#warning: ginger | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherry-pop-elf · 1 month

Text

Hoof Race

Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Can be read as platonic

I’m going through ALOT because of a dickwad of a piano teacher. So imma just project and vent here. I love piano, but I don’t love the piano teacher. My own personal Umbridge. Bleck. So it’s gonna be sloppily written, projective, just. I’m going through a lot right now. A lot a lot.

Summary: Your first detention with Umbridge. Needless to say, very traumatizing. At least you have a pair of red heads to comfort you. Along with formed an escape plan to get you out of there. With some help

Warnings: Umbridge, scars, blood, depression, anxiety, stress, crying, trauma, Umbridge being Umbridge. Physical Violence against Reader from Umbridge, Humanism(Racism against other species) Surprise Guest Appearance for the Book Lovers from one of our favorite Divination Teachers

“Where is our little lab rat?” Fred huffed, as he was looking around for you. With George trailing behind. Looking in all the directions that Fred wasn’t looking. You had promised to meet them at Hagrid’s to test out a new product to help with calming animals. Something that was more so a Comission’s for Hagrid than anything else. Would be a nice little treat. Tea, fang, and laughter. Just one problem. Where are you?

“Should have never given Harry that map.” George would grumble, as he was getting worried now. Where were you? You aren’t one to break a promise. Especially to miss out on hanging with Hagrid. Who wants to purposely avoid a cozy evening with him? Especially since the twins had hoards of candy to share. If you missed a treat like that, it has to be beyond your control.

“Checked the dorm, checked Myrtle, checked the Requirement’s, checked the green house-“ The twins would finish each others sentences, as they walked. Trying so hard to think of where you could be. That’s when they stopped infront of the Defense Room Doors. They were open, but the office door was closed. They slowly looked to each other, before bolting inside.

“But Miss Umbridge, it hurts-!” They heard you shout, now that they were pressing their ears to the door. “It’s not suppose to feel good, darling. I should have expected such idiocy from someone who found it wise to speak out of turn-“ Umbridge would huff, as her heels could be heard pacing. A mixture of sharp clicks, and your hiccups.

“Mr. Firenze is not a THING-!” You snapped, only for a sharp smack to echo in the room. Made the twins wince, as you hiccuped again. “That beast is indeed that. Why defend that vile creature, when it even identifies itself as a beast-? Hm? Shouldn’t expect much from an idiotic child like yourself.” She lectured on.

“What do we do?” George whispered to Fred. What could they do? She was still a professor after all. Regardless, they had to do something. Anything. SOMETHING. They had to think fast, before you got even more hurt. Or worse. Expelled.

“Twins-?” A voice called itself, making the duo look over. The familiar blonde hair, and clips of hoof steps, made it clear who it was. Their newest teacher, given Umbridge very literally fired their old one. What a god send, as the twins were able to hatch a plan.

“Please please-“ They made praying hand gestures, as they pointed at her door. Making dramatic movements to try and convey they needed a distraction. Not wanting to get detention next. Never thought detention could be worse than anything Snape could offer.

The echo of another slap was what made the ever calm teacher connect the dots. Oh how he dispised such treatment. It was inhuman. That’s saying something from a man who used to live with trantulas the size of buildings. He would quickly motion for the red heads to quickly go hide under the stairs, before he cleared his throat.

“Mistress Umbridge? I need to speak with you about a matter at hand-!” He called, with a hoof stomp for added volume. The duo was quick to run under the stairs, and narrowly miss her gaze. An ever-plastered fake smile was on her lips, as she would walk down the stairs. A twitch to her eye was given, as she was now forced to speak to the centaur.

"Yes, Firenze? Whatever could you need at this late hour?" She asked, while the twins were quick to rush into the classroom. Left quite a sight. There you were, with bloody hands. To bloody to even make out what scars she had to make your write this time. Along with a firm bruise on your cheek, from her had no less. They were enraged, to put it lightly. This was the last time she would ever do this. That was their promise.

They were quick to your side, as you wrapped your arms around them. Your savior. "She just kept insulting him, and it wasn't right. He's a good teacher-" You would sniffle, as George would use his wand to try and clean your hands. He sneered at the words on your skin. Busy with tending to your immediate wounds, as Fred tried to calm you down and explain the plan.

"WAIT WAIT-I UH-I AM JUST A CENATUR! A WITCH LIKE YOURSELF KNOWS MORE THE I!" Firenze shouted, making the twins realize their time was running out. "Just be quiet, and follow our lead-" Fred just said, and you listened. Typical behavior, after all. They were always scheming, and you were happy to get into any mess they offered.

"Well....You are just a centaur. You aren't modern, or cultured, such as myself. I suppose i can remind you how we properly function here." Umbridge would smugly say, as Firenze tried so hard to not roll his eyes. Was worth it, as he was able to watch you be escorted back under the stairs. That firey red hair hidden away. Just in time, because even his calm soul can only take so much.

"Oh dear, Mar's is infront of Saturn. You know what that means, I better return to my classroom-!” She had no idea what that meant, no one did since it was a big lie. Least it sounded good enough to make her scoff. Feeling as though she wasted her time with him. Regardless, she gave a friendly smile. Now walking back towards her office.

The second her back was turned, the blonde stallion quickly motioned for the three of you to hurry to him. Fred and George basically carried you, as they did. Needing to work fast. Was just yanked around like a doll, but there was no choice. The moment Umbridge had gasped, noticing you were gone, you three were on his back.

“Where did-“ But it was faded, as you three were not having a horse ride of your life. Escaping her, this night. Quite the adrenaline rush. Riding the back of your teacher, as he tried to not trip down the stairs. Least you had Fred and George to comfort you. Holding on to the straps on their teachers body, for his supplies, and comforting you.

“Well clean you up, and make sure that this is the last time she ever hurts anyone.” Fred said, with a firm nod. You never thought the twins could look so angry before. Was scary, but also a morbid reassurance. Given Umbridge’s gaslighting was getting to you. Thinking you were a burden, failure, worthless, just horrible. Didn’t even noticed you were starting to cry. It was all too much. The boys would hold you close, and just hold.

“Dreadful woman. Dreadful dreadful just oh so dreadful-“ Firenze would keep on muttering, as he tried to not break an ankle on those ever moving stairs. Full of much spite as anyone else. Suppose that meant the twins had someone on their side, at least.

“You are gonna crash with us tonight.” Fred said to you, as Firenze took that as advice on where to go. Now heading to the Gryffindor common room. “Think of it as a big sleep over. Chilling in the common room’s living space.” George echoed. Childish, but there is joy in childhood. Had you smile in approval.

“Here, allow me to offer some assistance.” Firenze then spoke, as he rummaged in his bag. Still trotting along, as it was just a hallway roam now.

“This should help with your healing and recovery. Sometimes spells can not solve all problems.” And a small bag was offered to you three. Most likely a herbal of some kind. The kind textures were very reassuring. A reminder you weren’t crazy. That she was in the wrong. Not you. Still, made you tremble in fear.

“Gonna be ok. She’s not gonna hurt you anymore.” Fred reassured, with a kiss to your head. Followed by George hugging you tightly. Just helping ground you, as the centaur finally stopped at the painting. She didn’t even ask for the password. As if she wanted to delay much needed rest.

“Rest, if you can. When you join me for our class, tomorrow, you are permitted to not join. You may just relax, and star gaze. That often times relaxes myself.” Firenze offered, as he laid down at the open wall. Allowing you three to get off. He understood you were a victim, and offered sanctuary where he could.

“Thanks…” You sniffled, as to not be rude. He knows, he knows. He gave you a pat on your head, and a smile, before taking his escort away. Leaving you three with your thoughts. The twins mostly thought of how to make whatever happens to Umbridge look like an accident, while you were still shaking from the ordeal. Murder plots can be for another time. You were first.

Escorted to the common room couch, you were as pampered as you could be. Hands properly wrapped, the herbal deal brewed, helping clean up the blood stains, using their latest invention to help clean up your bruise. Just doing what they could, as you sniffled and hiccuped.

Once done, you were soon lying against Fred. With George semi on top of you. As if some kind of pressure therapy. A means to make sure no one could touch you, or sneak up on you. Was nice. What was nicer was the random fellow classmates who walked around. May it to get something to drink, unable to sleep, what have you.

They took notice of you, could quickly grasp it was Umbridge, and let you have your comfort. May it be making sure you three had a blanket, staying extra quiet to not disturb you, or asking if you needed anything. Just some humanity against the darkness.

The comfort of the twins, the easing calm of the tea, and the sound of the ever lit fireplace. It helped you come back to earth again. Just what you needed. Reassurance that you were the victim. Not the other way around. Just deep breaths of fire, cinnamon, and gun powder.

You’ll be ok. You’ll be ok, and the twins promised.

As if they ever would break a promise.

35 notes · View notes

haveyouseenthishorrormovie · 7 months

Text

SUMMARY: Two death-obsessed sisters, outcasts in their suburban neighborhood, must deal with the tragic consequences when one of them is bitten by a deadly werewolf.

The mod hasn't seen this but the title and the description gives her a great idea of what it's about and it's definitely up her alley. I mean werewolves as a thinly veiled metaphor for periods is great.

#ginger snaps (2000)#werewolf #2000s #canada #north american movie #mentionable warning #animal death #horror #movies #poll

60 notes · View notes

throwaway-yandere · 2 years

Text

His Adorable Pen Pal (Yandere!Thoma/Reader)

a/n: thoma is my 16th max friendship lvl character and i really like his vibes. personally, yan!thoma is hard to pull off. Thoma's such a green flag, if this was an otome isekai he'd definitely be the 2nd male lead LMAO– ((and yee, there are some very smol references from past works, they're not important theyre just iykyk moments)). this took longer cause i wrote diluc's part at the same time to try to get the story feel more connected. also, @kardi76 im so sorry please tell me you slept ;;-;; cause there is no closure (lololol).

gn!reader

a pretty reliable synopsis: thoma would do anything to meet you... (so please don't screw it up).

Cw: yandere!thoma. (Thoma is not self-aware that he's yan and thats the best part--) Implied yan!childe and diluc (soldier & king)

Parts:

Soldier, Poet (You are here), King

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

If you asked (Y/n) (L/n) who "Fixer" was, they would tell you that he's one of the few people who could understand them deeply.

If you asked (Y/n) (L/n) who Thoma was, well, the best response someone could get from them is "Hmm... I guess the name sounds familiar," followed by "ah, so that's who he is. Okay then."

The two of you have been penpals for almost five years, but neither of you revealed your real names. You addressed him as "Fixer" (a pen name Kamisato Ayato had relentlessly recommended), and he responded to your calls as "Levi" (short for the infamous Lunar Leviathan sea legend). This is not due to the lack of courage or trust, but because you mutually agreed that it would add more mystery and thrill to your inevitable first meeting.

But one of you lied.

Thoma knew exactly what your name was. He knew your height, eye color, family, and a number of other personal facts that a regular housekeeper would not have had the opportunity to learn so readily. Earning your private information was his quota with Lord Kamisato for helping him "burn a few stray leaves", but the given information wasn't the most important findings of their investigation, no.

It was the revelation that (Y/n) (L/n), rather, YOU were his first love.

Thoma would happily take up any attractive label that fit his romanticized viewpoint, be it infatuation or puppy love. You were the kid he frequently spent time with within the Mondstadt public library. Granted, you both often took seats two chairs apart from one another, but the sticky notes passed along the table did not make the distance feel too far. You were each other's confidants. You both didn't belong anywhere and Thoma was bound to catch a teeny weenie crush on you.

It's no secret that Thoma is a hopeless romantic. He believes in his lucky omamori and fortune slips, hence it's not a huge stretch that he believes in soulmates too. No one in the Kamisato Estate was surprised when he preached that it is fate that bonded you two together. Lord Kamisato incessantly teased him for it, but Thoma was none the wiser. He thought that Ayato's remarks about being whipped were a compliment and that only made everyone more keenly aware that he was absolutely smitten.

Thoma was ultimately determined to reunite with you once more. The two of you lay on the same bed but with different dreams, and Thoma wished otherwise. He wanted to demonstrate to you that, if a "failure" like him could win the hearts of the Inazuman populace, then Mondstadt could also respect you and your adorable eccentricities.

But that won't be an easy feat.

The journey to Liyue was perilous, but it was nothing compared to his first trip to Inazuma. It was a bit funny how most of the ships to Liyue were suspended. Luckily, Thoma never lost hope. He and Captain Beidou came to an agreement whereby she would allow him to board the Alcor in exchange for a thorough cleanup. And hey, when it comes to housework, he's almost as passionate as Beidou's need to see the Tianquan, so it was a true non-zero-sum game.

Going from Liyue to Mondstadt was quite a chore as well. Some mora is better than no mora, and that was his way of coping after dishing out 900 mora to pay a guide and his spouse to help him out. The guide never shuts up. He kept talking about a drunkard friend from Mondstadt while his spouse graciously tried to focus on Thoma's needs. His spouse was clearly forced to marry the man under a contract. The Mondstadter prayed that your future marriage is far from theirs. Thoma's patient, but he doesn't think you can handle hearing about osmanthus wine, or in his case, housekeeping, for the rest of your married life. (The spouse can prepare some delectable seafood, though.)

Thoma considered whether his determination to meet you again was being tested by cleaning the entire ship and listening to an old couple bicker 24/7. At least he's in Mondstadt now, right?

"Excuse me, miss. Do you know where Mx. (Y/n) (L/n) is?"

Thoma was very amazed by the souvenir shop owner's ability to hear him over the talk of other tourists and the clacking of hooves that returned knights from a prolonged expedition. The town square is adorned with proud flags and colorful banners that symbolized the KoF's triumphant return, which meant the grandmaster is home as well.

Since Varka is here then that means--

"Ahh, (Y/n)?" Marjorie tapped her bottom lip. "That ungrateful kid isn't here. They didn't even bother to welcome their cousin home. They're probably sulking elsewhere."

Thoma flinched.

"Excuse me?"

"What's wrong? You do know what kind of person (Y/n) is, right?" Marjorie said nonchalantly.

"I mean, what did you expect? They're a disappointment to the Imunlaukr Clan, so it's only natural that they would shy away from celebrations like this. It's for the best, no one wants a weirdo around to spoil the festival."

His eyes darkened. Thoma's entire focus was on Marjorie now, and he didn't hear a teary-eyed person running for the stairs.

"How do you have the guts to say that about someone?"

Marjorie raised an eyebrow.

"But it's the truth–"

"Just how much do you know about (Y/n)?" Thoma gritted his teeth.

"Have you talked to them before? Have you taken them out for lunch? Do you know how they feel when people talk about them like that? Do you know how hard they worked to please everyone?"

At this point, the noise from the crowd began to simmer down as they tried to eavesdrop on this confrontation. Thoma subconsciously towered above Marjorie, and his hand slammed the door beside her.

His dull green eyes leered deep into her soul.

"N-No?"

"Then you should watch what you say, Miss."

The scent of embers wafted in the air.

Thoma didn't notice it was his own doing until Marjorie screamed. His conscience was stirred by her horrified eyes, and he quickly pushed away.

Heat radiated throughout the shop and Marjorie's arm, but fortunately, it wasn't enough to cause blisters and unbearable pain.

"O-Oh I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to come off that strong!" Thoma rambled on, fearing that he may have crossed the line. He felt multiple stares drilling the back of his head, and that solidified how wary the crowd was. "I'm just saying you should be careful what you say next time! You never know if you're hurting someone already."

Thoma's not the villain here. He's just teaching her a valuable lesson, that's all.

"R-right..." Marjorie whimpered. Her sleeves were nearly burnt to crisp and Thoma's heart dropped at the thought of additional expenses. Still, he's not above paying the price.

"I'm r-really sorry for the damages!" He blurted out. "I'll pay you back, how much?"

-----

Some mora is better than no mora, sure, but now that latter is starting to sound more like his situation.

Thankfully Marjorie didn't ask for much. Thoma couldn't decide whether to chalk it up as good fortune or the result of being too intimidating. Either way worked out for him anyway, cause he would've tried to haggle the price down if it were too expensive.

But the fact that his emotions got the best of him was alarming...

Did you mean this much to him?

... Who is he kidding? Of course, you do!

Thoma sailed through storms and walked mountains to see you again, didn't he? His protectiveness is just a form of love. Marjorie isn't ill so no harm done, but if the situation called for it he would've undoubtedly escalated it to something more. This type of determination makes him your protector from afar, doesn't it?

"Ugh..." Thoma pouted. "Don't they sell anything other than alcohol here? I can't stomach the smell..."

While looking for a non-alcoholic beverage, he caught a glimpse of a passing slender and tall figure that loomed behind him. His strides were large and the head above his shoulders was etched in a permanently stern expression. The vibrant strawberry hair that crowned his head both contrasted his dim face and signified which family he belonged to–- who he was. It's none other than Diluc Ragnvindr.

Thoma grinned. When you and Thoma had the entire library to yourselves, Diluc used to take care of you two. He had the honor of overseeing two very bashful kids who were three years younger than him. Second only to Lord Kamisato, he was one of the most passionate people Thoma had ever met.

"Hey, Diluc!"

He didn't anticipate anything will happen when he called Diluc's name. The last time they met, Diluc was the nation's rising star, while Thoma was a timid teenager. Diluc may not know him now that Thoma pulled back his golden hair and changed the tone of his voice to one that exudes social lightness.

"It's me!" He grinned and reached out his hand for a handshake. Thoma was a bit nervous. He didn't know if he should be casual with the Ragnvindr heir, but this approach is ten times better than ignoring him. Thoma is not without care for friends. Why wouldn't he greet an old buddy? Especially the kid who played devil's advocate for your shenanigans?

"Th–"

Diluc briefly exhibited signs of fear before clearing his throat.

"Thoma." Diluc bit back coldly.

Thoma hesitantly sank his hand back into his pockets. What was that look for? Did he do something wrong?-- Well, he did almost burn a store down... but it didn't feel like that was the reason behind that face he made.

"I-It's been a long time!" He beamed, joyful that one of the few people who didn't shun him in his childhood still recalled him. "I thought you wouldn't recognize me anymore!"

Diluc hummed curtly. His eyes were sharp, which only accentuated that he hates to prolong whatever conversation this was, if you could call it one.

"I wouldn't dare make the mistake of not knowing who you are."

Thoma chuckled nervously. "Right."

"Is that all?" Diluc huffed.

"Oh," Thoma scratched the back of his head. "How's Master Crepus? I'm old enough now, you think he'll allow me to drink this time?"

He teased quickly before he loses Diluc's attention. It was just a small jest that alluded to the time young Thoma sneaked in inside Dawn Winery, but the look on Diluc's face was indescribable.

One thing was for certain, he was not pleased.

"N-Nevermind, how's Kaeya–"

"Have a pleasant evening, Mister Thoma." Diluc immediately turned his back on him, and his footsteps already drowned Thoma's unpolished ramblings.

"I hope you have fun staying in Mondstadt."

Mondstadt's chatter sounded in a near-endless chorus, therefore confirming that Diluc left the conversation.

He sighed humorously loud.

"Haaaaah... this is one of the most overwhelming homecomings of all time, alright. Maybe it could even top dad's... Wherever he is."

Thoma thought it would be him who would be unrecognizable in both appearance and personality.

But it seems Diluc changed too. And if Thoma were to be so bold, maybe he changed too much. He wondered how you felt about that–-

Thoma gasped.

Wait...

He opened numerous letters about the toxic people. You often compared a "friend" of yours and the people around "them" to a broke coin collector and a few pennies. Several anecdotes described in detail how the broke coin collector wanted to buy a fresh loaf of bread but was unable to part with their money since they believed it will one day reveal its true value.

The "Fixer" thoughtlessly retorted that "a coin's purpose by the end of the day is to be spent. What good will holding on do if you starve yourself to death? You need to tell the coin collector that their life is worth more than what they've saved."

He grimaced.

He was just trying to sound poetic. Thoma never thought that there was a possibility that one of these "coins" might be Master Diluc Ragnvindr himself.

Thoma crossed his arms and shook his head. It doesn't matter. He could be wrong. Maybe Diluc is just in a bad mood, and it's not like the 'cavalry captain' knows that he's "Fixer". It'll be ignorant to assume that a bright man like Diluc became a toxic person just because of one bad day.

Besides, some mora is better than no mora, and you still have him. And even if Diluc walked out of your life, Thoma will never let you be alone.

So don't worry, okay?

-------

Thoma didn't remember Dragonspine being this cold.

The last time he traversed the bridge towards the mountain was years ago, and he faintly remembers traveling with adventurer Cyrus to collect logs. He resisted the cold back then, but he can no longer say the same now that he's a pyro vision user. His pyro shield doesn't seem to provide any warmth in Dragonspine. Kind of backwards, isn't it? Thank goodness Good Hunter's served hot coffee. It was the only non-alcoholic drink they served this festival. His bottle preserved the comforting heat, and his hands were delighted to hold on to it. It was almost a torch for his vision to light up each time.

He also didn't bring a map. It wasn't in his budget after paying the Goth Hotel extra for his stay which was a major bummer (he doesn't recall the prices being that high before?) but it's alright. You write about the place sporadically that it almost felt like he knew the place like the back of his hand.

"H-hoo… I should've brought extra layers…" Thoma shivered. "Y-You made it sound like Dragonspine wasn't t-this cold at all… Oh, dear… I'm r-really tempted to run on the i-ice now…"

Once he pushed away from the branches of one particular tree, the bizarre trip had all been worth it.

"(Y/n)..."

He knew that who he saw had to be you.

Because you were breath-taking.

But that bliss was short-lived. Something was wrong.

"--I'm so glad to have met you and the Fishing Association. You didn't know who my family was and treated me like a friend, not a means to an end."

A crease formed between Thoma's eyebrows and his lips trembled. His face contorted in an ineffable string of hurt and betrayal, and his suffocating grasp on the poor tree beside him burned.

Your shoulders were drooped and you wore a Snezhnayan scarf, but most importantly, you were confiding in this blue-eyed stranger.

You were confiding in someone else that isn't him. He's your soulmate! He should be the only one you could count on.

The thud of his boots on crusty snow stopped Thoma from threading farther. That sounded too loud. If he moved a little closer, they'd hear him. And he can't afford to look like a stalker.

Thoma gulped harshly. He should've prayed that his first meeting with you wouldn't be spoiled by some filthy man he didn't even know.

What are you doing?

That spot was supposed to be for him.

Who is that man?

When you started running and the stranger followed after, Thoma walked to your camp and picked up his unopened letter. His letter sat near your plate and other discarded items.

You didn't even read it before talking to that stranger. Did that man matter more than him?

He tucked it away and smiled sadly.

You're not ready to know his feelings just yet.

But don't worry! You and Thoma will fall in love when the time is right.

It's fate, after all! He just KNOWS it!

731 notes · View notes

cappycodeart · 9 months

Text

i haven't watched the trailer yet cus im way too petrikov-brained rn, but here have some old ginger doodles from 2015 I did in an attempt to draw some of my lesser known faves... solely bc she (and the og movie) means a Lot to me hooooo

#cappycode #chicken run #ginger #fan art #traditional art #line art #2015 #I'LL BE EXCITED (OR WORRIED/CONCERNED) ABOUT IT LATER PROBABLY. I DON'T GOT BRAINSPACE RN...#regardless the og movie was THOROUGHLY burned in my house by me and my sibs and I did not mind one bit #I was the Bird girl these are My Birds #anyways expect some more simon art tomorrow. that isn't a warning. it's a threat. he's coming.#fun fact I only found her because she was drawn on a page with old simon doodles it all comes back to him

26 notes · View notes

emeraldexplorer2 · 3 months

Text

Doris Day and Ginger Rogers in Storm Warning, 1951.

#vintage #beauty #actress #hollywood #vintage actress #vintage hollywood #doris day #ginger rogers #storm warning #1951

13 notes · View notes

alittlebitgoofy · 4 months

Text

as someone who watched like half of espana s1 and s2 (until inti was eliminated, then idk who) i am legally required to be arantxa stan number one on tumblr i will fight you for this honour....

#writing her as ginger and ginger only that girl is fucking GINGER #idk why i feel so strongly about that i just do #friendly warning she's aware of drag race fanfic #but like nicely aware of it

9 notes · View notes

ninetiesgalaxy · 5 months

Text

#spice girls #baby spice #ginger spice #90s #1990s #90s music #flash warning #flashing gif

8 notes · View notes

glittergroovy · 2 years

Text

#ginger snaps #blinking gif #gif warning #blinkies #eyestrain warning #ginger snaps (2000)#blood #blinkies.cafe #horror movies #movies #flashing lights

100 notes · View notes

xxgalacticambitionsxx · 6 months

Text

pathetic little FREAK!!!

#i mean that so positively holy FUCK #i just realized that i liked this lil ginger guy so. yeah be warned #tdr #total dramarama #tdr harold #td harold

15 notes · View notes

darkness-holds-eternal-light · 14 days

Text

I'm wondering not for the first time what Fred might've thought about Ginger in "Storm Warning" (1951). I'm pretty sure he saw all of her movies. It's unreal how beautiful she is there but it's also really graphic and hard to watch. I desperately need fanfiction about him watching her in that film (and what he might've done afterwards) !!!

#Ginger rogers #Virginia mcmath #Old cinema #Fred Astaire #fanfiction #Storm warning #ronald reagan #Doris day #steve cochran #Old movies #Old Hollywood #1951

5 notes · View notes

gingerbreadmonsters · 1 year

Text

wrapped up in clover

or: FOR YOU ARE MINE, AT LAST.

gn!reader, warnings for manipulation, unhealthy romantic relationships and major (canonical) character death, i’m really really sorry. the out-of-nowhere companion to here we are in heaven - look, this is just what happens when you leave me alone with a love song, alright? inspired by ‘at last’ by etta james. takes place pre-cataclysm, with major spoilers for ‘Worth Dying For’. you have been warned! damien throwing stones at glass houses in 1400 words or less.

once again, just to reiterate - warnings for imperium grimdarkness, heavily implied abusive behaviour towards the listener character, major character death, and heavy heavy spoilers for ‘Worth Dying For’. mind the warnings, and you are reminded that you can stop reading at any point if you feel uncomfortable. dead dove: do not eat. reader discretion is advised. minors dni. please consider yourself warned.

We’re happy together.

A crown is not a very easy thing to wear, to be honest.

It’s heavy, and it’s awkward, and it never really sits right on your head. It means that people look at you, and talk about you, and try to use you to get what they want. It means that you have to make speeches on TV, and live in a great big palace, and try not to tear your hair out at the endless stupidity of every godforsaken consul and advisor and High Councillor.

And, worst of all, it means he can’t ever be with you.

People have talked about him since the day he was born. It was to be expected. The only son of Queen-Imperial Sofia, the humanborn woman who rescued the Imperium from the collapse of Emile’s line, who in the most terrifying time of chaos in living memory found clarity. Strength. The foundations of a new age. A heroine of the people, an iron fist in a velvet glove. Turning outwards, ever outwards, from the son she should have loved to the people she claimed to.

What do you do when your mother’s a fairy tale? Pencil drawings can’t kiss you goodnight.

Since before he can even remember, there have been eyes upon him. Upon his face, upon his fate, upon the future of a world that by all known logic should have faltered and died decades ago. The Imperium is his by blood, by right, by determination. If he’s going to be a good king, a great king - and he is, make no mistake - then he might as well give them something to watch.

(That’s you, by the way. They’re watching you. Smile.)

How had you even met? He’s not sure. It’s hazy, the way that memories from when you’re very young tend to be. No matter who you ask, it’s always different - although, to be perfectly honest, it’s not like it actually matters. Semantics. These aren’t the sorts of things they write in history books. You’re here now, aren’t you? Good. Then the matter’s settled.

It is a funny story, though, don’t you think? A little boy with a heart made of sand, dry and coarse and crumbling, falling through his fingers and scraping against his skin. The smell of salt and the rush of the ocean washing over him, soaking through him. Bucket and spade in hand, a sunny afternoon becomes a beautiful palace, covered in shells and pretty stones, and the big round moat is scooped out with two pairs of hands.

How on earth had you managed it? Tumbling into his life, turning his head, teaching him all the things that he’d never thought to learn. One minute you’re his best friend, sitting on a gilded swingset in an ornamental garden. The next, you’re all grown up, framed in the mirrors on the ballroom wall, and he has to fight not to melt his cufflinks at the sight of you dancing with another man.

A sandy, empty soul, covered in grit and salt and seaweed - his palms flare with fire as the breath catches in his chest when you walk by, as the butterflies settle in his stomach when you hold out your hand for him to kiss. Hotter and hotter, until it’s molten glass dripping down his wrists, vitrifying right in front of his eyes. Sparking and glowing with passion, scorching little trails up his sleeves, a hissing chorus of mine mine mine in the furnace of his ribs.

It’s you. It’s always been you. Cool water running through a scalding heart, steam filling his aching lungs until it’s all he knows how to breathe.

Maybe it was all his mistake. It’s possible, you know. Maybe he’d given you too much, too quickly. Maybe he’d overdone it just a bit. Unempowered people can be unstable, unpredictable, reckless - and despite what he’d thought, it turns out you’re no different.

Was it inevitable? Was there anything, was there ever anything he could have done to stop things turning out this way? He isn’t sure. Ever since you two were little, you’ve never been one to keep your mouth shut. The lessons never stuck. Justice is a tricky business, but it helps to have a crown prince on your side - that is, until a coronation changes everything, and you’re both in over your newly-crowned heads.

You’ve always been good at games, no matter the rules. They’ve always said he’s the one with the sharp tongue. Yours, it seems, is made of silver.

Moonlight in your mouth, he’d thought he could save you. The isolations, the therapy, the sessions he wasn’t allowed to know about. You wouldn’t stop talking. The plausible deniability. You wouldn’t stop looking. The gentle hand under your chin gets hotter, harsher, until molten metal spills out over your lips and pours down your throat, coating your teeth and searing the roof of your mouth, but even now you still don’t stop.

It’s unfortunate. What’s the phrase? Morbid curiosity, maybe. You, wanting to see how far you could push before it all came crashing down on your head. Him, wanting to see just how you’d look when, one way or another, you finally broke. Can you really be a martyr if nobody even knows you were alive in the first place?

Stacks of paper crumble into ash, bridges burning in your wake. Justice isn’t blind, and the walls have ears. This isn’t the sort of court you were made for.

There have always been some rather… antiquated Imperial traditions, it’s true. Some are nicer than others, but most have stood the test of time. Old habits, old ways that he’s never really seen the point in arguing with. It would be more trouble than it’s worth, to waste time trying to get rid of them.

One of those traditions is that, depending on the magical race of the Monarch-Imperial, the practices of the Imperial government are changed accordingly. Most of the time it’s little things, like the embossments on the paper or the colour of the accents on the curtains. Insignificant. Inconsequential. What’s that saying again? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

Ah, traditions. Watching them light the kindling at your feet, he’s starting to think that maybe he should have fixed this one.

(It could have been worse. Imagine if he’d been a shifter.)

It’s fine. You’re fine. Fire has always been kind to you, hasn’t it? Well. He’s always been kind to you, and as far as anyone here is concerned, that’s the same thing. That’s what this is, then. Kindness. Benevolence, of the sort he thinks you’d be proud of. The suffering of one for the good of many - and you’ve always been the type to take everyone’s burdens on yourself. You must have known. Wasn’t this what you wanted?

You won’t struggle, will you? No? Good. It will all be over soon.

A glass heart, cold and hard and utterly bulletproof. Perhaps you were right. Perhaps he really is too possessive. What does it matter now? Allow him this, just once more. Flames bite at the soles of your shoes, but you don’t say anything. You’d better be quick. You don’t have long. Looking at him, you’re looking at him, but not like everyone else does. They look, but you see. The boy he was, the man he’s become. What do you see now?

You’re mine, and I’m yours, and nothing in this world is going to change that.

No more second chances. Ashes to ashes and all that. You have always, always been his. What a shame, that this is how you choose to prove it. The element of his control, and the one thing he could never master. How poetic. Hotter and hotter - through the smoke, silver starts to melt, bubbling over cracked, blistering skin.

In all the shapes and forms that you take in my life.

The ultimate act of surrender. Glass bubbles in your blood - the smell of salt, the sound of the ocean, and a lovely sandcastle covered in shells. In life, you gave yourself to fire. One way or another, you were always destined to burn.

take a trip to the other side of the mirror?

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted imperium #redacted angst #redacted damien #i'm putting the warnings TWICE and in BOLD so please don't say i didn't warn you #for god's sake this is fiction it is not real and you do not have to read it #and i hate that i have to specify that #but unfortunately that's what it's come to #also one final reminder: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT #i'm so close to making my blog 18+ only #[head in hands] do not push me or you're all getting blocked #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters #ginger after dark

49 notes · View notes