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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

Note

Feral jaskier and himbo geralt are always lovely!!! “So many questions and not enough brain cells” was absolutely MAGNIFICENT

Nonnie, I am so happy you liked that line. It gave me a chuckle to write it too. Feral Jaskier and himbo Geralt are such a delight, I now feel the need to write a little more for you. Movie stars, stunt doubles and idiots ahoy!

Incidentally, this also seems to fit my @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo square ‘sharing a brain cell’.

Prompt: Sharing a brain cell Relationships (romantic/platonic/etc): Geralt/Jaskier, Lambert/Eskel/Cahir/Aiden Rating: T Content Warnings: None Summary: Geralt is the star of a TV series with Jaskier as his on screen arch nemesis. Thankfully that rivalry doesn’t carry into real life.

The set was like a second home by that point. Geralt spent a good nine months of the year there, the crew feeling like family. It was their fifth season of filming, Geralt couldn’t quite get tired of the monster of the week format though. He loved it, loved how cheesy it was and the fact that it was a production that didn’t bait or bury their characters. The natural chemistry he’d had with Jaskier made it so much easier too. They had kissed on screen enough times that he was intimately familiar with the shape of Jaskier’s lips and the taste of the lip balm he wore. That had started three seasons ago and Geralt had been quietly wishing they could kiss away from the cameras too. So he had been planning, even seeking out the advice of those he trusted - namely Eskel and Lambert.

That had been a surprise friendship that Geralt had discovered. Eskel was brought in as he stunt double for more tricky shots. Usually, Geralt liked to do his own stunts but falling off a horse at a gallop was a little beyond him. As was surviving Jaskier’s rather flamboyant fighting style. Just for a laugh Geralt had sat in on a few of Jaskier’s training session and he was so very torn between laughing his arse off and feeling sorry for Cahir who was doing his best to help them train for their fight scenes. For all his patience and expertise, Jaskier seemed determined to add his own flair. The number of times Jaskier accidentally smacked Geralt, Eskel and Cahir during training and on takes was truly staggering. It could have been a blooper reel all on its own.

Thankfully it was a short day, something about a number of the crew requesting the evening off. As it was towards the end of filming, they were within the time budget, it had been declared that they could all have the evening off.

“Just make him a home cooked meal,” Eskel advised. “Guys love that, trust me.”

“It work for you?” Geralt was a little sullen and sceptic. He didn’t think a home cooked meal was what Jaskier would want. On screen they were enemies with a terrible habit of falling into bed. The reality probably wasn’t so far off either. Though, at least, they had become friends after a rocky start.

“Would I be celebrating my fifth anniversary this evening if it didn’t?” There was no small amount of entertainment in Eskel’s face. “It’s not like my looks are what draw anyone in.”

That had been an unfortunate accident from before Geralt’s time. Some pyrotechnic stunt had gone horribly wrong and left Eskel with the scars. If it hadn’t been for those and the different coloured hair, Geralt was sure they could have been mistaken for brothers, if not twins. Still, now Eskel only worked on sets where Lambert was the one in charge of anything fire related. Which was just as well because Geralt liked Lambert, enjoyed trading barbs with him whenever their paths crossed. As Geralt’s fame climbed, he got to ask for more and more things in contracts and, as he was fond of Eskel, he asked for him as a stunt double whenever he could and then asked for Lambert if the set called for it. It was nice to have so much power and be able to work with those he liked. Interestingly, Cahir was fast becoming another person who Geralt got on with quite well. That wasn’t to say Geralt wasn’t scared shitless of him at the start. Nobody should know so much about fighting with so many weapons without having a very colourful past - one that Cahir refused to talk about. Still, the guy was good at his job and Geralt could talk to him, so his advice was sought out too.

“Just tell him. Bring him something you know he will like. Show an interest in him and his life outside of set.”

For the first time ever, Geralt felt that Cahir was in a rush. He wasn’t quite as patient and measured as usual.

“Excited for the evening off?” he asked, trying to be friendly. And maybe he was practicing Cahir’s advice on him so he could be sure it worked when he talked to Jaskier.

A soft, shy smile crossed Cahir’s face, making him look younger and much less severe. “That obvious? It’s my anniversary today. I want to make it special.”

“Maybe bring them a gift that they’ll like?” Geralt offered with an amused smile. “I have it on good authority that it works.”

Laughing, Cahir clapped Geralt on the shoulder. “Best of luck. Now go get your man.”

Finding Jaskier wasn’t an issue, Geralt just had to follow the sound of laughter and singing. Unsurprisingly, Jaskier was sat with a gigantic sparkler while Lambert was packing away. Those two were a dangerous combination at the best of times and Geralt knew Jaskier had, on more than one occasion, dropped by the writers’ room to posit new ideas that centred around more pyrotechnics. The ideas had obviously come from Lambert but they were mostly good so got used surprisingly frequently.

“Aha! My companion for the evening has arrived!” Jaskier hopped off the box he had been swinging his legs off and approached Geralt. “What say you? Dinner. You and me. We enjoy this rare evening off with some good company and good food.”

“Sounds good,” Geralt agreed readily, it saved him having to ask Jaskier.

Turning back, Jaskier waved at Lambert. “Enjoy your anniversary this evening! Make sure you can walk properly tomorrow though!”

Another anniversary. While Geralt had been feeling quite confident about asking Jaskier out, the news that it was yet another person’s anniversary somewhat ruined the idea. Geralt knew Jaskier liked to be unique, adored being different to everyone else. To ask him out now and share an anniversary with three people they knew, it felt a little less special. Mood taking a bit of a dive, Geralt slouched next to Jaskier as they walked towards the cars.

“Why the glum face?” Typically, nothing went over Jaskier’s head. “Would you prefer a night of solitude?”

Shaking his head, Geralt resigned himself to the knowledge that Jaskier would wheedle until he got the truth out of him. So he saved them both a lot of time and agony. “It’s stupid.”

“Nothing’s ever stupid, just needs to be valued correctly.”

“I wanted to ask you something. But make it special. It’s not special though, not today. Maybe I’ll try tomorrow.”

That made not a lick of sense to Jaskier and he frowned, bumping his shoulder against Geralt’s. “Just ask.”

“But it won’t be special. Three other couples we know have an anniversary today.”

A soft laugh from Jaskier pulled him from his grumblings. “So many people have their anniversaries every day. It’s not like one single day can be declared as only one couple’s.”

For someone so smart, Jaskier sure wasn’t putting the pieces together to solve just what Geralt was trying to say.

“But would you really want an anniversary when Lambert, Eskel and Cahir each have theirs too?” It was actually a little odd, now that Geralt thought of it. Three good friends all sharing an anniversary.

There was a moment of silence before Jaskier was rounding on Geralt, hands on his shoulders to stop him mid-walk.

“Dear heart, please tell me I’m hearing this wrong. Firstly, if I was so lucky as to have an anniversary, I wouldn’t care who I shared it with. I would love to simply have one, especially if you’re offering to have one with me. Secondly, please tell me you know why those three all have their anniversary date today.”

Mind whirring, Geralt tried to process everything Jaskier had just said. He picked the easier bit to reply to first. “They were on a night out together and met their partners at the same time? Bit like how people date within the same friendship groups or even date siblings?”

Face falling, Jaskier cursed under his breath. “And I thought I wasn’t being obvious enough. Oh dear. Geralt, those three, it’s their anniversary together. As in they’re all dating each other. And Aiden is at home, waiting for them. He got the day off today too.”

Geralt’s jaw fell slack. He couldn’t quite believe it. “They-they’re together?!”

“And they’ve not been subtle at all about it!” Jaskier was laughing. “I love you but you are so dumb, I swear.”

That forced Geralt back into the moment and he smiled. “I love you too.”

He didn’t expect an enthusiastic kiss out in the open but he really didn’t mind it at all. With a huff of a laugh Geralt returned it, arms wrapping around Jaskier’s waist.

“Come on then,” Jaskier finally said as he broke away. I believe we have our zero-th anniversary to have and make a solid start on new traditions. I think we should order takeaway as a treat for our anniversaries from now on.”

Laughing, Geralt linked their hands. He liked the idea of anniversary traditions. Jaskier most definitely had the best ideas.

#geraskier #eskel/lambert/cahir/aiden #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach #get together #movie stars au #tldr: geralt tries to ask jaskier out

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readerinsertfanfiction · 4 years

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Hehe we talked about it 2 seconds ago and here i am😂😂can ya pretty please write an wardrobe hc for ikesen plz (whick ever of the sweet bois u want) of how they would react to MC who loves wearing gym/exercise clothes ie i only wear tights, sports bra and crop tops like they are sooo comfortable ❤🔥🥰 thanx love ❤🌻

😂 asdfghjkl. Ded. Okay, okay let’s get down to this.

Context: I joked around that I would give out headcanons for those who want if they give me a description of their wardrobe.

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Characters: I’m aiming for the whole cast and I did it! Yes!

Oda Nobunaga

His first reaction is curiosity. What is this style? What are these clothes you wear and what are they made from? He wouldn’t mind that it is so revealing, scandalising so, in fact he would probably enjoy it and make an indecent joke or two.

If you’re intimate with him he will make sure that you only wear those clothes in private, when it is only you and him. He doesn’t need you to scandalise the rest of his men, but he definitely doesn’t want them to see your skin as much as he does.

I can see him jokingly pull out a fundoshi (Japanese traditional underwear) to compare to your clothes and then laugh about it very loudly.

Will definitely make the above joke when you first meet and he summons you to the war meeting in your usual clothes. It will be humiliating, but then he will offer you some era-appropriate clothes.

Hideyoshi Toyotomi

Scandalised. He will screech like a victorian governess about the inappropriateness of your clothes. Immediately throws his coat over you.

Will always be nagging at you to wear something more appropriate, or to think of your position. “You’re dragging the name of Lord Nobunaga down!” -- though he means well and actually is looking out for you, but do please, argue with him, don’t have him talk to you like that.

After a while he will just carry an extra cloak with him to throw over you. “Hideyoshi, aren’t you warm with that second coat?” “Yes, yes, I am, but I got to protect the dignity of my lord!”

Again, I wish to press the fact that he is more worried about your well-being than Nobunaga’s name, he just says it is for the sake of his lord’s reputation, because that honestly is easier to argue about for him.

Ieyasu Tokugawa

What is this? Why is he always turning around and heading for the other way? Is he avoiding you? What? Ieyasu Tokugawa will not deal with the extra skin.

Will probably also throw an extra blanket or cloak over you. “You look cold, you should wear more clothes.”

He really can’t be honest about it, but the extra skin, the form-fitting clothes, they are the reason why he can’t look you in the eye. There is so little left to the imagination and he is still a man and oh gosh, he is blushing.

Please don’t confront him about the fact that he is trying to avoid you. He will make up some sharp excuse and say something he regrets in regards to your clothes and oh, the shame.

Mitsuhide Akechi

Well, this is interesting. Are fabrics expensive from where you come from? Is that why you wear so little? Another result of poverty, or some outrageous sense of fashion that he isn’t aware of yet?

Would see the practicality in the form-fitting tights. They do help with movement, but still, are they also supposed for seduction? Definitely an effective distraction mechanism.

Will make little jokes about how you are probably wearing kid-sized clothing, because that top really should be covering more than just your chest.

Yes, he will tickle you. Your waist will be the main target, because if you are going to reveal that so easily he is going to take advantage of that. I hope you aren’t ticklish.

Masamune Date

It is canon that he (dis)likes our modern undergarments, I think? So, modern gym wear? Count him a fan.

Plenty to see, just enough covered for him to still enjoy. It is bold, it is flashy, it is just his style.

If you ask him he will probably try a crop top or the tights. He will have to say he prefers the crop top, they are nice and flowy. Perfect for a hot day of training, or when in the kitchen. The tights he isn’t a fan of, they feel like they are pressing the blood circulation out of his legs.

Probably the most enthusiastic of the bunch to see and learn more about modern clothes and especially exercise (read: gym) clothes. Your world sounds fascinating and very practical!

Mitsunari Ishida

I can actually see him being blissfully unaware of the extra skin and the form-fitting clothes. He won’t realise it until it is pointed out and even then he won’t see anything wrong with it.

“If you’re comfortable you should wear them!” he will say. “You always look good to me!” he will compliment.

Honestly will be the nicest about it from the bunch. This man is a god-given gift, an angel who fell down to the earth and forgot his wings.

When the weather gets chillier he will worry about you, however. “Ah, are you sure you don’t want anything warmer and more comfortable?” he will ask, but he won’t force you into anything if you tell him no.

Ranmaru Mori

Everyone’s little brother will be a little confused over your dress. What did you call it now? A crop-top?

I feel that, if you have him wear your clothes he will rock them, and even enjoy them. It is like having a little sibling that you can dress up and the likes.

“What? Why are you calling me cute! You are the cute one!” he exclaims, though he does enjoy the attention given, and the colours that crop-tops come in. The tights can stay away, though.

Will be a little bit conscious of your somewhat revealing wardrobe, but will try not to act scandalised about it. He tries to respect you for your choices, even if he worries for your safety and the eyes of the rest of the men.

Yukimura Sanada

He will blush. A lot. And act very scandalised. Mostly because he has no idea how to react to your wardrobe, but also because he can’t get his mind out of the gutter.

“I’m a man too, you know!” he will warn you. Cue confused expression, because what does he mean with that? Gosh, Yuki, no, it isn’t because you’re not considered a man, doof. #misunderstanding.

Will hide you in his sleeves when given the chance. Kimonos have wide sleeves and that means fabric that can cover you up. He will probably not think of carrying an extra cloak with him, because it is Yuki.

“Is this your secret to seducing the Oda-forces!” he will accuse you. Goodbye witchcraft, it is definitely the clothes that are to blame.

Shingen Takeda

“Is this how the gods above dress?” he jokes, appreciating the fashion and how it accentuates your figure.

Though, he will joke around that he will die of blood loss before his illness because of you.

“It is just me, or is it rather hot in here?” he jokes, stripping off his own top.

This man will appreciate it and try to match himself to it as well. It will be a show for sure.

Kenshin Uesugi

Will start out with his usual misogynistic remarks. “Trying to seduce my men, wench?” he says with enough malice.

Though, when he warms up to you he will mind your dress in a whole other way. “If you aren’t careful I will have to hide you,” he warns.

You will see that cage a lot faster than you did before and it is your wardrobe that is to blame. Not that he will let you out if you start dressing more era-appropriately.

Does not enjoy how other people are staring at you for your dress. Will threaten anyone who stares for too long, man and woman alike.

Sasuke Sarutobi

He is used to it, honestly. 21st century man from Japan. He probably has walked through Akihabara (the anime-district in Tokyo) more than once as well. He has seen his fair share of fashion and you are honestly tame.

However, since this is the sengoku era in which they aren’t very friendly towards strangers and basic human rights don’t exist yet he will worry. He will worry himself senseless and follow you around in the shadows.

“Are you sure you don’t want to dress yourself according to the era?” Sasuke tries to reason with you, but after a while he will just relent himself to it.

Will come up with something creative to meet your wishes and wants and that of the Sengoku era standards. There is a hidden fashion designer sheltered within this man.

Yoshimoto Imagawa

Not going to lie, but I feel he will find offense in your wardrobe. He strikes me as rather traditional.

Thinks it is rather classless, though he appreciates the colours. Otherwise he will mourn the loss of the fine sensibilities and elegance that comes with the traditional kimono.

“Must you reveal so much of yourself?” he questions, wondering what the aesthetics are like in your world. Though in time he will come to appreciate it, even if he doesn’t entirely understand.

Will ask you a bunch of questions on why you prefer this. Is it for flowiness and comfort? What about the yukata, have you tried that? Lighter fabrics? Will marvel a bit over the fabrics of your clothes, but also mourn the loss of quality that usually comes with mass-produced clothes.

Kennyo

Frowns at the clothes, wonders why, but keeps his opinions to himself, otherwise. You are your own person and he respects that.

Will make a comment on how men are beasts and beasts can’t be trusted, but otherwise will fight anyone tooth and nail if they dare to harm you, because just because you are dressed weirdly does not mean that they have any right to touch you!

Does marvel at the ease of your clothes and their efficiency. The warrior monks should honestly start to consider employing those tights of yours, because they are definitely a lot better than whatever they are using now and a lot easier to wear.

Will scowl at crop-tops however, because, no. Those are just useless pieces of fabrics that are better off used as napkins. Are you sure you didn’t accidentally run out of fabric when making these?

Motonari Mouri

The one who will mind it the least from all. It will remind him of the belly dancers in the middle-east - arabic countries.

Will definitely ask you if you could perform a dance for him. Feel free to feel offended and to call out this offense, because he does deserve a good wipe-off.

Will be the one supplying you with more short tops, though you can bet that they are more revealing that crop-tops. “What, I thought you liked them short and baring?” he questions, not understanding the difference.

From what I can see from his character design his pants are what comes closest to what your tights are. He will definitely be pulling at the fabric and wonder how it is so stretchy and comfortable and light. He will definitely need to loot a bunch for himself from wherever you got yours.

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ao3bronte · 4 years

Text

Mamma Mia AU [Part 6]

READ PART 5 HERE!

Take A Chance On Me

Six months later...

Never in her wildest dreams did Marinette expect to be sitting where she is now, dressed to the nines in one of her own highly sought after designs. Having just released her very first collection, M by MarinetteDesigns, at the beginning of December, all of her custom made prêt-à-porter fashions were flying off the racks. She’d even had to hire another seamstress just to get through the backlog of formal wear commissions that she’d received ever since Alya’s BuzzFeed friends set up her social media accounts and started repping her brand all over their articles and personal posts.

But more on that later.

At the moment, Marinette is sitting at a huge, zigzag communal table under the glassed-in rooftop patio on top of a boutique hotel in Le Marais, clapping her hands and cheering as the two people she never thought she’d see together emerge from behind closed doors hand in hand. Jagged Stone performs an epic guitar solo from the platform as Luka picks up his new bride and spins her around, grinning like a maniac.

The wedding itself is a completely bombastic affair with celebrities and the like sneaking here and there to avoid the paparazzi. Marinette feels like a kid in a candy store as Luka’s guests file in left and right, most of them artists and bands she loves to listen to. And his bride, of course, doesn’t have much of her family along for the wedding. The media backlash from her mother’s empire had been outlandish, especially in Japan, but she’d ended up fitting right in with most of Luka’s ragtag group of friends in Los Angeles. With the help of her new husband and their support circle, she’d risen above the controversy and won the Olympic gold medal in fencing, bringing honour to herself for the first time in her life.

Sporting a gorgeous red rose tattoo on her upper arm, Kagami Tsuguri Couffaine turns around and gives everyone that trademark smirk of hers, welcoming them to their reception. Luka can’t keep his hands off of her, his eyes practically bulging out of his skull when she plunks her leg up onto the chair she’s supposed to be sitting on and demands he take her garter off with his teeth. The partygoers roar as Luka does just that, emerging victorious with a red and navy strap of fabric hanging from his canines.

Satisfied with his performance, Kagami calls all of the single and unmarried ladies attending her wedding to the platform and waves her rose and orchid bouquet over her head for the traditional toss. Hoping to avoid the pitying glances, Marinette pretends to be completely consumed by her emails and ducks her head in the hopes that no one will notice her. She would have been successful too, had it not been for the exchange of raised eyebrows and playful glances between the bride, the groom and a few other savant attendees.

“One, two, three!” Kagami cries, launching her bouquet into the air. Like a missile locked on a target, it somersaults right over everyone’s heads and thwacks an unassuming Marinette straight in the face, knocking her right off her chair.

“Oh my god, Marinette!” Alya squeals, laughing as her best friend spits petals from her lips. Everyone is cheering as Marinette slowly stands up and waves the bouquet above her head, blushing with embarrassment.

“I don’t even have a boyfriend,” she shakes her head, still smiling despite not having a plus one by her side. She’s long accepted the fact that she’s going to be on her own for good and surprisingly, she feels better for it. Acceptance is the first step, after all, and Marinette has been going to so many weddings lately as an honoured guest for designing the wedding and bridesmaids dresses that the blank space at her side hardly bothers her any longer. She’s even started working on tuxedos!

Way, way down the table, Marinette tries to ignore the ghost from her past crowding the open bar with Nino and the rest of the boys. She’d said hello politely but otherwise avoided him, if only to keep a tamper on her feelings; even though her love has long withered down to smothered embers, Marinette wants to be careful to avoid the winds of change that would flare those feelings in her soul.

The food at Luka and Kagami’s wedding is fantastic and the music is even more so. After the first course, Luka invites everyone up to form a mosh pit as Jagged plays a brand new track off his upcoming album and Marinette is absolutely thrilled to bop around, screaming at the top of her lungs with her hands in the air. She’s as free as a bird and the gorgeous, rock star inspired dress she has on leaves little to the imagination as she sways and shakes to the music. Alya catches it all on TikTok, much to Marinette’s chagrin, and captions it: ‘What a catch! 🎣 How is my girl still single?!’

After, everyone takes a breather and sits back down at the table, its decorated surface filled to the brim with food served family style on colourful, mismatched platters. Marinette loves the boho aesthetic of the different multi-hued plates and napkins, the discordant textures and silverware already inspiring another collection for her fashion line. She digs into the huge heaping of pasta that Alya had plopped onto her plate and laughs along with her girlfriends as they eat the night away under the Parisian lights.

As the main course is being cleared from their tables, the wedding band begins to play and couples slowly but surely leave their tables for a tour of the dance floor. Alya jokingly offers a ‘samba-à-trois’ with her and Nino but Marinette laughingly declines, prefering to watch and take photos of her friends while they’re enjoying themselves. She’s got a knack for capturing the perfect shot and Marinette is just about to turn back towards her table to edit them when someone calls her name.

“Marinette!”

No matter how many months and years pass between them, he’ll always stop her in her tracks.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Adrien compliments her breathlessly, a sheen of sweat on his brow. He’s been dancing with the boys, hauling them up in the air on his shoulders as the party throbs around them, “I mean—you look beautiful always! It’s just—uh, tonight you look...especially beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Marinette responds, desperately trying to keep her voice even. She can’t help but transpose the black mask over his features as he runs his fingers through his messy hair, his cheeks flushed from exertion, “You look...handsome yourself.”

“Th-thank you!” he stutters, looking strangely unkempt for someone who always seems to have it together, “I just—um. Do you want to dance with me?”

He offers her his hand and she stares at it, the technicolour lights casting shadows on his upturned palm, “I...thank you for...um, offering but—”

“Please,” he beseeches her, his eyes blown wide, “I’ve missed you.”

Marinette gulps, her throat tightening against the emotions rekindling in her chest, “I’m…”

“Just one,” he says, taking a small, tentative step towards her, “And if you...if you don’t want to see me again after, I can do that.”

Her heart clenches. Tikki punches her thigh through her skirt.

“Just one,” she says eventually, placing her hand gently overtop of his. He grasps her like their lives depend on it and Marinette is suddenly thrust back to the days where their entwined fingers meant the difference between defeat and victory. He slumps with relief and pulls her towards his chest, resting his other hand on the small of her back.

And they dance.

Her heartbeat skips with every step as they sway to the music, lost in their own private orbit of things left unsaid. Adrien can’t keep his eyes away and she can hardly catch his gaze without burning up, finding it far easier to stare at the knot of his loosened tie. Somehow, they drift closer and closer until his lips are a hair’s breadth away from the crown of her head and Marinette can feel the warmth of his body coming off of him in waves, setting her skin on fire.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he whispers, his words barely there, “When I left after the wedding...I knew it was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made and I’d do anything to take it back.”

Marinette trips a little, stumbling into his chest, “Adrien—”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you everything but Alya told me you blocked me and I...I wanted to respect that. So I’ve been waiting six months to tell you what I should have told you all those years ago,” Adrien’s voice wavers, “I’ve loved you since the day we first fought together. The problem was, at eighteen, I thought I loved the idea of freedom more.”

“I was wrong, though. I was so, so wrong and I’ve spent the last four years of my life regretting every second. I’ve transferred to TU Delft to finish off my graduate degree so I can be closer to home. I want to come back on the weekends to fight by your side again and repair our relationship, but only if you want to. I just...I know I’ve been an awful partner and an even more awful friend so I totally understand if you never want to see me again but...I thought I would just try.”

Marinette swallows, fighting the tears that prickle at the corners of her eyes, “I’m sorry, Adrien. But I...thank you for the apology.”

He makes no move to let go and neither does she, “It’s...it’s okay. You’ve been doing so well on your own. I just want to be closer though, in case something happens. The Netherlands is only a few hours away by bus.”

The music slowly wanes and Marinette steps back, averting her gaze, “I guess it’s time for dessert.”

Adrien swallows, loosening his tie further, “Right. I...um, I’ll talk to you later?”

“Sure,” she says, finally glancing back up at him. He looks wrecked, for lack of a better word, “Maybe you can tell me how your studies are going?”

“Oh!” Adrien’s expression immediately brightens, his smile near blinding, “Yes! I’ll tell you anything! Everything! After dessert! We can talk!”

Marinette can’t help but smile a little, his fumbling antics so unlike the Adrien she knows. He’s unmasked in front of her, the Chat Noir she has always known and loved, “Nino’s waving at you.”

She points over his shoulder and Adrien turns, catching a glimpse of Nino, Luka and about ten other guys all hooting and giving him questioning thumbs up. He smiles and gives them an enthusiastic nod in return before turning back to Marinette, “I’ll find you after dessert, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees, watching him scamper off towards his friends. Alya is on her not a second later, her arm draped around her shoulders as they walk back to their seats.

“Well? How did it go?”

Marinette shrugs, “We danced and I asked him about his studies.”

Alya skids to a stop in her tracks, “That’s it?”

“Well, he said he was sorry too,” she says, walking out from under Alya’s arm as she continues walking, “And then the song ended and we’re going to talk about his classes after.”

“I swear to god, that idiot!” Alya stomps her foot and storms away towards her husband and the rest of the boys.

The cake is cut, the lights are low and the party is about to truly kick into high gear. The wedding band is replaced by one of Los Angeles' best DJs and Marinette stays out of the fray for the time being, taking a break from the action. She’s responding to commision requests when the song that had just been playing slowly dwindles and the crowd starts to scream.

“Speech!” a familiar voice cries and Marinette’s head yanks towards its source so quickly it cracks, “I'm gonna make a speech, everybody!”

Standing on the wedding platform with his tie nowhere to be found, Adrien raises his glass of champagne in one hand and holds the microphone to his lips in the other, “First of all, I just want to make a big shout out to the bride and groom for hosting an amazing party! Santé!”

The crowd cheers and drinks with him, buzzing seemingly with anticipation. An electric current tingles down the length of her neck as something tells her that everyone clearly knows something she doesn’t.

“And secondly, I want to thank my friends for helping me try and win back the love of my life. Hey, Marinette! I’m still free! Take a chance on me!”

Hoisted from the platform to the dinner tables, Adrien begins to strut as if on a catwalk, "To the most beautiful, talented woman in the world! I'm gonna do my very best to get you back, if you let me try. I wanna be the first in line to your heart."

The entire party cheers him on. Jagged Stone plays the opening chords to the wedding march on his electric guitar.

"I know I kind of screwed up,” he averts his eyes for a moment, his cheeks burning as her jaw clunks to the floor, “But if you change your mind and need me, just let me know. I’m going to be around more often and...well, put me to the test. I won’t disappoint you ever again. I’m all yours.”

He pauses in front of her, microphone still in hand, “We could go dancing or go for a walk or anything, really. Just as long as we do it together. You’ve got to know how much I want to win you back and...and when I close my eyes at night and dream, I’m always dreaming about you! You have to know that I...I can’t let go of you. Of us. Of what I left behind.”

“Please Marinette,” he reaches out to her just like he had earlier, his palm raised and at the ready. Marinette feels like dying and flying all at once.

Her heart pounding, Marinette takes a shaky breath and raises her hand only to hesitate, her fingers curling with indecision. Her mind is racing and fuzzy and between the wolf whistles and the intensity of Adrien’s gaze, Marinette finds herself feeling something in her chest she hasn’t felt in four long years.

“What do you say, M’Lady?” Adrien smiles with a hopeful shrug, “Will you take a chance on me?”

“I…” she trails off and somehow, her arm is moving on its own accord. Should she listen to her mind and turn him down? Or should she listen to her heart and find love once more in the arms of the man she’s loved for years and years and years.

Well, there’s only one choice here, isn’t there?

“Yes,” she whispers, a sweet benediction, “Yes!”

Clasping his hand, Adrien hauls her up with supernatural strength onto the table and tosses the microphone into the crowd. There’s a horrible feedback noise as Nino catches it against his tuxedo but nothing matters anymore except the smile on his face and the joy in her eyes as he wraps his arms around her waist and presses her flush to his body, “Why did I ever let you go?”

“Because you were an idiot,” Marinette responds and Adrien throws his head back and laughs. Here I go again, she thinks as she soaks in his contagious joy as the crowd screams around them. How could she resist him, especially after a confession like that?

“Can I kiss you?”

Marinette inhales sharply, “How could I resist?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Of course it is, you silly cat.”

Adrien bends down and presses his lips against hers just as the fireworks ignite in the background, bathing the glassed-in rooftop deck in hues of vibrant reds and golds. Marinette gasps as he runs his tongue along her bottom lip and she pulls him ever nearer, basking in his warmth as she grabs handfuls of his hair. She devours him longingly as he explores her body with his roaming fingertips and Marinette feels the dam of her desire breaking, overflowing with desperate, relentless love.

“I’m never going to let you go ever again," Adrien murmurs against her lips before diving back in and kissing her again, grabbing her by the hip. She feels delirious and suddenly they’re both smiling, giggling like school children because finally, finally ! They could be together! No matter what, four years or twenty, no span of time can truly keep apart true love.

READ PART 7 HERE!

#miraculous ladybug #mamma mia #ml fanfic #adrinette #miraculous ladybug au

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littlesparklight · 3 years

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Princes and Cowherds

First part for a short fic (though longer than this, obviously) dealing with Paris’ discovery. I never really could like the later prophecy-exposure background for Paris, since they have him rejoin his biological family when he’s something like 16-19? And the Iliad itself always gave me the feeling he’s lived with them for a majority of his life, and you don’t get any indication any of the prophecy or exposure is a THING (bet it would have been mentioned otherwise), but I find I like it better if you make Paris younger. :)

Huffing and puffing through swaying firs, a cooling wind somewhere up above but not reaching down to Hektor, was a terrible way to get lost. Two hours ago Hektor hadn't yet admitted that lost was what he was, but by now it was inevitable. The two hunting spears, light as they were, weighed on his shoulder and his thighs and calves were protesting their cruel treatment since Hektor had so far refused to stop walking even to just sit down and rest for a couple minutes.

If he stopped, after all, he would be those extra few minutes away from getting un-lost, and the sooner Hektor got himself back on familiar ground, the better.

It still grated a little that Mount Ida should be where he'd gotten lost. He'd been here a couple times on hunting trips with his father and Aisakos, after all. Of course, he hadn't taken himself all the way to Shepherd Cottage just for this hunting trip, and when they'd always set out from there previously, perhaps it wasn't so strange that he might have taken a step wrong, at some point. If that was so, however, Hektor thought he should've found his way back to his starting point hours ago. All this, too, and all he had to show for it was a couple rabbits. He'd passed a deer or two, scared into graceful flight by his passing, but he couldn't exactly drag a whole deer around, even if it wasn't a stag in antlers, though they were all growing them in, still, at this time of year. At the very least he didn't have to admit to responsibility of having had the chance to know the mountain better by way of the traditional sheep herding, because he'd only just started out. The royal princes of Troy no longer necessarily spent any part of their stint herding sheep up on Mount Ida unless they truly wanted the full experience, and Hektor had, until now, rather intended to skip it.

Maybe he really ought to learn to know the mountain better, since that would at least ensure something like this didn't happen again, and actually going through the full effort of spending some time on Mount Ida with the sheep would help with that.

"Stupid," Hektor muttered, stomping along what looked like a possible path, and if he was supposed to get lost he was at least glad he was alone for it. He would have died if anyone caught him out like this, not knowing what he was doing or where he was going. He was fifteen, after all, not eleven! And with Aisakos gone just last year, his father needed someone he could depend on.

But who could depend on an oldest son and prince who got lost?

"Stupid, stupid, stupid." Groaning, Hektor finally gave up and stopped, running a hand down his face. Just for a little while. He needed to catch his breath, and maybe looking around while standing still would give him a better hint as to what part of the mountain he'd ended up on.

Unfortunately, the widely spaced, majestic firs looked no different now than they had in the last hour or more, and the only paths, barely obvious in the sparse undergrowth and the mat of pine needles, were animal ones. If humans walked past here, they didn't do so with enough regularity to mark their passing. Squinting up at the sky visible past the treetops, Hektor grunted. He knew he needed to go slopewards at the very least, but he could swear he'd been doing exactly that at several points, and yet he was nowhere near the foothills. Angrily, he almost shoved one of his spears down into the ground, but took a breath, let it out slowly, and shook his head. Losing his temper would solve nothing. Tossing his spears about as if he was a two year old having a tantrum would solve nothing. If this took until tomorrow to solve, it was not a catastrophe - he had food, water could surely easily be found, and it was summer. If it did start to rain, he could deal with getting wet.

In the distance, a rolling crack of noise, as if in answer to a certainly not meant challenge, sounded, making Hektor's teeth itch.

"Great." Sighing, Hektor looked around once more, this time in hopeful search for a potential shelter, even if it wasn't necessary that the thunder would come with rain, and then frowned. Tipped his head and cupped a hand about the ear, but no, he wasn't mistaken.

Singing.

Actually having registered it now, Hektor realized he'd heard it on and off for the last hour, maybe even the last two hours, at least.

It took him about a couple minutes of dithering, shifting on his feet and taking a step in the seeming direction of the noise, catching himself, doing it again, before he gave in. He was highly unlikely to ever run into whatever hunter or herdsman was out up here, so asking for a pointer to find his way back down to Dardanos wouldn't hurt. Much. He wasn't much at all charmed by the idea of having to ask a peasant or slave for directions, no matter if he should never see them again.

That the singing could be something other than mortal was, of course, not something that escaped him, but Hektor decided it was better to take the risk, and a nymph would be far better than a mortal hunter or herdsman, if only in how well she'd known her own home. For as tricky as it at first was to find the source of the singing, when Hektor stepped out into a sloping mountain meadow dotted with a small herd of cattle, he was pretty sure he was dealing with human singing, and thus human limitations on what might transpire.

The cows, at least, with three calves about their legs and making mad, dashing forays across the meadow, were certainly normal enough. Huge placid eyes followed his path across the meadow, through high, drying grass and around bushes, and were little bothered by him. Their neatheard Hektor found sitting on a rock by a narrow rivulet of water barely deep enough to swamp a finger's breadth of grass with itself.

A child, nothing more, so long-haired Hektor was wondering if it was a little girl, maybe a little less than ten years of age, especially considering the flower crown atop the child's head.

"Greetings," Hektor said as the singing broke off, and was treated to a gap-toothed smile after a startled, wide-eyed moment of staring. The child then jumped off their perch, flapping a hand to the rock.

"Hello. Do you need to sit? The slope is pretty steep!"

Bristling, Hektor, swallowed his pride with a sigh. At least he hadn't said he looked tired, but surely, after walking all the way past noon, he must look rather bedraggled, particularly in this heat. So he sat, eyeing his potential guide. A boy, probably, even if the child's voice was one of the sweetest he'd ever heard. When he wasn't singing, it was a shade more possible to tell, and while he was graceful, there was a certain boniness to the future promise of lanky build that made Hektor feel certain of his judgement.

"It is," he agreed, dropping his spears and the rabbits at his feet, caught by the wilting flowers spread around the stone. Looked up, to the fresh crown on top of those shining-soft brown curls, and wondered if the boy had woven himself a new flower crown at the first sign of his old one starting to fail in the heat. That was... dedication, he supposed. "Do you live near Dardanos?"

There was, after all, no real graceful way of asking for help without asking if the boy could help, and if he lived in some small mountain village somewhere up here, he would probably not be able to. Biting down on a groan, Hektor stretched his legs out as the boy blinked and then shrugged. His eyes were very large, and blue-green like a shallow sea, and Hektor could swear he'd not even seen comely maidens with as pretty cheeks as this boy had. He looked more as if he should be a prince than a cowherd in rough spun linen, the tunic he wore a little too long for him - something to grow into.

"Oh, yes. I like going all the way up here, most don't bother, but it means the grazing is good." The boy nodded, and little winks of light caught in carefully twisted metal hair ornaments spread out in his hair; they were clearly not meant to tame the curls. Rather, all they did was draw the eye to the thick fall of them, even if the metal must be cheap and the decoration of the ornaments sparse, if any at all. They did match the twisted bit of woven grass on one wrist, and on the other hung another bracelet of beads, a little chipped and colour fading, maybe, but nice enough for all that. Hektor wondered why the boy's parents would put such effort into making him look like this, when he clearly sat out among his cows most of the time.

But maybe it wasn't just, or only, the boy's parents. The fresh flower crown, and it wasn't a messy, slapdash work either, did attest to the child's own interest, as strange as that was.

"So you know the way down to the city from here? You need to tell me, then."

The boy opened his mouth. Closed it. Stared at Hektor for a squint-eyed moment, then shook his head, causing another glittering rush through his hair. "I could, if you want. But it might be easier if you just waited, and we could go down at the same time. The path isn't very simple, though maybe there's a better one I don't know."

It was Hektor's turn to draw breath and then snap his teeth shut around words unsaid, as much as he wanted to demand the child give him directions. Or maybe grab him by that skinny arm and drag him down the mountain, cows or no cows. But the boy had work to do, and clearly took it seriously. As well as, potentially, just trying to look out for the stupid, lost stranger who'd just asked him for directions down the mountain.

"Besides," the boy commented in the silence Hektor left, "would you rather walk down the mountain wet, or wait, and walk down dry?"

"What makes you think it's going to start raining anytime soon?" Hektor scowled, not liking the reminder. He didn't much like the idea of walking down the mountain for a couple hours, sopping wet, but he could deal with it.

"The thunder, of course." Somehow, the boy managed to sound as if it was obvious, but not as if he thought Hektor was stupid for asking. Or maybe not much, at least. "And those clouds."

One hand shielding eyes that made Hektor think of his father or Anchises or Aeneas, drawing to mind the rivers and their daughters, the boy pointed off south, the mountain falling off to the east and the slopes stretching out wooded and wavy. Beyond, above, was indeed a towering weight of roiling clouds, chasing the sun and soon to overtake it. Hektor opened his mouth and flinched as a drop of water hit him on his cheekbone, then his nose. He found new words to voice instead of what he'd intended to say.

"We're more exposed up here, what is to keep us drier than the moderate shelter offered by the pines?"

The meadow, after all, was empty aside from the cattle, their neatherd, stones, and Hektor himself. The boy grinned and waved at him.

"This way!" He whistled, though the cows were already moving, and so Hektor slotted himself at the head - behind the child - of a little parade of cattle as they walked up the meadow, to the cliffs at the other end.

Hektor should perhaps have expected the cave, large enough to hold the whole little herd as well as allowing himself and the boy to sit near the entrance, dry enough as the clouds darkened the sky completely and upended their contents. Once again dropping his spears and the rabbits as he sat down, Hektor stared at the view outside. The rain obscured the meadow, leaving on a fuzzy curtain of water to see, and so Hektor glanced to the boy sitting on the ground, legs folded at the ankles and studying him.

"What?" he asked as the child shook his head, and maybe it was only the lack of sharp contrast between light and shadow now that the sun was gone and they were sitting in the softer shadows of the cave, but the boy reminded Hektor of several of his own brothers. "What's your name?"

"Paris," he proclaimed, and then fearlessly - and quite shamelessly, too - peered at Hektor, from his red leather shoes to the heavy fringe along the bottom of his tunic and the sturdy belt, made of good leather and with golden inlays of a double-headed eagle, up to the fillet with its winged sun. "And you, my lord, look like I should be bowing in your presence."

He didn't, to note, and Hektor snorted, more charmed than he would admit. "You probably should, as I am Hektor, son of Priam and Hecuba, but if you should tell me you are the son of some Dardanian noble, it wouldn't surprise me in the least - your looks are those of a prince, not a common cowherd."

"My father's name is Agelaos, no slave, but a common man of Dardanos," Paris said with a shrug, but by his straight back and the sparkle of his eyes, he was undeniably preening for Hektor's judgement of what blood he should have. It seemed improbable, still, that such a plain background should produce a child like that. Thunder followed, startling both of them as well as the cows, the sound so loud the cave rather rung with it and followed near immediately by a thick, branching bolt of lightning across the sky. The flash of over-saturated light threw Paris' awed, wide-eyed little face in sharp relief, and Hektor once against felt as if he was looking at a sibling - one of his sisters, perhaps. The glint of metal ornaments in his lush curls didn't help matters.

"A kind father, surely, if one who indulges your comeliness a bit much." Hektor frowned as he looked Paris over. Honestly, it was a little concerning. Shouldn't Agelaos take more care when Paris carried what little finery he wore as if it might as well be a princess' array of jewels, and his precise way of sitting down had left the bottom of the tunic nicely spread, despite that it should be bunching up, large as it was? Paris was far too aware of himself.

"It makes me feel nice," Paris said, childish pout only making the severity of the words all the more ridiculous. "And my father doesn't really like it, but he doesn't stop me, either."

He looked away, staring out at the rain with the pout lingering on his face. Hektor didn't miss the twitch and shift of his arms that might have been Paris about to pull his legs up against himself, but catching himself before he did so, clearly self-conscious in front of such a well-born stranger despite his bold looks and words so far. Hektor shook his head.

"You should listen to h--- What's this?" Hektor reached out, having to lean over to graze fingertips along a fragile, jutting little collarbone, though that hadn't been his goal. His goal was the thin chain around Paris' neck, disappearing in under the tunic's hem.

"It's mine." Paris leaned away from Hektor, shuffling up against the cave wall, but the entrance was only a little wider than a cow and her calf, and so he didn't get very far without getting up and moving deeper inside the cave.

"It's gold," Hektor said, up on his feet, one hand sweeping down himself, but he hadn't been wearing anything about his neck, only a broad wrist cuff and a couple rings, and the other reaching for Paris. Paris struggled up to his feet, and clearly he wasn't stupid - he whirled around towards the cave's opening, but Hektor lurched forward, grabbed him by the waist and hauled him back.

"Let go! It's not yours!" Paris howled, surprisingly vicious and with quick elbows and hard little fists, more than one that Hektor got to his chin and stomach until he trapped Paris between his legs and against his torso, those maybe eight year old little wrists narrow enough for him to hold him still with one hand long enough to yank the chain out of Paris' tunic. After a moment or two Hektor gave up on pulling it over Paris' head, for his rich crown of curls were far too thick and long for him to easily free it when Paris was still wriggling around.

"Maybe not, but I don't believe it's yours either," Hektor said slowly, staring down at the medallion in his hand.

It was gold, and clearly kept lovingly polished for the shine of it even in the rain-shadowed cave. A double-headed eagle crowned by a winged sun decorated one side, which meant that unless if had come from south of the Troad, by some travelling messenger or noble, perhaps, it must have come from either Capys' or Priam's house.

"It is," Paris insisted, breathless and high, and shoved himself against Hektor so suddenly he almost lost his grip on Paris' wrists. One small, bare foot found his own, and leather wasn't exactly enough to protect against an angry eight year old stomping down. Hektor grunted, but couldn't really make himself discipline his little thief. "My father gave it to me, as a memento of my parents! He found it with me when he picked me up! It's not my fault it looks like your belt."

"... Picked you up?" Hektor asked as he slowly turned the medallion over. The back was smooth, except for the thin, scratchy lines of hieroglyphs messily inscribed there, clearly done well after the medallion had been made. He rubbed his thumb over them, frowning. "... Alexander?"

"You can read?" Paris breathed, and if it weren't for the small foot still digging its heel into Hektor's toes, the wriggle would have been pure excitement.

"I can," Hektor said, lightly - and far too kindly, definitely - jostling Paris with his legs. "Answer me."

"I was abandoned on the mountain in early spring. A bear apparently nursed me! Father said he didn't even have to chase her away, she just moved away when he came across her. And I was wearing that." Paris nodded to the medallion currently held taut away from his neck.

"Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?" Hektor snorted, but he tightened his grip on the medallion. Paris had said it with far too much nonchalance, as if it was something he'd heard many times, and while that could easily be a story made up to make an abandoned child feel better, it didn't change the fact of the existence of the medallion. The bear might be ridiculous, the sort of thing taken from any number of stories of mortal children of gods abandoned by their fearful mothers and nursed by an animal or other until found, but the medallion was mundane. It was the sort of thing you'd leave with a baby, even if you might have chosen to expose it for whatever reason.

The hastily scratched in Alexander on the back made Hektor's stomach churn.

"It's the truth," Paris huffed, stomping his little foot - the one he still had on top of Hektor's own foot.

Hektor closed his eyes as he jostled Paris again, hand so tight about the medallion his knuckles ached. Would his parents expose a child? It wasn't that he had a particularly terrible memory, no matter what Deiphobos might say since he liked to insist he remembered everything from the time he'd learned to walk, which Hektor didn't believe a whit of, but it was harder to remember his mother not being pregnant than whenever she was. He honestly couldn't say if she'd been pregnant or not when he'd been seven. Taking a breath and holding it for a beat or two, Hektor let the medallion drop back against Paris' chest and pulled him back, away from his foot. He did keep a grip on Paris' arms, and straightened up, trying to summon as much princely severity as he was capable of. The fact that Paris, if only for a beat, dipped his head a shade before he stubbornly turned his head and looked away was encouraging.

"We're going to talk to your father. Can I trust you not to run off, if I let go?"

Paris' little mouth wobbled, firmed. He looked back at Hektor with wide, wide eyes, though he tried to straighten up and stick his chin out.

"You're not going to take it? Or hurt my parents?"

Hektor stared at him, and silently admitted he probably deserved that, even if he wasn't sure what Paris thought he could do against a full-grown man. He did have his hunting spears as well as a large knife at his belt, admittedly. So he said nothing in his defense, just sighed. Thankfully it was drowned out by another roll of thunder.

"I'm not. I just want answers, and I think your father can give them."

"Answers for what?" Paris frowned, the lightning - more distant than the first two - throwing him in half relief, shadows stark and his hair a pale halo worthy of any mortal child of a god.

"That's what your father needs to tell me," Hektor said, refusing to consider just yet that maybe it wasn't Paris' father who needed to answer, but rather his own.

#greek mythology #the iliad #trojan war #hector of troy #paris of troy #lightart

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betterbe-ravenclaw · 4 years

Text

A HPHM character profile - Naomi Kinnley

Naomi has been being developed for a good while now, and I know that my version of events will clash with that of others (over love interest, profession, interests, family etc) so I really hope that won't be a problem. It's taken a long time for me to post this because I'm extremely nervous but hopefully Naomi and I can fit into the community!

(This wonderful profile template is by @hogwartsmysterystory and made introducing Naomi so much easier than it could have been, so thank you!)

Also the artwork is by me. Still practicing humans.

Identity:

Name: Naomi Justine kinnley

Gender: Female

Age: 15 (in game currently, I guess her age technically changes with each scenario as necessary)

Date of Birth: 27th April 1973

Species: Human

Blood Status: Half-Blood

Sexuality: straight (or heterosexual, they both mean the same thing right?)

Ethnicity: English, Welsh, French

Nationality: English

Residence: The Kinnley Household, #.17 Turley Avenue, Norwich, Norfolk, England

MBPT: ISFP - the adventurer

The Mage:

1st wand: cedar, dragon heartstring core, slightly springy, 11 ½ inches

“...‘you will never fool the cedar carrier,’ and I agree: the cedar wand finds its perfect home where there is perspicacity and perception. I would go further than my father, however, in saying that I have never yet met the owner of a cedar wand whom I would care to cross, especially if harm is done to those of whom they are fond. The witch or wizard who is well-matched with cedar carries the potential to be a frightening adversary, which often comes as a shock to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them”

“As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner.”

2nd wand: willow, phoenix feather core, reasonably supple, 12 ¼ inch

“Willow is an uncommon wand wood with healing power, and I have noted that the ideal owner for a willow wand often has some (usually unwarranted) insecurity, however well they may try and hide it. While many confident customers insist on trying a willow wand (attracted by their handsome appearance and well-founded reputation for enabling advanced, non-verbal magic) my willow wands have consistently selected those of greatest potential, rather than those who feel they have little to learn...”

“This is the rarest core type. Phoenix feathers are capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer than either unicorn or dragon cores to reveal this. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike.”

Animagus: N/A

Misc magical abilities: Apparition and Disapparition

Boggart form: missing a chance to save somebody special to her (usually Rowan, her brother or Murphy) because she was preoccupied with something novel and insignificant. Knowing she should have and could have been there and would have been able to help - but wasn’t. (Shows up as herself with her back to the incident, not noticing when her loved one calls out for help)

Riddikulus form: in being preoccupied with said novel activity, she misses her loved one(s) not being murdered, but instead making silly faces 0r acting clownish behind her back, a bit like in a pantomime.

Amortentia (their smell): home baked bread, a wildflower field, crisp new parchment, baled hay, plums from her grandparents’ orchard and vanilla.

Amortentia (what they smell): mown grass, cinnamon, old books, home baked cookies, polished leather, lavender laundry detergent and the sea.

Patronus: leopardess

Strong

Graceful

Quiet

Independent

Protective

Patronus memory: sitting at the attic window with her brother early on christmas morning as a child, drinking hot chocolate with those tiny muggle marshmallows and munching on their mother’s cookies that they weren't supposed to have until the afternoon. Talking and playing wizards chess, exploding snap and their dad's old Muggle board games, watching the sunrise and being together.

Mirror of erised:

during hogwarts - reliving her patronus memory every christmas as tradition goes. Still having Jacob shake her awake at ridiculous o’clock and take her upstairs to the window where he’d set up their blanket instead of waking up of her own accord and sitting alone until the sunrise.

As an adult - hosting dinner at the house she shares with her husband and children for all her close friends and family. All of them. Those who are gone would be there too for a night of good food and good company where the children would run around playing and Naomi would get a warm feeling of belonging in her heart.

specialized/favourite spell:

Pretego - she never wants anyone she loves to come to harm, especially after rowans passing.

Expecto Patronum - beautiful, peaceful and protective. Useful and stunning all at the same time. A thing of comfort and joy.

Avis - she’s calmed around animals and birds. Just for fun.

Ferula & episkey - similar to protego, to help those who come to harm and keep them from pain as much as possible.

Lumos - simple and useful. It was one of the first things she learnt at Hogwarts and feels nostalgic.

Appearance:

Faceclaim: Willa Holland (just imagine she has freckles.)

Game appearance:

Height: 5’6” (170.7cm)

Weight: 151lbs (68.5kg)

Physique: Slim

Eye colour: hazel, quite green in places

Hair colour: dark brown, looks ginger in the sun, loosely curly

Skin tone: medium, somewhere in between olive and pale.

Body modifications: she has one piercing in each earlobe that she got aged 10. She mainly just wears studs.

Scarring: nothing major, she has a few little scars from mundane accidents like cutting her knee on a rock but that's about it.

Inventory: wand, quill, ink, chapstick, hair ties, a hairbrush, prefect badge, scrap parchment, glasses, glasses case, half finished bag of sherbet lemons, unopened packet of every flavour beans and a leather notebook with unlimited pages for notes on everything

Fashion: Naomi likes to pair denim bottoms (jeans or shorts or sometimes a skirt if she's in the mood) with a t-shirt - she likes the ones with different coloured sleeves and also ones with words on the front. She'll also wear denim jackets and leggings and knitted sweaters and sometimes summer dresses and skirts. She mostly likes comfortable stuff. If it feels good on her body and she's comfortable in it she'll wear it.

Allegiances:

Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

Affiliations / organisations: the circle of Khanna, the order of the phoenix, the ministry of magic, the department of magical law enforcement - auror division

Professions:

Age 11-18 : Hogwarts student

Age 18-21 : Trainee Auror, part of the ministry of magic's department of magical law enforcement Auror training programme

Age 21-25 : Junior Auror, department of magical law enforcement - Auror devison

Age 25 - 28 : unemployed, having taken a break from work to focus on the family after the war

Age 28 - 40 : Senior Auror, department of Magical law enforcement - Auror devison

Age 40 - 46 : Head Auror, department of Magical law enforcement - Auror devison

Age 46 - 48 : Assistant manager at Cathy's Bakes (her mother in law's bakery)

Age 48 - Retirement : manager at Cathy's Bakes

Hogwarts info:

Class proficiencies:

Astronomy - E

Charms - O

Defence against the dark arts - O

Flying - O

Herbology - A

History of magic - E

Potions - O

Transfiguration - O

Electives:

Care of Magical Creatures - O

Arithmancy - E

Divination - A

Quidditch: Chaser from 2nd year onwards

Extra curricular: Quidditch, Dueling Club, prefect

Favourite professors: Flitwick, McGonagall, Kettleburn

Least favourite professors: Binns, Trelawney, Rakepick

Relationships:

Brother: Jacob William Kinnley

born 5th October, 1964

Goes by J

Ravenclaw

About 8 years older than Naomi

Curly brown hair, green eyes, really tall, stubble

Kind-hearted, witty, humorous and strong, though short tempered and more reserved after his disappearance

Was always Naomi's favourite sibling Because he was similar to her and actually had time for her. They were very close growing up, pushing Naomi to try and find him. She wanted that back.

Misc siblings: Cynthia Eleanor Kinnley

Born 16th January 1968

Goes by Cindy

Gryffindor

About 5 years older than Naomi

Straight black hair, hazel eyes, tall, attractive

Outgoing, kind, reckless and charming. She and Naomi fought more and weren't as close as Naomi and Jacob.

Ran off to study magical creatures in Africa after Jacob's disappearance to escape her troubles.

Independent magizoologist, works with a small team on less explored species

Father: Anthony Kinnley

Born 7th March 1942

Muggleborn

Ravenclaw

Curly dark brown hair, green eyes, tall, stubble

Kind-hearted, protective, quiet, calm and stronger than he looks. Was able to keep himself together following Jacobs disappearance, if only for the sake of his wife and daughters.

Works for the ministry of magic, department of international magical cooperation

Mother: Eleanor Kinnley née Campbell

Born 18th May 1942

Pureblood

Hufflepuff

Straight black hair, hazel eyes, short, curvy, beautiful

Used to be jolly, humorous and charming, though is mentally unstable after Jacob disappeared. Depressed and not like she used to be, particularly around holidays.

Currently unemployed, hardly leaves the house. Previously a nurse at St. Mungo's hospital for magical maladies and injuries

Grandparents: Marigold Kinnley (née West), William Kinnley, Justine Campbell (née Bordeaux), Henry Campbelll (Deceased)

Misc family members: Simon Kinnley (Uncle), Timothy Kinnley (uncle), Flora Kinnley (née Brown, Aunt), Laura Peters (née Kinnley, Aunt), Robert Peters (Uncle), Geraldine Campbell (Great Aunt), Delia Peters (Cousin), Felicity Peters (Cousin), Liam Peters (cousin) , Marcus Kinnley (cousin), Cathleen McNully (Mother-in-law)

Love interest:

Barnaby Lee (Briefly - 4th year)

Attended the celestial ball together

Barnaby broke it off after a few weeks wanting to be just friends

Naomi had much the same feelings

Murphy McNully (Briefly -5th year)

Dated in secret for about a month and a half

Broke it off because they didn't see eye to eye in their relationship.

Ended with an argument

Charlie Weasley (Briefly - 5th year)

Flirted shameless for weeks

Went on about four dates before Naomi realised she didn't feel right with him and stopped the relationship before too much happened

Murphy McNully (5th year onwards - Spouse)

Got back together in undisclosed circumstances after Naomi and Charlie agreed to be just friends

Spent a year doing long distance after Murphy graduated (him being in the year above her)

Moved in together after Naomi graduated

Eventually Married before having five children.

Children:

Marigold Rowan McNully,

born 28th June, 1993

Goes by Goldie

Ravenclaw

Golden child

Lives up to her namesakes dream of becoming hogwarts' youngest ever professor (Transfiguration)

Cathleen Penelope McNully,

born 1st February, 1995

Likes to be called Kitty or Kit

Gryffindor

Bit of a troublemaker

Professional beater and quidditch star before taking over at the bakery for a 3rd generation

Anthony Jacob McNully,

born 2nd December 1998

Has the nickname Tony

Ravenclaw

Bisexual

Qualified healer working with underprivileged wizarding communities

Eleanor Nymphadora McNully,

born 13th August 2002

Everyone calls her Nelly

Hufflepuff

Daddy's girl through and through

Follows in her father's footsteps becoming a professional quidditch commentator

Henry Charles McNully,

born 30th April 2006

Ravenclaw

Bit of a mummy's boy

A surprise baby

An Auror like his mother

Best friends:

Rival: Merula Snyde, Erika Rath

(school) - Rowan Kahnna, Nymphadora Tonks, Tulip Karasu, Charlie Weasley, Skye Parkin, Penny Haywood, Murphy McNully.

Enemy: Patricia Rakepick

Dormmates: Rowan Kahnna, Tulip Karasu, Badeea Ali

Pets:

Toby

Chocolate brown cocker spaniel

Lives at her home with her parents

Miranda

Birman Cat

Accompanies Naomi to Hogwarts

Maurice

Black horse with a balze (white mark on face)

Lives at her grandparents farm

Closest canon friends: Rowan, Penny, Murphy, Skye, Charlie, Tonks, Tulip, Bill, Andre, Barnaby, Orion, Badeea

Closest MC friends:

Ravenna Glynn (@chronic-clinomania )

Calista Slater (@i-am-not-cursed )

Naomi's always willing to make new friends, even if it takes her a while to pluck up the courage to approach somebody. Maybe message me if you want your MC to be friends?

Background / history:

Pre-Hogwarts:

Naomi was born at 7:13am on the 27th of April 1973 (a week late) as the third and youngest child to Eleanor and Anthony Kinnley.

Her childhood is happy. She gets along with both parents and both siblings (though she and Cindy clash more than her and Jacob) and has a pretty normal home life - save for the magic part.

Jacob began attending Hogwarts when Naomi was only 3 years old, And Cynthia when she was 6, making for a good amount of quiet time which Naomi was very fond of.

As soon as Naomi was able to read and write fluently - about aged 6 - she would exchange letters with both her siblings. She and Jacob wrote to each other more often, as they were the closest of the siblings.

She attended a Muggle primary school like her siblings, though only ever made a couple of friends and wasn't too upset to lose contact with them when she left for hogwarts.

Though the first wizarding war was taking place throughout her childhood, Naomi's family had never been a large target or very involved in the war effort - her parents had decided to put safety above all else, therefore neglecting to join the order of the phoenix and keeping themselves to themselves as much as possible.

Naomi was 8, nearing 9, when Jacob went missing in 1981. Old enough to understand and make her own judgements of the situation. She was immediately distraught though found it hard to accept that her beloved big brother would just leave her and spent over a year writing to him to find out where he had gone, without a single reply. In the end, just before she left for Hogwarts, Naomi decided that she'd do whatever it took to find her brother, her stubbornness taking over.

In Hogwarts:

Of course, the events of Hogwarts mystery happen during this time, though other points include the following

After being sorted into Ravenclaw house, Naomi quickly becomes very close friends with Rowan Khanna. After their initial meeting in Diagon alley, Naomi feels comfortable enough to talk freely with the girl and by the time Christmas rolls around she can firmly say that Rowan is her best friend.

Naomi is obviously a competent and talented student in many areas. A lot of teachers take a shine to her as she's focused and a hard worker. Therefore, she's often asked to perform demonstrations and to assist other students.

In her second year, Naomi became the newest chaser on the Ravenclaw quidditch team. To this day, she is grateful to Penny for pushing her to try out because quidditch helped her become the person she is today and introduced her to some of her closest friends and, of course, her now-husband.

Naomi spends a lot of time at the quidditch pitch, In the quidditch stands, in the three broomsticks, by the black lake and, after accidentally stumbling upon it in her 6th year with Tonks, Tulip and Charlie, the room of requirement. After Christmas of 5th year, Naomi also spends a good amount of time in the kitchens, practicing her new hobby of baking.

She and her dorm-mates often stock up on sweets from honeydukes and chose a night to stay up talking and eating until the morning. At some point, they started inviting other girl friends into the dorm for the night (starting after tonks unsuccessfully tried to sneak in behind tulip.)

Post Hogwarts:

Having been unsure about what her career would be all throughout school, Naomi decided to join Tonks in the auror training programme. She deduces that this job would be a good fit for her, and ends up really enjoying it.

Murphy proposes to her 3 years after the initial start of their relationship

They're married not long after, with Penny as Maid of Honour and Orion as best man. Naomi had both her father and brother give her away.

She and Murphy end up living near his mother in a previously abandoned house just outside his home town. It's pretty secluded so they can practice magic without worrying.

By 1995, Naomi and Murphy had had their first two children - Marigold and Cathleen - just as the second wizarding war was beginning.

The second wizarding war:

Both Naomi and Murphy join the order of the phoenix, her auror training coming in handy and him being focused on strategies (what else?). She has many missions, including surveillance and combat.

In joining the order of the phoenix, Naomi gets a chance to meet the golden trio. Harry, Ron and Hermione immediately seem more than capable, and Naomi makes sure she takes the time to let them know she's willing to help them out however she can.

In early 1998, Naomi falls pregnant for a third time, though decides that she won't tell anyone until she has to, trying not to add stress to the already scary times.

During the battle of Hogwarts, Naomi had very close encounters with Bellatrix LeStrange and Augustus Rookwood - both of whom came rather close to finishing her off. Fortunately, her auror training, dueling club experience and protect-don't-harm nature came through, and she managed to stun both death eaters before they took her life.

Naomi was there to witness Tonks' death. That moment was haunting and still shows up in her nightmares from time to time. She was also in the vicinity when Fred Weasley was killed.

Throughout the entire war, Naomi did not use an unforgivable curse once - something she's proud of as she often wanted to murder those death eaters who took her friends.

Post second wizarding war:

Murphy and Naomi both Survive the war, and Naomi took a break from work after the war to recover from the trauma and focus on herself and her family.

When she finally goes back to work, she is able to get to know Harry Potter and Ron Weasley a lot better and they end up becoming good family friends (along with the rest of the weasley family.)

She remains an Auror until the age of 46 (become head auror during this time) before resigning and taking over from her mother in law at the bakery. It's a very much welcomed change of pace (although Naomi is always willing to lend a hand on the odd auror mission at the request of Harry.)

Naomi often invites a large gathering of friends and family over for celebrations - notable occasions include New year's, her children's birthdays and the anniversary of both Rowan's death and the battle of Hogwarts. There's always a lot of food (usually prepared with the help of Cathy and Molly Weasley) and good times.

Home life is wonderful, She and Murphy have a very happy marriage and spend their lives together with their children, and then later their grandchildren.

Personality:

Protective - Naomi is very keen on the defensive way of doing things. She doesn't like to cause harm to anybody unless she can't see any alternative way out of a situation. Along with this, although she is usually pretty quiet and reserved, Naomi will never stand by whilst somebody (especially a friend) is struggling or in trouble. It's one of the few circumstances where Naomi will actually put herself into the action voluntarily.

Creative - Naomi is good at thinking on the spot. She can come up with solutions to a problem when all other possible solutions fall through by thinking outside the box.

Loyal - Naomi hasn't always found it easy to make friends, she's shy and gets very nervous talking to new people, but once she's made friends with somebody Naomi is always going to be there. She's always willing to take on their problems and help in whatever way she can, and makes sure that her friends know how grateful she is to have them and that she's always there when they need her.

Empathetic - Naomi is very good at understanding the feelings of others and knowing exactly what to say to make people calm down and feel better. She can put herself in people's shoes and also acts as the peacekeeper in many arguments as she can .

Easily Stressed - Naomi is an overthinker, she starts to panic when things start to go wrong and gets very stressed. The smallest thing can make her frustrated or worried, and though she can usually hide these feelings in the day, they always come out at night or at any time if they're strong enough. She finds it very hard to let go and let bad things happen.

Stubborn - Naomi isn't likely to back down from many things without a fight. She doesn't like to be wrong, accept too much help or admit she's made a mistake, just as she hates to lose an argument. She always makes sure to be as calm and polite as possible if she has different feelings, but sometimes she can't help but raise her voice.

Naomi is also pretty patient, indecisive, quiet, a good listener, generous and naturally intelligent among other things.

Miscellaneous:

As a baby, Naomi has thick, long, curly hair and was rather chubby, though by the time she reached 7, her curls loosened and her baby fat was no longer a problem. She still had very long hair though.

She goes by Mia to her friends, and Nomi, love and Mia to Murphy. She's also the only person other than his mother who's allowed to call Murphy by his first name or Murph, and also calls him darling, McNully and button (the nickname button has a backstory that I may or may not disclose at some point. She only calls him that when she's teasing him though.)

She was very nearly a hatstall between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff - and she ended up dictating the final decision. Naomi knows she would have been fine in either house now, but at the time, Ravenclaw seemed like the only option because Rowan had just been sorted into it, and it had been the house of her brother.

Although Naomi has glasses, she can usually see just fine without them, and doesn't bother wearing them outside of class.

She's a fiddler a doodler and a nail biter. All happen when she's nervous and/or bored. She'll work her nails down as much as she can and will pick up and play around with just about anything. She's also very prone to drawing and writinh all over her wrists - lists, memos, ideas, harmless pictures of golden snitches and nifflers and Murphy.

Naomi can both ride and drive horses and enjoys it rather a lot. She learnt on her Muggle grandparents' farm where she spent most of her summer holidays as a child and Hogwarts student.

Naomi and Murphy's mother Cathleen, or Cathy, are very good friends. They get along incredibly well and Naomi now comes to Cathy more than her own mother for advice. They spend a lot of time discussing Murphy and other things - often baking in the meantime (Cathy introduced her to baking and Naomi even ends up taking over her bakery business.)

Naomi was one of the few people allowed to attend Tonks and Remus' Wedding, and likes to keep in touch with Teddy Lupin after his parents death (relatively easy as he's good friends with her son Anthony and her Daughter Eleanor.)

She can't decide if her favourite colour is Yellow or blue. They've been her top two since forever but she's never been quite sure which is better.

#hphm #hphm profile #character profile #my oc #naomi kinnley #hphm mc #daunting yet liberating #took forever #been sat in the drafts for too long

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borisbubbles · 4 years

Text

28. ITALY

Diodato - “Fai Rumore”

youtube

And we’re back to our usual disconnect, where everyone pretends to love Italy and I don’t. I cannot wait for all the Italian crazies to be OUTRAGED by this ranking (28/41 is fine for an entry I don’t care about...?) and reblog this all over the tumblrverse and inflate my reader stats. 😈 but first, let’s discuss what we have on our hands here.

Song Analysis

There’s no way this post *won’t* end up offensive to every Fai Rumore fan, so I will resort to brutal honesty. I never, ever, *ever* cared about “Fai rumore”. In fact, I’d even say it’s strongly overrated by the gross of the Eurovision fandom?

Okay so here’s the deal. I will not deny that “Fai Rumore” has several things going for it. The song has emotional gravitas, Diodato has a great voice and acts very well. It’s technically precise and well produced. It is very competent at what it sets out to be, which is a very standard HQ Sanremo Power Ballad.

But here’s where I feel like I deviate from the norm: You may think “wow Fai Rumore! How brilliant, meticulous and poised”, but I think “how expected, overtly earnest and unfun?”

The problem is, this is Boris’s Bubble and Boris doesn’t enjoy songs that feel like they belong inside a trophy cupboard, and “Fai rumore” is exactly one of those songs, don’t lie. So “meticulous, poised and brilliant” you say, well *I* say “how overtly earnest, unfun and aloof”? I have a Spotify - if I wanted to listen to good music, I’d just use that? Or one of my like 15 Youtube Playlists containing non-ESC entries? Why would I watch Eurovision, or Sanremo for that matter, for the good music when there are so many other (and easier) options available for me that align better to my tastes?

The fact that “Fai Rumore” is *too* perfect for me (and therefore very hard to empathize with imo) is one thing, which leads to other thing I need to point out. I’ll let my friend Matthew take over here, who wrote this paragraph on ESCUnited right after Diodato’s selection:

That final sentences is bone-chilling because it’s so, so true. “I AM A SOPHISTICATED MUSIC FAN BECAUSE I FOLLOW ~FESTIVALE DI SANREMO~” is such a common trope of elistism (like, replace “San Remo” with any quality newspaper, nobel prize winning author or classical music composer and you’ll find to be nearly universally applicable to snobs across the globe), but I find it specifically ugly in Eurovision.

You see, would the same courtesy be extended to a country of lower prestige if they got a Fai Rumore? Would the same courtesy be extended to a person of colour? or a woman? How about others songs that, like Fai Rumore, emulate their country’s musical traditions (Fai Rumore is SO italian you can smell the basil), except those traditions fall outside of the western European bubble? See, it doesn’t bother me that Italians like Fai Rumore and are proud of it. They’re Italians. Of course they are! I don’t judge them for it. I don’t rly care if the odd introvert finds solace in a song of this calibre. But as soon as Matthew made the aforementioned post, people who had previously rated Diodato as a 5/6 already started adjusting their scores to 10s and 12s and, well...

It bothers me that the same fanbase that DEMANDS cultural diversity (Diodato) and/or MOAR ETHNOBOPS (Efendi) refuse to accept a Solovey or an Origo -which are a thousandfold more layered, sophisticated and daring- as an equal.

It bothers *even more* me that people are willing to immediately give Italy a plethora of chances (especially when they choose men! fuck institutionalised sexism!), while not doing the same for a Belarus. Belarus HAS no clear musical scene or funds to really produce good music, yet produced a ridiculously good NF (with a VERY righteous winner - yes, Chakras, but also: Chakras) I’ve seen snobs SLAM VAL, mercilessly despite being an excellent left-field pick (god imagine if Yan had won Eurofest for a sec. What a nightmare). Italy, otoh, also delivered a sterling NF, have *a VERY* rich musical tradition, tons of talent and money and production value... and they still went the lowest common denominator available, and yet they receive praise, without so much as a whisper of protest from our so-called “value seekers”. This level of hypocrisy and double standard wielding, all in the name of wishing to be taken seriously delivers *such* a toxic undercurrent to Eurovision and has absolutely soured me on Diodato. This isn’t his fault, but sadly he’s become a weapon of mass misconstruction and well just because I hate the guy who pressed the big red button more doesn’t mean I automatically like ICBMs. As we come near the songs I actually give a damn’ about, I will start calling the shitpociries out. Brace yourself for it, when I rank Solovey and Da Vidna inside my top five.

Want some examples specifically pertaining to the Diodato fandom? Sure, I’ll give you some:

EJEMPLO UNO:

Diodato fanboys openly coddling him on social media post-lockdown all “PROTECT OUR POOR MUNCHKIN FROM THE CORONAVIRUS”. Like... he’s a *thirty-eight year old adult* he can take care of himself, BACK UP OFF HIM you freaks.

EJEMPLO DOS:

The relevant media having baptized Diodato as THE SAVING GRACE OF THE LOCKDOWN, ITALIANS SINGING ‘FAI RUMORE’ FROM THEIR BALCONIES IN DEFIANCE OF COVID-19, which is such a bullshit narrative it’s turned my hair from black to brown. Yes, the Italians sang “Fai Rumore”. What they don’t tell you is that they also sang many other Italian and non-Italian songs, including humanitarian anthem “Roar” by Kety Perr (cue to Katy Perry being like “OMG I’M SO HONORED TO INSPIRE SO MANY ITALIANS ::hungarianflagemoji::” on twitter.). CNN Like, Eurovision related media LOVE portraying it as a ~life-chaning confort anthem~ - the reality is that “Fai rumore”, while playing its part, was merely a tiny spoke in a giant wheel.

EJEMPLO QUATRO:

Well take a look at how many people will reblog this post and slam it for daring to point out, what I think are really obvious truths to anyone who doesn’t suffer from musical myopia.

In the end, the song is okay and it’s okay to love it. But if you ‘love’ it because you’ve convinced yourself that you must, and not because it genuinely means something to you, I don’t think you have grounds to criticise to criticise anyone but yourself.

NF Corner

As I said, I didn’t follow San Remo live (I never do! *gasp* blasphemy, I know), but I did plan to check it for this write-up except RAI deleted every live performance? And they won’t let me embed the few remaining vids either?

Anyway, this happened so right-click-open this a new tab and then return once you’ve finished it.

Backstage feuds being fought out LIVE on the stage in front of millions of viewers 😍 Apparently Morgan and Bugo were at loggerheads for a while, and had a massive row RIGHT before their performance on the second night, which caused Morgan to stray from the script and sing all the insulting things Bugo told him *to Bugo* instead of the actual lyrics of their duet. 😍 😍 😍 Bugo IMMEDIATELY stormed off the stage to the point where Amadeus had to like... literally tell the gobsmacked audience that Bugo had left the building 😍 😍 😍. This is some god-tier pettiness and I’m completely in awe of it. DEITIES. 😍

aside from Sincerogate, I would’ve embedded vidoes that contained the DRAMA (Rancore), CAMP (Achille) and UNABASHED WEIRDNESS (Levante) of this year’s line-up, but I guess RAI really doesn’t like for people to have fun. Oh well.

Italy 2020 vs Italy 2021

Diodato is male and Italian, so yeah, guaranteed top 10 in Rotterdam, no matter what happens. Search your feelings, you know it to be true. Cynicism aside, televoters WOULD have flocked to it without thinking twice (for exactly those two reasons), passing over many better entries in the process and well... I’m tired and exhausted and I think you can guess I am not very impressed by this likely outcome.

Not sure what RAI’s strategy for 2021 is (lol it’s RAI - they don’t have a strategy. besides Italy have bigger fish to fry than the Eurovision Song Contest as you know), but I’m not very invested either way. I could imagine them internally selecting Diodato if he’s willing to do ESC in 2021, but if this was a one-off deal (which I think it was), they will probably select another plain white bloke for you to obsess over, so no worries :-) #TuttoVaPene

FREAKY! FRIDAY! FACTOR!

I’m sort of conflicted? On one hand, god Fai Ru*snore* is SO typical of “Italy in Eurovision”, not just from a musical perspective but from a point of reverence as well. On to the other hand, when are the fanbases *not* acting insane w/r/t Italy?

San Remo was really crazy this year, enough for me to award Italy a couple Senheads. However... if I wanted to see nice and inoffensive triumph over a bunch of deranged, gimmicky, ott masterpieces, I’d just rewatch #London1977? (offensive take #16: “people that like Marie Myriam the most in 1977 do not understand Eurovision”) Ehhhh whatevs.

Score: 2 Senhits out of 5.

#Eurovision #Eurovision 2020 #Eurovison Song Contest #Italy #Diodato #Fai Rumore

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mysaldate · 4 years

Note

(UM seduction methods anon here) Im in awe over how much you write for so many character, every day! Do you have any hc on how they live? (where they live? living conditions?) BUT please dont push yourself or anything either!

Thank you so much for worrying about me! I’m simply trying to do my very best for all of you! And thank you also for such wonderful and original requests!

The living conditions of the Upper Moons headcanons

Daki&Gyuutaro

This one will be short since we know quite a lot about them. They’ve lived in the red lights district for their whole lives. In the streets and usually with little more than just their clothes on but they had each other.

They stayed in even after they became a demons. No surprise, there’s plenty of food and nobody will really care if a couple girls disappears.

They don’t have separate rooms of course. These two are literally inseparable so of course they wouldn’t bother with something like that. There’s nobody to tease them about it either since people are not aware of there even being two of them and as for their fellow demons, those just don’t care. Except maybe for Douma but he wouldn’t tease them about it.

We got to see their room so there’s not much to be said about the decorations either. Daki is a stylish girl and she likes to show it off even in the way she sets up their room – even if nobody much gets to see it.

Kaigaku

He never really had much of a home per say. He became an orphan at a young age (if he wasn’t abandoned as a baby already) and then was chased out of Gyomei’s temple as well. Jigoro took him in but unfortunately enough, that relationship didn’t really work out either. Strangely enough, he felt most at home when he was outside, travelling from one mission to another.

After he became a demon, he stayed with Kokushibou for a short period of time but that was just before Muzan approved of his existence. After that, he had to find his own territory – which wasn’t really too hard anyway. He picked a run-down old house as his shelter from the sun for the day but he didn’t really care much how it looked, at least not at first.

It’s not that he wouldn’t like company but there’s not really anyone to share his place with. Humans wouldn’t hang out with him, other demons literally can’t. Other Upper Moons won’t.

He first didn’t care at all how the place looked but after some time, he decided that since he didn’t have anything to do during the day anyway, he could at least try to decorate the place a bit. So while the sun is up, he does little things inside, like sweeping the floors or painting the walls. He even learnt to sew to make curtains. And at night, when he’s not out hunting, he does other reparations. Even he is surprised by how much fun he can have, giving the place a personal touch.

Gyokko

Being an artist, it’s not unlikely that he lived in an open, arid room before he became a demon. Lots of sunlight too. And occassionally, a companion or two but those never really stuck around for long. His place was filled with various unfinished art pieces.

Now that he’s a demon, he can’t have the luxury of a sunny appartment. His pots, however, work as a little pocket dimension so that’s an upgrade? Of sorts? It doesn’t really have a set shape either, it’s a little bit like Nakime’s Infinity Fortress but shapeless, like the walls are made of water or another liquid and constantly change form.

He lives with plenty of goldfish. The entire place is nearly filled with aquariums of various shapes and forms. You know how people make mazes for hamsters, guinea pigs or even cats? Well, those are nothing when compared to the lengths Gyokko goes to for his fishies. It’s not just glass, coloured or plain, either. Sometimes he would use the nichirin blades or pretty hairpieces of his victims’ to decorate the elaborate fishtanks as well. If a human ever strays in, it’s the last thing they say.

Gyokko LOVES decoration. Aside from his fishtanks, he has numerous statues, paintings and just about everything else you can think of. Both handmade and stolen. For his handmade art, he usually uses bodies or bodyparts of his victims, possibly their blood too. It serves both as an artpiece and a food reserve just in case he ever gets to a position where he’s forced to starve. Surprisingly enough, his pots are great at preserving things. Oh, and let’s not forget about the amount of detail he puts to the exterior of his pots!

Hantengu

Back when he was a human, he didn’t really have a home, naturally. He couldn’t afford it. And most people wouldn’t let him stay more than one night, chasing him out often with sticks and stones. He had to travel all the time and preferably somewhere far away where the rumors about him didn’t reach yet. Due to this, he becomes restless when he has to spend a long time in one place.

Now, as a demon, he also doesn’t stay in one place all the time. He usually sneaks in a house, kills the family and stays there for a few days before moving on to the next one. Some of his other personalities, namely Sekido and Karaku, find this a little useless and bothersome but they wouldn’t really fight him on it.

Speaking of whom, his other personalities split when they have time to be alone as well, taking care of him and the house. It’s a great way to keep him safe as well since at least one of them is always on guard for possible intruders. They get along... somewhat well. There are the usual conflicts between Sekido and the others. Karaku is careless about their cover, Yoroko likes to make pranks on them and Aizetsu tends to lock himself in his room for hours on end. Poor Sekido is left with the task of housework, making sure they don’t get discovered too soon, acting as the voice of reason... and he still has to go out hunting and stay on guard when it’s his turn.

Yoroko likes decorating stuff and Karaku loves to watch him but their taste is strange to everyone but them. Surprisingly enough, Hantengu as well as Aizetsu both can actually create rather beautiful tapestries and Zohakuten sometimes paints when Sekido is just too done with the three useless dorks.

Nakime

She used to be your typical hikikomori. Nakime spent all her time in her room, with nothing but a pile of books and her biwa. It wasn’t a big room either. While her room did have windows, she prefered them covered and read in the light of an oil lamp. As expected, it wasn’t too good for her eyes...

She lives in the Dimensional Infinity Fortress now. A place she can fully control and knows everything about, one that bends to her will and where she can transport anyone anywhere at any time, just as she wants. The only exception seems to be Muzan who comes and goes as he sees fit (at least until the current arc but y’all already know how I feel about that). It’s not that she minds it, she still knows where and when he enters and leaves and even if she didn’t, it’s not like he would ambush and kill her for no reason (right?).

Despite providing rooms specifically suited for the Upper Moons, she much enjoys her solitude. Even when they’re in and she has to keep an eye on them (I’m sorry, I’ll stop with the puns now), she keeps her distance. Try to annoy her, or even just seek her company, and you will mercilessly get thrown out. An exception, again, is Muzan. He doesn’t live there with her though and only seeks her out when he has work for her to do.

Decoration of the rooms varies greatly, mostly based on what are they used for. Most of the Fortress is not decorated since Nakime sees no reason to waste time and effort on that. However, there are special parts that deserve special attention. Just as an example, there’s Muzan’s upside-down lab, Douma’s lotus pond, that traditional japanese area Kokushibou first appeared in... And of course, the execution platform that’s now decorated with the red of the Lower Moons’ blood.

Akaza

Again, we have a very good canon idea about his life as a human. First living with his father and then spending some time in the streets, he eventually ended up staying at Keizo’s house, taking care of Koyuki. He had his own room there too but it didn’t really matter because he spent most of his time by Koyuki’s side anyway. Rumor has it he dragged his futon to her once when she was having a nightmare and never moved out until she got all better.

He’s pretty much a street rat as of now, looking for challenges and new foes to fight for the most part. During the days, he usually stays still outside, in dense forests or deep caves. He’s not particularly picky. Sometimes he stays there during the night too, setting up a campfire and waiting for someone to wander close. For some reason, he doesn’t really like cities, especially during the festival season.

So yeah, he lives alone. At least usually he does. It’s not all that rare for Douma to find and bother visit him. He doesn’t want company. Getting attached would make him weak. The more people you care about, the easier it is to take advantage of you.

The only thing he cultivates in his surroundings is his own body. No, I’m not talking about the tattoos, though those certainly are a decoration as well. Rather, it’s his muscles and strength. However, he still prefers to have some manners over raw power, hence why he keeps refusing Douma’s more than generous offers to hunt down some girls together even if that could make him stronger.

Douma

Grew up in the temple in the forest. High up on a mountain overlooking a small town, it’s not a place with the most access to society. But cults are usually like that. When he was about three years old, his father planted two magnolia trees in the courtyard so that the place is a little more lively and the trees can grow tall to provide lots of shade in summer since the sun could be quite annoying. If only he knew...

Loyal as he is, Douma stays at the temple even now. He had it expanded a little and even had a lotus pond build right behind his room so he can calm his thoughts at least a bit after every session. He used to need it more than he does now, especially since he now also has the one made by Nakime that is way better and more spacious.

Canonically, there is at least one temple servant staying with Douma at the temple. But honestly, it wouldn’t be quite like him to satisfy himself with a single person. There’s probably a number of people taking care of the place, both temple servants and maidens. They also serve as a source of entertainment and possibly even as a last-resort snack just in case. There also used to be Kotoha and Inosuke for a short period of time but well...

While he is quite childish and it might sound just like him to go overboard with decorating stuff, that’s not entirely true. Really, the most he has is the skull closet with engraved golden door. That and the pot in which he planted Kotoha’s head but that one is a gift from Gyokko so it doesn’t really count.

Kokushibou

As with most of them, we were blessed with enough info on Kokushibou’s, or rather Michikatsu’s, homes. Growing up a samurai, he never had time to spare, little to no friends and a bride who was most likely found for him without him having any say in it, it’s really not that much of a surprise he would elect to leave it all behind and become a demon slayer since it gave him significantly more freedom.

Even as a demon, not much have changed. During the day, he stays at a mansion like the samurai lord he is, and at night, he goes out to hunt down the pests in the area, more often than not treating himself with a bountiful feast while he’s at it. He also has a room in the Infinity Fortress but like the majority of the Upper Moon demons (actually everyone but Douma), he enjoys his solitude way more.

He has a few servants at the mansion. Ones that get replaced every once in a while when they mysteriously disappear. But the salary is high enough to let any major rumors die out in a blink (I know, I promised, I’m sorry) so the most he has to deal with are whispers about him overworking his servants to the point where they rather abandon the money and run away under the cloak of the night.

You would probably find the house eerily plain but he’s used to it. The backyard is where he spends most of his time aside from his room and those two are the only actually decorated places in the house. And they’re still kept neat and practical for the most part. He rarely has anything that wouldn’t serve a purpose, both when it comes to items and people.

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beyondconfessor · 4 years

Text

The Infernal Contract

[2/16] Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: "Was that–“ she asked, feeling her voice rise with anger, "a failed attempt at a Caligari spell, Faustus?"

N.B.: Also posted on AO3

Zelda entered the suite and set her shopping bags down, onto the counter, while keeping a hold of the bassinet in her right hand.

"Ah, Lady Blackwood," Faustus said, from the dining table, where he seemed to have finished a late dinner. "I see you've been enjoying the Night Markets."

"Just a few essentials," she promised, looking over at him. "I'll go and change Judas and then I can show you." Though she doubted he would be all that interested. She'd purchased a new dress, a few brooches, an enchanted day planner for when she returned to the Academy, as well as a few rare plants for Hilda's garden.

The Night Markets were an excellent place to pick up ingredients or spell casting objects for your traditional charms, but some of the vendors sold some more boutique enchantments. It was a bit of roulette, however. Sometimes you would get a dress that never tore, and other times you may pick up a necklace and find that it'd been cursed and the vendor was trying to pass it on.

Zelda adored the Night Markets and especially took pleasure in haggling with witches until she made the vendor throw their hands up in frustration and submit to her offer.

Taking the bassinet into the bedroom, she bathed Judas and changed into his sleepwear before setting him down into his crib. But it was as she turned to grab her bag for a cigarette that she noticed something sitting on her bedside table.

It was a reasonably large box shape, wrapped in a smooth, brown paper.

Zelda felt a rush of excitement as she walked over and lifted the present up with two hands and examined it from all angles. There was a card, attached to a ribbon on the top. Written in sharp penmanship was her name as Lady Zelda Blackwood.

Zelda felt her heart sink with disappointment, realising it was not from Lilith.

She had not seen the demoness since the week before. Nonetheless, she had found herself lately taking evening walks in the hopes that Lilith would melt out of the shadows with a smirk, and take advantage of her somewhere inappropriate.

She carried the present to the dining area of the suite, where Faustus was enjoying a cup of coffee. "Ah, I see you found it," he said while setting his cup down on its saucer. "I saw it in the window of a shop and couldn't help myself. It's a DaVinci original, you can see his design if you open the top."

"That's very sweet," she smiled. Reaching up, she tugged the ribbon undone and gently peeled back the brown wrapping paper. It revealed an antique musical jewellery box, made of redwood. Lovely, but relatively young for her. She shuffled through the drawers, finding them all empty but one which held a photo of her.

"Take a look at the dancer," Faustus said, standing up. "She reminds me of you."

Zelda raised an eyebrow, before lifting up the lid of the musical box. She watched as a tiny dancer, with red hair and an emerald-coloured dress, spun around to a music box tune.

She knew that tune...

Its porcelain hands were high in the air, her skirts twirling round and round and round as Faustus stepped close and placed a hand on her waist as he whispered something lovely into her ear. His voice was warm in her ear, coaxing something wrong her.

Zelda could feel herself fading away, her vision blurring as she watched the girl spin round and round.

What was he saying? It sounded like...like Latin?

Her head spun, it was as if the world was fading away and she was becoming small inside of her self, unable to draw her own breaths or reach out.

Zelda recoiled as electricity shot through her right hand. She snapped away, turning around to face Faustus as the hypnotism washed from the expanded magic, leaving her with a splitting headache. "Was that–" she asked, feeling her voice rise with anger, "a failed attempt at a Caligari spell, Faustus?"

Faustus cleared his throat, stepping back. "Of course not, Zelda. You know I would never dream of doing-"

She snapped the lid of the music box down and glared at him. Her head pounded, feeling like the pressure would burst through her skull pierce through her eyes. The magic felt oily against her own, bubbling like a residue against her psyche.

In all of her life, she'd never had a man dream of placing such a spell on her. As her rage narrowed her vision, she noticed the silver knife within reach.

No. It was too dangerous given his stance as interim anti-Pope. She'd have to be smart about this.

Turning away, she drew a deep breath and pushed the outrage down in her chest. First, she needed to worry about her family, then she could kill him.

"What in Heaven made you decide to do this?" she asked, rifling through the drawers of the box to pull the picture of herself. Once in grip, she smashed it against the table. "Did I not promise to submit to you, to serve you as Lilith serves the Dark Lord in our very vows not two weeks ago, Faustus?"

Faustus was beginning to look more and more awkward as he shrunk backwards. "Yes, of course. It's just that..." he trailed off, clearing his throat. "You were..."

"I was what?"

"Arrogant in a way a wife shouldn't be." He stood still then, lifting his chin up to hold against her.

Zelda laughed despite herself. "Arrogant? Oh, that's rich. No, I don't think that was the problem Faustus, I think you're just a little bitch, but if this is how you want to play, you won't win." She stalked forward and grabbed his wrist, hissing a hex against him. Her nails dug into his wrists, piercing through to seal her curse to his blood.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice panicked as he tried to break free of her grip and failed.

Zelda smiled before she let go of his wrist, feeling the expended magic drain from her. She'd pay for that price later. For now, she wanted him to suffer.

"A jilted-bride hex," she said, before stepping back and adjusting the sleeves of her shirt as she gave him a tight smile. "I have no idea what you planned with your curse, but if you thought you would ever have me or any other woman again after what you just tried, you're sorely mistaken."

"Zelda, honestly, this is absurd," he said, walking over to grab her by her arm.

"Careful, Faustus. A wedlock curse isn't easily broken. I'd hate for your manhood to become diseased next."

Faustus stepped away, his face caught between anger and horror. The threat hung there between them, a dark reminder that he wasn't the first man to disappear after breaking her heart and if he wasn't careful, she would personally ensure he was the last.

He turned away, wiping his hands over his mouth, looking for some way to have the final word.

Zelda watched him, feeling the magic flex in core as she prepared herself against whatever he might try and throw at her.

Faustus turned sharply on his heel, raising his hand to point at her. For a moment, he looked like he was going to curse her back before he closed his mouth and shook his head, his shoulders sagging. "I can't even look at you," he said with as much vehemence as he could muster.

It wasn't much, and as he walked away into the bedroom, Zelda felt a tightness in her chest unwind. Had Faustus not been up for Anti-Pope, she was sure he would have tried to retaliate. But a missing wife so soon on the honeymoon would have raised eyebrows. Zelda may not be loved and adored by the coven, but they would certainly wonder about her absence.

Zelda exhaled and felt herself sink against the kitchen counter. He would plot and scheme and find some way to wield power over her again if she didn't somehow smooth the situation over. No matter her growing bitterness to that man, she would not waiver on her wants when they were within sight. Sacrifices had to be made in the pursuit of power, she could concede where necessary to ensure the endgame remained in place.

Still, she wondered how it went wrong so fast. His misogyny may have tripled since their wedding, but a Caligari spell went against the Satanic Bible. Free will was gifted by the Dark Lord after the False God so chose to forbid it. It was with his persuasion that humans and witch kind alike were blessed with the ability to determine their own fates.

Taking the music box, she walked over to the trash and dropped it there, taking pleasure in knowing that Faustus would have spent a pretty coin on it. Then, she washed her hands with salt to cleanse any magic residue, before pouring herself a drink.

The headache still throbbed as she sat down on the settee. It would eventually go away, but it would likely be a few hours. Zelda had enough spells blow-up in her face over her centuries to know that the headache was the result of a cast spell backfiring against its target. Which meant for all intents and purposes, the Caligari spell should have worked, but hadn't.

Zelda looked at her hand to where Lilith's ring sat.

She played with it, twisting it on her finger before dropping the hand away into her lap. Whatever reason Lilith had for granting her the gift, she was thankful for it. Zelda had no idea what nefarious plot Faustus had for her with that spell, but it made her all the more sincere to the notion that Ambrose was innocent.

Which meant that Sabrina was right, and if she was right about that, then there was every possibility that Faustus had murdered Edward and Diana.

No, she couldn't stomach that thought.

She took a sip of her whisky and considered her options. How long would Faustus wait before his rage over-boiled the pot? She thought it over, at every angle, and decided that it was easier to catch flies with honey.

After an hour had passed, she walked into the bedroom. Faustus sat on the end of the bed, his head in his hands, his jacket removed and shirt undone - no doubt from having tried and failed to get an erection to see if her curse had landed true (it had).

"I've decided," she began and watched as his head tilted towards her. "That you had some rather important business here to attend to given that you are the interim anti-pope. As such, you have sent me to return Greendale with Judas and prepare for your return in a week."

Faustus swallowed and looked directly at her. There was a rage in his eyes, but he had enough sense to push it back.

"No one needs to know of our dirty laundry, Faustus. In time, you will learn that I can be very discreet, but make no mistake, if you try something like that again, I promise you that not only will your very precious manhood become incurably diseased, but it will be publicly removed by my hand."

"Understood," he said, though his eyes still stared at her with rage.

"I'm glad we can come to an agreement. I expect I will see you in a few days."

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

Zelda arrived in Greendale mid-afternoon feeling all the more at ease to be on home soil. She walked up the front steps of her home and pushed the door open, just as it seemed Ambrose was opening it.

"Ambrose?" she questioned with a sharp look as if to say: shouldn't you be in the dungeon at the Academy?

"Auntie. Good to see you," he said, though his eyes were darting around behind her.

"It's just myself and Judas, but if you're hiding here, leaving through the front door is not the way to do it," she said, pushing him back inside and shutting the front door behind her.

"I...had thought you were Sabrina."

She quirked an eyebrow at him as she carried Judas and set him down on the kitchen countertop. He'd begun to fuss, soft mewls turning to hiccups that would like turn to screaming soon. It was likely time for his afternoon feed. "And what has Sabrina gotten up to now?"

"You haven't heard?"

"Clearly not," Zelda said as she went to the fridge, pulling out the goat's milk. When she turned around, Ambrose had his face in his hands, a look of horror on his face. "Well, spit it out, Ambrose, I haven't all day."

"She..." he fumbled, trying to find the words. And then the whole story came tumbling out, about the witch hunters, Sabrina's alleged death and resurrection, her forceful burning of the angels and her healing properties which no one knew she had a talent for –- something that would have manifested in her early years at the very least.

And now, it seemed, her dear niece could apparently control the weather.

Zelda paused, drinking in the story. With everything that happened in the last six months, it wasn't entirely far-fetched. Sabrina's powers had been growing at an unprecedented rate. Still, weather control, resurrection, healing? Sabrina could do many things, but she'd always been awful at things that required patience and attention to detail.

"Auntie?" Ambrose prompted. "I'm worried. I know he's your husband, but Father Blackwood despised her before. He will see this power as a threat. Please, you can't-"

Zelda raised her hand, silencing him. "I know," she said. "Believe me."

Her nephew sighed, great relief falling from his shoulders before he looked up at with sweet, kind eyes. "I take it that Rome didn't go well?"

Zelda rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "He tried to use a Caligari spell. On me," she scoffed as she took out a saucepan and filled it with water. "In all my centuries, I've never had a man even consider such a violation against free will."

"Did he...?"

"Does it look like he succeeded?" she asked, before turning back to the stove pot and placing the bottle into it. "No, he immediately failed, like the washed-up warlock he is." Zelda stared at the bottle, feeling the anger rise and then sink away deep into the pit of her belly. Anger made for magical accidents, and she couldn't afford that at the moment. "I'm fine, Ambrose. Truly."

"Yes, but your neck is..." he trailed off and then a red began to tinge across Ambrose's cheeks as he realised what the marks were. "Oh."

Zelda brushed her hair back over her neck, adjusting her blouse collar as she quietly cursed Lilith. "They're not from him," she said, before taking the bottle out the bottle from the water, testing it against the temperature against her wrist.

"So, the Dark Lord, then?"

Zelda looked up, feeling heat rush across her face at the very memory of not just that first night, but re-visitation. Lilith's touch left an imprint on her, both literally and metaphorically. "I would have thought that they would have faded now, but apparently not."

"Yes, well, infernal marks tend to leave an impression," Ambrose said, looking them over before he darted his eyes away. "I had thought that the, um, well that it was a legend told to terrify brides before their wedding."

"Evidently not," Zelda said as she held the bottle for Judas and turned the stove off. A silence carried over the room as Ambrose rocked on his heels, looking as though he was holding back a hundred and one questions. Sooner or later, they would come tumbling out, and Zelda had no desire to feed any more half-truths towards him or any other inquisitive mind.

"Where did you say Sabrina was?"

"Oh, she went to speak to her school teacher. The one that-"

"Wardwell," Zelda seethed. The woman got under her skin more than any of Sabrina's other teachers, with her snide remarks about how she knew best and was far more worldly given her excommunicated state because of how dearly trusted by Edward she was –- bullshit.

And her ability to procure spells to magnificent degrees, the likes of that haven't been seen in centuries? No, there was something up with this woman, and she didn't buy the fact that she loved Edward one bit. The way she spoke of him was cold and distant, not some jilted lover holding onto the pieces of her heart.

Sure, Edward kept his secrets, and he was undoubtedly paranoid enough to seek outside help, but that woman did not know her brother better than she did.

"And Hilda?" she asked, instead of pressing the issue.

"At the Academy, I believe. Where is Father Blackwood, if I may ask?"

Zelda's heart sunk. "He's in Rome. He's been made the Anti-Pope, in the interim until the Cardinals can arrange a meeting."

"The Anti-Pope?" Ambrose said weakly. Zelda could see hope shredding in his eyes as he exhaled out a short, deep breath and stumbled against the kitchen counter. "Satan save me, I'll be executed within the hour of his arrival."

"Ambrose, we will find a way out of this. Even if it means placing you in hiding."

"Hiding," he whispered, nodding. "They'll have all of witch kind after me if I left. There'll be a bounty against me."

Zelda had no words of comfort to offer. She reached out and squeezed at his hands, hoping that was enough. There would be some way out of this, she was sure of it. It was just a matter of finding out what. (If only murdering Faustus wouldn't fix the issue.)

"Does Sabrina have any ideas?" she asked.

"One, I think, but she wanted to meet with Wardwell first."

Zelda nodded. "Then I suppose we trust her. After all, it's not over until a banshee sings."

Ambrose smiled weakly and nodded.

"Now, why don't you upstairs and keep out of sight. When Sabrina arrives, you can run off and do whatever needs to be done."

"Thank you, Auntie."

"And Ambrose, I meant what I said. We will find a way out of this. We're Spellmans, we survive."

Ambrose nodded t her, but the movement was morose. As he turned away, Zelda could see him slump forward, footsteps heavy as he made his way up the staircase, towards the attic.

Zelda burped Judas, before moving him upstairs where she bathed him and changed him into new clothes before placing him back into his bassinet to sleep in what had meant to become Leticia's nursery, now refurbished as a joining spare room to what had been her own room.

Not that it was really her room since she married.

Zelda stepped through the door and looked over the contents of her old room. Everything had been packed, ready for the move to the Blackwood Manor on the outcrops of the Academy. Her dresser contained a few items, in case she needed to stay for any reason, and the bed which had a throw she'd procured from Morocco forty years prior, remained in place.

Everything else was gone, likely waiting at her new residence for her to unpack. She couldn't even think about doing that.

What was she going to do now, she wondered. Stay in a marriage where they both held a knife behind their backs, or divorce after a few weeks, ruin their chances at power?

Satan forgive her, the fallout from the church would be catastrophic for decades. Not only would it weaken his position as the Anti-Pope (which she didn't care for) but it would also undermine her own search for power. Faustus would likely turn his anger back on her, and then where would she be?

Powerless and at war with an adept warlock.

She could handle losing the coven. Her faith was more than church walls and a priest. Satan knew Sabrina had brought her fair share of humiliation to the church. But her leaving Faustus wouldn't just affect the two of them or her family. There were others involved.

She sat down at the end of the bed and clutched at the bedding as if it could steady her –– what of Judas, she wondered, of Prudence and Leticia? Who would look after them if she fled back to her family? Prudence was just a girl, no matter how bold she acted, and Faustus would swallow her whole to keep her from stealing his son's legacy.

No. She would stay.

She would build iron walls against him, but she would stay, for herself, for her family and for the family she'd married into. And if she had to quietly murder Faustus and bury him in the forest, then so be it.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she found herself suddenly praying to Lilith for strength, whispering the old prayer into the dim light of the room. It'd been a long time since she'd made such a prayer, Sabrina had been just a babe in her arms, newly an orphan with nowhere else (worthy) to call home.

Zelda opened her eyes to the dark, feeling a shiver run down her spine. The path was long and wretched before her, but she was a Spellman by blood and Spellmans survive.

#zelda spellman #lilith #caos fanfic #zelith #madam spellman #morgans fics

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thefirelookout · 4 years

Text

Childhood fear

When I was four years old, I began to draw snakes in my drawing khata.

A traditional “drawing khata” is a thing of childish beauty. Sometimes it is the size of your laptop in length and breadth, sometimes it can be a bit longer, depends on the child really. Oh, sorry about that, depends on the school that the child goes to. There are usually photos of national monuments on top, and there is a little portion near the bottom where one can write their name, roll no., section and subject. This is obviously a copy for the art class, yet there is the “subject” written on top. Funny. Inside, the pages are made of cartridge paper, which is sometimes known as art/chart paper. The surface is smooth on one side, a little textured on the other. No matter how tempted you are to draw on the smooth side, thinking that your pencils and crayons would glide on smoothly, you really need to draw on the textured side. Especially if you’re a watercolour type of person. The colour bleeds into the textured surface better, and does not spread. I didn’t know all these things at the time, of course. I would open the copy and draw on whichever side, sometimes on both sides to prevent wastage. My mother says, “Opochoykari shoytaaner bondhu”. I heard the “shoytaner bhai” version much later on in life.

Four year old Mustu was homeschooled back then, an arrangement that was to last for just one year. After that, hopefully, Papa will have a better posting. Mustu will have a school to go to, hopefully, after her father’s duties ended at the Chittagong Hill Tracts. Alikadam was a pristine cantonment where all the military personnel lived in thatched huts. Only the C.O lived in a tin shed house with his wife and his two little bullies—Hridi and Odri. I liked our house better, of course. We had a proper garden at the front, a swing, a walkway with flower beds around it. I learnt the name of many flowers, and here is a song that my mother taught me—

Tomar neel dopati chokh

Ar shet dopati hashi

Khopa ti te laal dopati

Dekhte bhalobashi

Dopati is a flower. So is morog phool. I realized much later on in life that not many are interested in flowers, so I lost interest in them too.

We had a lovely backyard too, and we could plant vegetables round the year. I remember arriving there in a little blue coat, with my silky hair “mushroom cut” before the move happened, my form lean and my cheeks chubby. My lips were still very thin. When we arrived, I went to explore the backyard in the afternoon after the initial unpacking was done. Dadu held my hand as I trotted in front of her. I discovered the hens during this trip—pitch black feathers with a red “jhuti” each, as much as the nature would allow a female chicken. I burst into a rhyme immediately—

“Higgledy piggledy, my black hen,

She lays eggs for gentlemen,

Gentlemen come every day

To count what my black hen doth lay”

Dadu was absolutely delighted. Higgledy and Piggledy. My two black hens. One name, yet conveniently separated into two. You pronounce them as “Hig-ly” and “Pig-ly”. We also met the cauliflower, the cabbage and the carrots growing in the garden patch. Memories left by the “previous” 2IC uncle and his family, memories that were to become food for the new 2IC and his family, the then Major Qazi Abidus Samad. My old man didn’t have his beard back then. He was clean shaven and kinda cute, he still is kinda cute. He just smiles and nods, has never hit me or scolded me. He’s the easier parent.

One day while I was peeing, Papa was standing outside, because I was only just learning how to clean myself. In the bamboo weave of the walls, I saw something white slithering away slowly, taking its time and checking things out on its way. I looked at it for some time, still used to fear from only one source. “Papa, wall er upor diye ki jeno chole jacche, eke beke!”

The army man understood. He hurried in, brought me down from the commode and told me not to be scared. I pulled my shorts up, and fixed my frock and wore my sandals. Some men came in with a couple of “lathis”. The little snake was taken care of.

This little snake became something of a martyr to me.

I learnt that carbolic acid had some special properties, it helped ward off snakes. We snake proofed our house in the following weeks by putting bottles of carbolic acid in different corners of the house, and made sure that at least one remained in each bathroom. I was not stupid, nobody had to forbid me to touch it or sniff it or drink it or play with it. I eyed the bottles every time I went to pee at the different bathrooms, and that was that. The bottles became a part of our lives, there but not there.

I like to think that Alikadam was my starting point. Let me try and explain this feeling, or why I feel that way so strongly. Before Alikadam, I was a mere toddler. Even though my mother and khalamoni keep telling me stories from when I was little, I don’t remember being that child. I don’t remember living in Dhaka, nor do I remember what Dhaka looked like. Some of my earliest memories is of the white Toyota Papa used to drive, and that too, being driven up the twists and turns of the hilly Hill Tracts, straight to Alikadam. I get flashes of earlier memories sometimes, me reciting difficult poems (“Kukur ashiya emon kamor dilo pothiker paye/ Kamorer chote bish daat fute bish lege gelo taay”), me playing a game of tag-you’re-it that I named “Abiyala” and running after our domestic help, me staring at the TV while the azaan aired just before iftar. These memories are merely fragments, but from Alikadam, my memories somewhat solidified. I remember the colour of the cow that I first saw being sacrificed, I remember the colour of my coats and my frocks, I remember which tree I used to sit under and read to myself, I remember Dadu’s voice, her sarees, her face when I annoyed her a little too much.

I vividly remember the cat who pawed at a cake that Ammu was excited about baking. She usually makes a weird face while baking or cooking, her heart is never in it. But back then she was really into baking. I remember hearing a little “bump” and a “maw”, and then running to the dining room. Ammu had just gotten out of the shower, she had heard it too. We both saw it. A tuxedo cat, black and white, was meticulously drawing patterns on the golden, square cake still sitting in its pan. Some patterns went horizontally, some vertically, some obliquely. The cat wasn’t eating any of it even by mistake. Ammu drove it away, of course, and threw the cake away somewhere that no human being could find it. “Listen,” she explained to me, “If somebody else finds it and eats it, they’re going to have an upset stomach, so we throw this away.” Actually, she never explained anything. She never explains anything. I just made that explanation up.

My mother doesn’t talk about the important things.

I’ve been afraid of my mother for as long as I can remember. Perhaps my earliest memory is of her carrying a “bhajir kathi” also known as a khunti, also known as a spatula, only made of iron and quite painful if one falls upon your back. My earliest memory of her is her terrorizing me with one of those scalding hot bhajir kathis, she just standing there and implying that she would beat me up. I was a baby, crying was my second nature, as it is for every other baby in the world. She would carry that spatula and display it before me as a deterrent. Fear made sure that I immediately stopped crying, not words of comfort.

I liked to fill my drawing khata with snakes for another reason.

That summer, there was a kalboishakhi jhor at least ten times more violent than what Dhaka experiences. Some of our lighter furniture was gone with the wind, one of our bigger trees in the backyard fell flat on its face. When the weather calmed down, my mother had the bright idea of picking the mangoes that the storm had brought to the ground. Dadu sat herself down on a chair at the front porch, I ran around in the bare verandah, and Ammu took a bucket with her on her mango-mission.

We suddenly heard some unintelligible mumbling from under the mango tree.

“Joleeeeeeel….Joleeeeeeel” “Ammu ki bolo?”

“Joleeeeel….Joleeeeeel”

Her voice was muffled, which is so unlike her. My mother was always shouting at anyone and anything, so I was clearly baffled at her changed behaviour. I did understand though, that she was calling one of our trustworthy Mess Waiters, Joleel bhai. He was a jolly, ever-smiling guy who never said a word extra to any children in the absence of their parents. He was just as pleasant as necessary, and I loved that about him.

And then we saw it.

A fat, patterned snake was slithering under some long, curly mango leaves on the ground. I fell in love with the pattern instantly—a glossy black stripe followed by a stripe as yellow as the insides of a kathgolap. It wasn’t moving towards Ammu at all, it was minding its own business, slithering away. I didn’t see its eyes, but could figure out where the head and the tail was. The snake, slick with rain, was just busy rummaging under the leaves for any mice or mole, perhaps.

Ammu finally found some strength in her voice. “JOLEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLL”

The Mess was nearby, so this time, there was a, “Jee khalamma!” as a reply. Joleel bhai had heard it, and probably had sensed it too. He brought a few other men with him. With sticks, of course.

The snake was a Shonkhochur. Their kind move around in pairs. So the one that died that night, under the mango tree, would have a mate lurking somewhere, ready to strike. We met the black and yellow mate too, but not before it was time to leave.

I became fascinated by the only thing that my mother was scared of, the Shongkhochur snake. I opened my drawing book one day and took some colour pencils in hand. With the pencil for writing I brought the snake’s silhouette alive in my copy, complete with the inflated head, the “fona”. I then proceeded to draw stripes. Then I was finally ready to colour it in. One black, one yellow, one black and one yellow. I realized that I had drawn a tongue too, a divided one, the type I had only seen on TV. I decided to use red for the tongue, after the colour of my own.

I tore the drawing out of the copy, and brought myself some scotch tape. I stuck four corners of it to the paper to the wall with four pieces of tape. Finally something that my mother was scared of. Finally something to make her stop when she’s blind with rage, and charging at me in full speed to hit me or taunt me.

Finally something to ward off evil.

A Shongkhochur, by the way, is a King Cobra.

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corvid-lullaby · 4 years

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TLDR: I RP Nishiki both from 0, K1, and past that for AUs. I RP him canonically but I primarily base him off of a fanfic (SecT) I’m working on, of which he lives and where the events of K1 causes him to have what is outwardly believed to be Dissociative Personality Disorder (AKA Multiple Personalities.) One is of his former 0 self (Referred to as Nishiki) and the other is his K1 self (Referred to as Shikiya (Derived from Nishikiyama)).

However, Shiki isn’t just another facet to Nishiki, but ends up being a fully realized entity with his own thought process, opinions, etc. He even converses with Nishiki and interacts with him within the mind. Typically cold and standoffish, but how foul he can be highly depends on ‘when’ a post takes place. He’s at his worst during the events of K1, less terrible but nervous and beginning to be understanding post K1, and eventually very protective in a tsundere sense as the two continue to recover. Since the beginning, he has been in love with Nishiki, but it started out in an extremely toxic way. This has also improved over time.

For threads, I very much prefer it if you tell me your preference on what version of Nishiki you’d like. Be it 0’s, K1’s, my split personality SecT version, or something else. I’m very flexible and willing to cater towards your preferences.

To make things easier, the two will sometimes be colour coded. Generally, purple is for Nishiki, red is for Shiki, and pink/maroon is for both.

This Bio will cater towards my fanfic/AU Sect, and will have hints of FFXIV in it.

Nishiki (Akira, Koi)

Shikiya (Shiki, Crow)

Basics

Represented with purple

Birthday: October 8

Species: Human/Hyur

Race: Japanese/Doman

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pansexual, switch

Romantic Status: Polyamorous

Scent: Sweet potpourri with hints of something kin to rain as well as a higher quality cigarette scent.

Personality: Typically energetic, easy going, and friendly. He can become bubbly and peppy around friends or if it fits the situation’s mood. Flamboyant to no end, yet sensitive. Beware for he is completely capable of embarrassing himself or a friend for the sake of being a complete dork. He also enjoys teasing Shikiya from to to time. May or may not be easy to cry.

Represented with red

Age: ? (5 ½ If you want to age him by years he has ‘existed’)Birthday: Unknown. Sometime in the fall.

Species: None/Unknown

Gender: None due to only being a mental entity, but prefers 'him, ect.’ To him, gender is nothing more than an aesthetic.

Sexuality: Pansexual, dominant

Romantic Status: Polyamorous

Scent: General floral with a note of mint and occasionally a nice higher quality cigarette scent.

Personality: Relatively cold and quiet. He’s very poor at regular conversation where awkward silences can be common. Awkward for you, not him. He couldn’t care otherwise. On the other hand, he’s very adept at being a leader and in battle. It’s these times where he shines the most. If a fight gets violent enough, it could bring out his bloodthirsty side where he loses himself in the enjoyment of a difficult kill.

He hasn’t been 'alive’ for very long. Only 5 ½ to 6 years. This can sometimes show through by ways of his random curiosity on even the most mundane of subjects, as well as being extremely gullible on anything he knows little to nothing about. This isn’t to be confused with being stupid, which he very much isn’t. Although his lack of personal experience can cause him to come off a bit innocent at times.

Yes, he can use Nishiki’s mind and memories as a filing cabinet for knowledge, but he has to seek and learn it himself. He doesn’t automatically know everything Nishiki does. On top of that there are things in life where experiencing it for yourself is entirely different from simply knowing and understanding it.

As with being a 6 year old in an adult body, he can be quite the greedy little brat and be completely ignorant to a lot of stuff around him. Such as the feelings of others.

Physical

Voice: Commonly chipper and energetic. His vocal range for normal speaking can be highly varied and playful due to his flamboyant nature. Vocal example.

Height: 5'11

Build: Swimmer’s but not overly built, and an extra emphasis on the stomach due to high mono fin usage.

Common Clothing: He can typically be found in a clean maroon suit with a black silk undershirt swimming with loud golden print. He enjoys dressing up so he can be found in other clothing. There’s also a high enjoyment in traditional Japanese wear, but he usually only wears this either privately at home or on special occasions.

Distinguishing Attributes: Koi irezumi (tattoo) on the back. Burn scars on the front and side of the right half of his stomach. Since Shikiya came to be, he began exhibiting a faint amber glow to his irises under dimmer lighting. This only shows if Shikiya is currently aware and present to the current situation, regardless if he’s the one speaking/in control or not. He also has a belly button piercing.

Weapons: Carries a gun but prefers hand to hand.

Fighting Styles: Does well with a gun and close range weaponless combat, although not as good as Shikiya. Preferably he’d rather fight with his fists. While his sworn brother, Kiryu, is extremely strong, Nishiki tends to be quicker and more light footed than he, but not nearly as strong. Even though Shikiya is skilled with the sword, Nishiki is a complete klutz with it. He’s far more likely to stab his own foot. Still, he does enjoy Iaido at home… even if he’s bad at that too.

Voice: Still Nishiki’s natural voice physically but sounds notably lower, calmer, and cold. Within Nishiki’s mind, it can sound severely or slightly altered in various ways. Be it higher, lower, masculinized, or feminized, or some inhuman alteration. At times it even sounds like he has multiple vocals going at once. An example can be found here at 3:40. Warning: the end of the video has implied suicide. Again this is not his physical voice that everyone else hears, but how Nishiki perceives his voice in his mind sometimes.

Common Clothing: Often professionally dressed. Usually in mostly white with black accents. Occasionally can be found in all black (even the tabi) traditional Japanese/Doman clothing which could include a hakkuma, waraji, and ornamental fabric around the neck.

Distinguishing Attributes: Outwardly it still is Nishiki’s body, but with minor differences due to Shikiya being an entirely different entity. There is a faint amber glow to the irises that is visible under dimmer lighting. He often looks either irritated or melancholy in comparison. Also has a smooth and calculated gait. He hates having his hair in his face, so it’s often put back in some way.

Weapons: Besides a gun, can sometimes be found with a katana.

Fighting Styles: He’s far more skilled at the gun and close range weaponless fighting than Nishiki. He’s also skilled with the katana, primarily with Iaijutsu. He is also fond of Iaido, but this is used more for self balancing and self discipline training rather than fighting.

Personal

Professions: Cabaret Host, mermaider, and aquatic caretaker at a cabaret, hitman, mercenary, former yakuza patriarch (still helps advising and running his Family although no longer officially a part of it)

Disabilities: PTSD (Fiercely covers this up), “dissociative personality disorder”, schizophrenia, chronic klutz

Hobbies: Aquatic biology, eating, swimming, still eating, various arts and crafts, also never stops eating. No, we don’t know where it goes.

Fears: Abandonment, sedatephobia (Fear of silence), autophobia (Fear of being alone, although Shiki’s presence cures this, for better or for worse)

Quirks: Says “koi” in playful situations with various meanings depending on context. For example, hell say “Koi koi!” while giving someone an overly loving hug. In this case he could mean ‘love love.’ Another would be him saying this while beckoning someone with a finger. In this case it could be ‘come come.’

Habits: Flirtatious at times without realizing it. Sometimes he’ll go into a severely reclusive state when his mind starts going into darker places. If it gets bad enough, he can fall into varying states of psychosis.

Professions: Hitman, mercenary. Although Nishiki has officially retired from being a Patriarch and is no longer a part of the Nishikiyama Family, the Family still respects him as if he is still the Patriarch. The higher positioned people know of Nishiki’s split personality and especially treats Shikiya with respect. Shikiya still occasionally returns to the Family office when needed or to take up stray jobs.

Disabilities: None

Hobbies: Yakuza odds and ends, Chess, Iaido

Fears: Ceasing to exist, disappearing, being locked away mentally

Quirks: Finds having longer nails being more comfortable

Habits: Rubs the back of his neck when sleepy and/or when overly comfortable, seems to have poor restraint or realization on impulses (ie can drag his nails too roughly to the point of being painful when he means to simply pet, or fingers can give gestures of wanting to wrap around a neck to strangle but is obviously restraining himself)

Traits

*Bold is typically. Italics is situational.*

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open-Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Laid-back / In Between / Hyperactive

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional/ In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

*Bold is typically. Italics is situational.*

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open-Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Laid-back / In Between / Hyperactive

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Background Summary

**Contains major Yakuza spoilers for 0 and 1/K1** **Based on AU Fanfic SecT**

Can be found here.

RP Hooks

Dirty Jobs: Given that Shikiya highly enjoys challenges, fighting, the thrill of the kill, and because Nishiki retired from a position that fulfilled those cravings, he’s pretty willing to take on the more dangerous tasks. He has a lot of skills and experience under his belt due to being an ex-Patriarch to his own Family. He also has a lot of resources with that Family since they still highly respect him. Sometimes Nishiki can be found doing this too, but it’s typically due to Shikiya picking up a job and dumping the job on him. It’s usually out of a negative sort of amusement.

Subordinates/Nishikiyama Family: Both Nishiki and Shikiya offer hirings into their Yakuza Family. The Family is ultimately very strict and harsh, especially towards newcomers with their heads in their asses, but actually have a tight bond with one another. It’s easy to tell when their strict and harsh behavior is out of care or not. For Shikiya in particular, he does look for those that would qualify as good right hand members for himself. Needless to say, anyone attempting this sort of position will be put through the ringer, as Shikiya is anything but soft and kind.

Cabaret Host: Nishiki’s primary job is both a host and for aquatic maintenance at an aquatic/mermaid themed mixed gender cabaret club. The club itself does traditional hosts/hostesses but also has a section for their mermaiding. Just as Shikiya gets a kick out of sometimes dumping his jobs onto Nishiki, Nishiki also does the same by 'shoving’ Shikiya out sometimes while working, although rarely. He sometimes goes on paid dates with trusted customers, but will absolutely refuse going down any sexual routes.

General Buddy: Nishiki is pretty friendly and energetic, but is also the type to easily get lonely. He’s always willing to hang out for the sake of hanging out. This includes anything simple, such as going out for a drink or karaoke. Shikiya, on the other hand, is too cold and awkward for this sort of thing. He’s better suited as a companion on the field of battle.

Aquatic Biologist: It isn’t a profession of his, but rather a hobby gone out of control. He knows more about freshwater over marine, but he’s always willing to offer advice or help in regards to this.

#at gun point•#nishiki•#shikiya•#bio

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tartagilicious · 5 years

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Heyy I saw that you write for the guys from ikemen vampire?Could I please get a Theo x mc where even though he seems super confident, inside he doesnt feel worthy of mc's love, and one time Arthur says something provoking (as he does) so Theo lashes out at him and leaves somewhere, and nobody knows what happened so mc goes to him and finds him having a breakdown and she has to calm his nerves telling him she loves him and that he's worth it and so on.. I hope this isn't too confusing! Thank you!

lol ~as he does~

don’t worry about it, it’s not confusing at all! if anything, it’s actually better if you spell it out for me. complicated requests are the best in that way, because it tells me exactly what I have to do.

Also question: what does Arthur call her? I forget and can’t figure it out, so I just resorted to him calling her ‘my lady’ when i needed to. (like Leonardo calls the MC cara mia, Napoleon nunuche, etc-?)

and warning: there are some major (but briefly mentioned) spoilers for theo’s route

—

If there was one word to describe him, it would be ornate. His personality was a labyrinth in a lot of ways; but overall normally just annoying to some and thrilling to others with no surprises. Then, in an unseen third outcome, she had come to find his usually edged personality endearing. And he was less than used to the blank spaces she gave him.

It was easy to figure people out if you knew what to expect, but her, she’d thrown him off the moment she said a word to him. Hell, she’d done so the moment she stepped through the mansion’s doors. And she continued to throw him off, no matter how deep their relationship went, no matter how intimate their touches grew to be, she was always his anomaly.

He tried his best to cast it off, to tell himself that he didn’t need to pick and choose a personality for the woman that loved him for who he was, but unfortunately, nothing had ever been that easy. He hid his doubts and fears with unanimous words, and his concerns with equally haughty smiles,

Yet, she continued to be his anomaly still. No matter how much his personality wavered, she stuck by his side with a smile and her own equally sarcastic words to put him in his place. She always supported him whether she noticed it or not, and he had felt bad that he hadn’t realised sooner.

She truly was an angel. His salvation came with her actions that just seemed to be her second nature, and she pulled him closer to heaven with every touch on his body. But he couldn’t help but wonder if she had ever felt the same.

She had come to him from a time unknown to him, with such lavish opportunities and luxuries that he was almost positive she wouldn’t have any trouble finding a man that was better than him. her love for him was an anomaly in itself, and he constantly found himself doubting if he was the one meant for it after all.

She was as pure as silk, while he was comparable to the darkest sea.

“A fine morning to you,, ___!” Arthur greeted her one day as she walked into the dining room with his usual sly smile and blurry intentions. “You seem awfully chipper today.”

She didn’t give it much thought, though, just smiling back. “Do I?”

His eyes narrowed slightly as his smile grew. “Yes, of course. And it would be rude of me not to ask about the bloke behind such brilliance.”

She turned to him, her lips slightly pouted and her brows equally furrowed.

“How do you know it’s a person? I didn’t say anything to you, Arthur.”

Arthur just laughed, the sound bringing colour to the tips of her ears.

“Why, of course it’s a person, ___.” His voice was subtly softer as he tilted his head. “Who else besides our dear Theo would be responsible for such a smile?”

She didn’t answer as she handed him his traditional english breakfast of cold bread, boiled eggs and chilled stew, but the pigment of her cheeks was enough to tell him that she had in fact heard him loud and clear. He enjoyed teasing her very much, but found no pleasure in discomfort, so he just picked up his bread with a cheeky smile and remained silent until the man of the hour walked in minutes later.

She smiled over her shoulder as she heard the unmistakable thump of his heavy boots on the hardwood. “Morning, Theo.”

He gave her a tired but grateful smile as she slid his breakfast into a place, a slightly more modern mix of hotcakes and rookwurst.

“Wouldn’t you greet your beloved in a more, say, amatory way?”

Arthur and Theo weren’t exactly a dream team, to put it lightly, but thankfully, Theo didn’t find it necessary to push out an elaborate insult at that moment.

“It’s nine in the morning, you oaf. It’s not like I have to greet her like that every time I see her.” He grumbled, his eyes trained on the way she poured syrup onto his pancakes. It had been slightly over a month since she’d started working around the mansion under Sebastian, and she’d somehow managed to catch onto everything impressively quick even if she had been scared out of her wits for the better part of her first week.

All of the little quirks everyone had, insignificant things that no one but her would trouble themselves to remember, it had made her a well loved member of the household . She had somehow managed to take every little detail into account, down to how much syrup to pour on his pancakes.

And he was glad she’d caught on - perhaps if she hadn’t, nothing would’ve changed and she would’ve gone back to her own world by the time the sand in the hourglass fell.

His gaze flickered up to hers as she turned away. He’d spent hours staring into her eyes, and it was scary to think that he could’ve been deprived of that if she’d made one choice differently. She was incredible. Incredibly brave, incredibly smart, incredibly beautiful - he always wondered what made her want to stay with someone like him.

“You know, ___.” Arthur smiled as he twirled his spoon around and about in his stew. “I’m sure that if I were your lover-”

She cut him off without even turning back, her voice curt. “Don’t mess around, Arthur.”

His grin was growing, she could tell as much from his voice alone as he continued, “By Jove, why yell at me for telling the truth? I’m sure anyone else could spare a hello for such a lovely lady-”

“You idiot,” She turned around just in time to see Theo’s fist clench around the fork in his hand. “You don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

Arthur spared nothing but a patient smile as his eyes narrowed.

“I’m afraid it’s only natural.”

As Theo’s confidence crumbled under the oblivious tone of Arthur’s patronising words, he stood up with nothing more than a grumble and threw his fork down on his plate with a clang.

She took a step towards him as she realised where the situation was leading, but before she could even get a word out, Theo had already turned on his heel and left the room in a cloud of irritation.

“Arthur,” She huffed. “Do you have to tease him like that? Would it kill you to leave him alone?”

Arthur gave her an innocent look, before melting into a laugh. “Don’t fret, he’s just a bit miffed. Give him a little bit to cool down and he’ll be in tip-top shape again, my lady.”

Her expression was irresolute before her lip curled into a slight frown. “Fine. I will, but quit being so mean. You didn’t have to drag me into it, too.”

He nodded, his smile turning genuinely apologetic at your words.

“I apologise, ___.”

She walked out of the dining room as Arthur turned his focus on his food once again, using the opportunity to slip out while his attention wasn’t on her. She respected Arthur wholeheartedly as an author and as a friend, but his teasing could be awfully relentless, especially for Theo, someone who tended to take every word to the heart. So, because of that, she decided to disregard Arthur’s fair warning and visit his room in hopes of talking to him.

But, there was no response when she knocked on his door.

The mahogany door was one she’d opened and closed many times, but the cold feeling of the brass doorknob that rushed through her skin upon contact told her there was no use doing either. Theo wasn’t there.

She turned away with a dispirited sigh. Theo was an art dealer, someone who could go around the city multiple times in a single day. He knew the streets and alleys like the back of his hand, and at that moment, he could be anywhere. She wished desperately in that moment that she would have spared her own wishes to chew out Arthur and followed theo instead, because if anything, she could at least see him.

“Theo,” She sighed to herself as she walked around the mansion with hidden purpose, casually asking anyone she came across if they’d seen the man in question recently.

There were no results from Issac, who had been working in the library, Leonardo, who was on his way out already, nor Napoleon, who was coming in from god knows where. But, finally, after coincidentally meeting Dazai as he was coming in through the window, she learned that he had headed off into the forest just minutes before.

So, she thanked him and excused herself with the excuse of having to find Sebastian. Of course, she needed nothing with Sebastian at the moment, and Dazai seemed to know that without her physical words. But, she still felt better giving an excuse rather than flagrantly saying her real intentions aloud.

Taking a detour from the hall that lead from the kitchens to one of the doors in the back was thankfully easier than she’d thought. She managed to avoid running into anyone thus far too, and she thought that as long as she kept her thoughts calm and her steps casual, it should stay that way.

She’d hate to be stopped just because her anxiousness was caught by someone too perceptive.

But thankfully, everyone was too busy off doing their own thing to pay attention to wherever she happened to be going, so she saw herself out with no trouble. Though she wasn’t exactly familiar with the forest’s trails and such, she still managed to make her way to where her gut told her to go without circling back too many times. And it paid off, because as she finally pushed the last branches out of the way, there sat Theo, sitting on a rock with his shoulders hunched.

Her brows knitted as her eyes moved over his back. The man was incessantly still, completely motionless other than the tremor in his hands and the unsteady breathing clawing at his chest. On the outside, there was nothing around him but the wind, but on the inside, he was drowning. In nerves or sorrow he couldn’t tell, but whatever he felt, it held onto him stubbornly.

She took hesitant steps forward, making sure that her footsteps were quiet before she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. He barely gave a reaction other than the slightest tilt of his head, but she could feel him relax under her touch regardless.

“Theo…?”

Her voice came out soft, and the tone made his eyes shut tightly. She was obviously worried about him, and he didn’t know how that should make him feel. He was teetering on the edge, and the angel and devil on his shoulder were doing little but dividing his thoughts.

Her hand went up to duck into his hair, her thumb rubbing soothing circles into the nape of his neck as she asked, “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer, his breathing levelling as the soothing feeling of her fingers in his hair sent calm through waves in his body. Her lips thinned at the reaction, but she didn’t give up, nonetheless.

“Did what Arthur say bother you that much…?” She trailed off, her eyes searching the side of his face as the question sunk into both of them. She hardly thought that a snide comment like that could get to Theo, but they had nothing else to go on, so it was her best guess.

His response was nothing more than a low mumble as he shifted his chin in his palm. “He was right, though,”

The moment the words came out, she let go of him for a split second before using both her hands to take his jaw and turn his face to hers. His eyes were wide, but they showed no sign of being upset, so she continued.

“You’re here because Arthur said he would be a better lover to me, is that right?” She asked quietly, watching his eyes change. They were unreadable, yet she still felt like she was staring into his very soul.

She looked down for a moment as she said, “Even if that were true, do you believe that I would choose anyone over you? After you were so caring to me, and you almost died in my arms after protecting me? Do you believe I would go back on my promise to stay with you? Because, Theo, since then, I can promise you that I haven’t loved you any less-”

“I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be, ___” He avoided her eyes diligently.” Anyone could be a better lover than me.”

“There hasn’t been a day that I’ve regretted my promises to you. I chose to stay here with you because I love you, Theo. Even if you think someone else could be better, that doesn’t mean you aren't still good enough. So, please, remember that I’ll always choose you.”

She swiped her thumb over his cheek with a tender smile before leaning in close and whispering, “I promise.”

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #theodorus van gogh #ikevamp theo #ikevam theo #theo van gogh #otome #otome x reader #ikemen vampire imagine

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serahsanguine · 5 years

Text

School, Sex and Subterfuge NC-17

Chapter 8 of?

part one, part Two, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, AO3

tagging @today-in-fic @skullsmuldon @foxystarbucks

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

Chapter 8; Christmas Vacation

One Week later: Christmas Vacation.

Scully Residence.

Scully had arrived at her parents’ house a couple of days ago. Missy had come down from Washington, too, after finally securing her flat. Bill was out at sea.

Charlie, Ahab and Maggie went out in search for the best Christmas tree, which left the two sisters discussing what their plans were for the next two weeks. They were both sitting in their bedroom, together on one of the beds.

“We need to get your stuff moved in, Missy.”

“If I actually had anything to move in I would. I sold most of it before taking that trip around the world.”

“Well, whose clever idea was that?” Scully was looking at her sister but her hands were fiddling with the corner of her blanket.

“Mine.”

Scully rolled her eyes but sighing “Ok, whatever. Then we’ll buy some stuff in the January sales. For now, I’m sure mom has a few items you can have.”

“How’s the college boy been treating you?” Missy changed the subject.

Scully chooses to ignore the question and change the subject completely too.

“Are we still going ice skating later tonight?” Her hand was still fighting with the blanket, her eyes locked at the back corner of the room.

“Yes, we are. But, don’t change the subject. How’s your college boy going?”

“It’s fine,” Scully stood up to walk out of the room but her sister caught her wrist. Spinning her on the spot they were face to face.

“Don’t insult me by lying to me. Something’s up, I can feel it.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dana.” Melisa placed her hands on her sister's shoulders gesturing for her to sit back down on the bed. “What happened?”

Scully had no choice but to pour her heart out to her sister. She still left the detail about Mulder being her professor.

About ten minutes had passed and during those minutes Scully managed to go from full heart-wrenching tears to only hiccuping between breaths. And during those futile minutes, she had come to the realisation that her sister was right at thanksgiving and she had indeed fallen in love with him. With his smile, his personality, his looks and definitely the sex. The man was built for that particular sport! When she came to this realization, she also knew it could never be. She had indeed signed a contract to this effect. She knew that as soon as such things as feelings got involved, it would end. She put on a brave face, held her head up high and started getting ready to go ice skating. Leaving Melissa’s questions and protests unanswered. Melissa also knew not to push the subject for now.

Several hours later, Scully was lying on her bed listening to her sister snore. She was physically and mentally exhausted. She should be asleep by then but she just couldn’t. Scully had been thinking about everything that happened in a few short months, and how everything had changed. She could not decide whether this was for the better or not. She sat up and quietly got out of bed fumbling in the dark for her bag, to find her secret stash of cigarettes. She found them with ease and crept down the stairs, tiptoeing each step. She opened the back door trying not to wake anyone up, praying it would not creek.

Scully was finally outside, the air brisk and quite chilly. I should’ve brought a coat, she soon thought, but she didn’t really care enough to get back inside. She leaned her back against the wooden pillar of the outside porch. She opened her pack of cigarettes taking the middle one and placing it the other way round putting it back in the box. Then she grabbed another one and placed it in her mouth. Fishing the lighter out of her pocket, she breathed in a deep lung full of smoke. She placed the lighter beside her and looked up at the stars. Scully could spot all the constellations which was surprising for how much light pollution there was from the city. She let out a puff full of smoke, watching it disappear into the air, mixing with the dark, and the cold. Her body started slowly relaxing.

Her mind focussed on the stars and she remembered when Ahab taught her everything about the stars.

Dana was about five, sitting outside, wrapped up in the thickest blanket that her dad could find. It was Christmas Eve and he had surprised her. He wasn’t meant to be coming back that night. But, she had a nightmare, a really scary one, and wandered downstairs to find her mom. And there he was, too, sitting in the living room. He hugged her fiercely. Ahab asked her what was the matter. When she told him, that's when he found a blanket and told her to sit outside. He soon made hot chocolate for them both and sat beside her.

“Look up at the sky, Starbuck. Tell me what you see.”

Dana looked up, staring at the night with its blacks and greys swirling, mixing, colliding.

“I don’t see anything, Daddy.”

“Of course you do, Starbuck. Look really hard.”

She strained her eyes, looking really hard like her daddy told her to.

“I still don’t see anything.” She placed her empty hot chocolate mug down and wrapped her arms around her chest, angry that she could not see anything.

“You can see the stars.”

Her mom appeared and gave them another blanket, also giving her dad a kiss on the cheek, which made her giggle. Her mom left and she watched her dad as he placed a blanket on the ground gesturing for her to lie down on it with him. And she did so, cuddling into her dad’s chest with a blanket around her, both of them looking upon the stars.

Ahab pointed to Aries, Cetus, Eridanus, Perseus... to which little Dana could not see. But then Ahab pointed to the easier constellations like Fornax, Horologium, Hydrus Triangulum... Little Dana always thought there was magic in the stars and looking beyond that into space.

Scully took the last drag of her cigarette smiling at the memory.

“Those things will kill you.”

“Shit, Missy, what the hell?” Scully jumped, startled by her sneaky sister.

Missy sat by her, laughing quietly.

“What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She stubbed her cigarette out before bending in and putting it in her pocket for the bin.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“No, I’m ok. Let's go back in. I’m cold and finally ready for sleep”

Christmas Day

Scully was tired and exhausted. That was certainly one tradition she did not like, especially after not sleeping very well. Maggie took everyone to midnight mass, which had ended a couple of minutes ago. Scully couldn’t wait to crawl back into bed and sleep. She felt like a zombie and Missy kept teasing her that she looked like one.

The previous day was spent with the whole Scully clan at the local homeless shelter. She always loved the atmosphere. It was always a positive outlook on life, no matter how bad your living situation was. She helped with the younger ones, playing and singing with them. She later helped out with serving everyone soup and Christmas pudding and cake.

They finally arrived home. Luckily, it was only a short walk. She went straight upstairs and as soon as her head hit the pillow she was asleep, oblivious to the world.

6 hours later;

Scully woke up in Melisa’s bed, the aroma of Christmas dinner floating in the air. They had not shared a bed since they were little, but there were both far too tired to care the previous night. She sat up slightly, trying not to wake her sleeping sister. She looked at the alarm clock which sat in between the two beds. She groaned inwardly when the clock read 8 AM. The only good thing about getting up early without her sister or brother being awake was she could get a shower and then have a good look at her presents first. So, without any noise, she moved to get some clothes and take a shower.

30 minutes later,

Scully walked into the dining room, and sat down. She was not surprised at the full breakfast spread that was laid out. Her mom never ceased to amaze her, even know. She always likes having the family to dinner. There were croissants and pancakes, fruit, two different types of toast...

“Hi, Starbuck.”

“Hi, Ahab.” She smiled at her father, glad that she could spend some time with him.

“Hope you’re hungry. Your mom seems to be thinking she's feeding the five thousand, again.”

Scully nodded and slightly laughed. Once the table was prepared, her brother and sister appeared, sleep ridden at the table. Maggie finally sat down to join everyone at the table after some persuading from Ahab. Everyone started tucking into the food in front of them and she was in the middle of taking a bite of pancake.

“It’s a shame Bill isn’t here,” Maggie said sympathetically.

“Yeah... a damn shame, isn't it mom?” Missy replied sarcastically.

Scully choked on her pancake as she bit down a laugh. Missy was right, she loved her brother, but in all honesty, he is an ass and that is never going to change. It was nice not to have him here.

The conversation carried on, changing the subject several times. The food was eaten and the dishes were washed. Soon, everyone was sitting in the living room. It was beautifully decorated with lights. Different coloured tinsel, a modest tree decorated with precision, thought and symmetry. Maggie and Ahab were sitting on the two-seater sofa, Charlie was next to the fireplace, and Missy and her were sitting side by side on the floor, opposite everyone.

Gifts were exchanged then. Scully got some book which she had been after for a little while now but never had the chance to get. Also, some scarves and other bits and bobs. However, the most precious one that was received was the gold bracelet with the words ‘Look upon the stars and you shall see the world, Starbuck.’. It was the most beautiful thing she had seen and she would treasure it forever.

The rest of the day was spent helping to prepare for the Christmas feast which went off without a hitch. Everyone was full to the brim. There was no room left for dessert and there were plenty of leftovers for the next few days.

All in all, it was a peaceful day spent with family, enjoying each other's company.

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Aspen Ski Resort.

Sam had surprised Mulder by packing his bags and taking him to Aspen Ski Resort. They were meant to be spending the days in California but she wanted to do something nice for him. They had just gotten back from Snowmass, Aspen's largest and most popular ski area, comprising 3,332 acres of skiable terrain. They were both exhausted. They order a hot meal from the resort’s restaurant that should be there within the hour.

They were sitting in the living room both on a chair in front of the open fire. Mulder even though he was on vacation. He was planning the next semester's workload and Sam was reading a book about local painting which they had brought from the museum earlier that week.

He finally finished what he was doing and looked over at her sister. She looked so calm and collected and he certainly enjoyed his ‘little’ surprise. Tomorrow was Christmas, which for this family was a horrible time in past years. Their mom had died when he was twelve and Sam was eight, and a few years later, also on Christmas, their father got arrested for a beating so bad that he was hospitalized several times. From then on they had gone to live with their aunt Becka. She was a lovely woman who helped both him and Sam a lot. Every Christmas they circled a different ski resort. Even while he was in Oxford they still kept the tradition.

“Sam? I don’t think you put sunscreen on. You’re a little red.”

She took her eyes from what she was reading and looked at him.

“I applied plenty, thank you.”

“Maybe you should go look in the mirror,” he said in a teasing tone.

She huffed and the movement of getting up. He knew her legs would certainly be protesting of so much strain after skiing and boarding. He watched her walk over to the mirror with her cotton pyjamas on and her hair in braids. She inspected herself, turning her face side to side before speaking.

“I am not sunburnt, told you!”

Just as she had said so, the bell for the front door had gone off, announcing the arrival of their food.

“Sometimes, Fox, you have a damn right spooky intuition,” she laughed as she went to pay and collect their food.

He went into the kitchen to go find some plates and cutlery.

“What drink do you want, Sam?” he shouted through the cabin.

“Diet Coke will be fine, thanks,” she shouted back.

He walked back into the living room carrying everything they needed. Sam was knelt down at the table with the food in front of her.

“Some help would be nice,” he said sarcastically.

“What do you mean? I did help. I got the food which was your whole plan of telling me I had sunburnt.”

“Humm… if you say so—.”

Sam helped serve out the food between them. It was one of the tastiest beef, vegetable stew they had ever tasted. They both polished the plates and even left a little room for cheesecake for dessert.

After dessert was eaten, Sam picked everything up, and said her goodnights. Picking up her book, she headed upstairs to bed. Mulder stood up watching some old Twilight episode that was on tv. An hour or two passed when he started with his secret preparations hoping his sister was well and truly asleep. He got the decorations out of the cupboard under the stairs. With the tinsel and lights and wall decorations hung, he still needed to retrieve the tree, decorate it and place the presents underneath it.

Mulder got the tree off the hiding places and realised he should have either moved it sooner or with help because it was a lot heavier then he realised as he shuffled it across two floors trying not to scrape it or walk into anything when dragging it. About thirty minutes of sweating he finally managed to put the tree where he wanted it. He decorated it with candy canes, barbells, Christmas beads... He even managed to place a star on top.

He finally crawled into bed after lighting the fire in his room. It was about four o’clock in the morning. His head hit the pillow and he closed his eyes. Within seconds, he was gone into the land of slumber.

Christmas Day;

Mulder woke up and shivered, the fire had gone out a little over an hour ago and there was a certain chill to the air. He needed to get up and start on breakfast before heading out to the restaurant where he had booked a reservation for Christmas dinner. He grabbed a quick shower and crept downstairs.

He was going to mix Sam's favourite chocolate chip pancakes. He mixed the butter and poured them into the pan. Not long after the first two were good his sister wandered down and stopped in the second to last step. The look of amazement and pure joy is written on her face was all he needed. It made it all worth it for that one look. He smiled and turned back around and carried on cooking pancakes.

He heard her walk towards him and sit down at the kitchen island.

“How? When? Why?”

He turned around with a smirk. Placing the hot pancakes on a plate in front of her, then placing some on a plate for himself, he turned off the hob and placed the pan on the rack to cool down. Sitting opposite her, he spoke to answer her questions.

“The lovely lady who owns these little cabins wanted to help out. I asked her a couple of days ago, and she thought it was sweet that I wanted to decorate it as a surprise for my little sister. She said yes and placed all the decorations in the large hidden cupboard under the stairs. And, to answer the last one… because even though you’re a pain in my butt, I love you. Plus aunt Becka in all her old wisdom made me promise to keep up the tradition of a decorated tree on Christmas day.”

“Thank you.”

She bit into her pancake and a sound of satisfaction filled the room.

With breakfast eaten, presents were opened. Sam got loads of art supplies, a couple of books and some socks. It was time to open some of his. He got Terry Pratchett's new book, the first edition of Stephen King’s Pet Sematary. He had no idea how Sam managed to get it but she did. He opened the last present and was a little in shock.

“What is this?"

“Well, big brother, it is pretty self-explanatory, ” she laughed.

“These are two tickets for a getaway for two, place of my choice.” He looked at her like she was an alien eating children. He was a little shocked and surprised.

“But I have no one to go with,” he pouted.

“What about that girl you’re not in love with? ” she replied, sarcastically.

“I wasn’t in love with her and we're not seeing each other anymore.”

“Your loss then,” she shrugged. She kept looking at him for a couple of minutes. "I still think you should get you head out of your ass and tell her how you feel before she swoops away with a nice college boy. ”

“Sam.”

“Yes?"

“It’s Christmas. ”

“And you're avoiding.”

He went to answer her back but decided no to. After all, she was right. He shrugged his shoulders and changed the subject.

“We should start getting ready or we’re going to be late for our reservations.”

Later that evening.

Sam had gone to sleep and Mulder sat on the small balcony overlooking the lodge and charming village below, with its variety of shops and restaurants. From their cabin, he could see roughly half of the trails there. The grey sky was mixing with the white of the snow, illuminating as far as the eye could see in a luminescent green, almost like an aura for buildings. The place was so tranquil and quiet, he could have easily fallen asleep looking upon this view if it wasn’t so damn cold. Maybe he would come back in the summer.

As he stared into the evening sun his thoughts drifted to Scully. Maybe, one day soon, he could share a cabin with her, quite possibly this exact one. And, together, they could oversee the town in all its beauty under the summer sunset.

But first, he needed to take his sister's advice, pull his head out of his ass, and apologise to her. Would she even accept the apology? Would she even want to talk to him? If she did want to talk to him, would she want him back?

Sam was right, he was an idiot and he had maybe just lost the best thing he was ever going to have in this life. One thing was for sure: even if she wanted nothing more to do with him, whether it was misplaced jealousy or not, he definitely needed to tell her that Daniel Whatever-his-name was a creep. He had tried to sleep with her when she was drunk and, if he was a betting man, he would even put money on it not being the first time he had tried to get into her pants. He was losing track of thoughts now. He should really head to bed, lots of snowboarding and sledding to be done tomorrow.

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2 weeks later.

Scully had an exceptional Christmas Vacation filled with love, joy and surprises all around. Mellissa tried to bring the subject of the mysterious man who Scully had fallen out with at least three more times over the two weeks. Every single time she was shut down.

Just before coming back to college, Scully received an email from Mulder asking her to meet up with him on the second Friday that they were back to school. She hadn’t replied back and she also didn't know if she was going to attend that meeting.

Mulder tried not to think about Scully again. But, each night he ended up alone, he kept thinking about her, more and more each night. He finally decided to extend an olive branch by sending the email, leaving the ball in her court. What she chose to do with that was completely up to her. One of two things were going to happen: she could either hurt him or forgive him.

Scully and Serah had a lengthy talk about what happened that last night they were together. Serah apologised profusely about her actions and promised never to do it again. They were now sat in the dorm room debating what Scully was going to do about Mulder.

Serah was pacing the room, it helped her think.

“You should at least reply, Dana. ”

“Why?”

“You’re miserable without him. ”

“I am not.” Scully threw her hands against the bed in defence.

“Don’t lie to me. It’s not beckoning on you. ”

“Give me an example of when I have been missing him,” she dared her friend.

“For starters, when you're in the gym and you see him, all sweaty and tuned up. It turns you on. You come back with a certain glow, a certain look and a certain body movement.”

“I do not!”

“Ahh, ahh. No speaking until Serah has unloaded all her wisdom. ”

“A—.”

“Shh! Anyway, also, when we're in his class you can’t help but check him out and get all dreamy-eyed and start daydreaming about it. And, third: I am not putting up with a horny, sad, depressed Dana Katherine Scully any more.”

Serah looked at her and Scully raised her eyebrow in scepticism.

“And, before you say anything… Yes, you are all those three.”

“Hum—.”

“I’m not finished yet. You were happy with him. Yes, he was a jerk towards you and you both said things you may regret. But he's extending an olive branch. ”

“Yes, I suppose so. ”

“You never know, he might even apologize and say he loves you. ”

“Like that’s ever gonna happen.” Scully laughed it off.

Later that day she sent Mulder an email.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Meeting.

Dear Mulder.

I would like to accept your invitation to meet. I just need a place to do so.

Yours faithfully,

Dana Scully

It did not take long for a reply.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Re: Meeting.

Dear Scully,

Thank you for accepting my invitation to meet. As we already have a date set of the 27th I thought we could meet at a place of your choice.

Yours faithfully,

Fox Mulder.

It took her a few hours to reply. She didn’t know whether she wanted to meet in his office or somewhere public like their little restaurant. She finally made the decision and messaged him back.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Meeting.

Dear Mulder,

Your office on the 27th at 8 o'clock. I will meet you there.

Yours Faithfully,

Scully.

No less than five minutes later she received an email which was short in nature and only one word which said 'Agreed'. That one made her smile for the rest of the day.

1 week later;

Friday, 27th January

They were both apprehensive about today's meeting. Scully couldn't focus on her lectures.

On the flip side, Mulder couldn't focus on teaching his lectures either. 7.30 PM and he was pacing his office back and forth. He couldn't still his anxiety and the waiting was unbearable. The ticking of the clock was filling the silence of the room.

Scully was feeling anxious. She didn’t know what he was going to say, she didn’t know how she would respond. She couldn’t sit idle for long so she made her way to his office. Before she knocked she was standing outside his door. Her palms were hot and clammy, her body slightly shaking, her heart rate fast and uneven. She finally knocked on the office door. It wasn’t a loud knock but it wasn’t a timid knock either. She took a deep breath in and he opened the door.

He heard a knock and knew it was her, he was so god damn nervous. He walked over to the door and opened it. There she was, in front of him, in jeans and a t-shirt with Stranger Things written on the front. He smiled knowing how much she liked the program. He moved to allow her to walk in. He closed the door behind him, locking it before sitting in front of her at his desk.

God, she had missed him in his tight t-shirts and hanging low dark jeans. She was sitting in front of him trying to act calm when she was anything but. She had butterflies in her stomach like the first time they had met. His normal hazel eyes were an emerald green. Ok, maybe looking in his eyes is a bad idea. She chose instead to focus on the picture of him and his sister.

There was silence for several minutes, all that could be heard was the ticking clock, the breaths and occasionally the water cooler. Until he spoke.

“I’m sorry, ” he looked at her with pleading eyes. “I didn’t mean to do what I did, or hurt you like that. ”

“You mean use me?” she said calmly.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I just wanted to clear a few things up before we go our separate ways if that's what you wish.”

“Ok, I’m listening. ”

“Your grades won't be affected. If your work is an A-plus, which it normally is, you will be awarded such. Even if the contract does not stand. I will not purposely fail you so I can see you.” He put on his clean teacher's voice, strong, stern but warm and kind.

“Thank you.”

“The night you were drunk and rang me, that kid Daniel tried sleeping with you and nearly succeeded. I thought I should warn you before he tried again and you get hurt,” he said more softly.

“I can look after myself,” she said defensively and slightly more cold and clipped than she had intended.

This is not going well, he started squirming in his chair. Damn, why is it so hard? I’m just going to tell her.

“If you choose to accept my apology... I would love to start again and take you on a real date. ”

“I…” that was the last thing she expected him to say, she was in shock and lost for words.

She had missed what he said next but the clean “I Love You” cleared through all the fog of her mind and started ringing in her ears. She needed to go, she couldn’t handle this. He just said the words she never expected. She stood up and slammed the door behind her.

Leaving a confused Mulder in her wake.

#txf fanfic #txf #AU fanfiction #college au #mulder and scully #Fox Mulder #Dana Scully #The X Files Fanfic #The X-Files

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the-rebel-archivist · 4 years

Text

OC Interview: Raynda Lavellan

NAME ➔

Raynda Lavellan. Or, rather, Rutherford, but you don’t have to use that, it’s still pretty weird to me too. It’s sort of like giving up part of your identity, right? But it’s also so comfy and homey.

[‘Raynda’ doesn’t seem like a traditional Dalish name, is there a story behind that?]

No.

ARE YOU SINGLE ➔

No, quite the opposite, as one might gather from the whole name thing.

ARE YOU HAPPY ➔

[She smiles and turns away before answering]

Ridiculously, stupidly happy. For such a long time after I… lost… my arm, I wasn’t.

[She traces the pattern engraved on the metal arm on her left without looking down]

It’s easier when you have someone looking out for you.

ARE YOU ANGRY ➔

I mean, I try not to be. It’s a remarkably unpleasant emotion and I’ve had enough of it. So many people in my clan were fueled by it; even I was to a large extent. I still have a short temper.

Sometimes I get angry when I think of former friends who turned out to be different from what I thought they were. Ultimately I think that people see themselves as good and try to do what they think is right, it’s just that that can conflict with what someone else thinks is good, so it’s important to look from their perspective before blowing up in anger. I don’t really know if I even believe in an objective good, you know? Sorry, I’m a little off topic.

ARE YOUR PARENTS STILL MARRIED ➔

Yes.

[She has an impassive look on her face, interrupted by amused flashes of what looks like her thinking about whether or not to say what’s on her mind.]

They’re also dead, so there’s that. But they died married, so I’m not a bastard, which is cool.

EIGHT FACTS BIRTHPLACE ➔

Somewhere in the Free Marches, I’m not really sure where seeing as I wasn’t in a state to remember the location at the time. We moved around a lot. I know we’d recently moved away from Wycome, where my father had disappeared, but I don’t know where the clan went.

HAIR COLOR ➔

You seem to have a working pair of eyes - they’re a nice colour, by the way - so you tell me. And don’t give me any of that ‘ginger’ or ‘’auburn’ bullshit, it’s just straight up red.

EYE COLOR ➔

Alright, I’ll give you this one, because people tell me that they change depending on whether I’m inside or outside. When I see them they’re blue, but I’ve heard green a lot as well. Because Cullen is fancy he sometimes goes with ‘aquamarine’ or ‘sea green,’ but I’m not particularly pretentious so I usually say ‘greeney-blue.’

BIRTHDAY ➔

Sometime in Drakonis, I don’t know the exact date. I’ve always liked it because it happens right when the snow is melting and spring is in the air and the birds are flying back after winter. When I first started celebrating birthdays I picked the 15th because it’s smack dab in the middle of the month.

MOOD ➔

My mood right now or generally? Right now I’m really pretty neutral. Generally I’m… also pretty neutral.

GENDER ➔

Well this should be self-evident, or are you trying to insult me? Don’t… don’t mind me, I’m just going to be in the corner weeping.

I’m a girl.

[She laughs]

SUMMER OR WINTER ➔

Oh that’s a tough one! They really do both have so much to recommend them. I think I have to go with winter, even though I do so love the sun in the summer, since winter means curling up in blankets and drinking hot tea in front of a fire. For some reason Cullen never joins me in the blanket, but oh well, his loss, more blanket for me, and he seems content enough in the freezing cold wasteland that is the blanketless living room.

MORNING OR AFTERNOON ➔

Morning, easily. The sun is just coming up and it’s lovely. Plus you feel like the day is so much longer! EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE ARE YOU IN LOVE ➔

Very much so.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT ➔

You know, I do. Although I’m not entirely certain that it was love at first sight as much as attraction at first sight. Helps when the person you’re falling for is easy on the eyes. Love at first speak, maybe? We had a great conversation about bows and it was the most engaging and delightful conversation of my life.

WHO ENDED YOUR LAST RELATIONSHIP ➔

I’d rather not discuss it, but me.

HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN SOMEONE’S HEART ➔

This isn’t really a line of questioning I’d like to pursue. Probably a lot of people’s, probably not all romantically.

ARE YOU AFRAID OF COMMITMENTS ➔

Of the concept, no, but I haven’t really been in any place long enough to get committed. Not even to an asylum, though Creators know sometimes I think I belong there.

HAVE YOU HUGGED SOMEONE WITHIN THE LAST WEEK? ➔

So many people. What can I say, I’m a hugger. Do you want a list? Because I can’t remember a list. If there’s a person around I’ve interacted with I’ve probably also given them a hug. Do you need a hug? You sort of look like you do.

HAVE YOU EVER HAD A SECRET ADMIRER ➔

When I was about fourteen, someone kept leaving me these really ridiculous love notes in my quiver. I still don’t know where they were from, I used to find them and laugh about them with Tam. They were the dumbest things, stuff like we can run off together, your eyes shine brighter than veilfire in the dark… He always said that we had to burn them after, I didn’t quite understand why.

It was Tam, wasn’t it.

Damn.

Well, now I feel bad.

HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN YOUR OWN HEART? ➔

How about we change the subject? SIX CHOICES LOVE OR LUST ➔

Why not both? If they must be separate, then love, but the best love has some lust mixed in there.

LEMONADE OR ICED TEA ➔

Tea is hot, isn’t it? I like hot tea, though I’m not sure about how it would be cold. I should try it! So, uh, lemonade I guess.

CATS OR DOGS ➔

I like them both! Cats have a special place in my heart though, the way they’re social but on their own terms. They seem solitary, but can be so good at keeping one company.

A FEW BEST FRIENDS OR MANY REGULAR FRIENDS ➔

A few best friends. I’d rather have a smaller number of real relationships with people who actually care about me.

WILD NIGHT OUT OR ROMANTIC NIGHT IN ➔

Night in, hands down. Although I do enjoy a good party, especially one that isn’t too crazy so that I can hear the people around me speaking.

DAY OR NIGHT ➔

I like them both - I mean, have you looked at the starry sky at night? Gorgeous. It’s so sparkly. But the sun is warm and bright, like a hug from the universe, so day. That’s my final answer. FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS BEEN CAUGHT SNEAKING OUT ➔

Oh, fuck yes, do you know how hard it is to sneak out of an aravel? Pretty freaking hard.

There was this one time at the last arlathvhen I went to when I went to meet a boy in the woods and… well, maybe I shouldn’t tell this story. It was a pretty good time until the rabbits.

Tam’s mom was so mad. She wanted to make me sleep outside, but, well, that wasn’t much of a punishment so for the rest of the arlathvhen I had to sleep closest to the wall. It was hot.

[She laughs and looks down]

Good times.

FALLEN DOWN/UP THE STAIRS ➔

It’s really embarrassing, but both, more times than I can count. It got so bad that Cullen insisted we find a house with only one floor. I had a permanent bruise on my shin from falling up the stairs at Skyhold. What, they were an awkward length and I kept trying to go up two at a time! Think of all the valuable seconds I saved. When I didn’t trip like an idiot.

WANTED SOMETHING/SOMEONE SO BADLY IT HURT? ➔

I don’t know, can you get me my arm back? Haha, I’m just kidding. Or am I.

WANTED TO DISAPPEAR ➔

Wouldn’t you want to if everyone kept asking you what to do and you had no sodding idea what the best path was? FOUR PREFERENCES SMILE OR EYES ➔

Smile. A smile brightens up someone’s whole face. It’s also so much fun to make someone who doesn’t smile much burst out laughing, it’s like a ray of sunshine.

SHORTER OR TALLER ➔

I like people to be taller than me, with at least a good five inches of clearance, but honestly it doesn’t matter much. If I truly care about someone height isn’t important.

INTELLIGENCE OR ATTRACTION ➔

Oh, intelligence. I can appreciate a pretty man well enough and they’re good for some things, but for anything deeper I need someone who can make me think, you know?

HOOK-UP OR RELATIONSHIP ➔

Relationship. I’ve done the hook-up thing enough and it only leaves you lonely. Plus you can work on really tailoring your in-bed experience to your preferences in a relationship, constantly iterating on concepts and what not. Lots of iteration. Yup. FAMILY DO YOU AND YOUR FAMILY GET ALONG ➔

I assume you mean my clan, not my dead parents, but either way the answer is no. Cullen’s family is great though, they’ve really adopted me. They’re so… warm. I thought it was normal for families to be distant. But Mia’s more of a hugger than I am!

WOULD YOU SAY YOU HAVE A “MESSED UP LIFE” ➔

Maybe once I would have.

HAVE YOU EVER RAN AWAY FROM HOME ➔

Slept in the forest, yes, but I wouldn’t have run away. When you only have familiarity with one small group it’s hard to break out of that. Like, money - what do you do when you know how to barter but barely know the value of a coin?

HAVE YOU EVER GOTTEN KICKED OUT ➔

Let’s just say learning the value of a coin was the easiest part of a pretty rude awakening. FRIENDS

DO YOU SECRETLY HATE ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS ➔

Absolutely not, if I hated someone I wouldn’t be friends with them. Sometimes people can get on my nerves, I’ll admit.

DO YOU CONSIDER ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS GOOD FRIENDS ➔

Yeah, I really do.

WHO IS YOUR BEST FRIEND ➔

Definitely Dorian, he’s persistent and won’t let me not be his friend. He makes me laugh so hard, and my fashion sense has really gotten an upgrade from being around him. Sometimes I look in the mirror at an outfit and just think, ‘Thanks, Dorian.”

Also did I say he’s funny? He’s uproariously funny.

Sometimes I want to twist his moustache just to annoy him. I do it, but I want to too. He hates it. But I think he also secretly loves it.

On a more serious note, he has a unique perspective and I’m pretty sure he’s the smartest person I know. He probably should treat me like an idiot in comparison, but he doesn’t.

WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU ➔

Cullen. If there’s anything he doesn’t know about me it’s because I’ve forgotten about it or it’s just never come up, but he knows me like nobody else does.

#raynda lavellan #my OC #dragon age fanfiction #cullen rutherford #cullen x lavellan

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selkiesbittybonanza · 5 years

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Introducing: Bonsai Bittys! (Free to Adopt)

These bittys are the dryads or spirits that inhabit Bonsai (dwarf) trees. Bonsai is an art form that has been practiced in Asia for over a thousand years and has been adapted to trees and plants originating from outside or Asia such as the Americas. With proper care, Bonsai’s can live for decades or even hundreds of years so having a plan of inheritance for your Bonsai is important! Some caretakers have even donated their Bonsais to botanical gardens, senior centres or hospitals! The spirit of the tree, your Bitty Bonsai, will only remain active as long as they have a special bond with a caretaker. If no special bond exists they “sleep” within their trees until a new bond is formed. A Bitty Bonsai can’t be away from their trees for long periods of time, after 48 hours they start to feel weak and eventually fade away completely by the 72 hour mark - returning to their tree. However, they don’t suffer any lasting harm and just require another 72 hours of “sleep” in their trees before they reappear – completely refreshed!

Appearance: Humanoid-skeletal figures make of dark wood and black wood grain, despite the wood of the tree they come from. They have 3 fingers and a thumb and dark holes with tiny lights where their eyes would be. They have only a point at their nose and no mouths. They communicate with sweeping movements and dances that somehow anyone who watches can understand, but they prefer to be poetic rather than clear. They are completely hairless but often have leaves, flowers or branches matching their trees decorating their heads. They enjoy wearing clothes but they always leave their hands/feet uncovered. Some bittys prefer wearing masks over their faces to give themselves more decoration and colour.

Powers: These bittys can gift small boons to their caretakers/homes that are in accordance with the symbolism of the tree they come from. (For example: A maple tree is seen as a symbol of balance and the turning of the seasons. So a Bonsai Bitty of this type would be able to help their caretaker ground themselves during a panic attack or even just help them meditate more successfully.) They are unconstrained by gravity and may fly but they cannot be far away from their trees for long periods of time.

At this time I am happy to present FIVE kinds of Bonsai bittys! (If they become popular I have a few ideas for more types!)

Cedars: There are many kind of cedar trees that are plentiful all through the temperate regions of Eurasia and the Americas. They are a part of many religions from Shinto in Japan, to the Traditional Ceremonies of Native Americans. The common symbolism of these trees are protection and purification. “Smudge sticks” are made of cedar branches often used in ceremonies to purify themselves before a ritual or ceremony. Shinto priests use cedar branches to purify offerings/themselves for the same reason! A Cedar Bonsai Bitty prides himself on the protection of their caretaker and their home! Impure spirits avoid homes with a Cedar Bitty to search of easier prey, and the air in your home is noticeably cleaner than others - helping people with allergies to dust/dander. Cedars consider themselves “warriors” so they often like to carry weapons and wear armor / warrior masks. Again they are common among many cultures in the world so they are very diverse in their costuming!

Ginkgo: Ginkgo trees are famous for their hardiness; a famous tree in Japan still stands strong today, in spite of being less than a kilometer from Ground Zero in Hiroshima! They are also associated with health (think Ginkgo Bilbao supplements). They have beautiful green fan-shaped leaves that change to gold in the autumn and is considered a “living fossil” – all the other trees in it’s family have gone extinct over the millennia. A Ginkgo Bonsai Bitty likes to consider themself a healer! Their caretaker and their family/roommates under a Ginkgo’s protection can boast being skipped over when the current “plague” makes the rounds. If they do get sick, people with a Ginkgo in their life they often get better faster – or have less severe symptoms. A Ginkgo isn’t a miracle worker, he can’t cure sickness or disease, but he can help you stand up to it! Ginkgo bittys enjoy dressing up as traditional and modern health care professionals. Lots of scrubs, stethoscopes and medicine boxes! They enjoy jewelry, emblems and other decorations made in the shape of the Ginkgo leaf!

Money Tree: Money Trees are a plant from Central/South America and is often sold with a braided trunk with the leaves only appearing at the very top shading the tree - almost like an umbrella. They are a flowering tree and have the largest flowers of any kind of tree! They are called “Money Trees” after a Chinese myth and are therefore associated with wealth. A Money Tree Bonsai Bitty can’t help you win the lottery – but you might find a $20 stuck in a bush. Or find a really good deal on something you were saving up for. These little things add up! Money Tree Bittys prefer to wear the colours red, greed and gold – all colours associated with money! They enjoy jewelry, emblems or prints with coin imagery on them. They also enjoy carrying a group of money trees leaves like a parasol!

Maple: Maple Trees are famous for their beautiful changing foliage during the seasons. There are also different types maples from the slim 5 pointed leaves of the Japanese Maple to the large leaves of the Sugar Maple made famous on the Canadian flag – these trees also produce the sugar needed for maple syrup! Although the Japanese Maple is the traditional bonsai favourite, both trees have been used in bonsai before! Due to how beautiful the trees look in each season the maple tree is associated with balance and the passage of time, living reminders of the circle of life and the turning of the seasons. These peaceful Bittys help their caretakers center themselves and promote mental health. Meditating in the presence of the tree, and Bitty you’ve made a bond with, is always more fulfilling. Often they like to dress themselves as humble monks and gurus – people associated with peace, balance and faith. Although some Maple Bittys that are from the Sugar family enjoy dressing as lumberjacks or in the traditional dress of the Native Americans that populate the North-East of North America! (13 Colonies of the USA, Quebec, Ontario and Maritime Provinces of Canada)

Azalea: This brightly flowering shrub is another favourite of Bonsai artist and caretakers. The flowers of azaleas come in many colours but the most popular are the pink shades; other colours include red, yellow, orange, white or purple! Azaleas are often associated with kindness and femininity. The Victorians also used azaleas to symbolize temperance and was used by the prohibition movement. These gentle Bittys remind us that it always better to be kind and influence those around themselves and their caretakers to choose the route of kindness instead of anger. These Bittys are life savers for those caretakers who are in the service industries or deal with volatile people on a regular basis! While most Bonsai Bittys have no gender preference and wear clothes and costumes of all genders - Azalea bittys prefer to project femininity. long kimonos, sweeping dresses, delicate lace and especially floral print! They usually have a floral arrangement matching their Bonsai on their head delicately arranged to look like a hair ornament; often with beads and ribbon accenting it.

Selkie says: I’ve been working on this idea for a long time and it’s gone through a few redesigns since I decided on this one, which I’m quite happy with! These bittys were originally based on @itsladykit ‘s Atypical Papyrus Forest Spirit that I loved so much I wanted a bitty of it. And what’s a bitty tree after all...? A BONSAI! Then I got lost in learning about types of Bonsai and the different styles... Pretty much any tree/shrub can be made into a Bonsai, it really is an art using living materials! I especially love the fruit trees with a full sized fruit hanging off of it! Google it! So cool!

I’d also like to update this post with art someday. I tried making a few prototypes on my own (Maybe I’ll show you someday...) but unfortunately my artistic ability doesn’t match what I want to convey. It was also hard for me to decide on a distinctive style without being too... stiff. And I’ve totally blown my artist commission budget for a while but I hope there’s enough here for you to get an idea of what a Bonsai Bitty would be like!

#adoptable #Bonsai Bittys #Bonsai Bitty #Cedar Bonsai Bitty #Money Tree Bonsai Bitty #Maple Bonsai Bitty #Gingko Bonsai Bitty #Azalea Bonsai Bitty #bittybones #bitty bones #in progress...?#but ready to adopt!

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lostbutterflyutau · 5 years

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Do you have any Delgado pregnancy or childcare headcanons?

HelloAnon, If you’re talking about the canon family – Victor, Ash, Carla – then, no.I don’t have any regarding pregnancy. This is partly because I write my fics onan alternate timeline that Ash isn’t part of. Don’t get me wrong. I love hercharacter and the canon story. I just write on a different timeline I startedbefore we met Ash. The other reason for this is because, well, I don’t often think about thesekinds of things. I’m not into the whole lifescript thing. For those whodon’t know, the term “lifescript” refers to the path that most people in apopulation take in life. School – college – marriage – kids. Stories aboutkids, babies, pregnancy and the like have never interested me, so I don’tusually explore these subjects. In fact, pregnancy can sometimes even be aturn-off when I’m reading or watching something.However, there are exceptions and flashback sequences for existing charactersare one of them. (The other is if it honestly, truly fits the characters andwhat they want from life).

Thatbeing said, there are a few headcanons that I have for Victor raising Carla.They come from my storyverse, but I suppose they can work alongside canon aswell:

Being a single father wasn’t easy for Victor, especially when strangers would get nosy and ask why Carla didn’t have a mother (and insist she need one) or why he was the one buying her dresses and tying her ribbons.

Carla loves to dance. It’s one of her gifts and a very important part of who she is. Victor is the one who taught her how to dance and it’s something that they still enjoy doing together. No matter where they were or how tough things got, Carla would find a reason and a place to dance.

Victor is awful at styling Carla’s hair. He tried. He really did. But just couldn’t quite get the hang of it. When she was little, it was usually tied in a low ponytail with a large ribbon. At least until she learned to do her own hair. He eventually learned to put it up in a ponytail with a braid wrapped around the base, but it took a lot of practice.

Carla always wore cute dresses growing up. The kind with wide sashes and floaty skirts. Dresses were one thing her father didn’t mind spending money on. Victor actually liked picking out her clothes and wanted her to look cute and feel pretty, which was easier when she was younger. Aside from stolen money, if they were in good condition, Carla’s old clothes could be sold or traded for new ones when she outgrew them.

Speaking of clothing, up until she was fourteen, Carla wore child-sized clothing because it was cheaper and easier. She’d always been petite, so it wasn’t a problem until she put her foot down and said she wanted to look and dress her age.

Throughout the years, they occasionally travelled and worked with a group of thieves. They first met up when Carla was five and only worked together a few times. Not surprisingly, though she’ll never admit it, Carla is a total Daddy’s Girl, and when she was put in the care of the men’s wives, she refused to let them dress her or brush her hair or basically anything that Victor normally did.As far as she was concerned, that was Papa’s job and would throw a fit when they tried to touch her.

When she got older, however, she was more open to their help in learning how to do her makeup and hair. It’s because of these women that Carla developed her interest in makeup. She’s surprisingly girly and still loves to get dressed up and do her hair and makeup and attend parties and festivals.

Unfortunately, the men and boys in the group were less kind. The men poked fun at Victor for being a single father with a daughter and knowing how to properly brush her hair, tieher ribbons and sashes and for picking out her clothes. The boys picked on Carla because she was the youngest and the only girl. They pushed her around and refused to include her in any of their games.

Since Carla didn’t often interact with other children, she became good at entertaining herself when she and her father weren’t planning their next scheme. Aside from dancing, she developed some artistic talents. She doesn’t often like using them, but she’s decent at colour coordination, painting, putting decorations together and, as stated, applying and blending makeup.

Carla’s favourite storybook as a child was one about a lost little kitten trying to find her family and place in the world. But she lost her original copy of it years back during one of her and Victor’s many moves.

Exclusive to my storyverse Carla didn’t often want to hear traditional bedtime stories. She wanted to hear stories about her mother and it was through these that she got to know her despite never meeting her. She tells Gabe in When the Music Changes that, “Papa told me all the stories. From their first meeting to…the last kiss.”

It’s not much, but this is what I have for now. Thanks for the ask!

#elena of avalor #Carla Delgado #ask #anon ask #Headcanon #Adrianna talks #ask me anything #except maybe not lifescript stuff #especially about pregnancy and babies

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