#I call Maestro father

[bun-bun-selfships]

Random question. If you have parental f/os, what do you call them?

#genuinely just curious #I call Maestro father #Dreamfinder is dad or papa #I call the Heelers mom and dad #occasionally I’ll call Chili mama #Toriel I tend to call mother #the norm lol #familial f/o #familial self ship #parental f/o #parental self ship #self ship #self shipping #self ship community #self shipping community

[officerrrfriendly]

The Taken, First Strike.

stranger things conjuring!AU, priest!steve harrington x demonologist/clairvoyant!fem reader.

With an abundance of reluctance, your feet found themselves taking brave steps one after another as they eventually met a birch-wood doorway. But it wasn't any ordinary doorway, inside sat her. The frail and misfortunate Maxine Mayfield, who you still referred to as such- out of a habit of profession- much despite her insistence on "just calling her max, she doesn't go by Maxine anymore."

And in that moment, all of your previous doubts from earlier flooded back into your brain, before you could give into them and turn back, she spoke out. She called your name, a glint of hope present in her tone with some desperation, too.

You sigh heavily to try and alleviate all the weight you suddenly feel pressing against your chest before you eventually reply.

"Hi, Maxine," you mutter, smiling softly before slowly approaching the vacant armchair beside her, full of funky patterns and colours. She sat timidly, her hands held onto one another whilst fingers from each hand wandered over freckles on the backs of her hands she had forgotten she had. Her hair was shorter now, bobbed and fell just below her ears but she was still so beautiful. You tried your hardest to avoid looking into the milky white orb of her left eye and the thick bandage that covered the gaping wound on her right.

If you thought about that night for any longer, you thought you would just about lose your mind- so you shook your head of protruding thoughts and focussed on the topic of importance here, which was the girl beside you.

She laughs, and this time it wasn't humourless or dry but it was real, amusing. "How many times have I told you to just call me Max, hm?" she pokes, she sits further up in her seat as you laugh along with her.

"If I had to guess...I'd say only about 100 million times," you say, with a sigh. Your answer makes her smile for a moment but then she sighs, something is clearly bothering her.

Unexpectedly, without needing encouragement to open up, she speaks. "No one's visited in a while, Lucas...he finds it hard coming here, seeing me like this. He's never said it- but..." she huffs, lowering her head down to the floor. "I know that every time he's here with me he's just stuck in that night, what happened to Billy...me. Even though I can't see him, I can sense it, he's terrified to be around me and I hate it. I hate it because I love him so much...do you have somebody like that?" As the forbidden question leaves her tongue it triggers thoughts you had wished to never think about again, you think of him- and how neither of you haven't seen or spoken to each other since that very night.

Your head shakes, wishing to be done with the thought of Father Steve, and how you've treated him since after the night of July 4th 1983...at the exorcism of Billy Hargrove.

"I'd rather not answer that question... Honey, tell me more about what's been going on with Lucas!"

.•.•.•

You wipe desperately at your tears as they fall on your way to your ocean-blue Austin Maestro car. Your fingers struggle to keep up with the vast amount that began to flood out of your tear ducts.

You harboured a considerably brave face - despite Max not being able to notice it- throughout the entire hour after Max had asked you that god-forsaken question to which you had no answer.

She had talked about Billy, her nightmares, PTSD, her love life and even her mom running off to the other side of the world with her new young boyfriend and a bottle of Jack...she lived a sad life, one you had hoped to someday be able to save her from. You wanted her to come and live in your miniature, yet cosy townhouse you had inherited from your late father Richie, god bless his soul.

Seeing her so frail and lonely, woke a sadness inside you that hadn't long gone away, however that sadness also carried a fuckton of guilt. The guilt of knowing that if you had actually, fully prepared for what you were getting into, perhaps you could have saved Billy Hargrove, Max's eyesight (and her sanity), along with her family.

CLONK, you pull on the door handle to the driver's side door and hop inside before taking one last pitiful glance at the hospice. "I'll be back for you...Max," you mutter.

You turn the rusty key into the ignition. The engine fires to life.

.•.•.•

Days had passed and now you were sitting, pondering in your office inside your humble abode. Max hadn't left your mind since your previous visit and you were thinking through the idea that has floated into your noggin and is actively refusing to leave.

A THUD snaps you out of your daydreams and you quickly glance up from your oak-stained desk to see the culprit who dropped four thick textbooks in front of you, stacked on top of one another. You groan when you realise that it's just Robin, the nosy librarian-now-assistant with a child-like grin on her face. 'Oh, she's up to something' you thought, rolling your eyes before asking- "What is it now, Roberto?" you ask, intrigued as you sit up in your seat.

"I think I may have a case for you, Psychic Sally." she grins smugly, pulling a picture of a young boy out of her pocket.

Now that caught your attention.

"Tell me everything."

And she does, she tells you about how a 'Joyce Byers' had called several times today whilst you were out buying groceries begging to speak with you, for your help and assistance as she believes something is gravely wrong with her 11-year-old boy Will and has been ever since they moved into their house two weeks ago with her fiance, Bob.

She claimed a fever, a change in behaviour, sickness and bruising randomly appearing all over his body seemingly coming from nowhere. OH! And not to mention whatever 'entity' is wreaking havoc among them is causing a putrid, rotten smell to linger throughout the entire house...and her dog suddenly died the first night living there after it refused to enter the home.

You were going to visit the Byers' residence...but not alone.

You had somebody to visit.

"Call Father Steve and tell him I need to speak with him immediately, please Robin," you demand, sighing nervously. as your right foot begins to shake uncontrollably under the table.

"Are you sure that's a...I...uhhh-yes! yes, I will go and do that for you right now, if that's...are you sure that's what you want to do because you know I can totally-" she rambles, her voice high-pitched and unsure.

You can't find words so you nod repeatedly, sporting a polite smile and motion at the door. She nervously laughs, gulping "Ha ha ha ha, well! I am just gonna - yep! Haha! Going," she begins to back out of the room pointing to the door, "going..." she reaches the handle before forcibly chuckling, "and gone!" she shuts the door and you can hear her scold "What the hell is wrong with you?...freak!! god...how do I still have this job?"

.•.•.•

"God...how do I still have this job?" Robin questions, huffing embarrassedly. She treks down the terracotta-painted hallway, full of plants and pictures of who Robin had learned to have been your late father. She had found that out accidentally on the first day of moving in with you when she asked, "Is that your husband?" which sparked a very awkward, tense conversation that you both had very quickly laughed off.

She had reached the coffee-coloured door with the cream handle and twisted it, opening the door to her room- filled with posters of Molly Ringwald, Phoebe Cates, Lisa Bonet, Madonna you name it and she had it!!

Full of purpose she sits on her side of the bed, cross-legged and grabs the telephone from her bedside table and dials Father Steve's number carefully before knawing on her lip and impending an answer.

The phone rings a good three times before there's an answer.

"Hello?"

A/N - Hi babies!! how was that?! I know it wasn't the longest but its just to give the story a good push before we really dive into the plot and have some fun. Poor Max :(( SHE DESERVES BETTER!! and poor Chester, such a sweet dog.

LMK how you found this chapter!!

current taglist: @stveharringtn

comment to be added loves :))

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #stranger things #dustin henderson #eddie munson #joe keery #joe keery fic #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #karen wheeler #murray bauman #ronance #eddie munson x reader #the conjuring #joyce byers #jim hopper #bob newby #barbara holland #will byers #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #byler #lumax #billy hargrove #max mayfield #erica sinclair #priest!steve harrington x reader #steve harrington au #steve harrington fanfic

[lokiprompts]

Appropriate - Chp 1

"Introductions"

Summary: Loki x Female reader; Loki is banished to Midgard and he has to live an average life as penance...and you, a social worker, is there to help him along the way. Rom Com vibes. Pinning; emotional edging until we can't take it anymore.

Words: 5k (it's a doozy, but an important start).

Warnings: Some swearing, but otherwise fluffy, some angst.

Song to listen to while reading: Maestro

AN: I don't offer taglists anymore. Remember to reblog if you like a writer's work! Comments make my heart go pitter patter.

Next chapter here

“This is a prison, Brother.”

The Odinson brothers stood together in a nearly empty apartment within Stark Tower; Thor beaming with unbridled optimism and Loki with a scowl painted on his face. The very walls of the room made the youngest prince nauseated, the beige walls and cookie cutter interior design completely devoid of personality. It was a far cry from his grand chambers in Asgard. But this tiny apartment was now his to call home. He had arrived earlier in the day, fresh out of Asgardian prison to pay penance on Midgard.  Loki’s arrival was mostly due to Thor’s pleading, arguing to his dear father, Odin, that Loki would be punished thoroughly just by having to stay on Midgard. Thor thought he was doing his younger brother a favor and believed a stay at the tower was a lesser penance.

But what Thor didn’t know was that he was right. This was Hel for Loki.

“You’ll get used to it!” Thor said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, but his happiness didn’t rub off on his dear brother, “I have a feeling you would like it here more than you think.”

Loki had begun to absentmindedly rub his new ‘jewelry’, magic dampening bangles that kept his seidr at bay.  They were a brilliant combination of Asgardian magic and Stark Tech in the form of golden bracelets, the left engraved with ‘Reindeer’ and the right with ‘Games’. ‘A little razzle dazzle to make Loki feel pretty’ Tony said. Loki’s eyeroll was inevitable.

The feeling of being deprived of his magic was unsettling for the sorcerer, to say the least. Even in his cell within Asgard, he could use his magic as he wished. His magic became another limb to him, something that had become second nature to rely on. A muscle memory that he did not even have to think about to command. Even his strength and speed were affected by the bangles. Now his magic, his strength, and his speed were all gone, and he was in essentially trapped in this dull room to live in with his immortality the only thing separating him from the average mortal.

He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck in a pointless attempt to try and shrug off the sluggish feeling the dampeners gave him. Loki’s morning was spent mostly with Stark, having the bangles placed and explained to him.

“Okay Reindeer Games, no one is excited for you to be here so this is how it’s going to go,” Tony sneered, activating the technology of the bangles with a few calculated taps on his hologram monitor, “No magic, no F.R.I.D.A.Y. – you can’t leave the building and you can’t access certain areas in the tower. If you try, there will be consequences.”

Loki quirked an eyebrow, “What consequences?”

Tony grinned, booping Loki’s nose with the tip of his pen and taunting a god as if he hadn’t been tossed out a window, “That is for me to know, and for you to inevitably find out.”

Thor slapped Loki right on his back, jolting his younger brother forward and out of his memories, “It will all work out, don’t worry. I have a feeling that you will like the Servant of Workers that will come see you, I am sure!”

That got Loki’s attention. “You get your own servant here?” Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here after all.

Thor grabbed Loki’s shoulder, giving it a gracious squeeze that made his younger brother grimace and roll his eyes, “She insists that she isn’t, but what she does clearly makes her a servant. You know, Midgard, everything is always so confused here. The Midgardian’s will catch on soon enough. Are you fine, Brother? I have a meeting with the team shortly, but I don’t want to-”

The god of mischief took a generous step away from his brother, cutting him off, “Yes, yes. I am fine. Now leave me be!”

There was a moment of hesitation where Thor’s gaze scrutinized his brother, trying to read through any potential lies. Eventually, he decided Loki’s proclamation of ‘being fine’ was good enough and he left the apartment, leaving Loki alone in the Tower for the first time. Still in his fine Asgardian leather, the sound of his boots echoed in the apartment as he took this time to give his new dwelling a proper look.

Loki was familiar with Tony’s penchant for finer things, each room ‘sparing no expense’, but the room he was in was clearly made on a budget. It made Loki wonder if Tony kept this room for people he hated. The living room was bare except for two beige armchairs and an end table, doubling as a coffee table in the center of the room. There were no books or a television. Attached to the living room was a kitchenette that had a humble stove and an even more humble sink that was large enough to hold exactly one plate, and that was being gracious. Loki turned down a short hallway to his bedroom if you could even call it that. There was a small full-sized mattress that was laid unceremoniously on the floor. Loki leaned down to gingerly touch the comforter that adorned the mattress and immediately scowled. The fabric left a greasy, gritty feeling on his princely fingers that were used to the finest of silks. Of course, the offending comforter, too, was beige. There was nothing else in the room, except for a closet that had a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie hanging up like they were the finest of suits. His ‘new prison uniform’, Loki thought with a scoff.

Seeing the set of repugnant clothes was the last thing Loki needed for the gravity of the situation to finally sink in. Tear started to prick at the corner of his eyes, and he slouched down to the ground, his back against the bare beige wall of his new bedroom. This life was a far cry from what he had in Asgard, even in the prisons. He always had the finest of meals prepared and dropped off to him. There was always a steady rotation of books and most importantly…. he had his magic. Without it, Loki felt like he lost his sense of identity. So much of himself was wrapped around his ability to use magic.

Growing up, he was always the smaller, weaker brother when compared to Thor. Even though Loki could hold his own in a battle, Thor’s brute strength always bested him in one-on-one combat, and it was their mother, Frigga, that took pity on Loki and taught him magic to level the playing field.

Frigga.

Loki let out a choked sob as memories of his mother teaching him magic as a young boy came flooding in. The quality time he shared with his mother was precious to him, even more so now that she has passed. Losing his magic felt like he lost her all over again, and it was enough to bring him to the point of breaking. Time dragged with Loki lost in his thoughts, tears now freely flowing, and before he knew it an hour had passed.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door of his apartment and Loki’s immediate reaction was to groan. Thor likely forgot something; the god was like a tick with its head borrowed so high in his brother’s business he couldn’t get out. With quiet steps, Loki stepped back out into the living room and listened, hoping that the guest would go away. Still, there was persistent, light knocking which was unlike Thor. But Loki certainly wasn’t up for guests and their questions.

“Go away, Thor! I may not have my magic, but I can still wield a knife!” Loki snarled through the door. Briefly, Loki questioned whether he even had knives in this dreadful apartment.

“Good thing I’m not Thor!” A voice called out from the other side. It was sweet, small, and charmingly melodic. The sound made his lip twitch up in a slight smile. It was the first time he smiled since arriving at the Tower and that fact was enough to catch Loki’s interest.

“And who are you, if you are not Thor?” Loki teased, inching closer to the door with each word until his nose almost brushed the wood grain.

“Um,” the voice giggled nervously. It rang clear and bright, despite being muffled by the door and it made Loki’s smile that much wider, “I am Y/N. I work for Tony Stark…well sort of. It’s complicated, but I am here to talk and help you, if that’s okay?”

The idea that anyone could help him was laughable at this point, and his dark mirthless chuckle was evident of that, “What could you possibly help me with?”

There was a shuffle behind the door, “Quite a bit, actually. Thor might have told you about me. I am the team’s social worker, and my job is to help you adjust.”

“Oh, the Servant of Workers? Yes, Thor mentioned you.”

Loki could vaguely here a curse, and a muttering of ‘damnit Thor’, making Loki bite his lip in amusement.

“Well, I am not a servant, but I can help you. We can talk if that’s okay? Can I come in, please?”

Even though he had been talking through the door these past few minutes, he suddenly became acutely aware of the dynamic of the conversation you were having and how rude it was – at least by his princely standards. He put his hand on the doorknob, but before he turned it and opened it, he flicked his wrist. When his intended magic did not come out to hide his still puffy and watery eyes, he considered sending you away. You seemed nice enough and gave him the option to decline meeting with you, but his curiosity was getting the best of him.

Wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve, he opened the door and finally laid his eyes on you.

All breath left the god when he finally saw you, time slowed down, dreams and love had new meaning – and if he wasn’t so utterly, instantly besotted he might have rolled his eyes at how utterly cliché he was being. Greedily, his eyes raked over your form and soaked up every detail.

Your eyes were as bright as your laugh, a bit wide with surprise like you hadn’t expected him to actually open the door. The next thing he immediately noticed was your height; or you lack of it. Your small stature landed you just below his shoulders and he had to look down to see you and look he did. Stared, actually, with his mouth opening and closing as his once silver tongue turned to lead. Everything about you was stunning, no radiant, no resplendent – you’re perfection.

You, however, didn’t seem to notice his momentary brain malfunction and cheerfully offered your hand to shake, your other hand clutching some folders and a large book tightly to your chest. Loki saw how you looked between him and the rogue hand whose presence became more and more awkward the longer it lingered. ‘Do something, Loki’ he cursed mentally, yet he did nothing.

Slowly, your hand lowered and just a fraction of a frown ghosted on your lips, and it was enough to break him out of his stupor.

“Apologies – Yes, Darling. Come in, come in!”

He quickly stepped out of the way, and you walked into the apartment, stopping just past the threshold, and looking around. Suddenly, Loki was self-conscious of his beige prison. Caring about other’s opinions was something he did not display too often. Deep seeded threads of jealousy was also held close to his heart when it came to Thor, and that same heart swelling with pride whenever Frigga praised his magical skill. Of course, Odin’s opinion is a whole other layer of anger and tears, but now he found himself wanting to be in your good graces. To impress you.

Loki sped by you and his large frame overwhelmed his tiny kitchenette and began whipping open all the cupboards.

“Can I get you something?” His voice pressed and anxious, “Tea? A biscuit?” He frowned when he realized all the cupboards were empty except for one can of chicken noodle soup and a dinning set for one person. Did he even have a tea kettle? He truly had nothing.

“No, no, that is quite alright.” Loki’s frowned deepened and he looked to you, who had opened one of your files and clicked a pen to scribble some notes down. “So, like I said, my job title is a social worker and part of my job is here, and the other part is at the hospital. Majority of my job is to help you get what you need to adjust to your life in the tower.

You looked around, motioning to the practically empty apartment you both stood in.

“So, you are a servant? You fetch things for people?” You giggled and pressed your papers closer to your chest again. Already, Loki couldn’t get enough of your laugh.

“I am sure some of the people I work with think so, like Thor who won’t let that go,” You flashed Loki a pointed look that was filled with mirth, and it too made Loki laugh, “But, really, my job is to help you get adjusted. I am not at your beck and call.”

Loki leaned on the small island in the kitchenette with his elbows and limbs going every which way awkwardly. When did casually standing become so difficult?

“So, you also work for the hospital?”

Instantly, you lit up, and Loki smiled at the joy on your face, “Yes. It is my main job, actually. I work with children who have special abilities, much like yourself, and help make sure they get the care and tools that they need to succeed.”  All your words were spoken fervently and the passion you were exuding warmed Loki’s heart.

“You’re kind then? To care for children like that.” Loki felt like he was stating the obvious. You were a radiant creature who loved working with children and now forced to help a monster – his spiraling thoughts echoed in sick repetition in time with his fingers that started to anxiously tap on the island counter.

“I would hope so,” You laughed again, your eyes darting to his nervous tick. You motioned to his small hallway, “Is it okay if I take a look around?”

Loki rightened himself quickly, “Right, certainly. Right this way.” He led you down the short hallway, to his tiny bedroom with the mattress and greasy comforter on the floor. The matching frown you both wore was telling. So, this wasn’t an appropriate living situation for Midgard either. Loki started to shift on his feet uneasily from side to side when you poked around in his closet and saw the only piece of clothing hanging, the sweat suit.

“So, you will need some clothes, for sure.” You turned to him and gave him a warm smile, a smile that held no judgement for his living situation. Loki, on the other hand, has his lips in a tight line. Oh, how far has he fallen.

“I can get you some clothes from Asgard if you’d like, but that will take some time. I would have to ask Thor.” Loki flinched at the mention of his brother, “Or we can go shopping tomorrow and get some clothes here. I just need to get some approvals first.”

This perked Loki up, “I thought I couldn’t leave the tower?” He recalled his earlier conversation with Tony.

You nodded, “That is true, but I have special privileges and if I get it approved, we can go.” Suddenly, you realized he might not want to expose himself to the world outside. The god wasn’t the most welcome in this city, “Unless you prefer to stay here? I could pick some things up fo-“

“No, no, no!” He cut you off, waving his hands, “I would love to go and get out of this infernal apartment.”

Again, your laugh rang throughout the small room, and it delighted him to no end. Did you always laugh so much – Loki wondered. Wordlessly, you walked out of the bedroom and back out to the living room and motioned to one of the beige armchairs, “May I?”

“Please do.” Part of him debated if you checking in with him constantly was out of politeness or fear, but you didn’t seem afraid of him. If anything, it looked like you made yourself at home when you perched yourself upon his chair. Your lack of fear confused him. Don’t you know what he did?

“Let’s address the elephant in the room, shall we?” You started and Loki’s breath caught in his throat, fully expecting his self-deprecating thoughts to come to fruition, “The horrid furniture.”

Loki huffed out a breathless laugh, “Yes, it is quite horrible.” You handed Loki the big book you had in your lap, finally giving Loki a view of your curves. The outfit you wore was modest – a pencil skit that accented your rounded hips and a demure blouse that had its top button undone, allowing for just a peak of teasing cleavage. Loki hadn’t noticed he was staring until you cleared your throat.

“That book there, that’s a furniture catalog. You can pretty much ask for whatever you want, and I will do what I can to make it happen for you. There are a bunch of options there, so hopefully you will find something you like. I know this place is a far cry from a palace, but I sincerely hope it can become home to you in time.”

Loki wanted to roll his eyes and scoff at the idea of this beige nightmare being his home, but the warm, sincerity that shone in your eyes stopped him. There was so much hope there, a brazen plea to give this retched tower a chance, to give you a chance. He turned the book over in his hands and let his thumb flip through the pages. For you, he could try. At least for now.

“So, now that we have that settled, the next thing is figuring out how much you know about life on Midgard. Would you mind if I ask you some questions?”

Loki leaned back in his chair, his legs spread wide and bursting through his leathers. There was a moment where your eyes flickered down to his muscly thighs. It was almost too fast that he might have missed it, but he didn’t miss it. With a smirk, Loki motioned for you to continue, and you opened one of your folders, pulling out some papers and clicking your pen.

“Some of these questions may seem ridiculous to you, so please be patient with me. I heard from Thor that you are very well read and are quite intelligent, so know that this is just standard procedure even with how silly these questions are.”

Loki’s face heated up with your compliment and keen observation. He hoped the pink on his cheeks did not show up as brightly as he felt them burn, “Go ahead, Darling.”

You flashed Loki and unreadable look after hearing the pet name but carried on as if nothing happened. “So, what is your experience with cleaning? Doing the dishes, laundry, vacuuming? Things like that?”

Several emotions flashed across Loki’s face – first shock, then confusion, and finally dramatic offense, “What?! Do I look like some oaf to you?!”

Your hands flew up in defense, “Remember, it is just standard procedure. I don’t think you are an oaf at all, or anything of the like, but I need to ask these questions to determine what you may need help with. You likely might not need any of my assistance, but I must ask these questions to figure them out, okay?”

You spoke calmly, clearly, and without judgement and that aura of calmness was almost a balm to the already anxious prince. Loki decided that your questioning was way worse than his time with Stark this morning. At least with the genius, he could hide behind his dripping sarcasm and cleverness, but around you he felt naked, vulnerable. It was unnerving.

He sat back as you repeated your question, folding his arms and essentially closing himself off from you. The prince took the time to ponder the question and he realized he never had cleaned a dish himself in all his thousand years of existence, let alone did his own laundry. If he did need to clean something himself, he had his magic to rely on. And what was a vacuum? If there was one thing Loki didn’t like, it was not knowing something and what made it worse, that fact was going to be made painfully obvious to you. So, he did what he did best.

He lied.

Everything you asked him, he exceled at. Cooking? A master chef. Cleaning? Meticulous to a fault. Midgardian technology? Child’s play. The whole assessment took approximately an hour, and it was the highlight of Loki’s horrible day. Conversation flowed freely between you two after he allowed himself to relax and be comfortable around you. The sound of your laughter bouncing off the walls and the soft smiles made Loki feel something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. A flicker of warmth in his cold, closed off heart. Just a man, and not the monster he knew himself to be. At least for now, with you, he could pretend.

After your last question, you tucked your papers back in your folder and stood up with the smile that Loki had come to know and appreciate during your short time with him.

“Well, it seems my predictions are right, and you don’t need any help with anything here on Midgard.”

Loki smirked, “Of course not, Darling.” Again, you scrunched your nose at the pet name before making your way to his front door and spinning around, offering your hand that held a small card.

“It was great meeting you, Loki. It seems outside of getting what you need in this apartment, you won’t need my help at all. I will have some food and provisions delivered up to you later today and I will, hopefully, if the approvals go through, pick you up tomorrow morning to go clothes shopping. You can let me know what you decide on furniture then.” He gingerly took the card from your hand and looked at it. It contained your name, a phone number, and where your office was located within the tower.

“And then after that, you won’t have to see me ever again!” You chirped, meaning for it to be playful since it was obvious Loki hated this apartment, the tower, and you assumed, you as well. Little did you know that innocent statement had sent Loki’s reeling. These….feelings, feelings? Feelings for you were new, confusing, and Loki was convincing himself that they weren’t feelings at all, but instead an infatuation because of his recent forced living situation. Just something to pass the time. But he couldn’t ignore the panic that was starting to settle in his chest at the mere thought of never seeing you again.

Loki was so caught up in his emotional crisis of the heart to even notice that you had left, and you were already making your way down the hall and away from him.

“W-wait!” Loki called out, sounding a bit more panicked than he would like, but it made you stop in your tracks and turn. That made it worth it.

“What can I help you with?” You asked, after Loki’s long legs ran him straight to you in record time. For the first time, in well, ever, Loki felt slightly winded from the exertion. He placed a large hand on his chest as his breathing settled. Damn, these bangles!

“Well, Um..Well, you see – Here’s the thing…” Loki stammered, his hands stretched out and pleading while his mind tried to come up with a reason to get you to stay. You stared at him as he rambled on, not saying anything, with your ‘this man is crazy’ expression well-hidden underneath your professional mask.

“I lied.” Loki rushed out.

“What?”

The young god rubbed the back of his neck, and your eyes caught the stray curls that lived back there, free from his onslaught of gel, “I actually don’t know any of the things you asked me about.”

“What?” You repeated. Your eyes furrowed in confusion. Loki’s intelligence and cleverness was known by the Avengers, and you had believed every word he said when you went through the assessment. He even provided examples and lofty tales of his time in the kitchen or cleaning his chambers in Asgard when the maids were sick! And he lied?

You found yourself asking him about those very scenarios and if they were true or not in a tone that wasn’t as warm as when you first met him, Loki noticed. You didn’t like being lied to, that much was clear.

“I know, I know, I am sorry, Darling, but things have been….hard for me.” His voice lowered to a shame filled whisper, “I am a prisoner here, I know, getting the sentence I deserve, but I lost my magic, my home. The last thing I have is my mind, and I didn’t want it to be known that I couldn’t do, or understand, such simple things. I truly am sorry, Darling. Will you please help me?”

It was the sincerest Loki has ever been and it surprised and horrified him to know that all the things he said were true, and he was saying them to you. A stranger. But every time he looked at you, something deep within him told him he could trust you. It was a new feeling, a strange and confusing one, but one that Loki found himself welcoming with open arms.

“Okay, I will,” Loki let out a long, relieved exhale at your words, “But, no more lying, okay? We can’t work together if we aren’t honest with each other.”

The God of Lies gritted his teeth, instantly regretting his choice and feeling the first pang of guilt for lying to you, “Of course.”

“Do you have time to talk about some things now?”

“My schedule is wide open,” ‘Painfully open’, Loki thought. Again, he followed you back into his apartment and you walked into his kitchenette.

“Since you don’t know that much about cooking, we are going to do go over some basics. I will be ordering some food and other provisions for you, but it will all be very simple things. Canned foods, microwaveable meals, things like that until we have a more formal cooking lesson. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.” Loki’s heart fluttered at the mere prospective of even more time with you. The feelings of guilt for lying to you already a distant memory as he indulged himself in your radiant presence.

You walked over to the microwave that sat over the tiny stove, “This is a microwave. Have you used one before?”

Loki shook his head no and stepped right up to you, watching your every move. You turned your attention back to the appliance and started to explain the intricacies of using it. Loki, however, was not paying attention to a word you said. Instead, he was admiring all the little details that made you, you. First, he admired your long eyelashes, long and curled and they framed your eyes perfectly. Different colors floated about in your iris, little flecks that sparkled. There was also a slight flush to your cheeks, a rosy hue and he wondered if you could be blushing because of him. But his favorite part, oh his favorite part was your mouth. Loki’s eyes followed the curve of your cupid bow and around the edge of your soft, pillowy lips. Your mouth was moving, but he wasn’t listening.

“Most packages just show…..” Your sweet voice faded in and out of his ears as he watched you, “And don’t ever, ever put….”

Loki found himself leaning into you. His nose just lightly brushing against your hair for a light whiff, but that feather touch was enough to have you whip around to face him. Your eyes went wide at the realization of how close he was and how much he towered over you. You took a tentative step back and it made Loki frown.

“Do you have any questions?” You asked, your billowy lips now in a straight line.

“No, your lesson was quite enlightening, Darling. I shall become an expert of this…microwave…in no time.” He could feel the unease radiating off you. Why did he let himself get so close?

“Wonderful. I will see you tomorrow for clothes shopping, okay? Have a good day, Loki.” And with that you left, and Loki was alone yet again. The apartment felt empty, and cold now that you had left. The life bringing warmth that you brought followed you right out his door.

The rumbling in his stomach broke him out of his thoughts. He wasn’t sure when your food delivery would be happening, but he remembered the lone can of soup in his cupboard. He opened it and pulled the top off, unaware of how lucky he was since he didn’t have a can opener. The salty, savory smell of chicken noodle soup wafted up to his nose and he decided it was satisfactory enough. He dumped the contents of the can in his only bowl and stirred it with his only metal spoon.

He put the bowl in the microwave, spoon and all, carefully so he didn’t spill. Closing the door, he looked at the numbers on the appliance. It was then he realized he hadn’t listened to a word you said during your entire explanation of how to use this contraption. With a careless shrug, he punched in thirty minutes. He remembered helping his mother make a stew in the palace once and he thinks that is how long it took, but that was centuries ago.

For a few seconds, Loki watched the contraption light up and the bowl spin, but he quickly grew bored and sat down in his armchair. He ran his fingers through his hair and groaned. How was he going to live like this? Surely, he would waste away from boredom. Loki leaned back in his chair, letting his head fall back and soon the exhaustion from the day overtook him and he fell asleep.

Screaming smoke alarms woke him up with a start, and his wrists, they were burning. He cried out in pain and collapsed on soft carpet of his living room just as shield agents burst into his apartment, knocking the door right off its hinges.

“Get him!!”

#loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x you #loki #loki odinson #loki x female reader #loki fluff #loki fic #loki laufeyson x reader #loki of asgard #loki fanfiction #loki angst #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki laufeyson x you #loki x reader angst #loki x reader fluff #loki odison x reader #loki x female!reader

[discobiscotto]

“Signor Marcovaldo is my father, call me Alberto, Alby…or Maestro 😏”

If we’re talking predictability in design, adult Alberto was NOT easy. I had literally nothing to work from. No (living?) family to compare to, no hints at what kindof quirks he may develop. I had nothing!

All I had was that (assumed) deep-seated desire to be accepted, useful/helpful, and not left behind…..that, and yanno, that Charisma In Excess (as a KID no less, dude calm that shxt down or you’re grounded lol)

Alot of pawing around in the dark and just going with what felt right to me.

I took some cues here and there. Some pretty forward and commonly accepted (“You, the big strong one.” etc), others subtle and unassuming but I ran like the wind with it?

Anyway, here we go. What’s the deal with this walking bowl of spaghetti anyhow?

This will be a two parter. His seamonster form requires a separate post.

Alberto as I said is a bit of a wild card. He doesn’t have as much of an obvious blueprint compared to Luca or Giulia.

His physical appearance for his human form was based solely on environmental influence.

Physically I imagined him to be a bit rough around the edges. Kindof gaunt but not so much that he looks sick or weak. He’s pretty much just one big muscle. Not an ounce of fat on him. Nothing but sinew. Very toned and muscular but certainly not huge. He’s just solid and FIT.

He’s a guy from the docks. He’s a fisherman. He’s salty and peppered in scars. Heavy calloused hands. He picked up smoking at a young age. He spends endless hours in the sun, thus he’s still very freckly as an adult. His impulsive ass got a tooth busted out in a fist-fight. Five o clock shadow and untidy sandy facial hair. I imagined his hair growing more “out and up” than down. Tight coils suggest he’d likely have a ‘fro or pomp, so I combined the two, keeping that old Alberto “top heavy” hairdo lol.

Profoundly Italian, so he’s pretty furry everywhere. Being a hard worker for years, excessive sun exposure, substance use, he looks alittle “older” than he actually is. (Pushing 34 ish).

I made him very tall, 6’4” ish. I admit, I love a good “Tall Man x Small Man” dynamic, so that’s definitely a shameless “luberto-centric” choice lol But I also considered a funny “goldfish” concept where just like a goldfish only gets bigger when his bowl is bigger…perhaps nature was trying to make him “compete” and measure up or even end up bigger than Massimo. 😆

If there’s one thing I learned from “Ciao Alberto” it’s that Alberto has a deep desire to be useful and accepted. He tries through the entire film to impress Massimo and in turn hope Massimo accepts him and sees Alberto can be just as good at his knife-wielding barrel heaving badassery as he is.

Alberto ultimately ending up as a fisherman by trade was an easy choice. Not only do I write what I know (being a Mainer in the coast with a deep affinity with fishermen and shipbuilders) but it is the ultimate way to show his love for Massimo. To help carry on the legacy.

Alberto has mastered some unlikely skills as well. Not as unlikely as you’d expect though considering his desire to impress Massimo.

So consider this:

-Alright, Massimo is great at cooking. Alberto sucks EPICALLY at first but over time, his motivation to measure up to his hero and dad-figure makes him an amazing cook? Check.

-Massimo likes to sing. Alberto picks it up and finds he’s an Unreasonably Excellent Singer and prodigious musician who plays by ear? DOUBLE CHECK.

(Note: The lore and reasons behind this and Alberto’s mandolin will be a blogpost on its own eventually)

-Alberto being a competent and prolific/productive fisherman resulting in the family biz growing and delivering outside of Portorosso? Definitely a proud moment for Massimo.

So to me it all checks out, and drives home Alberto’s strong gumption and the next generation being better than the generation before. As a parent, I subscribe to this goal. I want my boys to be the “Big Strong Ones.”

There’s also the bit that Alberto is a bit of a lush and a party animal. Charismatic, has a bit of a Casanova complex. Charm pouring out of his ears. Why? Well, dang, I really don’t know. I guess bringing it back to that “Charisma In Excess” statement at the beginning of this, it just felt right somehow. I had it so that he really wasn’t all that conventionally attractive but had a level of animal magnetism that’s hard to resist.

There’s lore behind that too…but will be reserved for his “Fish Form” post.

I dunno, it’s probably cus he’s Italian. It could be that simple. 🤷🏻‍♀️

#alberto scorfano #luca1970s #pixar luca #lucafanart #albertoscorfano #discobiscotto design notes #ciaolucafic #ciaoluca #ciao luca #ciao alberto #luberto #older!alberto

[jbaileyfansite]

Jonathan Bailey and Matt Bomer's Interview for WMagazine (2023)

Warning: Spoilers for Fellow Travelers ahead.

Matt Bomer and Jonathan Bailey had a feeling their characters’ sexual escapades in Fellow Travelers would ignite a social media firestorm. But apart from some in-person encounters with fans who watched the Showtime limited series, both actors claim they’ve avoided going down a rabbit hole of reactions to their performances.

“The first week of just seeing a GIF of a toe was kind of alarming,” Bailey says in a joint interview with Bomer. “But when you’re doing a scene like that, you know what function it serves—not just in the story, but in the selling of a TV series. I call it the Trojan toe: You slip it in, get people watching, and by the time they get to [that moment], they’ll understand exactly what the show’s setting out to explore.”

Adapted from Thomas Mallon’s 2007 novel, Fellow Travelers chronicles the clandestine romance between Hawkins Fuller (Bomer), a debonair State Department employee, and Tim Laughlin (Bailey), a wide-eyed college graduate, who fall in love at the height of McCarthyism and the Lavender Scare in 1950s Washington D.C. As they weave in and out of each other’s lives across multiple decades, Hawk and Tim’s enduring relationship hurtles toward a devastating conclusion in the 1980s. Following Tim’s terminal AIDS diagnosis, Hawk visits his lover—whom he has nicknamed “Skippy”—one last time in San Francisco, where they both come to terms with the significance of their volatile romance.

“A lot of people feel seen—not just by the sex scenes, but by aspects of queer identity on the show,” Bomer says. “That’s the hope, right? That whatever you’re pouring your heart and soul into resonates with somebody or makes them feel seen.”

On a recent visit to New York City, Bailey and Bomer were affable and laid-back—a far cry from the brooding, tortured characters that have defined their respective careers. Bouncing ideas off each other, the charming costars spoke with W about their approach to telling their characters’ epic love story, the surreal experience of shooting their final scene together, and what to expect from Maestro and the next season of Bridgerton.

Why does Hawk and Tim’s connection make them question everything they thought they knew about themselves?

Jonathan Bailey: You will never really know what Hawk and Tim would’ve been like [as a full-fledged couple]. You can’t judge them on anything, because there’s a survival element at play, which reflects the brutality of the world they were born into. As [the show] expands and this liberation blooms, we see more of [Hawk’s wife] Lucy [played by Allison Williams] and the impact of Hawk’s decisions on the characters around him.

To me, it’s a love story for the ages because you can follow any thread and it comes back to the political backdrop. But ultimately, there’s a real meeting of souls between the two. They complete each other in a way that’s so painful. But in a world where joy, connection and absolution are so hard to find, especially in the ’50s for gay men, it becomes addictive, and there are toxic cycles that come from it.

Matt Bomer: There are aspects of their own personal trauma that are complementary of each other.

JB: And they feed the other’s insecurities.

MB: The sad thing is, when Hawk is finally at a place where he can be his most authentic self and be available and empathetic enough to be a real partner in a relationship, it’s too late.

Hawk has a very specific moral code as a gay man living a double life in the 20th century: He is clearly able to show genuine affection for Tim, but he needs control in his relationships and is able to code-switch in public. Tim doesn’t understand Hawk’s ability to compartmentalize his life, but he still finds Hawk irresistible. How did you want to embody the many contradictions of your characters?

MB: For me, it all went back to Hawk’s childhood and that horrific incident that happened with his father [and his first love, Kenny]. He refuses to be a victim, so he’s going to find a way to survive and thrive in whatever way he can. It all ties into the fact that he will never be the victim of a homophobic society or family again.

JB: What Tim’s really drawn to in Hawk is his center. Hawk is the epicenter of all these people’s worlds because he doesn’t afford them space to veer him off in any direction. Tim’s always there for Hawk when he needs him, but Hawk’s never really there for Tim, and that is something Tim is drawn to. Tim’s quest in life is his desperate need for a groundedness, and the choice I made early on was to physicalize Tim so that his inner and outer world were matched.

Tim finds it really hard to lie; he can’t not be completely transparent. The decoding of Hawk is something that fills all sorts of needs in Tim. But as he gets older and [society’s] way of thinking aligns with his need to disassemble the cards he’s been given, Tim finds a stillness and a calm, which is reflected in the way he can then handle Hawk.

MB: Hawk does have his allegiances and his own sense of empathy, but if it comes down to anything that’s going to threaten his survival, he can go full Scorpio and cut it off. [He’s] a little Mother Teresa, a little Tony Soprano. [Laughs.]

JB: And in the performing of [those scenes], Tim felt so much more love than I thought he would. In episode two, I think it became more confusing to play Tim in the best possible way, because when he says, “I don’t understand you” [to Hawk], it’s because he can see the palpable empathy, love, and compassion. That is just as real as everything else, and that is a bind for Tim and really hard to step away from. When they look at each other, there’s no one else that’s ever existed. And if you’re lucky enough to have that with someone, it’s really hard to let that go.

There are little details that anchor each of Hawk and Tim’s sex scenes—the eye contact, the importance of consent, the shifting power dynamics, the negotiation of how much of yourself you’re willing to give to another person. How did you want to subvert traditional depictions of queer intimacy?

MB: We were so fortunate that those scenes were just an extension of the story, that the relationship was never the same after one of those scenes as it was before. It was always an externalization of what was going on with the characters internally.

JB: I think it’s a rule that [creator] Ron [Nyswaner] learned on Homeland where every single scene has to further the story—and that’s true of the sex scenes. Because there haven’t necessarily been elevated, eight-hourlong gay dramas like this; there was space to breathe, and that constant negotiation between the two of them is so vital. I remember speaking to [executive producer/director] Dan Minahan in Toronto. We had a good few hours, and we ended up talking about intimacy and how you can capture it on film. The thing that I understand [from] enjoying love stories or intimacy on film is the moments where they surprise each other.

MB: Yeah! It’s not like Hawk’s pushing the envelope the whole time; Tim upends Hawk as much as Hawk upends Tim’s expectations.

JB: We basically started with the chicken soup [scene in episode one], when Hawk seduces Tim for the first time. By the time we were in episode four, we were really emboldened as a team. As Jonny and Matt, we were always whispering, “This is absolutely fine, if you want to do this.” For so many people, it’s bizarre to think of that as a job. But when the material is as rich as this, no stone will go unturned into [depicting] how intricate, sensitive, celebratory, and joyful those moments are.

MB: I believe everybody should get to play every role, but I think the fact that we’re both openly gay men lent an ease and an understanding of a lot of the aspects of the relationship.

JB: You can have conversations between yourselves of why your instincts are cropping up in those moments. It was a bit like when, just before they dive, synchronized divers do that thing where they jump up and clap.

MB: [Laughs.] That was us! And there’s no [going] halfway in scenes like those that are written in this [show]. You know you have to go all the way.

Knowing that the entire emotional weight of their relationship rests on the penultimate line, “Promise you won’t write,” what did you want to convey in Hawk and Tim’s final scene together outside the governor’s ball? What do you remember from shooting their goodbye scene?

MB: I remember everything about that day.

JB: Yeah, I do too. Everything was in hyper-focus. It was overwhelming.

MB: It’s one of those scenes that you’re really glad you didn’t have to shoot on day two, because we had five and a half months of history [with] these characters. It was one of the last things we filmed together.

JB: I left [Toronto] early as well [to shoot Bridgerton], so we didn’t finish [shooting] together. We finished the love story in that scene.

MB: Yes, that’s right. It was one of those days at work where you have to try to get out of your own way and trust that all you’ve invested in these roles and these relationships will be inside of you. You don’t have to try to force or push anything; you have to just try to keep it alive and spontaneous when the cameras are rolling.

JB: I think we filmed it in the first take, didn’t we?

MB: Yeah.

JB: There are moments in that scene when it was like the world melted away. It’s amazing to see Tim establish his boundaries and be really kind with it. In that moment, he’s fully centered and aligned, and Hawk helps give him that final push to go, “I know what I’m doing, and what I’m saying is the right thing.” He’s never really known that with Hawk.

MB: Yeah, Hawk is finally emotionally vulnerable. I had every intention of coming into that scene and not letting any emotional vulnerability creep through, but it’s just one of those things where the scene takes over and you don’t want to block it.

Have either of you given much thought to what a second season of Fellow Travelers could look like?

JB: What I hope this [season] will be is a trampette into telling other queer stories, because two white gay men are the way in [to start a larger conversation], and it would be so interesting to have a world explored of [Jelani Alladin’s] Marcus and [Noah J. Ricketts’] Frankie. They were such a massive reason why I was like, “Okay, this is going to be good.”

MB: They weren’t in the book, and it was so important from the creatives that we included that narrative.

JB: I would totally come back and support Frankie’s story.

MB: Yeah, I would come in and do two days—whatever they need me for.

JB: Frankie and Marcus up front, and I’ll be there.

Surely, we all deserve to have the two of you star in a rom-com together (with a happier ending than this one).

JB: If someone comes up with it... Who would be the dream?

MB: To direct?

JB: Yeah. Luca Guadagnino?

MB: Yes, Luca or Andrew Haigh.

JB: We’ll do it!

MB: We’re there. And Russell T. Davies, if it’s a miniseries.

Have you discussed collaborating again in the future?

MB: Listen, sign me up to work with Jonathan Bailey any time. [They shake hands.] I will bring a tray to his character at the dinner table in a scene.

JB: Stop it. As long as it’s [like] Upstairs, Downstairs…

MB: [Laughs.] Yes, exactly. I would love that. Next time, I have to be British though. And I’ll come to London.

JB: I’ll be a Texan cowboy. [They laugh.]

In addition to Fellow Travelers, you both have new projects that will be debuting in the coming months. Matt, what were some of your takeaways from working with Bradley Cooper on Maestro?

MB: Bradley is such a generous and beyond talented scene partner—and his style of directing is so electric and present. He wants everything happening on the camera for the first time. I feel like I was really the beneficiary of his process before I started work on Fellow Travelers because I got to watch him and Carey [Mulligan] travel through all these phases of their multidecade romance. And then, [I was] getting to work with Johnny—who’s so similar in many regards, so generous, always keeping you on your toes and bringing things to the material that make the scene richer.

JB: Has Bradley watched Fellow Travelers?

MB: I keep telling him to! And Carey says she wants to. She keeps asking me where it’s on in England.

The third season of Bridgerton will premiere in two parts on May 16 and June 13, 2024. Jonathan, what new layers of Kate (Simone Ashley) and Anthony’s relationship will we see in the new season?

JB: I’m a massive fan of “Kanthony.” There’s so much to enjoy for both of them now, and we explore that in season three. They’ve overcome a lot. [We’re] talking about the need for communication in a romance, and that study of how they communicate and how little they did communicate until the very end [of season two]. So now, we can see them completely celebrate each other for who they are. There are really lovely conversations about heritage and familial roles, and once you meet someone who understands you fully, having sacrificed so much for the families as they both have, how exciting [it is] to make decisions that might change the course for them [as a couple].

Source

#fellow travelers #jonathan bailey #matt bomer #interviews #interviews:2023 #wmagazine interview #NEW!

[nobody-nexus]

Y'all I got a TADC oc named Clef

(Hands you him)

If one word could describe Clef, it would be: Theater. He's extremely loud, boisterous, cartoonishly flamboyant, and will make constant Broadway and musical theater references. They love to put on a show and even sometimes up show others just to show them that he's the best of the best in terms of playing a role in the digital circus. Of course, this personality is most likely from their time before, however the constant references seem to be the only way to comfort them with the fact that they only VAGUELY know where the mentions even come from. He's a very empathetic person as well, able to read people's emotions well and relate to them in a sense

In his non-digital life, they were once a Broadway star. He adored the stage, making musical after musical from side character to the main character. Have you heard of it? They’ve played in it. He was also incredibly open to being themselves, and hoping others would do the same. But in all actuality, he was merely someone who their mother was projecting over. Their mother relished in the fame that her child gave her, but once that was the case and everyone found out, that stardom dropped like a brick. He was quickly forgotten due to more prominent and “relevant” stars, no one willing to give their mother fame- and as a result HE was left in the dust, giving them a bit of an imposter syndrome. Now only doing occasional side gigs, he ended up finding this link on an old hard drive. They wished for ANYTHING to make himself feel better, so with a borrowed VR headset- they went into the world…. A world they’d never awake from

Clef in terms of design was based off of a Dragon City dragon called the Wonderland Dragon

In terms of age, Clef is 34 years old (I do not ship them with anyone in the TADC cast) and he is 5'11''

He's a very expressive character as well! The yellow around their eyes changing color and his eyes changing shape to further express how they feel Examples:

Although I don't have art for it, his main ability is being able to pull a horn out of their stomach mouth and play it with ease- the horn itself being able to sound like just about anything

And of course what's a TADC OC post without ONE OF THESE CHARTS

More detailed relationships are as follows:

Pomni: Although sometimes doesn't enjoy how bombastic he is, at the same time they're one of the more 'I guess you're okay' people, but I promise they bond with one another eventually

Caine: Doesn't like having the attention on someone else when it comes to performances, so sometimes Caine does get on their nerves, however overall he's FINE around the ringmaster

Gangle: Father daughter dynamic. Almost instantly Clef practically adopted Gangle due to her love for the arts as well. Although he can't save her from Jax's bullshit, he tries to protect her nonetheless

Jax: Absolute hatred. Not even because of his dynamic with Gangle either, they just HATE "hecklers" and considers Jax as one. Jax's nickname for him is 'maestro' and they really don't like it

Kinger: Literally no thoughts on him. Clef's hardly interacted with the chess piece due to how uncomfortable they find themselves around him. Nothing AGAINST Kinger, Clef just... really doesn't like his eyes

Ragatha: If him and Gangle for the father and daughter dynamic, them and Ragatha are team mom and team dad. They probably get along due to how close in age they are, as well as their people pleaser attitudes

Zooble: He finds them very nice, but Zooble is REALLY annoyed with how Clef speaks and therefore having to deal with them a lot is a bit of a pain in the eyes of the mismatched individual

===

Also made some concepts of what Clef would be like in some of my favorite AUs! (Carnival AU by @sm-baby and Corrupted AU by @rabid-mercenary15)

If you wanna see more with them, I'll be happy to share more stuff ^^

#the amazing digital circus #amazing digital circus #the digital circus #digital circus #tadc #oc #original character #tadc oc #digital circus oc #tadc original character #au #au stuff #digital art

[behrads-world]

SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 OF TUA

Warnings: Drinking and references to smut but no actual smut.

Enjoy please

- N <3

__________________________________________

Why you had been invited to Luther’s bachelor party when you should’ve been hanging with the girls, you have no idea.

But you weren’t complaining because it means you get to spend whatever time you have left close to five.

“Can’t believe Luther is the first one of us that get hitched” says Diego, intently watching the horrible performance going on in front of you. You couldn’t blame him though, he was getting married.

Wow, Luther was getting married and you were still sitting here, hiding your feelings from the boy you wished to call your own.

Good for him

“I can, I caught him marrying action figures in ,like, third grade” Viktor adds on to his brother.

“Did not” Klaus whines.

You snuck a glance at five as he took another sip of his drink. If he kept up his pace he would be wasted by the end of the night.

But then again, he deserved it. He’s been working himself to the bone for the past 27 days.

It was when Five met your gaze that you looked away, focusing on the conversation happening around you.

“This isn’t how I pictured our bachelors party, you know?” Diego spoke again, gesturing with his hands.

Klaus added his two cents in “well, the world’s running a little short on strippers and tea cakes right now”

“Just surprised you didn’t invite daddy dearest to come join us” Five spoke up. Gosh, his voice was enough to make your knees weak.

“Oh come on. He’s such a kind and thoughtful soul He’s not like our hargreeves.” You loved Klaus don’t get me wrong but he was too trusting. He thought a man like your father could change.

You scoffed “As if, dad? Being kind?” You shook your head at that. Even if the world was ending you would never trust that man.

“Let me finish” Klaus raised his glass at you, a silent plea “but I’ll admit I needed a break from the old dog”.

Nothing I can say, total eclipse of the heart

Luther finished singing his solo, dropping the microphone on the floor as he made his way off the stage.

“What are you SOBs so down in the mouth about? This is a party” Luther takes a seat next to Viktor.

“I’m so glad we got to go out with a big ol bang while we still can” Klaus say’s. “Hey, here’s to us” he stands so abruptly you almost drop your glass.

Everybody stood from their seats to join the toast “we’ve had a hell of a run.”

A series of small “ cheers” sounded followed by the clicking of the glasses.

“Who's next?” Diego asked after he sipped his drink.

“Oh, that’d be me” Five was the last person you’d expect to take up a karaoke offer. “Cause I have finally come to a decision.”

“So what’s it going to be, maestro?”

“It’s going to be a duet my friend” You take your seat again as five and Klaus clamber onto the stage, preparing for their duet.

“Now I’ve had the time of my life.” Five began the song.

In the years of knowing him you had never heard him sing, albeit it wasn’t that good considering his (almost) drunk state.

No I’ve never felt this way before, yes I swear it’s the truth and I owe it all to you.

“I’m going to do it” you announced the decision that you settled on a while ago.

It was quite enough for Luther, Viktor and Diego to hear.

Viktor gave you a knowing look, Diego gave a small nod. And Luther looks utterly confused.

“Do what?” The man asks, to satisfy his curiosity. But you were already detached from the topic, looking over at five.

“Ohhh” You could tell he came to his senses and finally realized what you meant.

“It’s on her bucket list,” Diego added.

Five ushered Luther onto stage with them, “ Viktor, Viktor don’t be shy, you too Diego” you laughed at the siblings misfortune.

“I see you over there laughing (y/n), get up here” and he wouldn’t really need to ask you twice, he’s practically handing you the perfect opportunity.

This could be love because I’ve had the time of my life, no I’ve never felt this way before.

Yes I swear it’s the truth and I owe it all to you

Now was perfect

“Everyone I have an announcement to make” you could hear the slur in your words, you didn’t even realize you had drank that much.

The singing stopped as everyone turned their attention to you.

“Recently I have been feeling…well, feelings” Did that even make sense? “and not only is that feeling because of the new found family I have in you all” you gestured to them.

“There was also a feeling of loneliness, but that feeling went away as soon as I met this lil psychopath” you made eye contact with five and you could see the small smile gracing his features.

“You showed me a world I never thought existed and you were there when I needed you most, and now I’m seeing the world dissolve into oblivion and I’m realizing that this is the only chance I have, even if it doesn’t go my way”

You pull up your pant leg and go down on one knee, you might be making a fool of yourself but you don’t seem to care.

“Five hargreeves, I love you”

The smile fell from his face and you knew you messed up. Why would you do something so stupid?

The handler warned you that five never loved anyone but himself but you chose not to listen to her.

You stopped your little show and got off your knee and balanced yourself on both legs again. “I’m sorry that was stupid, I just didn’t want to have this burden on my heart”

“At least I could say I try” you were already planning out the rest of the night, Holed up in your designated room berating yourself for your actions.

You turned to begin the walk of shame to your room.

You were startled when five blinked in front of you. With barely anytime for you to react he pulled you in, smashing his lips onto yours.

There was no way you could describe it other than fireworks, like you two were just made for each other, made to be with each other.

The kiss was soft yet fierce at the same time, it portrayed the emotions you knew he was too afraid to show.

When he pulled away, you missed the warmth. You barely registered the siblings cheering from behind you.

“Then what are we waiting for, let’s spend whatever time we have left with each other” and with that he blinked you both out of the lounge.

You landed gracefully onto the mattress below, face up, gaining a clear view of five unknotting his tie.

Whilst his fingers worked in his tie he slotted himself between your open legs and bent to plant another kiss to your lips.

“I love you too”

This was the best way to spend your last night on earth.

💍

A/n hi I’m new to writing on tumblr so please no hate.

Feel free to request Five imagines

#five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves #the umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #fanfic #i love you #romance

[anamelessfool]

Hello, I am A Nameless Fool.

30+. She/Her. I'm writing a massive Ghost AU because I'm insane.

They have no time to consider what the Void is. All they understand is that it is Hungry. And they are the only two previously human beings that can ensure the health of their charge. They are the single line of defense at the border of Void and Not Void.

Scenes from the Void (Eldritch Horror AU) AO3 Series Link

Feel free to read them in any order you like. I'm adding fics of each Papa, with a variety of emotional tones and subjects. They all revolve around a larger overarching plot.

Current Major Fic (Moodboard by @ghuleh-recs):

WIP Violence & Gentleness

Primo x OC Papessa, Primo & Family| Family Drama, Young Primo, Whump, Protective Older Brother, Brotherly Affection, Action Adventure, Mystery, Noir, Late 1970s, OC Nameless Ghouls

LATE OCTOBER 1979 Primo has his work cut out for him as the bodyguard of the beautiful and fearsome Mater Emerita Jocasta. As mystery after mystery unfolds, it becomes harder to remain a honest man in this den of thieves called the Ministry.

Ghouls and Lore

Blackened Feathers OC | Horror, Lore

Resurrection Reader & Papa (Any) | Ritual Magic, Ghouls, Trippy Weirdness (done for the @petrifyingpapas challenge May '23)

The Garden Nameless Ghouls, Terzo/Omega | SFW (strong language), Family Bonding, Dark Magic, Trippy, Adventure, Family Drama, Secret Relationship, Nonbinary Ghouls

Ongoing WIP Bestiary Nameless Ghouls (Canon and OC) | Ficlets 18+, Dark Magic, Alternate History, Weird Lore, Historical References, Other OC Papa Emeritus/Mater Emerita

Ongoing WIP Domestics Entire "Emeritus" Family and Church | Ficlets 16+, Domestic Fluff, Angst and Fluff, Humor, Slice of Life

Terzo x Omega

The First and The Last Terzo/Omega | Dark Romance, Ritual Magic, Trippy Weirdness

Reciprocity Terzo/Omega | Artist Model, Photography, Tender Moments, Body Worship, Oral Fixation, Cardiophilia

Ribbons & Ties Terzo/Omega | Domestic Fluff, Established relationship, Weddings Bring Out Your Fear of Commitment

Copia x Cardinal Marian (OC)

Sweeter Red Copia/OC | Fluffy Romance, bdsm, demi Copia, Bittersweet

All the Stops (Sweeter Red Sequel) Copia/OC | Fluffy Romance, bdsm, Bittersweet

Tilted Copia/OC, Terzo/Omega | Adventure, Dark Magic, Ghouls, Trippy Weirdness, Dark Past, Repressed Memories, Secret Relationships, Long-term Relationship

Wanna Bewitch You Copia/OC, Terzo/OC, Nameless Ghouls, Emeritus Family| Adventure, Dark Magic, Ghouls, Trippy Weirdness, Dark Past, Long-term Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Formalwear

Valentine's Day 1985 Young Copia & Primo | Brotherly Affection, Domestic Fluff, Valentine's Day, Hurt/Comfort, My Art

Primo x OC Papessa, Primo & Family

For One Creature's Sake Primo & Copia | Phobias, Family Drama,Young Cardinal Copia, Young Primo, Whump, Protective Older Brother, Brotherly Affection, Hurt/Comfort, Terminal Illness

WIP Violence & Gentleness Primo x OC Papessa, Primo & Family| Family Drama, Young Primo, Whump, Protective Older Brother, Brotherly Affection, Action Adventure, Mystery, Noir, Late 1970s, OC Nameless Ghouls

Interlude: In Orbit Always Primo x OC Nameless Ghoul (Edelweiss Ghoul | FWB, One Bed Trope, Psychic Ties, Dreams, Somniphilia, First Time, Friends BUT MORE

Secondo & Family

Maestro Sister Imperator & Young Secondo, Young Terzo | Ritual Magic, Sibling Rivalry (done for the @petrifyingpapas challenge May '23)

WIP Crossroads Secondo & Terzo, Secondo & Family | Ritual Magic, Horror, Trippy Weirdness, Brother Angst, Father & Son, Family Drama

Extra (Outside of The Scenes from the Void AU)

Call Me Papa IV & Reader | SFW, Hurt/Comfort, Hugs, Cardiophilia, Comfy Read, Papa IV Reassures You Everything Will Be Okay

One Shot Papa IV & Reader | Silly Fic, PG-13 Fun, Overly Dramatic, Concert Experience

Tights Papa IV x Gen Reader | Fishnets, Body Worship, Massage, Sensual Play, Foot Play, Foot Job, Light D/s, Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

No Deal Papa Nihil x Fem! Reader | 1970s, Music References, Recreational Drug Use, Oral, Shotgunning, Nihil Being Father of the Decade, Surprise Ending

VIII Strength Papa IV x Gen Reader | Dom Sub Dynamic, Established Relationshop, Power Play, Body Worship, Bondage

Housekeeping Notes

I sometimes announce I'm doing fic requests. They are PG-13. I do not post NSFW works on tumblr, please read them through AO3 and keep them on AO3. I DO really love talking about writing and meeting other writers, so please don't be shy. NEMA

About Me 👇👇👇

I love: Clive Barker, John Bellairs, Mervyn Peake, Shirley Jackson, Terry Prachett, David Lynch, David Cronenberg

Other Hobbies: Larping, Sewing, BJD, witchcraft, wandering around the woods

Current Favorite Albums to Write to:

#ghost fandom #ghost band fic #ao3 author #the band ghost #ao3 fanfic #authorinro #ghost scenes from the void #ao3 link #terzo/omega #cardinal copia #copia x oc #papa emeritus ii #papa emertius iii #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus i

[buniyaad]

part of the reason why i love jon is bc he’s a character from a horror novel who’s not allowed to act like he’s a character in a horror novel. like not only did terrible things happen to him, but he doesn’t actually get to FEEL the terror of it all. his father allegedly dies and he just goes to work, meanwhile clark is raising a whole damn dream baby with his dream family where jor el and ultraman don’t get to ruin his kid before he can. the green was inside him for a time. he was possessed enough to almost snap and kill during dark crisis. he’s with a man who was probably a terrorist in his previous life but changed his ways bc of the power of kryptonian bussy, which honestly, good for jay. he was with a woman who read his mind bc she could. he’s been to the future and knows he reproduces with a zod, but doesn’t care which zod and only calls up his 31st century homies for sick gear. there’s something seriously wrong with him but the gods (dc editorial) prevent him from reckoning with the horrorscape that is his existence. if they could get a horror maestro on him for a black label book, i would buy it.

#jon kent #dc comics #jayjon #jonjay #imra ardeen #superman #clark kent #real talk

[queerolddad]

“Erik Elizabeth Daaé, if you’ve hidden my shoes again, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur!

The rustling sounds coming from the organ room abruptly ceased, the house plunged into quiet. She frowned, rising from her vanity and padding barefoot from her room into the hall.

“Erik?”

She stood in the frame of the music room and watched him there, ramrod straight at the piano bench.

She took a step forward before his velvety whisper stopped her.

“Do you mean it?”

She sighed, taking another step toward him.

“No, darling, of course not — I’m not really cross, I was only kidding. Though, I do need to leave soon if I’m to meet Meg on time —“

“That’s not….” His head turned to the right a fraction so she could see the smear of pink along the white porcelain. She wondered if it mirrored a similar blush beneath.

She waited for him to continue while crossing the final steps to reach him. She laid her hands atop his shoulders, squeezing with gentle encouragement.

“Why did you call me that?”

She let out a soft “oh”, hands squeezing slightly tighter.

“When my father was cross with me he’d call me by my full name. I’d hide away somewhere in the house and he’d bellow: ‘Christine Elizabeth Daaé, you come in here and practice your violin at once!’” She giggled at the memory, eyes quietly watering.

“Since you don’t have a middle or surname I thought I’d give you mine. I only meant to tease you, angel, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

He was silent for a long moment, hands clasped tightly in his lap. He took a deep breath, his torso rising beneath her fingers.

“I’ve never lamented the lack of a given name. I chose Erik long ago, as a way to cling to the last vestiges of my humanity. But the sentimentality is lost to me. Or was — until very recently.”

He slowly spun on the bench until he was facing her, keeping his gaze resolutely on the boning of her corset. Her hands slid upwards to caress his jaw, buoying him.

“Does it not torment you, as it does me, that we can never be truly married? No grand cathedral overflowing with flowers, no exchanging of rings, no final kiss to seal our bond…and no name for me to offer you.”

“Oh, my love —“ she knelt down before him, angling his face upwards to meet her watery gaze.

“I don’t need all that. I don’t need the recognition of the rest of the world. I don’t mourn a life I never wanted.”

His eyes were wet, too, and she brought a hand up to swipe underneath the left one. His eyelashes fluttered against her skin like moth’s wings in the dark.

“You bring me flowers. I wear your ring, I am gifted your sweet kisses. I don’t need a name to bind me to you. I am already bound — willingly, giddily, eternally. Additionally, as I have a name to give, I give it to you freely. Maestro Daaé — I quite like that, don’t you?”

His eyes squeezed shut, frame trembling. He reached out to her and she enfolded herself around him. He tucked his face beneath her chin, lips wet with tears whispering against her skin.

“I do love you so, Christine.”

#this is my actually sad headcanon behind the stupid joke I make all the time #my poor baby boy #phantom of the opera #poto #my headcanons #phantom headcanons #Erik elizabeth Daaé: origins #Cherik #phantine #erik/Christine

[theonevoice]

Two halves of the same being

Ok friends, it had to happen sooner or later: I wrote a thing. I was stuck in a train station yesterday evening and this thing was screaming to be put on paper, so I did it. I wrote it all down directly as a post, over 3-4 hours of total estrangement, therefore I don't even know exactly how long it is, and it is probably encrusted with typos and titanic grammatical errors. It is also written in a language that I don't master at all, and it is my first attempt at narration since - I kid you not - the year of our lord 2006. This is really less then a draft, it's a test-drive of the storytelling side of my hyperfixated brain. If someone feels like skimming it and pointing out mistakes and things that sound wrong, I will be very grateful! Anyway, as far as fanfic genres go, I guess this would qualify as historical-minisode one shot: Aziraphale and Crowley are in Rome in 1509 and get more or less accidentally involved in the creation of a certain Renaissance masterpiece.

November 1509, Rome.

The heavy robe swooshed quietly as a white-blonde bishop entered the chapel door with a satisfied smile, like a man who had just escaped boredom for fun.

A man in a leather apron full of pockets and stained all over was standing at a cluttered table by the wall, staring gloomily at the figures sketched on a large sheet of brownish paper.

- Maestro!

The man raised his curly dark-haired head and pointed a pair of firey eyes on the newcomer. The dark circles around his eyes gave out the strange impression of a feverish man on the verge of collapsing mixed with a feral beast ready to jump at its prey. It was freezing in there, but he was wearing a shirt with sleeves rolled all the way up to his elbows, and his hairy forearms were covered in white dust and paint dribbles. He was a rather short man, but well-built and muscular, and even if the bishop was considerably taller and not thin himself, he felt that he could have easily knocked him down in one move.

- Monsignor Fell, back again...

The man didn't sound pleased, but he didn't sound displeased either. Considered his well-known temper and given the circumstances, his reaction was relatively welcoming. One could have even called it encouraging. After all, noone was ever really at ease in Rome. Especially not in that part of Rome.

- I was eager to see your progress. - Aziraphale said with a honest smile. - I hope I'm not disturbing your work. Please don't mind my presence.

They both instinctively looked up.

The enormous vault of the Sistine Chapel was looming over the empty hall as a giant shield, halfway covered in massive figures. Those bodies looked so real and heavy that they felt like they could plummet any second all the way down to the floor and crash the unfortunate bystanders. It was like a threatening storm of colors and shapes slowly covering the old starry sky.

- Not much progress to see. - Growled Michelangelo, turning back to the sketches and tossing a piece of reddish chalk on the table. - I'm bloody stuck.

Aziraphale moved his eyes across the ceiling, down to the farthest end of the vault, where the golden stars were still dimly shining on a deep blue background, on the two sides of the large ugly crack, now filled with bricks, that had scarred the old affresco when the south wall had shifted. It was a sad spectacle. He had liked the starry sky. It was beautiful.

- Stuck? How do you mean?

Aziraphale forced himself to look away from the ceiling and gently stared at the painter, who had turned his back on him and was angrily standing over his desk with his stained hands on his hips, like a severe father in front of a misbehaving child.

- I mean stuck. - The artist repeated drily, throwing an annoyed look at monsignor Fell. The bishop offered him a sympathetic smile, a strangely maternal smile that seemed to be saying that he took his worries very seriously but at the same time he was sure they were not insurmountable.

Michelangelo sighed forlornly. He didn't like priests, but he didn't mind this one. He curiously seemed very little concerned with church matters and a lot more interested in random things like paintings and statues and choir rehearsals. He had even spotted him more than once in a couple of his favourite osterie, and he meant the good ones, those small half-hidden godforsaken places that only the locals knew, ignored by travellers and definitely not visited by clergymen. And he had seen him sitting there in plain sight, amidst the common people of Rome, as if noone could tell that he was a bishop - and God knew if bishops were a hatred species in the streets of the Holy City. It was truly a miracle that he could just walk in there, eat and drink like he were any carter or boatman, and not end up robbed or stabbed or poisoned. He had even seen Teresina at the Gatto morto pour him the good wine once, the one that the innkeeper kept only for himself and his closest friends. Furthermore, he had a nice eye for drawing: in the past few weeks he had been visiting the chapel almost daily, and had dropped some genuinely good remarks. Some of them even brilliant. He relaxed his shoulders and continued with a softer tone:

- This is not working and I'm not putting this up there, con tutta la fatica che costa.

Aziraphale looked up again, this time at the wooden structure that was stretching upwards like a dark solid cobweb. It took indeed a lot of effort, to climb up there, dragging along the large cartoni with the refined lineart to transfer on the plaster, standing hours and hours arched backwards to paint over your head, seventy feet above the ground, with the colors running down the brush and dripping on your face...

- Do you mind me seeing the sketch?

The painter made a vague gesture to let him approach the table and eyed him with a certain curiosity when the bishop let out a little gasp and a peculiar nostalgic expression settled on his face. It was the sketch for the campata of the Original Sin.

Aziraphale felt a warm mix of emotions filling his chest, not all of which he dared to name. He focused on the drawing. Michelangelo was right: it was wrong, even if he could not imagine how wrong.

In the sketch, Adam and Eve were sitting at the center, under the Tree, Eve reaching up for a fruit, Adam following her movement with a concerned look. On the right half of the piece, in a stretch of desert, the confused shape of an angel was roughly outlined: he was standing all straight and rigid with his sword raised above his head and a threatening finger pointing at the first humans. The left side was mostly filled with a generic looking garden, too lush and too earthly at the same time, and the only other presence was a little, ugly dragon-like creature, with a grotesque charcoal snut, sharp teeth and a biforcated tongue sticking out.

Aziraphale at first didn't pay it much attention, but after a second he suddenly realised what he was looking at and his jaw dropped.

- Is that supposed to be the Serpent of Eden!?

He asked in a high pitched voiced, sounding somewhat scandalised.

Michelangelo frowned and pulled out his most intimidating look.

- What else should it be?

- But that's not how it looked at all!

The bishop exclaimed, entirely unfazed. "Here it comes," thought to himself the painter, letting out a huff of resigned annoyance, "another punctilious catechist who wants me to stick to some stupid half line in the Bible." But, much to his surprise, monsignor Fell did not bring up any biblical reference. He looked vaguely offended and at the same time, for some reason, deeply amused.

- And how did it look? - Michelangelo asked sarcastically, posing like someone who is interrogating an eyewitness. But the bishop didn't seem to get the hint, and instead answered with a focused face, as he were actually about to recount him old memories.

- Well, it looked... - Aziraphale paused, searching the right word. He found himself suddenly assaulted by a number of adjectives that he had not anticipated. - He looked... - his tongue ended up picking one before his mind had time to evaluate the implications - ...seductive.

- Seductive. - Michelangelo looked at him with an incredulous face and his eyebrows were all the way up to his hairline.

Aziraphale stumbled.

- I mean... He- he was the original tempter... - He tried to regroup. His thoughts were strangely tumbling in his head. - You see, in order to be effective in his... tempting, he couldn't have look like an ugly little monster. - Yes, that was reasonable, it was a logical explanation, just a sensible thing that nobody could disagree on. - He had to look... - but then again, Aziraphale felt a sense of warmth of unclear origin raising to his face, and his voice cracked in a weird way, - ...beautiful. Charming. He had to be so, so fascinating, that you couldn't help listening to him, considering his reasons... I mean, the poor, naive humans, that is. They couldn't help...

His voice trailed off mid sentence. Michelangelo was still staring at him with a certain look, but the words of the bishop were not completely absurd.

- And he didn't crawl. That was not what he was. - He finished with a sort of fond determination.

- You make it sound quite impressive, for the one who damned humanity.

- Oh but he didn't mean to! - Once again, Aziraphale ignored the astonished expression on the other's face. A deep, obscure feeling of injustice was tugging at his soul. He didn't mean to have them damned. It was an overreaction. His voiced lowered ever so slightly, sounding somewhat sad. - From his point of view, he was... freeing them. He was giving them a choice, he didn't force them. He was letting the door of their cage open to see what they would do.

- Does the Pope know that you go around spreading this sort of ideas?

- Pah, what should he know.

They both startled as that last sentence echoed in all its outrageous blasphemy on the high walls. They looked around in the empty chapel tucking their heads between their shoulders, like two kids who had just inadvertently laughed out loud during the silent bit of the mass.

A moment of embarassed silence fell in the room. But the words of monsignor Fell had already stirred the painter's imagination.

- Beautiful, you say... - He repeated, almost speaking to himself, squinting at the left corner of his sketch as a different version of the scene started emerging in his mind. - Not crawly...

The chapel door opened suddenly and a very alarmed young seminarist run inside.

- Monsignor Fell! - He cried. - I've been looking for you everywhere! The assembly started half an hour ago.

- Did it indeed?

The bishop replied, looking like someone who knew perfectly well when the assembly was scheduled and had deliberately made sure to miss it. Michelangelo found himself wondering once more where on earth had they found such a singular minister of the church, who was now tenderly smiling at the seminarist, visibly moved to pity by his distressed expression.

- Well then, I suppose I will be coming right away. - He gave one last look at the sketch as he stepped away from the table. - Thank you for your time, maestro. And forgive me for... - He hesitated, as if trying to free himself from some last string of thought that was keeping him tied there. - ...for my suggestions.

The painter watched the white-blonde head disappear beyond the door that the alarmed seminarist closed after them, and all of a sudden the vast chapel felt colder than it was moments before. In the silence he could hear that it was raining outside. He took a deep breath, felt the freezing air filling his lungs and a shiver running down his spine, but his mind was on fire: an entirely new image was coming to life, one that the pope would probably not appreciate, and that was the best part.

He decided to take the rest of the day off to work on his idea and run to the Gatto morto, where he knew that Teresina would free the little corner table near the fireplace for him, with a light good enough to draw and a wine good enough to keep himself inspired.

- Now that is quite the progress since the last time I saw it!

The man had approached him so silently that Michelangelo almost spilled his jug over the new sketches.

- What are you doing here, Antonio? Aren't you supposed to stay away from the city after the ban? Se ti prendono gli svizzeri ti fanno la festa.

- Oh come on! Do you really think anyone would notice me? - The man threw himself on the chair on the opposite side of the table and crossed his long legs, unwrapping himself from his large black cloak.

- Yes, I do. - He replied, expressively pointing at the man he knew by the name of Antonio, all clad in black, with his exotic smoked spectacles and his bright red hair brushing his shoulders.

Crowley raised his glass with a bright white smile, like he had just been complimented.

- I thought you were in Florence.

- I've just come back from a lovely visit to your dear friend.

- He's not my friend.

Crowley's smile grew even wider, and the painter suddenly felt ashamed and annoied. He had spent the last several years convincing everyone including himself that he did not consider Leonardo his rival, that he was perfectly indifferent to his achievements and was not at all vexed by people talking about him, and it had took all of ten seconds to this man to make him snap without even naming the other one.

- He is making some formidable machinery, these days. Oh, and some really masterful portraits. - His irritating grin was unbearable. - You should see them.

Draining all his will power, Michelangelo managed to keep his mouth shut and focused all his attention back on his new sketches.

- I'm busy, what do you want?

- I've come to see your progress! - Antonio said cheerfully, grabbing his drawings before he could stop him. - Quite impressive, indeed...

His expression became imperceptibly more serious as he was examining the small piece of paper where the painter had sketched a new version of the Original Sin campata. Michelangelo knew that he had not liked the first version: months before, he had come to his shop all swagger and cockiness as always, and after seeing the initial sketch of the Eden had left without saying a word and somehow had earned himself a ban from Rome. Not that it had stopped him from coming back on a whim just to mock him with news of Leonardo's incredible machinery, apparently. And after all, the swiss guard really seemed to ignore him to an impossible degree, as he were invisible. Michelangelo had a certain suspect that Antonio was having an affair or more than one with someone inside the Curia, earning the protection of a dame or two. Or a monsignore or two. Or both, whatever. Now he seemed struck by the new version of the scene.

The sketch was nothing more than a bunch of thick lines on a small piece of paper, but you could make out that the Serpent was no longer on the ground, but wrapped around the Tree, had no monstruous features but a human-like torso, and his head was towering higher than all the other characters in the scene.

Michelangelo watched him staring intentely at the drawing, with an unreadable expression on his face, until he put down the piece of paper with a careful movement.

- You're good, good job. - He said, trying to make it sound casual, but with a weird note in his voice.

- I know I'm good. - The painter said, grabbing the drawing angrily. - But this change is throwing off the entire composition. Now I have three characters in the middle and this one over here. - He muttered, pointing all disgruntled at what was supposed to be the Angel of Eden, who was sadly standing alone on the right side of the image like a piece of a column that someone had built there by mistake. A tentative detail of his profile, stern and scowling, was sketched sideways on the margin of the sheet.

- Why did you draw him so angry?

Michelangelo raised his head from his composition puzzle, not quite understanding what Antonio was talking about, until he saw his finger tapping over the profile.

- He's the Angel. - He said with a tone indicating that the implication was obvious. But the man sitting in front of him didn't seem to get the point. - He's the Angel who delivers the fucking wrath of God. He has to look angry!

- No he doesn't!

The painter straightened up in disbelief. What was with everyone that day? Why did every last person in that damn city had opinions on his work, all of a sudden?

- Oh sorry, should I make him all cheerful and smiling?

- Why would he be smiling?

- And what would he be?

Antonio took a second, and then aswered, deadly serious.

- Heartbroken.

- Why heartbroken?

- Because! - Crowley was not sure how to explain it, but he felt outraged at the idea that in all those century mankind had assumed the Angel was angry that day. - Because he was the Angel assigned to guard the garden of Eden, the first living bit of the creation! They left him there alone, to watch over the first humans, didn't give him istructions! Didn't tell him what to expect! And then he blinks and bam! they're damned, out of the garden, off you go struggling and suffering, you and all your kind for the rest of time!

Michelangelo was staring at him in utter surprise. He had known him for the kind of man who never loses his cool, and now here he was, losing it over the Book of Genesis.

- You didn't strike me as a man who would get heated over some biblical minutia.

Crowley leaned foreward, gripping his jug of wine so tightly that the painter could have sworn that he heard the glazed ceramic handle made a worrying crackling noise. The painter felt the instinctive urge to pull back on his chair.

- He was there, you see? Watching it happen, struggling to understand wether he had failed them or it was all part of God's blasting ineffable plan.

- He's the Angel of Eden! He would know the will of God!

- How would he know? - Crowley rebutted, now visibly enraged. - He's just an angel! And God doesn't speak to anyone. He's just an angel, he was there alone, scared to death... - he paused for a moment, like he had been struck by his own words, - scared to death because they were punishing the humans and making him deliver the sentence, but maybe they would punish him as well... for letting the Serpent get in.

He ended the sentence on a broken tone, and immediately after draw a small breath and gulped down his wine, all in one go.

Michelangelo wasn't sure what to make of it. Antonio didn't seem drunk, but that had been a wild rant. And yet, it could be interesting to draw an Angel of Eden that was not, for once, the usual severe messanger of death burning with God's divine rage, but a sad, sorrowful pal who had messed up his job. He thought of the merciful expression of monsignor Fell, earlier that day, when he had looked at the poor seminarist knowing that he had possibly gotten both of them into trouble by skipping the assembly.

Now he was starting to resent his composition, leaving that forlorn Angel out there, all on his own, while the others were grouped together under the Tree, as if they were having a pick nick. The humans and the tempter...

- The poor, naive humans... - he muttered, repeating the bishop's words.

- Well, - Crowley objected, apparently back to his usual composure, but still with an indefinible shadow on his brow, - they were naive only at the beginning. But after they became quite quickly aware of how the world runs.

- Well too bad, it has to be one or the other, I don't have two squares for the Eden scene.

But as he was saying that, a new image clicked in his mind, and he stared down at the piece of paper that he had been torturing for the past several hours, trying to solve his composition issue. The Tree was there, dead-center on the campata, dividing the space in two perfectly symmetrical spaces. The Serpent was already up there, in the branches: he could put the Angel there as well, and make the time flow from left to right, from happy but naive humans to desperate but aware ones, the two emissaries of Good and Evil standing in the middle as the two-faced needle on the scales of human destiny... no, not of Good and Evil, rather of Law and Chaos, of Safety and Freedom.

He raised his head with excitement and looked at the man in front of him. He was now sitting inhumanly still, and somehow Michelangelo could feel his eyes piercing through the smoked spectacles. He froze.

- Oh I know that glare. - Antonio said with a voice that he had never heard him before, a ghostly whisper, almost a hiss coming from another world. - That shine that sometimes burns in the human eyes, a spark from the forge of Creation itself...

Michelangelo felt an icey feeling gripping him from the inside, but he could not look away. He was hypnotised by invisible eyes, and even if the physical body of the man in black was still perfectly motionless, for a moment he believed he could see a different body, in a different shape, slowly swinging side to side with only his head fixed in the same spot, yellow pupils cutting through his soul like sharp knives through warm butter.

He wasn't sure how it had stopped. Next thing he knew, he was staring at Antonio who was looking at his drawings again, absorbed in his thought, with a sort of distant nostalgia in the curve of his mouth.

- I shall go. - Michelangelo said with a husky voice, as if he had been asleep for a long time. But he didn't get up.

- You shall. - Crowley repeated, looking back at him, this time with nothing strange happening. - That was a lot of inspiration to process for a human in just one day.

He launched his lanky body out of the chair with a movement that didn't seem possible, draped himself back in his heavy cloak, gave him a quick last look, and strode away, the light of the fireplace caught in his bright red hair. It was still raining outside, but there was a promise of snow in the air.

July 1510, Rome

The two corner doors of the antechamber opened at the exact same time and two hurrying figures rushed in and stopped just a split second away from running into each other.

For a moment they stood there, staring at each other, locked in place, the hem of the white robe and the flap of the black cloack swirling happily together like two puppies eager to meet again despite their owners.

- Good Lord!

Aziraphale gasped, finally stepping away from Crowley.

- Ah! What in Hell are you doing in here, dressed like that? - The demon snorted with a mocking grin, moving his gaze down Aziraphale's episcopal outfit and back up again, lingering on all the lacy bits with the most overtly suggestive motion he could perform. The short black capelet made a rather dashing contrast with the fair curls.

- I am on a diplomatic assignment. - The angel answered primly, ever so slightly blushing at the base of his neck, looking in turn at Crowley's tight fitting black attire under the cloak, all velvet and metalwork and shiny damasque. And then he lowered his voice and added, in a deliciously indignant tone, - What are you doing in here? We are on consecrated ground!

- Not quite yet. This is only an entryway and you should know damn well that nobody here is saint enough to make a single tile sacred outside the chapel.

Aziraphale tried to hoist an outraged expression, but it was hard to pretend that he didn't actually know damn well Crowley was right.

- Anyway, - the demon continued looking at the door on the other side of the entryway, - I was just passing by to take a look at the famous ceiling.

- It's not completed yet. - Aziraphale pointed out, immediately regretting it. He caught himself thinking that he didn't actually want the demon to leave. Not that he wanted his company, of course. But it would have been unpolite, with him being in the hosting party, so to speak, to send him away like that.

- I know, but I hear the last bit has made quite the impression around here.

- It has indeed! - The angel exclaimed, smiling and muffling his excited voice in a goofy way that made something twitch somewhere in the demon's chest. - The cardinals were utterly scandalised! I was going to take a look myself!

The angel moved to the door of the chapel and opened it cautiously, peeking inside.

- There's noone in there! - He whispered visibly thrilled, like the silliest conspirator who ever lived. Crowley stepped closer, thinking to himself that there was no end to the angel's childlike enjoyment of those little innocent transgressions. Not that he enjoied them too, of course. But it would be unworthy of a demon not to appreciate such evil deeds.

They both peeked out from behind the door. The chapel was empty, pleasantly crisp in contrast with the hot roman summer. A choir of cicadas was relentlessly chirping outside. The wooden structure had moved foreward since the last time Aziraphale had been there. A giant curtain was draped between the already completed campate and the ones still in progress.

Crowley managed to chart himself a path across the room, using the spare planks left on the ground as safe spots, holding his arms out to keep his balance, jumping from one board to the next and taking only a couple of quick steps on the floor when the distance was too great. Aziraphale was observing his movements from the corner of his eye and thought the demon looked like one of those large water birds that you could see flying by the river during winter, so big and yet so light and graceful.

The new part of the ceiling was hidden by the curtain. Without saying a word, they both moved to the ladder on the side of the wooden structure and climbed almost all the way up to the top. A strange expectant silence had fallen between them, and neither of the two wanted to break it. They knew exactly what they were about to see, but for some reason they were both pretending that they didn't, and the higher they climbed, the more they were steering their thoughts away from a certain shared memory that now, all of a sudden, was becoming inexplicably significant. A moment that had always been there, tucked away in their minds, but now seemed too bright to look at, too hot to touch, too heavy to handle.

They finally reached the main platform, the last large surface before the precarious scaffolding that brought the painter in reach of the ceiling, all still cluttered with buckets and rags and dried out palettes.

They stood by each other, breathing in the pungent smell of the paint, and with a synchronized movement looked up.

There it was. There they were. Their first meeting on Earth, as Michelangelo had envisioned it, channeling what the angel and the demon, unbeknownst to each other, had unintentionally lead him to imagine. He had turned the Original Sin into a backdrop, Adam and Eve into little more than extras on scene, leaving the center stage to them.

There it was. Their very first meeting as they, a recalcitrant demon who didn't mean to do anything properly bad and a doubtful angel who couldn't figure out what God wanted him to do. They were emerging from the Tree, the Wily Old Serpent stretching his beautiful androginous torso to the left, no man nor woman but both, passing Eve a fruit; the Angel of the Eastern Gate floating next to him, holding his arm out to the right, a disheartened look on his face as he used his sword not so much to threaten the humans as to direct them toward their earthly new existence.

- Look at you! - The angel smiled, - You're...

But the words died on his lips and he couldn't finish the sentence. Something heavy and mournful was tied to that part of his memory, like an iron anchor holding it under the surface of his conscience.

Aziraphale focused on the affresco, trying to distract himself with shapes and contours and brushstrokes... he felt a sudden burst of heat burning the skin of his face as he was studying the Serpent's coils spiraling up the Tree, and was startled when the demon spoke.

- He did make you sad.

The angel examined his supposed representation.

- I was sad.

- Yes, I remember.

- I felt so bad... so guilty...

Aziraphale felt Crowley's gaze settling on his face and lowered his eyes, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

- Guilty? Why? - The demon asked, with a hint of wonder in his voice.

The angels shrugged, twisting his hands and biting his lips with a tormented expression on his face.

- Because they were being punished, but I was the one who had failed them. - He looked up at the picture, but he was looking past it, rewatching a different scene. - And... and... - His eyes started stinging and watering, the effect of all that fresh paint no doubt, - And... had I spoken up for them...

He suddenly turned to look at Crowley, who was staring at him with his golden eyes wide open.

- They were only being curious... - the angel pleaded, and the effect of that paint was really terrible because an entire teardrop rolled down his cheek as he was speaking. - They only wanted to know things. And I let them be cast out and didn't say anything. - He took a short breath and his voice came out thin as a whisper - How will I be forgiven?

Crowley stood there without breathing, transfixed. His brain was struggling to process the angel's discourse, that pain for the humans, for their fault and their fall, and beyond that another pain, older, deeper, bleeding through his words like ink through thin paper. But the pain on the surface was easier to grasp and the other one was tangled in too many frightful thoughts, so the demon pretended that he had only caught the human part of that lament.

- I was the one who tempted them into that. - He said quietly after a moment of silence that could have lasted a second or a century. He felt like he was slightly suffocating. That paint smell truly was unbearable. It was even making his voice crack. - Do you still hate me?

A shocked expression darkened Aziraphale's face, and something behind his blue eyes seemed to crumble. There had to be a cloud hiding the sun, right in that moment, because up there under the vault the air became suddenly darker and colder.

- I never hated you. - He murmured. And then, with a wounded tone, - How could you think that?

The cloud moved away.

- It was my fault.

- I don't think it was.

They stood in silence again, and their confusion was so deep that a moment later none of them was able to tell anymore who had said "It was my fault" and who had replied "I don't think it was".

- We should get down, this smell is making me hazy. - Said the angel, sniffling.

- Yeah, this was enough church attending for me.

- Would you like... - Aziraphale paused, suddenly interested in a dented tin bucket who was draining all his attention, - Would you like to have lunch? I know a place.

Crowley opened his mouth and closed it again without making any sound, then opened it again and let out a couple of stumbling syllables before finally managing: - Well, I don't suppose that would hurt.

They exchanged a hesitant look and turned their eyes up at the two towering figures in the Garden of Eden one last time.

Michelangelo had given them two identical faces, the identical hair color, a shade that had been mixed somewhere in between a pale blonde and a bright red, and had put them up there, looking in opposite way but close to each other, almost hugging - the right arm of the angel almost around the serpent's waist, the right arm of the serpent almost around the angel's neck - as if they were twins, or lovers, or rather the two heads of the same chimerical creature. Two halves of the same being.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens fanfiction #go fanfic #fanfic draft #good omens fic #through the ages #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens in Rome #bishop Aziraphale #canon according to Furfur's guide

[shadowqueen402]

Ohhh um... A fic of Lora getting affected by the Maestro hiccups pls

Ooh, okay! I got a great idea as to what would happen to her!

A young girl named Lora Jade was walking home from her part-time job while she was listening to music on her phone. The past few days had been rather tiring yet uneventful. But Lora wasn't complaining at at…

…At least, not until she looked up at the sky and froze. She was not expecting the sky to look unnaturally…vibrant. "What's going on here?" Lora asked herself. "Why is the sky looking like that?"

However, she was also not expecting a cloud of yellow magic to wash over her. "GAH!" Lora yelped, shielding her eyes from the bright light.

When the light faded away, Lora warily placed her hand down. But then she noticed that she wore a leather sky blue jacket over a pink sports bra, a matching sky blue leather skirt, bright pink crew cut socks, and white sneakers with bright pink shoelaces.

"Why am I dressed like I'm in the 80s?" Lora Jade asked. "What just happened? I need to see if my parents are okay. I hope they weren't affected by this!" Without another minute to waste, Lora rushed home while 80s music played on her phone.

When Lora made it home, she noticed major changes. First, 80s music was playing the house. Second, the interior had vintage decor that was popular in the 80s. "Okay, now I know I'm not seeing things…" Lora said to herself. "Mom? Dad? I'm home! Are you two here?"

"I'm in the kitchen, Lora," Lora's mother called. Lora entered into the kitchen and froze. Even her mother's outfit resembled something moms wore in the 80s.

"Mom, did something strange happen to you?" Lora asked.

"Since you've mentioned it, I'd noticed my outfit changed." Lora's mother turned to look at her daughter with confusion. "And yours did too."

"Mom, something is going on." Lora's attention suddenly turned to the sound of her father's voice.

"Can anyone explain to me why I'm dressed like I'm from 80s?" Lora's father asked from the study.

#balan wonderworld #ocs #fanfic

[teecupangel]

I need a dose Ezio Fix-It and Desmond Being Alive and Badass, so imagine: Desmond sends Ezio back in time to save his family and when Ezio comes to theres this head sized smooth stone next to him. It is as white as snow with red "veins" running thru it and it glows so golden in Eagle Vision it almost hurts to look at. Not sure what else to do with it he takes it with him to his family home. His father asks where he got such a precious stone and all Ezio can think to say to be able to keep it is: "I found it hidden in some abandoned building, my Sight led me to it". His father decides that as long as no one misses it, Ezio can keep it. Once that is over with, Ezio gathers proof of the conspiracy and foils Ulberto's immediate plans. But the Pazzi gets desperate and sets the palazzo on fire in an attempt to get rid of witnesses to keep the conspiracy hidden. Ezio grabs the stone from a shelf near the bed and helps his family escape, but the entrance gets blocked and he tries to find another way out. Except, the roof collapses on him. As the flames rise and the heat increases, all he can think of is that at least his family gets to live. Federico will make a great assassin and maybe he will become the mentor Ezio was in his previous life? That would make Ezio so proud. Claudia definetly became a great assassin once he let her. Hopefully Federico and Father will see more sense than he did.

All Ezio feels before he gives in to unconciousness is peace and gratitude towards Desmond, for this chance to save his family. Hopefully he'll see him on the other side, maybe even with his Leonardo? He misses the old Maestro. That would be nice.....

Ezio did not expect to wake up, but hes glad none the less. Hmm, his back hurts from the ceiling falling on him and hes laying on his stomach, but other than that nothing hurts. Looking at his arms hes apperantly naked and covered in sooth and ash, but theres not even a blister from the heat. The fire didnt hurt him? He then becomes aware of the feeling of something pressed next to his side. Looking he sees what he can only call a dragon. Its pure white with red accents on its spikes and talons. It actually looks alot like the stone? Wait, the stone was a dragon egg!? The dragon opens its eyes when he starts moving and it looks at him with such deep brown eyes that Ezio suddenly feels such unexplainable deep love and joy in his mind, along with a simple name whispered in his thoughts: "Ezio"

Basically: Assassin's Creed with Games of Thrones dragons and fire immunity, with the mind bond from the Inheritance cycle cause Desmond copes with cracking jokes and hes allowed to cope/make Ezio laugh whenever he feels sad.

Ezios family is so relieved to see him alive, but shocked when he just shows them a baby dragon. Like: "This is Desmond, he hatched from the pretty stone i found and now hes mine". They just kinda go with it, cause what are you supposed to do in this situation? Take the fiery murder reptile from your absolutely soot covered, barely (stolen)clothed child? Yeah, thats not gonna work.

When they go to Monteriggioni Desmond and Ezio end up sleeping in the Sanctuary once Desmond gets too big for the bedroom, cause thats the only place large enough for a dragon that is clearly going to get big. And Desmond kinda turns into his lair, cause a dragon gotta have a lair with treasure! It is a must! Too bad he cant kidnap maidens, but honestly Ezio gets around enough that Desmond guesses it evens out. Still gotta have a pile of gold to sleep on, definetly.

Here’s a Desmond gets turned into a dragon idea I’ve written before as well.

For this one, Desmond would definitely start the hoard in the Sanctuary and his most prized possession would be the Statue of Armor of Altaïr. He definitely melted the bars but he still won’t give them to Ezio until he gives Desmond the Assassin keys. Also, Maria would be handling the finances of Monteriggioni with Claudia’s help (while Claudia is slowly chipping away Giovanni’s resolve to not let Claudia be an Assassin using a combination of her own brand of Auditore stubbornness and strongarming her brothers to join her cause) and they decide to put their money and extremely valuable items in the Sanctuary after a few cases of Desmond finding ways to get them anyway even when he’s getting too big to do such thing. At the end, Desmond’s hoard is more like the Auditore’s private bank and he lets them take money from it since it’s more of a ‘family account’.

Leonardo also paints him in his hoard but Desmond looked half-majestic, half-lazy in his painting instead of fierce which Ezio comments are actually very accurate of the kind of dragon Desmond is.

Thankfully, Maria and Claudia are very good at what they do and Ezio and Federico are bringing in a lot of money because they do need a lot of livestock to feed to Desmond. Mario once joked that they could feed Desmond the body of their enemies and that scared Desmond so bad he tried eating only grass for a week.

Well…

Three days.

They soon realized that grass, fruits and vegetables don’t have the necessary nutrients a dragon needs to survive and Desmond’s white scales started falling off (making Desmond shout at Ezio telepathically with a “Am I going bald?! Is this the dragon version of getting bald?!”)

On the other hand, the best place to stay in the villa when it’s called is in the Sanctuary because Desmond runs hot. Not hot enough to burn but a pleasant heat that makes people sleepy.

And then they get the Apple of Eden and placed it in the Sanctuary for safekeeping and…

Desmond turns it into a batting toy like a cat with a yarn ball.

(In his defense, he was just trying to use it but it seemed getting turned into a dragon meant he was now unable to use POEs which sucks ‘cause he’d really like to know why he was a freaking dragon of all things)

#no one is going to scold a dragon for playing with a poe #desmond as a dragon #desmond as a white dragon #assassin's creed #desmond miles #ezio auditore #ask and answer

[free-for-all-fics]

Phantom of the Opera and Beauty and the Beast Crossover AU Prompt! This was going to be a much, much, much shorter prompt, but then inspiration hit me very hard and it got very long, but it still doesn’t feel quite right for me to call this a full fic or oneshot. If you’re inspired by any ideas presented here, pls tag me and I’d love to read it! 🌹❤️🥀

The faerie hesitated. She knew tradition demanded that she curse the newborn prince for not being invited to the christening, but it wasn't his fault the messenger fell off his horse. She decided to get creative with the wording. Thus, instead of being cursed to die, Erik, the firstborn son to the king of France, was cursed with a deformed face. The prince would become more beautiful with every awful deed he committed, but the curse wouldn’t be broken until he found someone who could love him for his heart and marry him. He was disowned from the royal family and disinherited from the throne, decried as a “demon” or “living corpse”. He grew up with no knowledge of his true lineage and was instead raised by the servants and kept in the walls. The queen was fed lies that Erik died shortly after the christening, and she mourned for her baby boy. She never fully recovered from what she believed to be her firstborn son’s death, but later gave birth to another son, Prince Adam.

The king was known for ruling his kingdom with a cruel iron fist and raised the young prince to be selfish and arrogant, even forbidding the servants from ever questioning or objecting to his ways of raising his son. The prince used to live in the castle with his beloved mother as a sweet child until she died from an illness, which gave his cruel father the opportunity to harden his heart to become a more arrogant but effective ruler of the kingdom. He showed no concern over the loss of the queen, and led his son away from his wife's deathbed without any emotion. Erik became the court composer and exhibited a megalomaniacal personality, convinced he was a genius of music. He considered himself to be great and was never stingy with a compliment for himself. He was lugubrious and had not seemed to share the joys of the castellans and other courtesans. Erik spent much of his time isolating himself in the dark, too busy with concertos and operas of his own composition that he claimed would bring the house down.

“Bravo, bravo! Encore!”

“You approve?”

“Oh, maestro, it's magnificent!”

“Oh, come along. It's merely an opera...to bring the house down! Yes, I know...now, in the midst of my crescendo, I thought I heard merriment outside the window. Have a look see, will you?”

He had a deep hatred towards happiness or, at the very least, happy songs, as he preferred sad, depressing, mournful music. He was extremely superior, cunning, powerful, intelligent, and a bit misanthropic, as he considered humanity to be overrated. Though he was dashingly handsome with a debonair smile on the outside, he considered himself not only an Angel of Music, but a God of Deformity. Despite his face being perfect, he always wore a mask of impassivity when playing music for the public. He was surrounded by beautiful and wealthy women who vied for his attentions, but they were often incredibly shallow or boring, only looking to get into his bed for the night. He longed for more stimulating conversation, full of passion and intellect. The only way to keep himself sane while suffering through idle chat and pleasantries was to escape through his life’s work, treating his music as incomplete masterpieces he was eager to finish.

Following the king’s death, Erik learned of his lineage and the conditions of his curse, but never revealed these truths to Prince Adam. It was better for him to be a best friend and advisor to the prince, rather than a brother and prince himself. He blamed his father for his disfigurement, but he was secretly scared of his corpse and had refused to attend the funeral. As much as he hated the man, maybe his father was right when he used to say that ignorance is bliss.

In another kingdom, the prince fell ill. The widowed king dearly loved his last surviving son and heir, and doctors tried everything but he grew weaker and weaker. They told the king about a mythical rose that witches were rumored to use to cure any illness. The king searched the whole kingdom for the rose to no avail, and his campaign soon became a gruesome witch hunt. His path was lined with the witches he had slain, but the rose was nowhere to be found. Exhausted, bloody, and at his wit's end, the king came to a witch's house on the outskirts of his kingdom. He fell to his knees, begging the witch to help cure his son, and she agreed. The witch explained that the rose held tremendous power that could only very carefully be used for good, and instructed he only use a single petal. Using the whole bloom would only invite death. The prince began to recover, but discontent at the royal line had grown in the kingdom following the king’s bloody campaign. The next day, the king found his son murdered in his bed, and the last light holding his darkness at bay was snuffed out.

Heartbroken, the king turned to the bloom which had promised life, and instead saw it as an escape from his suffering. Lonely and depressed, he felt that all hope was lost after so much tragedy. He was too old to remarry and believed himself to have been cursed. He left his castle with nothing but the rose in hand, and wandered off into the icy wastes of a cruel and bitter winter, hoping to die somewhere his body could never be found and thus end the curse he believed he was put under. Instead, he came across the corpse of a woman who had frozen to death underneath a dead man hanging from a noose. In her arms, he found you, a still living baby girl who became blind due to being out in the elements. In his madness, you bore a remarkable resemblance to his late queen. He believed you to be his daughter and of his blood, so he took you in. The witch, having come to visit the king and the prince, looked at the nightmarish scene in despair. She raised a mountain on top of the king, erecting a dome of rock around the castle to imprison him and prevent him from wreaking further havoc across the land.

You grew up to be a virtuous, graceful beauty, but since you’d been blind since birth, no one had ever told you nor did you know that you were a princess. You lived in a beautiful enclosed garden within the king's castle, secluded from the world, in the care of loyal servants. The king feared you’d be targeted and killed if you were to ever learn you were the princess, so you never learned the truth until you came of age and were betrothed to marry Prince Adam of France. You were raised unaware of the circumstances surrounding the tragedies the king suffered or of his madness. You knew nothing of the witch. As far as you knew, as the daughter of the king, you never expected to inherit anything until a tragic accident caused the deaths of all your brothers and made you his sole legitimate heir. Now he expected you to act as a proper princess after being absent from your whole life.

You were a bright spot of happiness within the castle. You had a lovely singing voice and cared about everyone, living or dead, and everyone loved you in return. Your attendants would bring flowers and sing with you. Your garden was beautiful and full of a wide variety of blossoming wildflowers, except for roses. No matter what color roses were planted in your garden, they all turned out black in the end and smelled like death. Roses had become so rare that they were the most sought after flower in your kingdom, sold at high prices in black markets, under guard in national museums, etc.

You often declared your sadness, and your vague sense that you were missing something important that other people could experience. Your father insisted that you mustn’t discover your blindness and that your betrothed wasn’t to find out about this until after you were married. Your father had you and Prince Adam married by proxy before you had even met. A further ceremonial wedding and festivities followed by the ritual bedding would come later.

Your family had passed down a heirloom for generations: A hand mirror of medium size, framed in pure silver with ornate vine scrollwork. It was tradition that, upon their wedding day, each inheritor must look into the mirror at least once. It was said to be an enchanted mirror that could show you your soulmate, but your reflection never changed when it was your turn to look. However, ever since you’d looked into the mirror, you’d been haunted by a pale and faceless man that only you could see when you closed your eyes. He was there, behind your eyelids and inside your mind. The man moved in slow motion and, when you slept at night, you didn’t dream.

Your new husband, Prince Adam, arrived at the court with his best friend, Erik. The prince and Erik were warned by your loyal servants not to speak of light, colors, or anything of the sort with you. Wanting to bring you a wedding gift, the king arrived with a famed Persian physician who stated that you could be cured, but the physical cure would only work if you were psychologically prepared by being made aware of your own blindness. You appreciated the thought, but you had no will to see as others did and refused your father’s gift. You were born this way and loved yourself as you were. You believed you could see, you just saw things differently or saw so much more. The king supported your decision and refused the treatment, fearing for your happiness if the cure should fail after you’d learned what you were missing.

Erik found the entrance to your secret garden, ignoring the sign which threatened death to anyone who entered. He stumbled upon you singing without realizing who you were and instantly fell in love. Prince Adam, astounded by his friend’s behavior, was convinced you were a sorceress who had bewitched Erik. Prince Adam ordered him to leave but Erik was too entranced, so he departed with the promise he’d be back to save him.

“I am Maestro Erik, court composer and your most humble servant.”

You sang a magnificent duet together. Erik, who asked you to give him a certain flower as a keepsake, realized you were blind when you twice offered him different flowers with similar scents. You wished more than anything for a rose, but only black roses grew here and you didn’t know why. You had no concept of light, vision, or blindness. You fell in love with Erik after he explained light and color to you, believing him to be the faceless man from the mirror and your soulmate. When Prince Adam returned with your father, Erik admitted to seeing the warning sign at the garden entrance. The furious king threatened to execute Erik for revealing the truth to you, but spared him after Prince Adam realized you were his wife. He spoke for Erik, vouching for his character. The king relented, and let Erik return to France with you and your new husband.

Though Erik reciprocated your love, he felt conflicted and unworthy of you because of his curse and his deformities. He exclusively wore masks that covered his entire face. He only told you the color of his eyes, but nothing more. You loved him anyway, but you were born to privilege and with that came specific obligations. You were forced by your father to marry Prince Adam and, although you were spared the brunt of his cruelty, you still had to live year after year witnessing how monstrous your new husband was. From mistreating the castle servants to taxing the townspeople too high while doing nothing to help ease their hardships and burdens, you regretted your arranged marriage.

Despite being a princess, you were still a woman in a man’s world and could do nothing to free yourself from this loveless and miserable union. You and Prince Adam may have consummated your marriage out of duty, but you never shared his bed after that night and kept to separate rooms. If you had to keep Erik in secret and only love him in the dark, then that was enough for you. It had to be enough for you. Even if you longed for more. A life without love was no life at all, so you and Erik had no other choice. No matter how much you loved Erik, you could only love him at night and he had to depart before the lark sang. Every morning you’d have your kitchen maid procure a special tea for you to ensure you didn’t come to be with child. This was your fate and you’d accepted it, but Erik hadn’t. He’d brought up fantastical ideas of running away and eloping, but you wouldn’t hear of it.

“My father forbids me to end my marriage to the prince, Erik. Doing so, especially for a man like you, an untitled bachelor without family who hides his face behind a mask and accrues his wealth from dubious means, would ruin me. It’d cause a scandal so great I could never recover from it. I had to marry a man of substance, father said. A certain wealthy prince. In the eyes of the royal court, you won’t amount to anything but, in my eyes, you’re worth the whole lot of them put together. I fear I would’ve killed myself by now, were it not for the unbearable thought of leaving you behind. My heart can’t bear to inflict such cruelty onto you. You don’t deserve that. But I can’t run away with you, no matter how much I may want to. The wants and desires of a woman, even a princess, are irrelevant.”

As much as he hated it, he understood and reluctantly respected your decision. You and Erik were so in love. You saved him from his solitude, you were the light in the darkness of his existence, but you seemed to be kept apart by forces beyond your control. Still, the maestro gave you, his Angel of Music, a bundle of red roses with a fake one nestled inside, and told you that you'd be with him until the last one withered.

One winter’s night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. You, the mistress of the castle, showed kindness to the old woman as she let you feel the petals. They were so soft, softer than any flower you held before, and it smelled sweet, far sweeter than any other rose. You simply asked what color the rose was since you couldn’t see. When she told you it was red, you were amazed. Erik had told you about red when he gave you your first bouquet of roses, how it symbolized love and passion. He described it as the color of the sun or fire, bringing warmth to the hearts of men. Your kingdom had been cursed to only grow black roses that reeked of death, so to have a rose of such a vibrant color in full bloom, especially in the depths of this freezing winter, seemed like magic. You were about to let her inside and have a servant show her to a spare bedroom for the night so she could warm up and settle in, but your husband stopped you, cruelly snatching the rose from your hand and pulling you away from the old woman.

Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart, and as punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle, and all who lived there - even you, the princess who showed her compassion. She spared you as much as she could, not wanting your kindness to go unrewarded, but the prince and everyone else in the castle had to learn a lesson. She let you keep your human form, but erased your and Prince Adam’s memories of each other after your marriage so that you’d both have the chance to find true love in the future. However, by doing this, she inadvertently erased your memories of Erik since you only met and started your love affair after you and the prince were married. The enchantress had good intentions and thought she was doing you a great kindness, but her gift was a curse.

After the enchantress placed her curse upon the castle, turning Prince Adam into a beast and everyone else into household objects, he thought that you'd learn to love him since you were still blind and couldn’t see him. He thought you were disgusted with him because of his beastly appearance. In turn, you called him out on this, saying the real reason had to do with his arrogance and cruelty. You still despised him anyway because he was cruel, selfish, and unkind, with no love in his heart. Ever since then, the Beast showed nothing but shame for his actions and hated his cruel father for raising him to be a tyrant, even tearing up a portrait of himself out of anger. Even the servants themselves were in full regret of their reluctance to speak out against the king, implying that they truly despised him for his cruel nature. To you and Beast, you had never married and were only betrothed. Your fathers were both dead by this point, so you didn’t see any reason to go through with the wedding. You left him, claiming that people don't hate him because of his appearance, but because of how he acts, and that he's not some terrifying beast or powerful prince, but a pathetic human named Adam.

After you left, enchantment was the only good thing that happened to Erik. He was turned into a pipe organ and could use music to move nearby objects, but couldn’t move himself, as his new form was far too large and bolted to the wall. But he found himself more useful to his master as a composer and was willing to do everything in his power to stay in that new form. He developed powerful abilities, which he could release through his own music, and became obsessed with it. He wanted more. To possess this forbidden magic, Erik had to sacrifice a memory of equal value. His thoughts about you might’ve given him pause in the past, but you were gone and it didn’t seem like you were ever coming back. He no longer cared about losing his memories for a spell. Falling in love with you while you were married to his brother was painful enough, but his nights with you offered him some respite. He took solace in knowing neither you nor Adam were aware of this family secret, though this comfort was cold and tainted with bitterness. Your miserable marriage to his brother combined with your memory erasure and leaving was too much for Erik to bear, so he erased all his memories of you in exchange for these dark powers. His father was right after all! Ignorance was bliss.

The Beast considered him much more valuable as an advisor and confidant, and found his depressing arrangements of notable classical music somehow made him feel better. It was said that music soothes the savage beast, and they couldn't be more correct. Erik kept the Beast isolated from everyone else in the castle, and close to himself in order to prevent the spell from breaking, which had remained for 10 long years. Erik was a good talker, as he was able to captivate the spirits, to insinuate his hypnotic music, to convince everybody with honeyed words and a soft voice. He appeared to the Beast as his "best friend", but he was actually manipulating him because he wanted to remain as a pipe organ forever and sought some attention. However, this attitude was only displayed because he was quite afraid to fade in the background, afraid that he’d be forgotten. He wasn’t appreciated by anyone as the inhabitants of the castle seemed to ignore him at the least, except for the Beast. The Beast came to him often to hear his soothing music, which would ease his tormented soul.

“Your music is the only thing that helps me forget.”

“Don't worry, old friend. I'm here for you, just as I have been, just as I always will be.”

The more magic Erik used, the more he deviated from being human, not just in body but in mind as well. Moreover, the type of magic he used influenced the changes that occurred within him. He slowly became corrupted by his own desperate desire to be loved. Without you by his side, Erik became arrogant, evil, sarcastic, manipulative, acrimonious, obstreperous, and somewhat paranoid. Under the curse, he composed tirelessly his next opera, “Don Juan Triumphant”, whose sole purpose was to make the castle collapse.

“Erik! Stop the noise!”

“Noise? Noise?! This is my masterpiece.”

You’d lived in castles and palaces among the richest people of any age. But never, never had you stood in greater luxury than when you moved into this quaint little town and lived the life of a simple peasant, surrounded by townspeople who didn’t know who you once were. You loved the hustle and bustle of running errands and doing daily chores, you loved being part of a community and helping others, you loved wearing much simpler dresses, you loved getting dirty and feeling tired in a good way from a hard day’s work. You befriended a lovely woman named Belle, who was about your age, and her father, Maurice. Though they both seemed to be the talk of the town and considered “odd”, you came to love them like family.

Maurice was a musician who was traveling to a music festival to perform. But since the curse, the world had lost its music and melody. All composers in town became superstitious, believing in a “Curse of the 9th Symphony”, its origins unknown. Maurice was a skeptic and, having premiered his 8th symphony last night on stage, a mysterious hooded figure handed him a letter after the performance. “After your 9th,” it said, “I will return. He has a job for you.” Maurice then went missing while on his way home, shortly after his 9th symphony. Philippe returned alone. When Belle went in search of her missing father, you insisted on going with her, not wanting her to get lost in the woods like Maurice might’ve. These woods were dangerous, especially at night when the wolves came out. When you came up to the tall iron gates and Belle found Maurice’s hat, you cursed to yourself. Of course you’d be brought back here. Escape was an illusion, it seemed. Oh, cruel fate, would this nightmare ever end?

While in the castle, Maurice had come across a silver music box. The music box was empty, the cords cut yet, somehow, a song started playing when he opened it. How was this accomplished? He fiddled with the music box and wound it up, making the princess figurine spin in a dance. Unbeknownst to him, it was something never seen in at least a decade. It had been a wedding present for you but, after the curse was cast, the Beast’s heart stayed dark from that moment on. Its melody brought back the Beast’s bad memories; all his mistakes, all his regrets, and all his pain. For the master of the castle, it was a Pandora’s Box that contained many horrors. Each note of that lovely melody seemed to deepen the Beast’s anguish. He couldn't bear to hear it. When Maurice opened it, the Beast could hear it from the West Wing and flew into a rage. He picked up Maurice, carried him out of the room and slammed the door, plunging the den into darkness. For daring to trespass and open your music box, Maurice was Beast’s prisoner, sentenced to rot in the dungeons forever.

When Belle took her father’s place as the Beast’s prisoner, you insisted on staying with her and the Beast let you, giving you your old room back. While the Beast had destroyed his own room, yours remained untouched and was just as you left it 10 years ago. You didn’t tell Belle about the curse nor your complicated history with the Beast because, as much as you may not have seen eye to eye in your past turbulent relationship, you still believed he could change. He deserved that chance to love and be loved in return. You worried that Beast's psychological state would become increasingly feral the longer he was under the curse, such that he would eventually lose his last vestiges of humanity and become completely wild if the spell couldn’t be broken. You wanted the spell to be broken, if not for his sake, then for everyone else in the castle. Everyone, even you, played against Erik, trying to provoke love between Belle and the Beast to break the spell. But Erik wouldn’t be deterred so easily, and continued plotting and scheming in the shadows of the West Wing.

“Trust me. Humanity is entirely overrated. Before the enchantment, there was no need for my particular brand of genius. But now, the master needs my melodies to feed his tormented soul. I am his confidant and his best friend...and I won't let some peasant girl ruin it for me! I will see to it that this blossoming love withers on the vine.”

Neither you nor Erik could remember each other, but you both had this indescribable feeling that wouldn’t go away. You weren’t sure what it was exactly. Even before you officially met again, it almost felt like a pull, a thought trying to break out from the back of your minds, or a strange sense of Deja Vu. Erik hated it with a passion and played his music loudly to drown it out, while you were just confused. While exploring the castle and reacquainting yourself with everything, You could’ve sworn you heard a man’s voice hypnotizing you, seducing you, urging you to enter the West Wing. The Beast’s room. But you couldn’t possibly! It was forbidden! The Beast had warned both you and Belle! And yet…

“Yes, my dear. Come to me.”

You felt like you’d been in this room before. A strange sense of familiarity washed over you as you felt around the walls to guide yourself, but for some indiscernible reason, you hated this room and everything in it. Avoiding broken furniture and other obstacles in your way, you felt fresh air coming from an open window and approached the balcony. You felt around a small table until your hand brushed against something cold and made of glass. A bell jar. When you touched it, you felt warmth and light emanating from underneath it. Next to it, you picked up something cold and heavy. You felt the engravings and markings decorating the frame and handle, and your fingers tapped against the glass of its face. Your handheld mirror that your father once gave you. But it was glowing just like the bell jar and you could hear strange crackling noises coming from it, almost like lightning. What had the enchantress done to it?

You were about to inspect it further, but you could hear music coming from an adjacent room. The door was left ajar and, when Erik noticed you were looking at him, he immediately doused his candles and fell silent. Wandering over to the organ, you spotted a half-finished set of sheet music set aside, complete with inkwell and quill. Curious, you sat down at the organ and began reading it.

“Don’t touch that!” Erik’s voice snapped, seemingly coming from nowhere and scaring you half to death as you were chased away from the organ. You looked around frantically and reached out your hands, confused when you felt no one around you. You thought maybe it was a ghost or ventriloquism, until you realized it was the pipe organ itself that was talking to you, towering over you with a scrutinizing glare that you couldn’t see but could feel. Right. Enchanted castle. You’d never gotten used to it back then, and you still wouldn’t. Not now, not ever. But you felt a strange sense of longing when you heard his voice. He scoffed in disgust whenever you mentioned love or breaking the spell.

“A daring woman, cursed with such beauty but never able to see it, a pity even. A beauty such as yourself, meets beasts in dark hallways and forbidden rooms? An act of love or lust, so you say? Beasts know nothing of the sort. Empty your heart, cast it aside, I say. Dreadful beasts we are, no less? Beauty may fool a blind man, but no beast!”

Months passed. The enchanted rose continued to wilt. Christmas was coming. The Beast, wanting to get a present for Belle, ordered Erik to compose a song for her, much to Erik’s disgust. The girl was evil. She held the master from Erik’s grasp. She filled his head with dreams of love and hope! Yech!

“I want you to compose a song. It's a present…for Belle. And make it happy!”

“Oh, but happiness is so depressing! What's next? Love songs?! Wedding marches?! It's all that girl's fault.”

He had fabricated another curse, a false one to orchestrate distrust within the nearby villages so that the townspeople would either ban music and/or turn on each other. If he instilled fear and superstition so there was no competition, then he’d definitely be the best musician in the world! His plot to get Maurice killed had failed, but he could still go after his daughter. She was a threat to his plans. He twisted Belle’s words and emotionally manipulated her so she’d want to get a Christmas tree in the Black Forest beyond a frozen lake. He lured her away from the castle, and did everything in his power so she’d never come back. While she was away, Erik told the Beast that Belle had abandoned him, thus stoking Beast's anger. He then tried to goad the Beast into destroying the enchanted rose, the symbol of the curse, but the Beast ultimately decided not to when a rose petal landed on the storybook from Belle, thus allowing him to regain his senses. Erik’s plan to drive Belle and the Beast apart almost worked, but was ultimately foiled by the Beast.

“So, Beast gets girl, and it's a happy ending for everyone. Enchantment lifted...and Erik fades into the background. No longer important...no longer needed…I THINK NOT!”

Enraged at the failure of his plan to break up Belle and the Beast's relationship, Erik lost what was left of his sanity and gave into his destructive and suicidal thoughts that had plagued his mind for years. He had no regard for his own life as he was willing to take everyone's lives in the castle along with his own to ensure that the spell remained intact. With the Beast having broken free of his hypnotic control, Erik believed he had nothing else to live for and attempted to bring the castle down with his loud music, playing “Don Juan Triumphant” more intensely to rupture the walls and shatter the windows. He shook the walls to pieces, debris fell, the floors began to separate and created perilous chasms.

“Maestro, stop! What do you think you're doing?”

“Don't you see? They can't fall in love if they're DEAD! You could've joined me, but I see my triumph is a solo act! We can remain as we are, FOREVER AND EVER!”

“ERIK! ENOUGH!”

Erik was finally defeated when the Beast ripped out his keyboard from him, which ceased his contact with his pipes. In a blind rage, Erik tore himself free of the wall and began to collapse, effectively killing himself as he crashed to the ground, destroyed. Despite Erik’s true colors being exposed and his diabolical plans foiled, the Beast mourned Erik’s demise, as he still considered him to be his closest friend.

After the curse was broken, everyone was turned back into humans, and yours and Prince Adam’s memories were restored. You both remembered that you were technically still married and thus had extramarital affairs - you before the curse, and he during the curse. But this realization wasn’t awkward. What was there to forgive? You and Adam were forced into marriage by your fathers and each fell in love with another, it happens. You just considered yourselves even. It took lots of paperwork, but with his signature here, and your signature there, you and Prince Adam officially dissolved your marriage, much to both yours and his relief. You let bygones be bygones after your divorce and considered yourselves friends, no hard feelings. The prince assured you that you’d always be welcome here in his castle, and it was your choice whether you wanted to stay, return to your kingdom, or go elsewhere.

While everyone was downstairs celebrating in the ballroom, you went back to the West Wing, to the prince’s room where Erik was. You remembered him. Oh, your poor darling! Your dear Erik had suffered so much sadness and so much pain, surrounded by people yet completely alone in the castle for all those years. He was human again but he laid deathly still, face down on the floor. You took out the music box and it played that familiar melody, your song. The enchantress appeared one last time and used her magic to resurrect Erik. She couldn’t condone his abuse of forbidden and evil magic, but she’d seen for herself he’d been punished enough. She asked for your forgiveness. She only ever wanted to give you a chance to find true love and happiness, but she didn’t realize you already had it. Consider this parting gift from her her repentance for inadvertently cursing you. She wouldn’t bend or break the laws of life and death for just anyone, but true love was the most magical gift of all, so she did it once for Belle and Adam, and again for you and Erik. She would no longer interfere with either yours and Erik’s or Belle and Adam’s happy endings. You needn’t do anything to repay her, just go on and live happily ever after.

When Erik woke up, his memories of you were restored. You were discovered by the prince, and he was so relieved and ecstatic to see his best friend alive. Erik finally pledged his love for you in front of the prince, not caring that you were blind and married, unaware you had already ended your marriage contract moments before. The prince gave you to Erik with his blessing, not that you ever needed it, but you and Erik appreciated it. Erik moved into your bedchamber where he would often awaken to the sun streaming through the curtains and the lark singing, just like he had always dreamed. No more hiding under the cloak of night, no more sneaking through secret passageways. He relished in finally sharing your bed, but he had a difficult time adjusting to being human again. He still experienced trauma from the curse, and was plagued by nightmares at night. He confided in you his guilt and regrets, his fears and anxieties, and all his insecurities while you gently rubbed his back, drew patterns on his chest, or held his hand. He felt like he maybe didn’t deserve to be this happy after all he had done.

“It's just...it was different when we were all cursed objects. When we could move around freely and act however we wanted to. When I could just play my music. When I knew exactly how to get the master to smile and relax with my music. Even if it meant we'd be cursed forever, I was happier as a pipe organ." 

“And it’s going to take time, my love, but we can learn to be happy again, as humans. As husband and wife, if you’ll still have me. I’m sorry for all that I’ve put you through. I’m sorry for making you wait so long.”

“Now that I finally have you in my arms again, ten years didn’t feel long at all. I would wait a thousand years more and still take you to be my bride.”

The four of you eventually held a double wedding in the castle. As soon as the rings were exchanged and Erik kissed his bride, the curse placed upon him at birth was finally broken. But when the bright light encompassing him had dissipated, instead of a handsome man, his face was still that of a living corpse. His eyes were so deep that one could hardly see the fixed pupils, just two big black holes, as in a dead man's skull. His skin, which was stretched across his bones like a drumhead, wasn’t white, but a nasty yellow. His nose was so little worth talking about that one couldn’t see it side-face; and the absence of that nose was a horrible thing to look at. All the hair he had was three or four long dark locks on his forehead and behind his ears. But you saw nothing ugly in your husband at all, he was absolutely perfect. He was beauty itself, and you didn’t need your eyesight to see that.

“My love, are you okay?”

“Well, yes. But I don’t understand. I’m supposed to be beautiful.”

“Oh, Erik, but you are beautiful.”

The double wedding was a grander celebration than the one that was held after the curse was lifted. The festivities lasted an entire week, and you all sang together of the magical new world now visible to you as the court and townspeople rejoiced.

#phantom of the opera x reader #erik x reader #prince adam x reader #prince Adam x Belle #beast x belle #beauty and the beast #phantom of the opera #beauty and the beast AU #phantom of the opera AU #crossover au #crossover #crossover fic #arranged marriage #took inspiration from Iolanta and Bramble: The Mountain King too #also a tiny bit of inspiration from The Man Who Laughs #random fic idea #random prompt #pls tag me if you’re inspired by this #I’d love to read it

[celestiall0tus]

Siren's Song Master Post

Alright, here we are as I promised last night. So, let's crack into this.

Acknowledgements:

Siren's Song Acknowledgements

Other Important Shit:

Friendships

Synopsis:

Kagami is the only daughter of Tomoe Tsurugi, a successful business woman and CEO of a company that produces cutting edge technology. Kagami lives a busy life filled with countless groups, activities, and other academic ventures while her mother is gone for long periods on business, leaving Kagami with just artificial company. Her world changes when she first runs into up and coming model for the Agreste brand, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and later when she meets the Kwami of Creation, Tikki. Through Marinette she beings to live her life outside the artificial bubble she's known. Through Tikki she carves her own path and legacy.

Cast:

Ladybug - Kagami/Lady Beetle - See above

Black Cat - Ivan /Razor - A dark, broody teen, Ivan is a loner and outcast often dragged along with the main group of friends much to his dismay. He is rough around the edges with a heart that melts only for Kagami. As Razor, he is arrogant and hot-headed, letting his more volatile traits show through.

Peacock - Ondine/Siren - A budding singing prodigy and hopeful professional swimmer. She gives her all for her parents that push her to perfection and aim for Ondine to be an Olympian champion, allowing her to indulge in song so long as her swimming performance doesn't suffer. Her head is turned by Kagami, seeing the same soul and life, seeing a person that can understand her. As Siren, Ondine is free from those expectations. She fully indulges in song as she hopes her songs and heroics can win Kagami over with her true self.

Bee - Mylene/Honey Bee - A sweet, fiery young teen. She is there to support her friends and fight for a world that she believes in.

Fox - Luka/Maestro - Music is his soul and heart. Luka's entire life has revolved around music as he longs to share his songs with the world, telling stories and invoking emotions with simple instrumental pieces. Both Luka and Maestro are gentle, empathic and endearing gentlemen.

Butterfly - Marinette/Iridescent - A baker girl that caught the attention of the Agreste brand and brought in as the new face of the Agreste brand, replacing Adrien. Marinette is a sweet, considerate heart, though a touch ignorant of others at times. This carries over to Iridescent.

Raven - Adrien/Scourge - The Agreste heir and former face of the brand. Adrien desperately wants to gain his father, Gabriel's, approval, but is looked over, especially when Marinette is around. Honestly, y'all will see some Reverse!Adrien and Claw Noir in this Adrien, just a touch.

Dragon - Zoe/ Wyvern - An adventurous hellion that seeks danger and thrill in the great unknown. Though her escapades frighten her sister, she cannot deny the draw to nature after her encounter with a dragon when she was younger.

Bat - Juleka/Banshee - A shy, unsure wicca teen with a crush on Marinette. Outside her social life, she spends most her time practicing and learning her art. As Banshee, she is a creature of terror, reveling in the fear she strikes in the hearts of others as she toys with them.

Swan - Rose/Venus - A graceful and gentle soul. Rose is an aspiring ballerina whose been training her whole life to be a professional. Fiercely loyal, energetic, friendly and bubbly, she is welcoming to all, but one should be careful of her terrifying keen eye. One look into the eyes and she knows everything about a person.

Turtle - Chloe/Marina - A high-strung girl, who is always checking on what her friends are doing. She always makes to know what they're planning and going to do, always being sure to send texts (and calls when they don't respond to texts) to check them and see if they're ok and what's up. This might make her seem controlling, but the truth is she's just very overprotective. This overprotective nature stems from an incident in her childhood. When she was younger and was paying more attention to playing with her friend Adrien at a playground, she ended up not paying enough attention to her little sister Zoe. Zoe ended up wandering off into her nearby woods where she went missing for 3 days straight, until she mysteriously reappeared back at her dad's hotel. This event led to Chloe feeling immense guilt over the situation, blaming herself for it, and developing major anxiety over something horribly potentially happening to her friends, leading to her overprotective nature. This anxiety is not helped by the fact that ever since the event, Zoe has developed an obsession with those woods, claiming she met a dragon lady in them.

Pig - Felix/Aetolian - A budding theater kid with aspirations of being an actor. Felix has a close relationship with Amelie, but has an estranged, distant relationship with Colt. He attempts to win his father's approval, but is unable to. He fully indulges in the theater, using it as an escape and the only place he feels he is himself, to turn a blind eye to the pain he can't otherwise escape from.

Mouse - Nino - A bright teen with a natural call to leadership that aspires to be a film director. Nino is most comfortable taking a leadership role and directing whatever team he's part of, though it does cause friction when faced with another leader who takes control instead of him.

Owl - Sabrina/Seeker - Smart, sassy, though can unintentionally come off as a little mean, Sabrina is the level-headed, voice of reason with the inflated ego at times.

Robin - Lila/Pettirosso - A primadonna theater teen with a natural curiosity and craftiness. Though she can come off as self-absorbed and attention seeking, at the end of the day, she is a true ride or die friend.

Shark - Alix/Megalodon - A young, rebellious teen, living her best life with her friends. She also won't doesn't hesitate to jump into the fray, always ready to take names and kick ass. Legend speaks of a secret vigilante and has become something of an urban legend in Paris.

Seal - Alya/Oblivion - Adventurous, calm, and so at peace that she can often forget the task at hand, leading her to be pretty forgetful. She often has to rely on Aurore to help her with reminders. She is still a big superhero and comic book nerd.

Dog - Marc/Eros - A budding writer and hopeless romantic. Marc is a quiet lad that adores all things romance (including a touch of erotic so long as there's plot) and gushes over cheesy romantic stuff. This carries over into his hero self.

Dolphin - Aurore/Sea Breeze - A bright, friendly girl. When she was young, her grandmother gave an impactful piece of advice: "The experiences we go through will always teach us something, even the painful ones. That's why it is important to remember instead of forgetting. By remembering, we can learn, and by learning, we can know how to process and move forward." This was the last thing her grandmother told her before she passed away from old age. Aurore took this advice to heart and does her best to remember all the important things she can, which has led to her finding creative ways to do it, like making scrapbooks, writing in diaries, and taking dozens of photos. She also never forgets important upcoming events and appointments, both for her and her friends, leading her to be the one her friends ask about what they learned in class or when the next test is. Aurore is also a budding reporter, which leads her to become friends with fellow budding reporter Alya. Both are in charge of the school newspaper, and Aurore even helps Ayla with her blog, often being the one to do interviews.

Koala - Nathaniel - A dreamer in both a figurative and literal sense. An artist that can often become lost in his ideas, most of which come from his own dreams. He keeps a dream journal and even a dream sketchbook. He can spend hours focused on either his dreams or his artwork. This has led to him developing a reputation of being lazy, which isn't entirely untrue due to his decently sized disdain for stressor physical activity (this boy hates gym class). He's also a big homebody who prefers staying home over going out.

Lynx - Colt/Lyncus - A successful Amercian businessman that is married to Amelie and father to Felix. He and Amelie didn't approve of their arranged marriage, but managed to make it work through the years. However, he is distant with Felix, unable to properly show the level of affection and love expected of a father, leaving him distant and aloof to Felix's wants and needs. He takes up a hero role to save his business and family from Grandeur's takeover.

Rabbit - Amelie/Artemis - A caring and nurturing woman that is mother to Felix. She lives in Paris with her sister, Emilie, after hearing about the marriable troubles Emilie was facing and the lack of interest Gabriel had in being a parent. She assisted Emilie in raising Adrien while also taking on a motherly role for Chloe and Zoe as well.

Horse - Emilie/Eleutheria - A carefree spirit trapped in an unhappy marriage. Emilie was a bright woman that fell for a lowly fashion designer. Though they had their struggles, they never lost that spark until they wanted a child. No matter the treatments they used, she couldn't conceive and was losing Gabriel. She turned to magic to create a child, hoping it'd keep their spark, but it was gone. She has resigned herself to raising Adrien with a nonexistent husband whose head was turned elsewhere. She longs for freedom, but doesn't break free out of fear of her parents and her unwillingness to air her dirty laundry and shortcomings.

Ant - Max /Formica - An intelligent teen that remains in the background for a lot of things, just there for the ride. He observes the drama and pushes things forward, tired of the nonsense he witnesses from his peers.

Chameleon - Tomoe/Grandeur - An incredible businesswoman that wishes to usher in a new age. To long Tomoe has endured her mundane, wayward world and seeks to give it proper direction to make her dreams a reality: To create an advanced technological world for herself and for her daughter, offering her a bright, secure future.

Cow - Gabriel - The largest name in fashion next to Audrey. He has long thrown himself to his work, recently replacing Adrien for Marinette, much to Emilie and Adrien's dismay. Gabriel pushes them away, keeping them at a distance when the attacks begin, blackmailed by Grandeur to do their bidding.

Spider - Nathalie/Neith - A deceptive lounge singer that has her hooks in every big name politician, CEO, crime boss, and everything in between, holding their deepest secrets close to her that she steals as Neith, her femme fatale persona, earning her a comfy life and the attention of Grandeur.

Dove - Sabine - A loving and sweet wife to the top baker in the city. Despite what her facade would tell you, she harbors a dark secret that pushes her to side with Grandeur of her own volition.

Media:

This will be written like everything else that I do.

Collab of Fans:

Alright, the important part, an invitation and transparency. Siren's Song was not my initial idea at first. Rather, it spawned from an anon liking an Ivangami piece and requesting more, throwing in Ondine for good measure. Same came with Lady Beetle, Razor, Honey Bee and Maestro. So, I extend this invitation to y'all.

For those that may be fans, individuals with ideas that want to see them to fruition, and everything else in between, let's have fun. Anyone interested in partaking in this rollercoaster of crack ideas, rare pairs, and overindulgence of fanfiction goodness, I invite y'all. I will acknowledge those that wish to have their name on this as well as anonymous people (I do recognize some people prefer this and offer it as well).

If you have ideas for characters, plot points, etc, hit me up through DMs and/or the ask box. I will credit you as a creator in this descent into pure, unfiltered chaos.

Now, do this? Why not just write what you want? Why ask for help? Again, this concept originated with the fans, not me. It's only fair y'all have a voice (at least imo). Furthermore, I just want to fucking let loose and be crazy. And not completely in a dark, angst way like I usually have. Like an anon literally commented, it's crack taken seriously. And you know what? Let's go. Let's get fucking wild up in this bitch!

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous au #alternate universe #au #siren's song au #siren's song #fanfic updates #fanfic idea #au idea #au info #ml au info #ml au idea #writing collab #this one is for you anon #crack taken seriously #master post

[doveriathegoddess]

Today I will be introducing my latest project I've been working called Variations of Dove. It's basically Dove but she is in a different fandom and there's a lot of fandoms that I'm in so we'll just go straight into it-

Starting off we have No Straight Roads Dove, who is a 25 year old ballet dancer to moved to Vinyl City after the Music Revolution and currently resides in the Natura District. She has a crush on Zuke-

Balan Wonderworld Dove is known as the Maestro of Wonder and was once an inhabitant long ago. She is love with Balan and wishes to impress him with her magical abilities.

Hifi Rush Dove may be wheelchair bound but that won't stop her from helping in anyway she can in taking down Vandelay Co with her friends. She is mainly fond of Chai since she likes him as more than just a friend...

Dove's abilities as a powerful physic has certainly caught the attention of the Psychonauts and they seek to recruit her. Her powers are precognition, psychometry, psychic reading, and astral projection.

Shortly after the overblotting incident involving Jamil, Dove was transferred from her all girls school to Night Raven College in a deal arranged by her father, Kalim's father, Jamil's parents, and the Headmaster. As a shy first year student, Dove slowly starts to find confidence in herself and develops feelings for her dorm leader Kalim...

Princess Dove is the ruler of the realm of Lan di Journ and as her title states she loves being an artist and enjoys painting any beautiful scenery. If she is not chosen as the player's queen then she will marry Ramone the Bard Prince instead.

Dove was born 10 years later after the birth of the 43 children on October 1st 1989, but she was able to become the Divine Servant of the 7 Gods who rule the world. In exchange for Dove's servitude and loyalty, Mother Earth and the 6 other gods crafted the Crown using a fraction of their powers which once placed on Dove's head gave her the power to see the past, present, and future which upon touching an object she will see everything that the Gods desire to know...

Hearts and Heroes Dove joined the Hub in the events after Pax East, and became a very powerful Light Mage as she went on missions to save those trapped in their nightmares.

Dove moved to Stardew Valley and settled in her grandfather's old farm in Pelican Town and quickly got the hang of farming and raising her favorite animals: chickens. Eventually Dove would marry Sam and bring him to her home to start their family and raise more chickens.

Long ago the 4 clans of the Utau Trolls were at war since the Emperor had died without an heir. This war however awoke a very dangerous monster with a hunger to eat the Utau Trolls, but just when all hope was lost, Hato sang a lullaby to seal the monster away and put it back in it's deep slumber, saving the entire race of the Utau Trolls. Because she had saved them, the Utau Trolls crowned her as their Empress, and thus started the royal bloodline that has ruled since then. Princess Roa is Hato's great x5 granddaughter and will soon become the next Empress...

Light Maiden Cookie is a sweet cookie that sees the beauty in just about anything, from the simplest flower to the strangest of objects. Her heart belongs only to a very special someone called Dragonfruit Cookie (my partner's oc)

I hope you guys enjoy!

#dove #no straight roads #balan wonderworld #hi fi rush #psychonauts #twisted wonderland #fabledom #umbrella academy #hearts and heroes #stardew valley #trolls #cookie run #variations of dove #there's so many doves lol #she is everywhere lmao