the back hallway until Rebekah’s voice was clear. “Now pay attention.” 

Oh, Caroline was.

A door opened, and a girl made a startled noise. “Oh, excuse me, I—”

“You will be silent.” Rebekah’s voice was strong, confident. “You will not fight. Stay calm.” There was a small shuffle, and then the door shut.

“Now listen to her heart,” Rebekah said, voice slightly muffled through the door but still so distinct to Caroline’s vampire hearing. “Can you hear it?”

It was like being caught in a spell, the horrible curiosity that rose in Caroline’s gut. Her first real meal of the nurse had gone so well, and then her second of the carnival man had gone so, so wrong. No one had been willing to train her on how to eat like a real vampire—Stefan’s squirrel hunting lessons definitely didn’t count—and so it was blood bags or risk killing again by accident in her own attempts at trial and error. She didn’t want more Mrs. Johnsons. She didn’t want her mother to look at her like that ever again.

But oh, Caroline was hungry for something real.

Staring unfocused at her biology book only seemed to help sharpen the sounds from the bathroom—the rustle of clothes; the soft breath from two mouths; one singular heartbeat, slow and steady. “Yes,” she answered hoarsely.

Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.

“Good,” Rebekah practically purred. “When it gets noticeably faster, stop. The more you take, the more their little heart rushes about. Now, listen.” There was the wet pop of teeth breaking skin, a choked gasp, and then the steady swallows of Rebekah drinking her down, down, down.

Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.

Rebekah made a soft noise of enjoyment and Caroline ducked her head as the veins shifted under her eyes in hunger, in want, in some sick jealous need that clawed up her throat and burned to be fed. She could, if she would just get up, join Rebekah. The other girl would let her have a bite, she was sure, would encourage her slouching into depravity one reasonable step at a time. She could practically taste the warm blood in her mouth, the faint prickle of her fangs against her tongue a warning sign.

Ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum.

‘No,’ she thought, gripping the edge of the table with one hand. Shutting her eyes and letting her hair fall across her face, she pushed down the monster, pulled on the control she relied on daily. She would do this on her own terms and not because she’d been goaded into it by some bored brat.

Ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum!

As she opened her eyes, Rebekah hummed. “Hear that? Any more and she’ll get wobbly. Best to let her go after healing her, if you’re trying to cover your tracks.” There was a bite, a slight struggle. “Come on, drink up. You know, I’m being very generous tonight, you should thank me.”

A sputtering sound. “Thank you?” It was clearly a question.

“Mm, you��re welcome.” One that was lost on Rebekah. “Now,” her tone turned commanding, “I release you. You won’t remember anything after I bumped into you.” The door squeaked open quickly.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” the girl said, voice apologetic, normal. As if the last several minutes hadn’t happened at all. Compulsion was such a weighty tool in a vampire’s hands.

“It happens,” Rebekah said, a sly smile in her voice. After a second, the door closed again and the girl appeared in the hall archway, clothes slightly rumpled but otherwise unmarred. She happily sat down with her companion and resumed their conversation.

With that it was like the sound rushed back in from the diner, Marcy mid-story in the corner with June and Frank’s continued humming while he cleaned the grill. No one seemed to have noticed her momentary lapse; it had lasted only seconds, really. She set her phone down on the table and picked up her coffee mug, drained it, even though it was lukewarm at best. The funky taste helped clear her mouth of any blood, real or imagined—had she bitten her tongue? She didn’t think so—and by the time Rebekah slid into the seat across from her, she felt like she had put a lid on things.

#klaroline #klaroline wip wed #tvd for ts #klaroline for ts #waffle house au #little bit nervous about this one ngl #i'm kind of a humor writer #not sure how this fic's vibes are gonna go

[draguta]

.a court of ash and smoke | twenty-one.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: five years before feyre archeron ever stepped foot in prythian, another human girl found herself in the spring court. but the trials and tribulations of her time under the mountain left her with nothing but a certain red-headed high fae emissary, who had once resented her entire presence, to help and guide her.

chapter warnings: n/a

chapter word count: 3114

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Winter Solstice

Being back out in the sunlight, in those rolling fields of the Spring Court, hands running through the grass, almost felt like those first six months that you had spent there, back when everything had been simple. Before Amarantha, before Under the Mountain, before Feyre, and before Lucien.

It was so odd to think back to those times now, to consider how much your life had changed since then. You were no longer a mortal, and you carried around within you not only a great, dark power, but also a deep ridden guilt and fear. So, looking out at the villagers as they danced and drank and played merry in those fields, it felt almost as if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, as if everything could be ok, just for that one day. Even if it was only temporary.

You stuck close to Feyre’s side, wandering through the fields and greeting the villagers that came to say ‘hello’. They all seemed so glad to see the future Lady of the Spring Court amongst them, and seeing the way that she interacted with them, you could tell that she was in her element. She had even worn a dress for the occasion, a pretty plain blue dress with little white lace at the sleeves and hem. This was where Feyre was meant to be, not locked up in that manor, not kept to herself each and every day while Tamlin all-but forgot about her existence. 

Yet, there was still a small pang of jealousy in your gut, because you realised that Feyre had a purpose, even if it was one that she did not want. But you. You had nothing, no real reason to be there, no job other than your own research which had come to a rather sudden block, with no further information available in the library. You had considered asking Tamlin if there were any other books that might be useful in his study or personal connection, but had thought better of it, knowing what his reaction would be if he found out you were researching a way to harness your powers.

Besides that, you had very little to do with your days, and whilst Feyre was not able to leave the manor, watching her plan her wedding and those parties, watching her at Tamlin’s side, no matter how much you knew she loathed it, was enough to make you feel that tiny bit of jealousy. She had a purpose, a job to do in that manor, she had Tamlin, and she had Ianthe. You had nothing.

“Oh, don’t you two just look lovely,” Alis said as she approached. She held the hands of two young faeries, who looked no older than a mortal ten or eleven would look. They both had the same bark-like skin that Alis had, and you knew immediately that they were her nephews. They beamed up at you and Feyre.

“Well, you did pick out my dress,” Feyre chuckled, giving her a small hug. Alis turned to you next, giving you a hug too, and looking you up and down.

“Was this Carla’s choice?” She asked, taking in the white bodiced dress with shimmering yellow skirts and little embroidered daisies on the corset.

“No,” you smiled. “This one was my pick.”

“Well, I think you need some flowers to compliment it,” she chuckled, crouching down to her two nephews. “Why don’t you go and find the ladies some flowers for their hair?”

The boys nodded eagerly and ran off through the crowds toward the meadow. As you watched them go, smiling after them, your eye caught Ianthe as she arrived at Tamlin’s side, and your smile immediately dropped as you hoped and prayed that she wouldn’t see you. Much to your annoyance, Tamlin caught Feyre’s eye and nudged Ianthe toward us. Alis took in your scowl, glanced over at Ianthe, and linked her arm through yours.

“Why don’t you come with me,” she mused knowingly. “We’ll get you some wine.”

She grabbed you a glass of wine from the table of refreshments just as the music began to play. You glanced over your shoulder, smiling when you saw Tamlin playing his fiddle and Feyre beaming on the sidelines as she watched him. Alis was quickly pulled away by two other faeries to dance, and so you leaned against the table and watched. Alis danced around the meadow, although perhaps not as spritely as the younger faeries. Everyone was so happy, glowing in the sunlight, thankful for the first real holiday since Amarantha’s reign.

“Excuse me lady,” a voice sounded from somewhere behind you, and you turned to find Alis’ two nephews smiling up at you, bunches of daisies and dandelions in their birch-like hands. “We brought you these.”

“Wow,” you beamed, crouching down. “They’re so beautiful. Would you help me put them in my hair?”

The boy nodded eagerly, and you sat fully on the grass a little further out of the field than the dancers as they began to lace the flowers into your hair. You felt, in that moment, quite content.

Lucien sighed as he tied his horse to a nearby tree, patting her on her neck with a small smile, before turning to start the trek to the top of the field where the party was taking place. He took a bite of the sandwich that he had packed for his patrol day, likely not as delicious as the food down at the party, but he wasn’t sure he would stay long enough to eat anyway, just enough to show his face and disappear back to the manor for the rest of the day. He loitered a little, trailing his boots over the very tips of the grass strands; the last thing he wanted to do that day was attend a party. There seemed to be too much up in the air, too much happening even now that Amarantha’s reign had ended, that to sit there and drink and dance and celebrate seemed almost wrong. The villagers needed it, however, he knew that, and he was sure Tamlin and the ladies could do with a moment of celebration too. They had been through so much, the ladies especially, and Tamlin’s new decree of house arrest for them wasn’t helping matters much. He just wanted to get them out, to take them somewhere out of the grounds, even for just a day. Especially you. You deserved it more than anyone, even if he was still angry at you.

He couldn’t understand why you had done what you had done. Well, if he was being honest with himself, he knew why you had done it, just not the reasoning behind who you had done it with, and even knowing why you had made that decision, he thought, wouldn’t make it hurt any less.

‘You distanced yourself from her,’ he reminded himself. ‘You brought this upon yourself, you can’t complain about it now. What did you expect would happen? That she would sit around and wait for something that you were never willing to give her?’

And that was the be all and end all of everything. He wanted you - Cauldron, did he want you - but he could never have you. You were the cream set just out of the cat’s reach, the thing that he yearned for but could never touch. Not just because of Tamlin. No, if his only issue was Tamlin then it would make the situation rather more simple, but instead he knew that should he ever indulge himself in you, he would only be putting you in danger from his family. That’s what he had done with Jesminda, and he was adamant that he would never let it happen to you.

Jesminda. It surprised him that he hadn’t thought of her in so long, not since he had left the mountain with you. Besides those dreams, that is, where he would see Jesminda’s death play out right before his eyes as if he were reliving it all over again. Only it was never Jesminda’s face that he saw anymore. It was always yours.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty.”

Lucien spun, blinking in shock. She couldn’t be there, not there beside him, so close that he could touch her if he just reached out his hand. Her gold-tinted skin glittered in the sunlight, her brass coloured hair seeming lighter than he remembered it being; perhaps he had already forgotten what she really looked like.

“Jesminda,” he whispered.

“Hello Lucien,” she smiled. That smile seemed to light up the world around her, as it always had.

“I don’t understand,” he said, brows furrowed and lower lips trembling as he looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her neck; no slit throat, no knife marks. “How are you here?”

“I’m here to talk to you, silly,” she laughed, bright and airy. “Didn’t you miss me?”

“Of course I did,” he said, taking a step closer to her. “I-I’ve missed you every day, my dear Jes.”

She stepped a little closer, her hair never moving despite the slight breeze. “Can I ask you something?”

He smiled, tears forming in the corners of his eyes; how many times had she said that to him over those years that they had been together? How many times had he replied in exactly the same way? “Always.”

“What is it that you’re afraid of, Lucien?” She asked, voice soft and sweet as it always had been. “Why do you push her away?”

Lucien paused, looking at his long-lost love wide-eyed. “What do you-”

“You fear loving again, do you not?” She asked, as they reached the top of the meadow and looked down to where the party was in full bloom below them. She turned, looking out across the field, but not to where Lucien could see Alis dancing around the maypole, nor where he could see Tamlin playing his fiddle with the musicians. She looked past that, just outside of the party, and when he followed her eyeline, he realised what she was looking at. There you were, sat in a pool of your own glorious yellow skirts, laughing and joking as Alis’ nephews plaited little flowers into your hair. Your smile was bright and beaming, just as bright as Jesminda’s had always been, lighting up a little halo around you. “She needs you, Lucien.”

He blinked back at Jesminda, blinked back those tears that fought their way to his eyes. She seemed to be fading now, her form less solid, less real.

“And you need her,” she smiled softly. She reached up, placing a translucent hand on Lucien’s chest, right over his heavily beating heart. “It’s time to let me go.”

He glanced back down at you where you sat in the field, and couldn’t help but smile. Despite everything - how much he had resented you when he had first met you, everything that had happened Under the Mountain, his family, Jesminda, Rhysand - he couldn’t help but admit that perhaps Jesminda was right. He did need you, even if he wasn’t quite ready to accept that just yet.

He opened his mouth to say something, but when he turned back Jesminda was gone.

Your book was folded in your lap. You had managed to write plenty up until that point, from the moment that you had arrived in Prythian to the moment Lucien had lost his eye. Each place in your story had its own little drawing, although you would admit that they weren’t very good. Feyre was the artist, not you. Every person had their own illustration too, from the hooded men, to Tamlin, Amarantha, and finally Lucien. Unlike the others, Lucien’s portrait took up a whole page, rather close to the front of the book. No matter how much further through the story - your story - you got, you would always end up turning back to that page and adding something extra, for the simple fact that every time you looked at him, even from afar, you found something else about him that you hadn’t noticed there before. An extra fleck of light in his russet eye, or a freckle on his tanned skin that you had never seen, a wisp of crisp red hair that you hadn’t added before. Regardless of how much you added to it, that drawing never felt finished, and never felt as if it truly portrayed him the way that it should. Maybe it would never be finished. Maybe you would never stop finding new things about him to add. That wouldn’t be so bad, you thought.

You had moved to the outskirts of the party since Alis’ nephews had finished your hair and been called back to their aunt’s side, sitting in the grass below a large tree that provided a refreshing shade from the Spring sunshine. It offered you the perfect view of the entire party below.

“Just keep an eye on her,” you heard Tamlin’s voice from the bottom of the field over the sounds of the music. In the distance, you could see Feyre dancing with some of the village children, already looking lighter and fresher than she had before now that she was out of the house again, even if she had looked positively ghostly during those early sunrise ceremonies at the temple. You were sure you had too. “I don’t want her left alone.”

“Tam, maybe there’s someone else-” You froze. Lucien was walking by Tamlin’s side up the slope of the hill that you sat on, heading directly for you.

“Lucien,” Tamlin said, his tone waring. “Let the others enjoy the holiday.” Lucien sighed, running a hand through his hair, and you spotted a small cluster of browner strander under the top layer of red; another detail you would need to add to your drawing later. “And Lucien, I swear to the Cauldron, you keep your hands to yourself.”

With that final bite of words, Tamlin was rushing back down the hill to join Feyre, ushering her away from the dancing and toward the side for refreshments; apparently Feyre wasn’t even allowed to dance anymore.

Lucien looked up then, biting the inside of his cheek as he caught your eyes, letting out one final puff of air before ascending the remainder of the hill. He slumped down beside you, leaning against the tree. You cleared your throat, drawing his attention to you.

“Not in a dancing mood?” You asked with a slight raised eyebrow, pretending that you didn’t already know that he had been sent just to babysit you.

“No,” he muttered.

“Perhaps a drink then,” you suggested. “Alis told me that the faerie wine they’re serving today was made in the Spring Court. She said it’s the best faerie wine money can buy.”

“I’m sure Alis would know,” Lucien remarked, motioning his head to where a rather drunk-looking Alis was spinning around with her nephews. You chuckled slightly, and looked back at him.

“Well then, if you’re not in the mood for a drink just yet, maybe I can give you your Winter Solstice gift,” you suggested, closing your book and laying it on the grass beside you. Lucien’s eyes snapped to yours in surprise.

“You got me a gift?” he asked, and when you nodded, he simply huffed out. “You know you’re only meant to get a gift for the person you respect the most, right?” You didn’t reply, instead holding his gaze, chin held high, a silent confirmation that he was right. “You really didn’t need to.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But I wanted to. Think of it as my way of an apology.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Lucien retorted, although you could hear the bitterness in his tone.

“Please, just hold out your hand,” you argued. He hesitated a moment, eyes scanning your face, but eventually held his hand out, palm upward. You slipped your own hand into the pocket of your dress and pulled out your gift, placing it in his hand and wrapping his fingers around it carefully. When you pulled away, he glanced at you once, and then down at his hand which he unwrapped, and stared in awe.

“Y/N,” he whispered, and your name on his tongue once more brought a shiver to your spine, one that you would simply blame on the spring breeze if he noticed. He held up his gift - a crystal amber gemstone still wrapped in its original rock, shimmering in the sunlight.

“Taken from the balcony of the Day Court,” you explained. He glanced over at you then.

“This is what reminds you of me?” He asked, almost in disbelief. You nodded as your ears burned.

“The gemstone is amber, just like the colour of your hair,” you noted, pointing from the gem to his hair as his lips curled into a small smile despite himself. You twisted your fingers in your lap as you continued. “And it’s rough on the outside, just like you. Cold and sharp when you first touch it, but when you open it up, the inside is beautiful, and light, and warm, and smooth to touch. Just like you.”

He held the stone tightly in his grasp, holding it to his chest before turning to you with a smile. “Thank you,” he said, and you knew that he meant it. For most people usually only saw that harsh exterior of Lucien, the warrior, or the wise snark that slipped from his tongue, but you had seen what lay beneath, he had let you see it. “I actually have a gift for you too, although I’m rather regretting my choice now, as it will never be anything quite like this.”

“I thought you were only meant to get a gift for the person you respect the most,” you remarked, but he just smirked. He took one more look at the stone, before turning to fish something from the satchel that he wore. As he turned, you found him holding a solitary rose, clenched between both hands. You knew what it meant the moment you saw it. A beautiful flower riddled with thorns; beauty with a sting. That was how he saw you. You couldn’t help but wince at the thought.

“I know,” he said slowly, lowering the rose into the crook of his outstretched, crossed legs. “It was silly, I know.”

“No,” you whispered, reaching forward and taking the rose from him. “It’s beautiful.”

You held it up to your nose and inhaled its scent, fresh and floral and earthy. ‘Anything and everything that he is willing to give you,’ you told yourself. ‘Even if it means a prickly thorn-riddled rose.’

#ACOTAR #ACOTAR fanfiction #ACOTAR fanfic #Lucien Vanserra #Lucien #Lucien ACOTAR #Lucien Vanserra fanfiction #Lucien Vanserra fanfic #Lucien fanfiction #Lucien fanfic #Lucien x reader #Lucien Vanserra x reader #Lucien x you #Lucien Vanserra x you #Lucien x y/n #lucien vanserra x y/n #rhysand #feyre #tamlin #elain #nesta #cassian #mor #azriel #amren #amarantha #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

[skelavender]

“So you’re saying these… creatures bet on their victims?” “They’re like Incubi and Succubi, but they don’t seem to have a sex or gender preference. Sirens, maybe? Usually, they can be deadly, but these ones seem to have turned it into a game,” Mulder says. “Creatures like this are usually sustained through sex, and usually choose one victim at a time and move on once they’ve killed them, these ones get around. They’re…” “Sluttier?” She suggests. “You said it, not me.” OR Newly married (but only on paper), Mulder and Scully take on Las Vegas, and the (literal?) demons within.

read chapter 1 of heartbeats, the second installment in the fall into place series, on ao3, or below the cut!

Your heart is what moves you. It’s what keeps you alive. It spreads through your body what is needed to stay alert, to manipulate your body. It keeps your brain functioning. Your heart is your life force. 

But love. Love is what keeps you going through trials and tribulations. Love is in both distance and proximity, in words and in silence. It’s everywhere. 

In the medical sense, your heart is a muscle. Spiritually, your heart is everything. 

***

Since she put it on her finger in the hospital for the first time since her only-on-paper marriage to Mulder, Scully’s wedding ring has become a bit of a thing. 

When she’s home alone, she wears the ring on her finger instead of on the chain around her neck. She takes it off only to wash the dishes and shower. It was like wearing it in the hospital had broken the seal for her, and now she was addicted to it. The weight on her finger is a comfort. 

She misses it, when she goes back into the office and has to go back to wearing it around her neck. She finds herself reaching to run her left thumb along the palmar side of her ring finger, where metallic star shaped grooves should lie. If Mulder notices, which she suspects he does, he doesn’t mention it. 

After Nebraska, something shifts. It’s like a switch has been flicked, and Scully is letting pet names slip out when talking to her partner. It’s another habit she can’t seem to stop. 

Without looking up from the autopsy notes she’s reviewing, “You have to finish that report, sweetheart, or Skinner will chase you down for it.”

When he drops a glob of ketchup onto an X file he’s reading while eating lunch, “I told you to wait until you were done eating, honey.”

It’s addicting. So is Mulder’s blush whenever she lets one slip out. 

He doesn’t call her anything back. No baby, no darling. She hadn’t really expected him to, though. He doesn’t need to. The way Mulder says Scully drips with affection, like it’s an endearment all on its own.

She knows that Mulder expresses his love through his actions. He doesn’t need to tell her he cares about her, his actions do it for him. He charges into danger to save her, frequently. He does her favors without asking for anything in return. Just on this alone, she knows he loves her. Of course he does. They’re best friends. 

But he is also physically affectionate. 

He touches her frequently. A hand on her lower back as they climb up the stairs of a porch when they’re about to interview someone. A finger against her hairline when a piece of hair falls into her face. A knee bumped against hers as they share lunch on a bench on the Mall. It’s perpetual. It’s nothing new, but she fucking loves it. 

Now, for example, as they examine a file laying in front of them. Scully is sat at the desk chair with Mulder hovering over her, one hand braced on the desk, the other on the back of her chair. His arm brushes the small strip of skin on the back of her neck between her bob and her blazer. 

It’s electrifying. 

“So you’re saying these… creatures bet on their victims?”

“They’re like Incubi and Succubi, but they don’t seem to have a sex or gender preference. Sirens, maybe? Usually, they can be deadly, but these ones seem to have turned it into a game,” Mulder says. “Creatures like this are usually sustained through sex, and usually choose one victim at a time and move on once they’ve killed them, these ones get around. They’re…”

“Sluttier?” She suggests.

“You said it, not me.”

“Mulder, they’re just a group of people who bet on conquests. It’s gross, sure, but I don’t see how it’s an X file.”

“Well that’s the thing, Scully, it’s a literal X file.” Mulder flips the file to reveal a photo of a man’s bloody back, two jagged lines criss crossing his skin. “I’ve been following it online for a while, but the local PD wouldn’t respond to my emails. The victims remember everything except the face of their attacker. No trace of drugs in their system, except small amounts of alcohol. And they’ve all woken up in the same park, with an X carved into their backs, shoulder to hip.”

Scully leans back in the chair, pressing into Mulder’s hand., “So we’re going to Vegas? It’s not exactly our usual small-town USA destination. ”

“Well what’s the worst that can happen, Scully? We get drunk and end up getting married again, this time by Elvis instead of Bartlett Tiddlywinks?”

“Well, it’d be equally ridiculous.” She says, “I’m not protesting. Just saying it’s… different. Refreshing.”

Mulder straightens, removing his skin from hers. She mourns the loss. 

“Good. I’ll submit the request to Skinner today, and let you know what time our flight leaves tomorrow.” His grin is lopsided and wicked, “See you in Sin City, Scully.”

***

She does not see him in Sin City. She sees him in Skinner’s office at eight in the morning, following twin 6am phone calls from Skinner informing them that their travel request would be approved under certain conditions, which he needed to discuss with them before they left. 

Scully arrives first, and is sitting on the couch in the anteroom with her ankles crossed delicately when Mulder waltzes in, not caring that he is seven minutes late. 

“What do you think it is?” He asks in lieu of a greeting.

“I don’t know,” she replies, “It can’t be that bad, though, if he’s still approving the request.”

“I guess not.” Mulder sits on the couch next to her, chewing at his lip.

Inside the office, Skinner sits at his desk, contemplating the dynamic between his two most codependent agents. 

There’s been a shift between them recently. Not just the fact that Mulder wears a wedding ring that he won’t tell anyone about, or that when Scully’s neckline shifts there is an extra gold chain around her neck that wasn’t there before. They’re just more… settled. At peace. 

But they’re still holding back. 

Maybe Skinner’s too attached to the Agents, maybe he’s meddling in a relationship that isn’t his business. But someone has to do something, and it isn’t going to be either one of them. Plus, if they get caught within the next month, Kimberly owes him $50.

Skinner stands to let the Agents into his office, holding back a smile. He’s got a bet to win. 

Mulder and Scully sit in silence until the door to Skinner’s office clicks open and the man himself leans out.  “You can come in now, Agents. My apologies, I had some paperwork to prepare.”

They settle in their usual chairs surrounding Skinner’s desk. 

“Agents, I called you in to inform you of a change in regulations related to your… situation.”

Mulder’s eyebrows shoot up, “Situation? Meaning the X files? Don’t tell me someone’s trying to have them closed again.”

“No, thankfully not. I was referring to your and Agent Scully’s… um…”

Scully stiffens. “Marriage,” she fills in.

“Yes.”

“Is a piece of paper filled simply for convenience's sake really going to prevent us from working together? No one else can investigate the X-files, sir, no one else would be as effective, or as dedicated–”

“Neither of you are being removed from the X-files, Agent Scully.” Skinner cuts her off.

“Oh,” Scully shifts back in her chair, not realizing she had sat forward during her passionate rant.

“I’ve been pressured to make budget cuts recently, and it’s been determined that travel expenses are the best way to do so. As a result, when possible, Agents traveling together will be asked to share hotel rooms. This isn’t going to affect most male/female partners, but considering the legal status of your relationship…”

“Anything to save a couple hundred bucks for the Bureau.” Mulder nods.

“Yes. Unless you have any strong objections.”

“Can we discuss it in private for a moment, sir?” Scully requests, and Skinner nods. 

“Of course, feel free to step out for a moment.”

They do so, and Mulder hunches over to speak with her, placing a gentle hand on her elbow. “Are you okay with this, Scully?”

“Yes,” she says, “I have no reason not to be. I just wanted to make sure you were, too.”

“We end up in the same room for all but sleeping half the time anyway. I would have suggested it so we didn’t have to bother calling on room over when there’s a development in the case, if it weren’t for the FBI regulations.”

“It makes sense.”

“Yeah.” she nods, and pushes the knob to tell Skinner they’ve come to an agreement. 

“Hey, Scully,” he says, and she turns back around to face him, “I call top bunk.”

She rolls her eyes with a small smile and pushes the door open.

***

They fly into LAX and drive to Las Vegas, because apparently Skinner was serious about those budget cuts and it’s ever so slightly cheaper. 

Mulder drives, and Scully naps in the passenger seat. She blinks awake when they’re 30 minutes outside of the city. 

She opens her eyes to see Mulder’s hands wrapped around the steering wheel. She hasn’t moved yet, he hasn’t noticed she’s awake. She gets to just watch him.

She loves him like this, relaxed behind the wheel. She loves him other ways, too. Just about every other way. She loves him absorbed in a case file in the office, chewing on some unidentified piece of plastic. She loves him standing behind her while they’re briefed on a case, a few inches closer than she’d let anyone else stand. She loves his face bright with laughter across a dirty diner table.

She can’t remember when she fell in love with him, but it’s been there for a while, a constant background simmering of affection. She supposes it happened slowly, between rental cars and stuffy basements and sterile morgues. She fell in love looking up at him, watching him listen to her like there was nothing else in the world he would rather have his attention on. Not like she was the only girl in the world, but the only one worth his time and attention. 

Mulder loves her too – that much is clear to Scully. But he loves her in the fierce, protective way that he loves the X-files, a far cry for the soft affection she feels for him. As much as she wants him to, he doesn’t see their bond as romantic. Mulder’s dedication to Scully is in the same vein as his dedication to his search for the truth. It’s just unyielding loyalty — the Fox Mulder way. He doesn’t do things by halves. 

His wedding ring shines in the streetlights as they pass, evidence of that very fact. Still, it amazes her that he wears it. It probably causes more problems than it solves, but he keeps it on anyway. It makes her feel important. 

She closes her eyes again, and rests until he touches a gentle hand to her knee where it rests near the center console. 

“Scully,” Mulder says, “We’re a couple minutes away from the hotel.”

She hums in acknowledgement and shifts to sit normally in her seat. “What time is it?” She asks groggily.

“Just after ten. We’ll wait until the morning to talk to the detective in charge?”

She agrees as they pull into the parking lot. She stays in the car while Mulder checks in. He taps on her window, which she is certainly not napping against, thank you very much, a few minutes later. She steps out of the car.

“Room 208,” Mulder says, holding out a key to her. “They’re out of doubles, but I’ve been assured this room has a couch I can sleep on.”

When they get into the room, Scully makes a beeline for the bed and faceplants onto it. She groans into the mattress, and hears the couch squeak under the weight of Mulder. After a moment, she shifts her head to look at him and laughs.

Mulder sits on what can only be described as the smallest couch known to man. It’s not even something that could be categorized as a loveseat, it looks more like something that came out of the child’s section of an IKEA. All six feet of Mulder sit crunched on the tiny piece of furniture, looking like a giant from a children’s book. 

“Bit of a tight squeeze there, Mulder?”

“A bit.”

Scully stands and starts to remove her blazer, heels, and tights, “The bed’s big enough for two.” She settles on one side and gestures to the empty spot to her left.

“You’re sure?”

“Mmhmm,” she affirms sleepily. 

Mulder stands up and settles on top of the covers, “Do you mind the tv?” He asks.

“Go ahead, m’asleep.”

He laughs softly, and looks down at his sleeping partner. He reaches down and brushes a piece of hair out of her face. “Good night, Scully.”

She doesn’t respond.

next chapter ->

#the x files #LTWrites #LTW: heartbeats #fics #fall into place series #txf fic #sorry this is later in the day than usual!!! i was hanging out with people for once crazy thought

[redundant2]

Valentine Low's book Courtiers, Part 2: Tiaragate

Interesting excerpts from the book, Part 2

Much has been said and speculated about in regard to the tiara worn by Meghan at her wedding to Harry. Here is what Valentine Low had to say about "Tiaragate" in his book, which was published before The Queen passed away:

"Being a royal would always mean dressing up -- and for the women, that meant jewellery. The Queen would sometimes lend pieces to existing and incoming members of the royal family. It was a gesture of welcome and support, but it could lead to problems."

"In the months before Harry's wedding to Meghan Markle in May 2018, Meghan was told that the Queen would lend her a tiara for the big day, just as she had done for Kate Middleton seven years earlier. An appointment was made in February for Meghan to look at a shortlist of appropriate tiaras at Buckingham Palace. Accompanied by Harry, and under the watchful eye of Angela Kelly, the Queen's dresser, who is also curator of the Queen's jewellery, Meghan opted for Queen Mary's Diamond Bandeau Tiara. So far, so good. Despite some confusing reports, there was no row about which tiara Meghan could have. She got her first choice. It was what happened afterwards that was the problem."

"Wearing a tiara is not a straightforward business. Hair and tiara have to be considered together, and Meghan needed to be sure her hairdresser had an opportunity to rehearse before the day itself. Unfortunately, on the day that her hairdresser, Serge Normant was in town, Angela Kelly --who has a very close relationship with Her Majesty and is an influential figure at Buckingham Palace -- was not available.

Serge Normant, Meghan's wedding hairdresser

"And if Angela Kelly was not available, neither was the tiara. In Harry's view, this was Kelly being obstructive, plain and simple. According to Finding Freedom, a decidedly pro-Harry and Meghan account of the couple's life together, Kelly had ignored repeated requests from Kensington Palace to set up a date for a hair trial. And Harry was furious. 'Nothing could convince Harry that some of the old guard at the Palace simply didn't like Meghan and would stop at nothing to make her life difficult,' wrote the book's authours, Omid Scobie and Carolyn Durand."

(I ... don't think this book quote means what the authors meant it to say. Maybe they meant to write that Harry felt the old guard at the Palace were out to block Meghan, and nothing would convince him otherwise? Tell me Finding Freedom wasn't edited well without telling me...)

"But there is another version: that it wasn't a snub, and that Harry and Meghan were naive at best, entitled at worst, to expect others to jump to their command when they hadn't even bothered to make an appointment. As a source told the Mail on Sunday:"

"'Meghan demanded access to the tiara. She didn't make an appointment with Angela, but said, "We're at Buckingham Palace, we want the tiara. Can we have it now please?" Angela essentially said, "I'm very sorry, but that's not how it works. There's protocol in place over these jewels. They're kept under very tight lock and key. You can't turn up and demand to have the tiara just because your hairdresser happens to be in town."'

"This did not go down well with Harry. He tried to get what Meghan wanted by ringing others to put pressure on Kelly to bend the rules, and in the course of his less-than-diplomatic efforts is said to have used some fairly fruity language. Whether Harry swore at his grandmother's aide, or about her, is not clear; either way, it is probably language that Kelly, the daughter of a Liverpool docks crane driver, has heard before. She is a forthright individual, who has not earned the nickname AK-47 for nothing. But she wasn't impressed. She reported all this to the Queen, who summoned Harry to a private meeting. 'He was firmly put in his place,' a source said. 'He had been downright rude.'

It was a very simple lesson: don't mess with AK-47."

From the book Courtiers by Valentine Low, pp 125-126.

Her Majesty The Queen Elizabeth II, American Vogue editor Anna Wintour and Angela Kelly, the Queen's dresser.

This is a great book, and I highly recommend reading it. It's chock full of interesting anecdotes. There is quite a bit more interesting info about Angela Kelly, who seems to have been somewhat sidelined since the Queen's passing. I do hope that Kelly did get the grace-and-favour home that the Queen had promised her for life, as she seemed to loyally protect the Queen at all times.

In regard to the tiara worn by Meghan at her wedding to Harry, some have speculated that it was a replica of Queen Mary's Diamond Bandeau, with moissanite gems instead of real diamonds - due to the way the light reflected on the stones. Would be interested if anyone has further thoughts or expertise on that theory, if you'd like to share.

I'll share more in subsequent posts about Angela Kelly, and of course, about the courtiers' version of events surrounding Harry and Meghan.

#courtiers #valentine low #angela kelly #harkles #tiaragate #british royal family tea

[wcrriorhearts]

Joffrey was like a little beast sometimes when she tried to wrestle him into bed, but nonetheless the princess insisted on doing so every night, now more than ever. Much had changed for her boys in the last weeks, after she had wedded Daemon and they not only gained a stepfather, but also new sisters in the twins. The cousins - now step siblings - got along well, but she could tell that all three boys were suspicious of Daemon. They all showed it in different ways; Jace by being quiet and stoic, Luke by being attached to her hip at all times and Joffrey apparently by biting ankles. Yes, ankles. Rhaenyra wasn't quite sure what had happened here, but she assumed that was the only body part he could reach, being so small. Luckily, the day had worn him out and he only put up a short fight, before falling asleep, while the older boys had gone to their rooms already as well. She crept out of the nursery and closed the door, before wishing the boys a good night and briefly hesitating in front of Rhaena's door, but deciding against bothering her.

Then she made her way up to the tower room she shared with Daemon and entered, already pulling the pins from her hair to open it. "Joffrey has turned into a dragon lately. Has one of your girls ever bitten ankles? I can't say Jace and Luke have", she sighed, but huffed a quiet laugh as she sat on the edge of the bed, one hand full of hair pins, which she discarded on her night stand. "I have to speak to you. Are you going to put your book aside and listen?" She loved that he liked to read as much as she did and most evenings were spent with both of them engrossed in their own tomes, unless their appetites demanded...other past times. She needed his whole attention, however, because the matter she had to discuss was important and delicate. The first trial for them, so soon into marriage. "I am with child."

@reiignonme gets a starter for Daemon

#ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ sᴀᴠᴇ ᴜs ᴍʏ ᴀᴛʟᴀɴᴛɪs ᴡᴇ ғᴀʟʟ ( House of the Dragon ) - Rhaenyra Targaryen

[maccas-strawbi-sundae]

✨💗 Late November! 💗✨

Hey everyone! I hope that you all had a wonderful October especially to those who celebrate Halloween! Hopefully everyone's November has been good too. This post is massively scatterbrained as I have kept going in and out of this post in my drafts also, photos at the bottom of this post! :)

♥ I am in my food prep era! I've always struggled with eating the same foods (unless I really love them) multiple nights a week but, my partner and I are now committed to spending a day a week to cook up an assortment of meals to freeze so we can go from A to Z whenever we feel like eating something different which is a nice thought.

♥ Last month was difficult, my pop passed away and his funeral was the first I've ever attended, it was very difficult but beautiful and moving.

♥ Christmas is on the horizon and I have spent a wee bit of money trying to get to everyone presents wise! I've also committed myself to attending the family Christmas which I haven't done for a few years now.

♥ I went out for the first time since my stay in the APU and it was difficult. I froze up in public as the place was very crowded and my partner kind of had to pull me along. I was okay after a while but it felt like a panic attack was imminent.

♥ I have my last two tattoo appointments for the year coming up! More spots on my legs and above my knees on both thighs.

(My partner got COVID after a shift and I then got it from him so I unfortunately missed those two appointments but, they've been rescheduled for January!)

♥ My partner has suggested we do a membership with the local leisureplex as that way we can both use the gym and the pools. My partner really enjoys swimming and it's a good way to get some work done on our health.

♥ I have been practicing on false nails as I applied for two courses for study (nail tech and pathology) so I included those below! I would like to do nail tech as it can allow me to work from home as well and I like 'junk nails' (with all the charms) but I think I'd specialise in natural nails. I have been wanting to go back to work despite being burnt out so I have been trying to find jobs that are more one on one in environments that aren't as busy so if I finish the course I'll be in work before I get married in October. I hear back next week so I'll post an update on whether I've been accepted or not into my choice courses!!

♥ I have to now buy my wedding dress (bridal shopping on Monday) as my partners Oma has declined a little and is no longer able to do so. So, I've had to rearrange my budget but also I am also a bit worried over losing some weight and then needing to get it altered. Never the less, I called the bridal store to confirm everything and they got me to upload photos of what I was looking for so that they can narrow it down for the appointment. I am hoping it goes well!

♥ It is essentially summer in Australia now so, the days are hot and I am struggling to do a great deal honestly just to get motivated and get things done but I am trying! I have a doctors appointment to sort out trialing a new antidepressant and to get a blood test done. I have so much to sort out but the year is coming to a close so I am trying to wrap it all up neatly.

♥ An update photo! I look horrendous and I fried some of the lower half of my hair (hence the change in tone) as I wanted to go partially green so now I have to get it fixed up aha. Beyond that I have included some of my favourite products! Vetta is a brand of pasta that can be found at Woolworths (if you're in Australia) that do high fibre, high protein and also low-gi pasta! Muscle Nation is also an Australian supplement and gym wear brand (I already had their protein custard and some other products but, with the black Friday sales I have purchased some new products which I will review on here when they arrive!) that I quite like. I may like variation in food but I do tend to like the same flavours so for me the choc mint reminds me of the choc mint Sipahh straws from way back when. They offer a lot of flavours including banana which my partner loves (he said it tastes similar to banana Nesquik which was discontinued here years and years ago) so if you wanted to give them a look they offer a fair few things. Protein pancake mix, protein jelly sachets, protein waters, casein protein custards, protein powders, pre-workouts, daily greens, energy drinks, aminos and protein bars! They also offer vegan friendly plant protein and they even have recipes online (mostly for their casein protein custard).

#mental health #weight loss #health & fitness #nails #junk nails #personal #me #life #life update #product #protein #pasta #aesthetic #picsart #ASD #autistic adult #blue #aestethic

[elaxalvarez]

was that [ PRISCILLA QUINTANA ] spotted in the lobby of the infamous arconia hotel? must just be, [ ELEANOR ALVAREZ ] the [ TWENTY NINE ] year old [ BARTENDER ]. whenever i hear [ DEAD BY MADISON BEER ] it reminds me of them. [SHE/HER] are known for being [ DRAMATIC ] and [ SELF CENTERED ] but they make up for that by being [ LOGICAL ] and [ SELF ASSURED ]. they have been working at the arconia for [ ONE YEAR ] 

stats

name: eleanor alvarez

nicknames: ela, ellie

age: 30

occupation: bartender

gender: cis female

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: bisexual

birthday: december 1st

sign: sagittarius

ethnicity: mexican + native american

hometown: washington

eye color: green

hair color: dark brown

height: 5’5”

tattoos: one small butterfly on the inside of her wrist

piercings: multiple - coming soon

likes- coming soon

dislikes- coming soon

headcanons- coming soon biography:

tw: chronic illness

Eleanor was in her early teens when her parents separated, her mother claiming full custody of her, and her father claiming full custody of her brothers, she felt like an only child after their family was broken apart by him. Although she had a fantastic relationship with her mother, she felt left out and it was hard not to resent her father and brothers for leaving them. Their relationship was basically non existent until she was eighteen and able to make her own decisions.

She decided not to go to college, Ela wasn’t really interested in academic activities although she graduated high school with flying colours. She spent a couple of years travelling but then her money ran out so she needed somewhere to go and disappointing her mom was not an option - so it was time to fully reunite with her brothers in back in Washington.

Eleanor could be quite selfish at times, she was known for only caring about herself and this point was proven when she fell in love with her brother’s fiancée - on of the night of the bridal shower, they ended up sleeping together. And the night before the wedding, Ela penned a letter to her, confessing her feelings. She expected the wedding to be called off, but this didn’t happen. It was hard to watch her brother and the woman she loved together, but there was no budging, so Eleanor had to get used to it.

Spiraling, Ela thought it would be a great idea to start a sugar baby business. It was strictly dates at first but it wasn’t long until it turned into more. It was just a fun way to distract her, get her through cosmetology school, never in a million years did she think she would end up married out of all this, but she did. He was wealthy, he was handsome, and he wasn’t that old. He wanted pretty arm candy, and she was that. Everyone around her was shocked her life wasn’t that much of a train wreck.

They were a couple of years in when Ela was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. She became sick, very sick, and finding the right medication was hard. She didn’t want to be a burden on her husband, so she asked for a divorce. He refused, but she was self-destructive - transferring a lot of money from their joint account to her personal account, then fled to New York. She tracked down the best neurologist in town as soon as she arrived and after multiple medication trials, she finally found the right immunotherapy. She left her life of beauty behind and has been working as a bartender for about a year now, she knows her husband landing on her doorstep could happen at any moment, but that time. hasn't come yet, so currently she's living it up. in New York.

#arconiahq:intro #( ela alvarez )

[charmsandtealeaves]

Ministry of Magic Monthlies | September: Love Languages, Words of Affirmation

Prompt: [Style] Letters

Read it on AO3

Summary: A series of letters exchanged by James Potter and Lily Evans in the summer break before 7th year.

Words: 2,951

Photo by Ranurte on Unsplash

Dear Evans

Dear Evans,

I hope this owl reaches you okay. Remus warns me your sister is getting married so there might be a lot of muggles about the house. I just wanted to write and check in with how you’re doing. The prophet is a bit scary these days and it can’t be easy for the likes of you and Mary having to read that. For all it’s worth the Minister thinks blood purity is a load of tosh, he won’t stand for the nonsense and violence this Voldemort bloke is spouting. Dad’s herd from friends in the ministry that arrests will be happening any day now for those muggle attacks.

If you ever need anything, please let us know.

Thinking of you, hoping you’re not too stressed with helping with wedding shit.

Potter.

Dear Potter,

I must admit I was surprised by your letter. I don’t usually receive owl post over break if I can avoid it as it upsets my sister. She thinks owls are unclean because they eat rodents and produce pellets. But it did brighten my day when yours unceremoniously dropped your letter into her bowl of pathetic slimming cereal.

I’m rather bored without my usual level of correspondence from the likes of Remus and the girls. Currently steering clear of everything wedding related as my sister doesn’t want me anywhere near it which is both a blessing and a curse.

I haven’t seen anything in the prophet as I postponed my subscription for the summer with all the random family coming and going. I can gather by muggle attacks though that it isn’t anything good, but I’m glad to hear that appropriate action in imminent and thank you for your concern for myself and Mary.

Kind regards,

Evans.

Dear Evans,

That explains why you don’t own an owl. Sorry in advance for this second one. Remus refused to give me your address so I can send you post the muggle way without your express permission.

Do you always write your letters so prim and proper? I swear you write like an old person.  No offense.

Three so called ‘Death Eaters’ were arrested yesterday. They are currently being held in Azkaban awaiting trial, so they certainly aren’t too comfortable right now. So that’s good news.

Why doesn’t your sister want you helping with her wedding?

Anyway, please send your address or give Remus permission to reveal it.

Potter.

P.S. Promise I won’t send dung bombs in the post.

Dear Potter,

You can tell Remus (or rather show him this letter, as I highly doubt he’ll believe you otherwise) that I give him permission to share my address with you. Under the guise that you will not send me dung bombs or any other paraphernalia of the sort via the muggle post. Mostly because I am confident that the Ministry would not be pleased to hear about you doing so, and I’m sure you would take a letter from the Misuse of Magic office very seriously, unlike detention. I’ll ignore the fact you said I write like an old person.

Pleased to hear about the arrests, can only now hope for conviction and not release I suppose. Marlene and Remus tend to be very careful about telling me anything negative, so I’m assuming I can trust you to keep me informed? I’m not in the wedding party so I don’t have any assigned duties. My sister and I don’t get along. She loathes anything to do with magic and if it weren’t for my parents paying for almost everything I wouldn’t even be invited to the wedding. She threw a fit at the mere idea of me being a bridesmaid, she’s even made the dresses this frilly thing with an awful colour to clash with my hair, so I quote “Don’t get any funny ideas”.

I’ll hear from you soon via muggle post, I’m sure.

Kind regards,

Evans.

Dear Evans,

Rest assured I would never do anything moronic via muggle post. I don’t need to find myself grounded for the summer and wand snapped. I’m told one stamp should suffice but if I receive no response I’ll add more.

Further reporting on the muggle attacks is very hush hush currently. Mum has speculated it’s because there’s still others to round up or they just wanna keep everything calm before they all go before the Wizengamot. I’ll keep you posted.

Sorry to hear you and your sister don’t get on. It’s much the same for Sirius with his brother (as I’m sure you’re already aware after the hexing incident) so I can sympathise.

Are you actually going to get to do anything fun this summer?

Potter.

P.S I have paid for a PO Box at the closest muggle post office. Remus suggested this would be easiest. See return address on envelope.

Dear Potter,

Your letter arrived perfectly fine; no further stamps required. Do they allow reporters to attend the trials? Or will they just publish the results after the fact? I’m not over familiar with wizarding law proceedings in that regard.

I’m very much familiar with the hexing incident considering it was me who reset Sirius’ broken nose if you’ll remember. We had a somewhat lengthy discussion on shit siblings in the aftermath and he brought brownies from the kitchens as a thank you for not setting his nose crooked. I really must get one of you lot to show me how to get into the kitchens this year (without detention I might add).

I have no definitive plans for the summer other than surviving it. I will visit Diagon Alley when supplies lists are posted so I will have the chance to catch up with the girls then. Mary is going to Spain in a couple weeks, but I don’t think the others will be going abroad. Not that Dorcas and Marlene mentioned before the holidays started anyway. Letters from the pair of them have been sporadic at best, they’re so lovesick with each other I’m amazed they’ve come up for air in total honesty. That’s the one thing I don’t miss about Hogwarts, hearing them giggling and snogging away at all hours.

What about you, any plans that don’t involve terrorising someone?

Kind regards,

Evans.

Dear Evans,

I can’t believe you sent your last letter full of glitter. Pure evil genius. I don’t know why I’ve never considered it. I’m still finding bits of it everywhere. Fair play, I didn’t know you had it in you. I’ve just done the same to Peter now you’ve given me the idea.

They allow reporters in the gallery, there will be one from the prophet at least and I imagine a few internationally. Two muggles ended up dead with several others critically injured, that sort of thing tends to get overseas attention as extensive memory charms were needed. Breaking the statute of secrecy is serious business.

You accidentally set a bloke’s nose wrong one time and you never hear the end of I swear. It’s not like I did it on purpose! I’d be happy to show you how to get into the kitchens, the house elves like me.

You know Evans if you did some snogging yourself you might not mind them doing it so much. Can confirm it’s generally speaking a good time. Would recommend.

I have an extra ticket to the Puddlemere United game on the 15th if you’re interested? It’ll be me, Sirius, Peter and Dad. The ticket was supposed to be for Remus except it’ll be moon time so he can’t make it. I imagine your house isn’t set up for floo. But if you can get yourself to Kingscross we could pick you up from there? No pressure either way just let me know. You’d have to get there by 11am. It’s only reserve teams so I can’t imagine the match lasting more than a day.

Potter.

Dear Potter,

I would love to escape this prison and join you for the quidditch match. I’ve actually never been to a professional game, so it’ll be a new experience and I’m sure far more pleasant than my house currently. Vernon (my sister’s pig of a fiancé) is here at the moment. He’s supposed to be sleeping in the spare room, but the banging of the headboard against by bedroom wall would suggest he isn’t sleeping alone. There’s only so many times I can be expected to bite my tongue and swallow my own vomit.

Do I need to be on the wizarding side of Kingscross? I only know Platform 9 ¾.

Kind regards,

Evans.

Dear Evans,

May I suggest your earmuffs? If they can keep out mandrake screams, I’m sure they’d block out bestiality. Can’t think of anything worse than having to listen to your sister shagging a pig. Though to be fair I’ve caught Sirius having a wank on more than one occasion. Same thing?

I can’t believe Marlene has never taken you to a game of professional quidditch. That’s really bad form. The wizarding side would make things easier, if you get yourself to 9 ¾ we will find you. Just stay by the wrought-iron archway. We will see you there at 11am on the 15th.

Let me know if anything changes in the meantime.

James.

Dear James,

Thanks again for the quidditch. I REALLY needed the breather. But did you really have to tell Peter the glitter was my idea? I would have been fine with you taking credit.

Earmuffs were a brilliant suggestion for at least blocking out the sound, if only it were possible to stop the vibrations. Thankfully the wedding went off without a hitch and the pair of them are now out of the house. See the photograph for aforementioned hideous bridal party dresses.

Mary wants to go surfing in Cornwall before the chilly weather sets in. Marlene and Dorcas are gonna come too. Do you and the boys wanna join us? We’re gonna pitch tents and stay for the weekend. We are gonna hire boards, but you’ll need to bring your own tents. Fair warning it’s no parental supervision, whether you disclose that fact to your folks is up to you.

Lily.

Dear Lily,

I am nothing if not generous and I never take credit where credit is due. Pete will get over it… eventually. As for the earmuffs, I’m full of brilliant ideas don’t ya know? Now that the wedding is over does this mean you can receive owls again? They’re much faster than muggle post.

Surfing sounds great, can’t be much more difficult than riding a broom. Boys are all keen and it’ll be good for Remus. Mum and dad don’t much care about the no parental supervision. We’re going into 7th year and will all be ‘adults’ soon. They can’t expect us to not take advantage of our last summer of youth.

James.

Dear James,

Owls are now perfectly safe. I can finally buy my own in Diagon Alley this year with no Petunia to complain. I’m so excited!

We’ve booked a spot at the Tollgate Farm Caravan and Camping Park. You can meet us there. It goes without saying it’s muggle, so don’t let Sirius apparate anywhere nearby! We are meeting Friday at 3pm.

Lily.

Dear Lily,

I can not tell you how nice it is to send an owl. Not that I minded muggle post too much, but the constant back and forth checking the PO Box was quite tedious.

Will have to do surfing again next summer when we can. I haven’t had such a good time as that in a long time. Though next time… definitely not having my tent so close to Marlene and Dorcas, or Sirius and Remus for that matter. I’ll take Pete’s snoring over listening to our friends getting off with each other any day. How Peter slept through it I will never know. How he didn’t know those two are lesbian still mind boggles me.  

On a more serious note, came home to find Hogwarts letters so I assume you got yours too? Please tell me you got head girl. No surprises really but I got the quidditch captain badge, but there was one I wasn’t expecting. Lily… I got head boy. Dumbledore’s lost his marbles. I wasn’t even a prefect. It should have been Moony. I feel bad that it isn’t him because he deserves the recognition for all his hard work. I’ve spoken to him about it and he’s fine with it, he says he would have found it too draining on top of his furry little problem. I see his point, but I don’t know if he’s just saying that to appease my feelings of unease about it. That’s a very Remus thing to do. Sirius says I’m being ridiculous. What do you think? Am I overthinking this?

So, we can now plan Diagon Alley trip. Ice cream, my shout?

James.

Dear James,

I got head girl so you’re in safe hands. I won’t lie to you. I’m surprised you’re head boy. Not because I don’t think you are leadership capable; you’ve obviously proved you are with quidditch, but only because you weren’t a prefect. I didn’t realise that wasn’t a prerequisite.

Remus is right. I think the responsibility would have been too much for him on top of N.E.W.Ts and everything else. We had a long chat while you and Sirius were still out on the last waves. I can honestly say he will be at peace with this and if anything will be a huge weight off his shoulders now that he knows. He’s been fearful of it. I think he’s a lot more afraid of this last year than he’s been letting on. He’s downplayed the furry little problem for so long I don’t think the bisexual thing is gonna be noticed if he doesn’t want it to be. But he is daunted about this being the last ‘safe’ year he’s got. It’s going to be a lot harder for him to find a job outside Hogwarts than us because of his furry little problem, unless something drastically changes by June. He shouldn’t have to register his status, he’s not a predator. Not in that way anyway. I’ve heard st Mungo’s is part of a clinical trial testing potions, Slughorn was talking about it with some medic at a party last year. She said some of the initial results have been promising and participants have been paid. I just pray he can get in and maybe find one that will help him with his transformations? I can’t think of anyone more deserving than him to actually be happy.

Congratulations on head boy truly, I realise I haven’t said that til now. It is a massive achievement and I’m sure you’ll be up to the task. Especially if we can manage to work together without fighting like cats and dogs like we have previously. I bet your parents are really proud.

I’m actually going to stay at the Leaky Cauldron the day before the train. I don’t want mum and dad to come see me off. Not with everything that’s going on at the moment. I got my subscription to the prophet renewed, I read that aurors will be posted at the station. I haven’t told them what it means to be muggle-born, the blood purity bollocks. I don’t want to scare them. I don’t want them to not let me go. I belong in the wizarding world. It’s my home now whether some people like it or not. That includes Petunia. She and Vernon get back from their honeymoon on the 31st. Mum and Dad agreed to collect them from the airport so it’s the perfect distraction for them. I’d be lying if I said Remus is the only one that’s frightened about this year ending….

Let me know about when we can go get ice cream. I’ve been craving Fortescue’s all summer.

Lily.

Dear Lily,

Please don’t stay at the Leaky alone. Not now. I know you’re a capable witch, but I wouldn’t sleep knowing you were there alone with all that’s going on with these nutters. You’re more than welcome to stay with us. I’ve already cleared it with Mum and Dad. We have lots of empty bedrooms, you can take your pick. Please say yes. If not with us than with Marlene, Mary, Dorcas, anyone.

I know this final year is daunting. But we’ve got to make the most of it. I promise to show you all the Hogwarts secrets I know. Especially now I know you won’t get me thrown in detention for it.

I’m going to Diagon Alley on Thursday. I’ll see you then.

Please seriously consider staying with us.

James.

James,

I’ll see you Thursday. I’ll think about it and give you my answer then.

Lily.

Dear Lily,

I’m glad you agreed to stay. Mum’s thrilled about the idea of another woman in the house to talk to. She’s already planning dinner. At this rate you’re going to have to come stay at Christmas or Easter… the woman won’t take no for an answer once she’s adopted a child. Just ask Sirius. We will be so full come morning someone’s gonna need to roll us onto the train.

I…I still can’t stop thinking about today. I didn’t plan it I swear. One minute I’m just watching you laugh and smile and the next? I’ve never felt a kiss like that. I hope it was the same for you too. And I really, really hope we can do it again.

I can’t wait to see you on the 31st.

James.

Dear James,

Tell Sirius he might need some earmuffs…

Can’t wait to see you too. Lily.  

#Charms Library #Fic: Dear Evans #prompted fic #jily fic #jily #james potter #lily evans

[inquisimer]

MER HELLO for dadwc consider maybeeeeee:

Zevran: "There was no one left to save them."

Tabris: "There's me."

HAPPY FRIDAY RO have some doubtful Tabris ft. devil's advocate Zevran 🥰🥰

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

She shouldn’t be able to see smoke from the alienage this far off.

They’d reached Denerim after hours of hard riding, only to find it already decimated by the darkspawn presence. Riordan was on top of issuing orders, directing their motley group of defenders where they’d be most effective. But Ariya couldn’t hear his words—she stood in the plaza, staring south and trying to restart her heart.

A column of thick, dark smoke rose from a location that could only be the alienage. It was far enough to be beyond the river, but too close to be the Pearl, or one of the random alleys that made up that section of the city.

Shianni—Soris—the orphanage—

A calloused hand encircled her wrist and Ariya realized she’d taken half a dozen paces away from the group.

“Mi amor,” Zevran spoke quietly, but the concern was apparent in his voice. “Where are you going?”

“I—“ Ariaya stopped short, because she spoke sooner than the words had articulated. He knew, of course, about Shianni and Soris, about the trials and tribulations of growing up alienage, about the failed wedding and the shattered, traumatic remains she’d left behind when she joined the Wardens. She’d told him, in vulnerable moments over naked bodies and campfire watches. But she still wondered how much he really understood.

“Look.” She nodded toward the smoke, though there was no way he hadn’t already scouted the surrounding threats. “I can’t—what if—they need my help and I’m right here. Fuck whatever plan Riordan has—I haven’t followed the Wardens’ game plan until now and I’m not about to start.”

“Are they worth it?” Zevran spoke evenly, and Ariya would have smacked him, if not for the understanding that he was merely a sounding board, reflecting her own doubts back at him. “The Warden will expect you to seek out the greatest threats. Is the alienage worth so many other lives, should one not be there?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said fiercely. “They’ve been forgotten—or worse, under him” —she gestured roughly at the greasy-haired man they’d recruited against her better judgment. “I can’t let that be their last stand. If the Blight would take my family and spare the world, I’d rather die.”

“Would you? Would you see your family here” —his hands swept across Wynne, where she instructed Morrigan on mass healing spells, to Oghren, who was reviewing their group formation with the new recruit— “reduced to ash at the cost of those neighbors who remain in the alienage?”

“Yes—“ The declaration was out before she comprehended the meaning. That she would sacrifice all of them—Zevran included—for the alienage’s well being.

Ariaya grabbed his wrist as he attempted to draw it back from her shoulder. “Zev I—“

“No.” He shook his head. The anger she expected never materialized though; he merely watched her through even-keeled, expressionless eyes. “Do not break your convictions for me, amor,” he implored. “I would not ask that of you.”

“It’s just—“ Ariya broke off, staring down at her fingers twisted together. No one ever looked out for the alienage. Even within the walls, there was a certain amount of “every elf for themselves”.

Adaia had been the one to teach her that—and to tell her that it was wrong. That they should care for each person, elven or otherwise, to the their ability.

“If I don’t go to them now, who will?” she whispered, bringing Zevran’s knuckles to her forehead.

“No one will save them,” he said evenly. “There is no one left.”

“There’s me,” she affirmed, looking up at him with steel in her gaze. “I’m here—and the Wardens can’t take my heart from me. They can’t have any of my hearts.”

She squeezed his hand with as much determination as she willed into her voice. They would save the alienage and she would save him. The Wardens and the archdemon be damned.

“Zevran and I will attend the alienage,” she declared, voice cutting loud and decisive over Riordan’s idyllic plan. “The rest of you, preserve the city. Riordan, Loghain, if you see the chance—“

“Of course, milady.”

She waited for the inevitable pushback, but it never came. Her lover tugged on her wrist.

“If we are to offer any meaningful aid, we must go now.”

Ariya nodded, steeling herself for the greater horrors she would face in short order. “Lead on, amor.”

“Lead on?” said Zevran. “I wouldn’t dare. Don’t you know it’s rude to lead a woman to her own doorstep?”

Ariya laughed, the chuckles coming between smoky breaths. “Hold on to that attitude, my love. If my father is still alive, it may be enough to distract him from my mother’s influence and my fiancée’s demise.��

#dadwc #my writing #tabris x zevran #oc: ariya tabris #zevwarden #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #dao

[morganwrites12672]

Dean Redding x Reader

'I couldnt love a killer'

**

You storm into the kitchen.

"What the fuck," you hissed at Briggs. The hair on the back of his neck stood up at your words. And the daggers you were glaring. If looks could kill, He would have been staked, buried, and then restaked for good measure.

Your boyfriend and Michael stood with Briggs.

"My dad. He was put on trial, he can have visitors again. You promised," you were yelling at this point.

"I don't want,-" Briggs started.

"What about what I want? You forget, I had no clue he was anything but perfect until he got arrested. I idolized him. I haven't seen or heard from him in four years," you yelled at him.

With that you stormed back to the room you shared with Dean and sulked onto your bed.

You heard a gentle knock, "Dean?" You ask you are answered with your boyfriend opening the door and entering, he realizes the door and sits next to you.

"I'm sorry," Dean says.

"Did you know?" You say. More of a statement than a question.

"Pleas let me explain," whenever you don't interject he continues, "He told me it would only bring you to a darker place again, it might harm your recovery,"

He gives you a pleading smile.

You smile back and pull him into you. Arms and legs entangled, your voice barely a whisper, "I can't do it alone,"

"Moral support," he says kissing your cheek.

Agent Briggs had arranged a meeting with your father. He was less than amused that Dean would also be going.

"He's my dad. You don't have to come," you remind Briggs.

"And let you meet with a serial killer? Alone?" Briggs fights back.

"He's her dad," dean reminds.

"Get in the damn car," Briggs says.

You feel dean's hand slowly sliding to find yours. You save the time and entertwined your fingers with his. You see a ghost of a smile on his face.

The guards are quite aggressive when they pat you down, not fond of a killers daughter.

"I know he's terrible. I didn't pick him to be my dad," you say exasperated.

You and Briggs are led to a meeting room. Without your knowledge dean is led to a mirrored viewing room.

"Hey Yn," your father says calmly.

"Why?" Is all you say.

"Well hello to you to," he says, "You don't know to but I know you better than you think,"

"You dont. You don't know me," you tell him.

"Your favorite color is mustard yellow or black. That ivy ring you always wear on your wedding finger, was your moms. You wear it to remember her," he says, "You could read a thousand pages a day and not break a sweat. Always moving. Always doing stuff,"

Agent Briggs prys you away from your father's throat as you storm out. Words were exchanged. Not good ones.

He tried to tell you you were the same. You would kill. And you would like it.

Dean meets you in the waiting room.

He had been moved after you and your father fought.

The blood on your lip a reminder.

"Are you okay?" He asked acting like he didn't know.

"Fine," you grimace And hug him as you walk back.

**

"She's not fine," Agent Briggs told Dean as you walked into the house.

"I know. I saw, the mirror," he says.

Agent Briggs curses as he walks inside

"You're good at it, you both are. Fixing the other," Briggs comments.

Dean goes straight to your shared room.

"Babe," he says careful not to step on nerves.

"I don't need fixing. I'm broke and I need you to love something you can't fix," dean's face falls with your words.

Your state is blank. Mind is numb. Mind if a killer you think. You were the daughter of one....

"Hey, I think everybody is a little broken," he kisses you on the forehead as he sits on the ground next to you.

"You should of heard what he said," you almost whimper as you sit on his lap, face inches from his own, then bring your face in his neck as he hugs you.

"I did," he explains.

"At least you didn't lie, and now you know. I'm predictable, I'm a killer bound to be one," you place a kiss on his collarbone. The base of his scar.

"You're not a monster, not a killer. I couldn't love a killer," he says as he kisses you on top of your head.

"He was wrong. I wear the ring to remember why I'm hear. To help people who can't help themselves," you comment as you plant a kiss on his lips.

It takes him by surprise but he is quick to react.

Soon you have a hand threading though his hair as he moans into your kisses.

Sucking hickeys and running your teeth along the tanned skin, panting you pull back

Lips slightly swollen from the little nipping, you out your shirt back on before getting in bed.

"It's barely noon," Dean tells you.

"Do you want to be little spoon," you bribe. He took the bribe before you started spooning him. You hear his soft snores as you drift asleep.

#the naturals #jennifer lynn barnes #killer instinct #Bad blood #dean redding #Dean Redding x reader #Dean Redding angst #Dean Redding fluff #Dean Redding fanfic