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mantra4ia · 2 years

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🎶Draw Upon Me 🎶

(an expanded moment Witcher fic. Mine.)

Yen: Jaskier, Jaskier! Come on wake up.

Jaskier: [mumbles hazily] Too many squirrels...

Yen: [not without first considering the other options, she grabs him — not at all gently— by the face instead] I need you! Ciri is possessed.

Jaskier: Yep. The last time I woke up next to you, you grabbed me by the balls and then blew up the building, so...

Yen: Come on!

[a short while later]

Jaskier: Before you tell me what's going on, please tell me you're making a hangover cure because my head feels like it's lodged between the buttocks of a fat and sexually rageful goat. [When her frenetic urgency does not abate, and he absorbs her determined but anxious expression, he's sobers up rather quickly on his own] Okay, what's going on?... Oh yay, a little stone, you've saved us all.

Yen: Active jasper. Provider of warmth, energy, balance. Golden oriole—

Jaskier: Golden what? Areola? I'm pretty sure that's got something to do with nipples. Although if it were up to me everything would be about—

Yen: Jaskier! I pulled Ciri into this mess and I'll do everything I can to get her out of it.

Jaskier: [the fatigue and musing vanish from his eyes, replaced by the earnest shine of frenemy truce] Tell me what to do.

Yen: Find Geralt. Give him the jasper. It helps turn wrongs into rights. He'll understand.

Jaskier: Wait, hang on, what are you going to do?

Yen: [she think back to the docks — if only briefly — when Jaskier did what he knew best, but didn't really understand, which is why he was so good at it: improvise] What witches do best- make a potion.

Jaskier's eyes glimmer with a dusting of adoration as he watches the witch upend the witcher laboratory searching for the tools of her trade. He recalls distraction at the docks, his classical training, and beholds Yennefer of Vengerberg embracing his jibe derision of her, drawing it, and transforming it to improvisation. Which Jaskier knows — from *not too many* years of experience — in itself, is a kind of chaos. He throws the jasper stone into the air, and is quite pleased with himself by the time it lands in the palm of his hand; for he was right. Chaos could never be done with the likes of her, and the instant it took to toss a stone was all that was necessary to muster the first couplet verses in a resplendent ballad about it. Hair like raven's wing, as a storm in the night. In the violet eyes sleep lightning bolts...¹

Regretfully, it did not yet include nipples, but there would be time for revision later if needs must. Now it was time to run.

And run he did through the twisting halls of the witchers' keep that he'd yet to fully explore. A place he'd only recently come to rest his head, which — despite writing many an elaborate and intricate tune about it's wonders — he could not have imagined it as bewildering and haphazard as what lay before him. With only the sounds of conflict ahead to guide him, he burst into the dining hall.

Jaskier: Geralt! Yennefer told me to–

Mortal though he was, not enhanced in any way like the witchers in front of him, even he perceived the crackling of magic and tension in the air, which was only confirmed by several pairs of eyes, dark as black gull, slowly circling their attentions onto him. But none quite so insidious as Ciri's green eyes, which turned his innards. Absent of any recognition, they affirmed without doubt what Yennefer had heralded: she was possessed.

Suddenly his trousers were noticably more drafty thanks to the instincts of his ballsack, which shriveled to make room for the chill breeze from deathly frigid gazes. A self-preserving instinct which, shortly thereafter, made its way up his spine to his sense, and flooded the rest of his body as he said...

Jaskier: Shhhhit. You're busy. You're busy. Yeah—

Walk, don't run, he told himself, predators can sense fear. Yet in the following moment he abandoned that trite and shitty logic as a life-sucking scream rended the air from the hall, cleaved the medallion tree in two, and the congregation of witchers threw up their signs of protection. All that was left for him was a planed oak table, which by comparison was also trite and shitty. But he dove behind it anyway as the air vengefully tore back into the room and with it black shards like obsidian hailed from all directions, reminding him — with barely time to spare— to protect the active jasper. He nearly lost a finger in the attempt.

Lambert: What the f*** kind of basilisks are those?

Coen: I'll tell you after I kill 'em.

Geralt: Ciri! I need you to hear me! You can fight this!

"Right the wrongs?" Jaskier muttered angrily as he crawled on hands and knees from table to table trying not to be eaten by overgrown lizards or impaled, and cursing himself. For if he had any magical inclination whatsoever, he would be making potions right now instead of sticking his arse in this stinking mess. "Well, Yennefer, I don't see how things could get any wronger!"

Narrowly avoiding being skewered by a clawed foot like a lizard's kabob, he called out "Geralt!" But was drown out by the swelling score of bones being crunched like toothpicks. What good were a witcher's heightened senses if they couldn't cut through the symphony of battle?

Jaskier: Geralt! Yennefer told me to give you this! It's balance and heat and...oh you can't hear me. Geralt!

Geralt: Stay strong, Ciri.

First by the raised hair on his arms and then by the thrum he felt vibrating in the stone floor, Jaskier observed a new percussion in the battle cacophony and swore, "seriously?" and scampered again, this time away from a white shark-toothed lizard, losing the stone from his grasp. Only then did he observe, and was shocked, when the witchers did not do the same. The hall stilled at Geralt's behest: he'd seen the jasper, he'd seen Yennefer enter the fray. And Jaskier had a horrible, curdling feeling from his toes to teets that he was about to lose something more than the stone.

Geralt: The courage to rectify wrongs. Hate. Our hate is the pain that Voleth Meir needs to grow stronger. Let's not give her what she wants. Ciri, if you can hear us, come home.

Jaskier: Oh, not again—

A bottle shattered, dispelling the elusive stillness of the hall. What followed the bard couldn't quite comprehend until a portal opened that arrested time itself and gave him a moment to think. By then, however, it was decidedly too late.

Blood had spilled, redder than wine consumed clumsily, as red as the jasper stone. Yennefer's blood was dripping onto the floor, wasting. Why, Jaskier fumbled, why would she do that? Wanting. Wanting to right the wrong and something more. Making the demon salivate for her pain and desperation. Wanting it to want her more than Ciri.

Embers had fluttered from the girl to the witch and just as suddenly the portal that had given him time to think had extracted it's cost. It took them one and all in a greedy gulp. It consumed the girl, the witch, and witcher. Clumsily, drunkenly.

Is this a joke? He thought. It must be, and a badly written one at that. I must edit it, he thought, for destiny was a miserable author that the poet would not abide. And it must include nipples. He nearly laughed at a memory of the last time he thought his friends were gone. That he'd lost them in that ruined house in Rinde. When really, all along they were studying the anatomy of areola. Areolas? Areoli?

Yes of course, that must be the punch line, he thought as he recollected, in a tavern, the smell of her breath on his cheek after she'd kissed it, but before she'd saved him. The words "where have you been, you lazy lout" were laced with the odor of cheap wine and hard spirits that set his mind ablaze. But I didn't ask the djinn for this, he fumbled foolishly through layers of memories and grief like an occluding mist, cloudy in his eyes, until he recalled the broken echo of golden oriole, saw the shards of a bottle on the floor mixed with wasted wine that wasn't wine. It was Yennefer's blood.

Oh gods, why? he cried.

Thankfully, he had only one moment more to anguish before the three spectors of his thoughts materialized in a concussion of air, not half a pace from where they blinked out of this mortal sphere.

Jaskier: You're back. Are you alright?

It was Yen who turned to face Jaskier while Geralt kept his eyes trained on Cirilla. It took him two more moments to react. The first fleeted by with a passing remark he kept to himself about how her witchy complexion — magically perfected by mandrake — was a hue paler than usual for someone so practiced in the art of portaling with or without magic. Perhaps the color could be called alabaster, like that of the monument on Sodden Hill. A monument to their fallen.

Jaskier's thought a moment later lit coals beneath his heels: a face of alabaster, a face that seemed to him now as an apparition would — ephemeral and fading — might also fall. It took both hands, careful not to agitate her open wrists, to steady her.

T'was the strangest thing of all, in much the same way her hug had surprised him by not reviving his bile. In the same way as her shoulder had been not only necessary, but a comfort to him while escaping their fire****ing captors in Oxenfurt. So it was now when Yennefer leaned on him for balance.

Easy, Yennefer, he thought, unsure of how pained or spent she was. Draw on me.

There was only a tenuous sway when she managed to finally look him in the eyes, more quickly than he'd expected after a loss of blood and not one, but two, bouts of portal-induced vertigo. Her wrists were no longer bloody. She would be alright, and a sense of relief for that (and his own survival) began to set his guts right. She was not done with chaos.

Jaskier: The witchers need you.

He could only manage a whisper, for in the same breath he'd set his mind to write the mage's wrongs...and her rights too. Now that he had put a name to his song.

1. Source: Andrzej Sapkowski

#drabble #expanded moment fanfic #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer x jaskier #Jaskier's ballads #the witcher s2 spoilers #mine #fanfic4ia #fanfiction #the witcher 2x08 #frenemies #broTP

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mantra4ia · 3 years

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I vote to petition for Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life Part 2 so that we can get a full circle companion piece to the Jam Hands / mom's group at the diner episodes where we can see Luke with Rory's baby or toddler purposefully spoiling the kid with treats — making sure their hands are sticky— and then handing them to people like Taylor Dosey without warning.

...

Jam Hands

[Next door at the soda shoppe: Dosey hands the kid back to Luke with a wholesome smile trying to hide how irked he is that there's a new abstract chocolate gelato masterpiece on his freshly washed windows. He'll have a field day in about 30 minutes when he realizes that the back of his white sweater was also the paint palette]

Luke: "I'll admit when I'm wrong, jam hands are immensely satisfying."

Lorelai: "I could have sworn you were going to say jam hands are handy."

Luke: "Give me some credit for creativity."

[They enter Luke's diner and have a seat at the counter as Luke bounces the tot on his knee and Lorelai takes and upon herself to serve them rather than interrupt play and gloat time.]

Lorelai: "Says the man who owns and regularly adorns standard issue flannel shirts older than my daughter."

Luke: "I guess I could retire one or two if, as you say, they're practically historic."

Lorelai: "Don't tease me if you don't mean it."

Luke: "I think they should stay in the family though."

Lorelai: "Especially since you haven't had them appraised yet. Mrs. Kim might offer you a pretty penny for vintage diner attire..."

Luke: "Hardly, that woman drives a mean bargain."

Lorelai: "Ha! It gives new meaning to the phrase 'she'll take the clothes right off your back.'"

Luke: "Maybe I'll send a few to Liz, she can make them into some patchwork kids blankets. Not that Rory hasn't already taken care of all that, but what's a few extra for the car or laundry day when every last blanket is in the hamper covered in spit and cereal..."

Lorelai: "Oh, Luke. That's so sweet. Rory will love it."

Luke: "You think so?"

Lorelai: "Absolutely. I take it back, the Danes family are the great creative masters of our time..."

Luke: "Stop it..."

Lorelai: "The modern Mozarts of munchkins. The Beethoven of blankets..."

Luke: "Hey, will you go to the back and tell Cesar to send me out a plate of applesauce?"

Lorelai: "Feeling peckish?"

Luke: "No, I'm going to teach Amelia the time- honored Danes tradition of finger painting with food, and then I'm siccing her on Kirk. He's been hogging that table for an hour and he's still nursing the same donut. Applesauce please?"

Lorelai: "Only if we can swing by the inn later. I get dibs on Michel next."

Luke: "Wow, that counter offer was too easy. You're no Mrs. Kim."

Lorelai: "To be fair, the woman has an unparalleled reputation which she will uphold until long after we're both senile in a nice home or having Rory and Jess keep us out of trouble."

Luke: "Deal. To Michel, not the old folks home. Although, the alternative of Jess keeping an eye on us in my golden curmudgeon years is equally horrifying."

Lorelai: "I like this for us."

Luke: "Then I'll let you break it to Rory that she may not see Amelia again until she graduates college."

Lorelai: "Well then mister, you better be willing to put some tuition where your mouth is!" She says in dramatic jest.

Luke: "It's taken care of," he says matter-of-factly like a stone cold sniper or a mafia don, in comical contrast to the funny faces he's pulling as Amelia tries flailingly to reach for his baseball cap.

[Lorelei stops mid stride with a plate of applesauce in one hand and a bib in the other, mouth agape]

Lorelai: "Luke, you didn't..."

Luke: "You should think about closing that tunnel before someone, I'm not saying who but someone, gets the bright idea to stick a vegetable in there, you petrify on that spot, and Taylor opens up a new Stars Hollow tourist attraction of the crazy caffeine lady with a severe allergy to chlorophyll."

Lorelai: "Lucas..."

Luke: "Lorelai, I opened up a savings fund the same day that Rory told me she was having a baby. You remember? The day I came home and switched all the coffee in your house to decaf, and you begrudgingly went along with it to show support even though you made 'Winter is Here' jokes for a whole month. It's settled."

[Lorelai sets the plate down wordlessly and Luke begins to hand-over-hand finger paint with Amelia]

Luke: "No snappy rebuttal?"

Lorelai: "You know I had a dream once, not in the great Martin Luther King way, a literal dream that you were a coffee thief in my kitchen, only Rory was me, or rather I was in Rory's shoes, and there was not one kid but rather a matching set, a two for one diner special, Sid and Nancy..."

Luke: "Is this a stream of consciousness or should what you're talking about make profound sense to me?"

Lorelai: "Not a clue." She wipes the shmear of applesauce from Luke's cheek, then thinks fast, presses it to his lip, and kisses him fiercely by surprise, watching his face turn cherry.

Luke: [at a momentary loss for words] "Well then. Maybe ask Rory if there's a Sid somewhere in her future."

Lorelai: "I'll have my lawyers at the Gilmore Group draw up the paperwork for co-custody."

Luke: "I thought the Gilmore Group handled insurance projections."

Lorelai: "It helps that I know a guy, who knows a gal, who knows the CEO. It'll probably be the most amicable custody case they've ever handled."

Luke: "Or the only one..."

Lorelai: "Kirk," Lorelai hoists a primed, jam hands Amelia off Luke's lap and marches across the diner with a sing-song voice, "I have an aspiring indi film fan in the making who is just insistent on your autograph. Practically in a fuss. I don't seem to have a pen, but I do have fruit sauce."

Luke: [watches her swagger from behind and considers offering her a pen as he has following a dozen diner jokes before, except he wouldn't miss Kirk squirm for all the world. ] "Yeah, I like this for us."

-End scene-

#gilmore girls a year in the life #luke danes #luke and lorelai #lorelai gilmore #jam hands #fanfic4ia #fan fiction #mine #Gilmore Girls imagine #The great Gilmore watch

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mantra4ia · 4 years

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Trixstar Imagine Fanfiction: "Three Times The Charm"

By mantra4ia. August 1st 2020. Cross posted to AO3.

One of the most aggravating things about hell was that Lucifer could still hear prayers. Like a soundproof room with a squeaky fan. Like a 'no smoking' sign on your cigarette break. Like listening to Alanis Morissette unironically. God's final joke, Lucifer lamented, was that deep in the bowels of exile was just enough awful celestial Wi-Fi to get the spam — prayers to other celestials of which he only caught the static, or pleas to the big man himself — like the bleed-over on an AM/FM radio. Which was why, when Lucifer finally heard a prayer loud and clear with the volume turned up to 11, it nearly knocked him off his thrown. It had been so long since anyone had prayed directly to him, not in jest, or begging for a favor, but earnestly and with fervor that at first it gave him a migraine. He could hardly hear the words let alone distinguish the voice behind them, until at last he was able to tune in to someone achingly familiar.

"Hey Lucifer, it's me."

Trixie, you little hellion, is it really you?!

"it's Trixie. I'm not sure whether you'll remember me. It's been a while."

You have no idea...but of course I remember you mini-Decker, don't be silly.

"Maybe you think I'm still pet sized. Well I'm not anymore."

I promise you, those remarks had nothing to do with your stature and everything to do with your intelligence, and possibly also your penchant to devour snack cakes, small human. But I admit I was wrong Trixie, you're smart and clever. It was then that the epiphany struck Lucifer: why and how was she praying to him at all?

"I bet you're wondering why I called you on the long distance prayer line. At first I thought maybe I would hear your voice answer me back, but I guess this will have to do. You see Lucifer, I may have lied to you, and I know you are not going to like that, but I hope it doesn't keep you away forever."

What? He took flight from his throne and down to lowest depth of hell scape, trying without success to fully find his footing among the chasms, his knees imperceptibly shaking —though he knew not why — while his feet took hold of him though he knew not where to. As if beckoned by the siren sound of her voice, he made his way through the winding onyx labrynth, turning where her voice waned and proceeding again where it renewed in strength.

"Because I didn't lie-outright-lie. I just didn't tell the whole truth. I've always known you were an angel, like your brother Amenadiel. Just that you live in different places. I wrote a whole bunch of letters over the years, but the post office told me Hell wasn't a valid address, and eventually they started making fun of me behind my back for not having enough postage."

Well you should have tried sending it via the DMV. Honestly, Beatrice, I have any number of portals there. A whole network really.

"Anyway, I figure where you are it might be lonely, so I guess this is as good a time as any to catch up."

Out with it then, what's the sitch child?

"I just started driving lessons, although they're not as good as yours." That's my girl. "And Charlie's doing great, he started playing soccer." Please don't tell me Linda had him play keeper to keep an eye out for infant angel powers. "He's the goalie." Christ, I bet she put him in a helmet too. "I was mad at him for a long time, I know he's only little, but I was angry that he couldn't remember you like I remember you. He even asked me if you were my imaginary friend." Does he really not remember his Uncle Lucifer? "I know, kids are dumb. But I'm not mad anymore. I drew him a picture of you in my art class...and my detention after I didn't do the actual assignment in art class, but still-lifes of fruit are boring. It doesn't look like my old drawings on the refrigerator from the last time you were here, if that's what you're worried about. And it's better than Amenadiel's stick figure drawings. If I'm being honest, I wanted to make sure I remembered you too. Maybe one day you can tell me what you think. My teacher Mrs. Fissner says it's very good. Disturbing but good. She may have sent me to see the social worker. Mom misses you. I miss you too. Listen Lucifer, I'm sorry I didn't reach out sooner but...never mind, I guess that's all for now...."

No, Trixie. You're the first human voice I've heard in a thousand years who isn't begging for mercy. Don't, please, Lucifer pleaded.

"It's just that I don't really believe in prayers. I mean, I think they're kind of stupid..."

You're preaching to the choir Trix. I couldn't agree more, this rare instance being a timely exception.

"...because people somehow find a way to make it all about them, and what they want, when they should really be listening."

Oh damnation, don't tell me you've turned into a theological scholar, or did Amenadiel put you up to this? Fess up. Could you sound anymore like your mum, you're the second oldest young person I know. Where is the Beatrice who could extort people for cash, lay waste to my flat in a single pirouette, and inhale chocolate like I inhale controlled substances? A haunting thought ghosted over Lucifer's nostalgia. Did I miss all your formative years?

"And I don't want to do that, because I don't want to torture you."

Lucifer's step faltered as he slid to the ground against the ravine walls, at last overwhelmed by the whole absurd, miraculous encounter. All the days upon days he'd spent torturing souls without missing a beat, and Trixie was worried about torturing him? About how her struggles might affect him? His chin sank to his chest, and Lucifer cried.

"Mom didn't tell me you went back to hell, because she doesn't know that I believe you when you said you're the devil, but she did tell me that it's important and that in your new job a lot depends on you. I didn't want to hurt you by asking you to come back when I know that you can't. But this life is really important too Lucifer, and...it's mom. She's got a new friend."

So that's it, Lucifer thought in resignation, that's why she's praying.

"I feel lost between them. So I asked God to send me an angel, the nicest angel he had."

You've got to be kidding me? Is that what I am now sloppy seconds, I'm not even first on the prayer chain!

"Except I'm pretty sure I already used up that prayer when he sent me you."

Lucifer's din of thoughts fell into silence as he hauled himself up to full stature, trying to pull himself together. I can't help you Trixie, your mom deserves to be happy. Chloe deserves to share her life with someone who makes her feel as special as she really is. And God help me, I can't believe I'm saying this, but it would help if you showed her a little grace.

"So I was hoping Lucifer, that you could please come back and show my mom this isn't the right guy for her. I know you're the only one who can."

Not if it puts you both in harm's way, Lucifer said, knowing that his words would never reach her, and that her prayer like a billion others before would float away unrequited.

"If you can't help me, please help her."

Lucifer stopped cold. Why would the detective need my help?

"I told you, Lucifer. I need you to understand that I've always known what you look like. More than that, I need you to know I've always understood who you are. So that you'll believe me when I say I know that my mom's friend, the one that looks like you, isn't really you."

It was only then that Lucifer realized the wall he'd braced against was not a stone cliff, but a gate. He did not waste a moment eviscerating the lock.

Trixie had searched for Lucifer once, in his mortal abode at Lux.

She'd found him again within his personal den of iniquity without batting an eye.

Little did she realize that even in the lowest depths of hell she could reach him. Dad's blessings, it seems, run in the family.

Third time's the Trix. You're right urchin. It's time to go home.

***21 days of Lucifer Countdown: 21 days until season five. New content daily***

#lucifer morningstar #trixie espinoza #lucifer and trixie #trixstar #lucifer s5 #netflix lucifer #lucifer imagine #third time's the charm #send me an angel #The nicest angel you have #fan fiction #mine #fanfic4ia #21 days of Lucifer

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mantra4ia · 4 years

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One Last Scavenger Hunt

Here’s my beef:

Episode VI: Return of the Jedi - The title of the film, as described be George Lucas, was an illusion about Anakin’s / Vader’s return to the light. Return of the Jedi Anakin, Ben’s idol, whose journey was about saving those he loved.

Enter lots of mirror imagery and redemption in

Episode IX: Rise of the Skywalker - Ben returned to the light in this film, so why doesn’t he get a moment where he can call himself a Skywalker? He could survive, but he would have to part ways with Rey. He needs to lie low in the galaxy because he’s a war criminal. Why can’t Rey go to Tatooine for another reason then just to lay the lightsabers to rest at Luke’s childhood home. One last scavenger hunt. After months of not even a whisper of Ben, Rey follows the force sense to the old Skywalker homestead and the lady says “What’s your name?” / “Rey” / “Rey what?” / “Just Rey” / and then we see a silhouette in a doorway of a man / “And you?” / “Ben...” / Rey turns / We see the force ghosts in the distance as he walked out to be fully illuminated be the twin suns / “Skywalker”

Rey reunites with a penitent Ben on Tatooine trying to rebuild a life.

#star wars spoilers #star wars ix #sw: the rise of skywalker #rise of skywalker #alternate ending #fanfiction #fanfic4ia #mine #Tatooine #tros #save ben solo

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mantra4ia · 4 years

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Leia’s training flashback in “Rise of Skywalker” as it relates to the rift between Ben and his parents

Fandom: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Leia Organa, Han Solo, Luke Skywalker Additional Tags: Star Wars References, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Star Wars - Freeform, POV Ben Solo, Mentioned Palpatine | Darth Sidious Summary:

I’ve seen a few complaints that the Rise of Skywalker still doesn’t give us enough information to go on about why and what caused Ben’s rift with Han and Leia, before he turned to the First Order, in a similar way that The Last Jedi gives us a window into the degradation of Luke and Ben’s relationship, but not a lot on what came before.

I don’t mind that RoS didn’t touch on more of Ben’s past. Firstly, there simply wasn’t the time or place within the span of a day, the Final Order looming ahead. Secondly, and this is the big one, the screenplay doesn’t do well with nuance - it tells us so much about what’s going on through flimsy dialogue, or nothing at all, with no middle ground - and Ben Solo’s backstory deserves nuance. However, Episode IX does show us a nugget of information given to Rey upon which our imaginations can create the fall of Ben Solo into Kylo Ren. This is my tale of those events…

#star wars spoilers #tros teaser #rise of skywalker #references #ben solo #han solo #father and son #leia organa #luke skywalker #kylo ren #ben solo's backstory #the solo family #fanfic4ia #mine

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mantra4ia · 4 years

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There’s No Place Like Home

Chapter 3/3, Conclusion of Part I of “More than One Hell” August 3, 2020

Fandom: Lucifer (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Characters: Lucifer Morningstar, Lucifer's celestial family

Chapter summary: Lucifer thought he had finally escaped exile. After a falling out with his sister Azrael over her plan to reunite Mum and Dad, Lucifer thought she would use her dagger to send him home to Los Angeles. Little did he realize that 'no place like home' had a completely different meaning for her than it did for him, as Lucifer comes face to face with a familiar face.

Series Summary: alternative timeline after the end of season 2. Lucifer regains consciousness (post S2 cliffhanger) with no idea of where he is or how he got there, but by the wings on his back he has the strong impression that he is not alone. Some divine intervention is afoot (Series in Progress)

#21DaysofLucifer

#fanfic4ia #mine #lucifer alternative timeline #lucifer on fox #netflix lucifer #fan fiction #lucifier fanfiction #lucifer morningstar #azrael #21 days of lucifer

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mantra4ia · 7 years

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Hey Lucifans,

When I’m not utterly decimated to shrapnel size pieces about Sense8 being cancelled, I’m trying to write away my sorrow. Here’s the start of a new series of Lucifer fanfic called “More Than One Hell” which introduces a character I’ve been dying to see and that I really hope the writers room develops in season 3. Here’s how I hope her relationship with Lucifer begins, or rather how we first see it unfold. Spoilers beyond this void:

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Dysfunctional family heartbreak Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar sort of, but not what you think... Characters: Lucifer Morningstar, Lucifer's family, Azrael Additional Tags: Work In Progress, Imagine, Protective Lucifer, Angel Wings, Lucifer's Fall, Lucifer's ring, what family truly means, favorite brother Summary:

Lucifer regains consciousness (post S2 finale cliffhanger) with no idea of where he is or how he got there, but by the wings on his back he has the strong impression that he is not alone. (Series in Progress)

"Where am I?" Lucifer's thoughts collected in the dirt as he lifted himself from the hot graveled sands. With every turn his eyes beheld more and more of...nothing. The occasional sandstone shelf, an odd whirlwind of dust, and miserable looking foliage here and there that was either dead or dying. As perplexed as Lucifer was about how he got here and why he was poorly clothed but not quite naked (naked he would understand, he'd woken up hazily from a raging party several times before, wearing only his god given and forsaken grin), the pervasive curiosity endured. "Where on earth am I?" For a moment he was hopeful that if he stared long enough is a single direction that he could just make out the demarcation of the Vegas strip, but the more he witnessed, the clearer a whisper in his thoughts became. "Wrong question," it warned him.

#lucifer on fox #fanfic4ia #mine #mum's universe #spark of creation #death #family reunion #lucifer imagine #lucifer morningstar #lucifer season 3

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mantra4ia · 7 years

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Chapters: 1/1 (1440 Words) Fandom: Lucifer (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: None

Relationships: Trixie Decker & Lucifer Morningstar, trixstar Characters: Lucifer Morningstar, Trixie Decker Additional Tags: Drabble, short summary, Work In Progress, Co-Parenting, Fluff, family friendly humor, Family Feels, Puppy Love, if Lucifer was a sitcom, well more comedic than it is already..., Short One Shot

First treatment synopsis: Inspired in part by Lucifer s2e17 "Sympathy for the Goddess," particularly when Lucifer says, "Who knew translating could be so exhausting?" [whilst Amenadiel is doing the work and Luci is playing the piano and doing absolutely no translating]

Also inspired in part by "Lilo and Stitch," the part where Lilo says "God, send me an angel. The nicest angel you have..." and it cuts right to a silhouette of the demonic-looking Stitch. Somehow that always makes me imagine Trixstar fanfics.

#lucifer fanfiction #drabble #fanfic4ia #mine #lucifer morningstar #trixie espinoza #trixie decker #trixstar #puppy love

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mantra4ia · 7 years

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Started 1.5.2017 (after “The Lying Detective”) / Finished (Before “The Final Problem)”

Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: sherlolly, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes Characters: Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Molly Hooper, John Watson, Culverton Smith, Eurus Holmes, Greg Lestrade Additional Tags: Love, Code Words, Brotherly Love, Ultimatums, Choice, good bottle bad bottle, unspoken companions, Family, What family means Summary:

Sherlock's life has forever been all about choice, but the lesson he's always failed to fully absorb is that sometimes the most valuable choice you possess is deciding not to make one. It's against his very nature, a lackadaisical way of life that is only a rouse for really living. But really, the deeper fear in him to acknowledge no choice at all is to admit that sometimes life and result are out of your hands. Sometimes your friends choose for you.The choices you make are not entirely your own, no more than a single drop of water can claim ownership of the river and all it's currents.

#fanfic4ia #sherlolly #bbc sherlock #fanfic #mine #good bottle #bad bottle #sherlock series 4

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mantra4ia · 6 years

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Tag my heart (Selfie afterward)

By mantra4ia, channeling my inner Amelia Pond

I'm convinced that after the long and prosperous series run that Selfie should have gotten, Heliza would finally have their moment.

Henry and Eliza would have a successful work and dating relationship. Eliza would move in and help Henry loosen up by redecorating his house; Henry would teach Eliza how to cook and generally eat more healthy foods (while he's watching at any rate). The one battle that Henry would never win was getting Eliza to put away her tablet an hour before bed, despite his insistence that the light was detrimental to both her —and more urgently his— sleep, to which Eliza made several age-related quips. But the excessive use of her tablet was not for social platforms. Rather it was because she had (secretly) finally caved and joined Bryn's book club for real, and had curated the reading syllabus for the month. Naturally she picked the books that she'd eyed Henry reading, even the ones she didn't like, in order to rehearse thoughtful conversations about them.

The one battle Eliza would never win was getting Henry to commit to a social media platform other than LinkedIn. He tried Facebook, which was too habit forming, Twitter, Vine, and Snapchat to no avail. YouTube, apart from a few viral videos of Henry breaking it down to K-pop or Eliza filming his yogurt monologues when he wasn't paying attention, quickly bored him. She even tried Tumblr, thinking that it would more suit the "internet language of his generation." His blog turned into an accumulation of fluffy animal videos.

To appease her, Henry fosters an interest in amateur photography, in various styles and using everything — even, reluctantly, a cameraphone— and posts various projects on Instagram. Eliza is his first follower. His favorite photos are long exposure shots, and his favorites among those are long exposure portaits of her, though he actually shares very few of those on Instagram because he likes keeping them for himself and Liza to share. As his skills get progressively better, he gains more followers.

One day Henry finally concedes. At the end of a long Wednesday-after-work-hike (which, contrary to accumulated historical data of several coupling websites, Henry does enjoy and which Eliza begrudgingly always agrees upon because she enjoys getting coffee with Henry afterward), he takes out his phone and asks Eliza to please help him take a golden hour selfie for his Instagram because he is abhorrently terrible and she has incredibly long arms that would put a selfie stick to shame. She agrees on two conditions: that she gets to photo bomb the selfie, and that he credits her by tagging her in the caption. Henry nods. Eliza takes care for a few moments longer than she normally would, first to adjust the aperture to let in just the right amount of sun, to frame herself in the foreground and Henry behind her just so. She's proud of Henry and admires his photos, ergo she's a little nervous about making this one just as good. It matters a good deal because he wanted her to take it. So she doesn't try to make a pouty sexy face or squint seductively. Eliza shifts a half step toward the side of the frame and smiles. A soft, simple smile because she is genuinely happy. And she is fully in the moment, forgetting the phone entirely....

Until a second later, roused by the app alert of a camera snap, turning to Henry, she self-consciously fiddles with his phone before handing it back to him, and casually (as if an afterthought) says, "let me know if it's horrible and I'll take another one before the light changes." Eliza was too in the moment to overanalyze if the photo was actually focused as she'd intended.

She watches anxiously as Henry runs his hands over the knees of his joggers. Henry eyes the photo with interest. It shows all of him, almost a silhouette but with just the right level detail against the brightness of their backdrop, and exactly half of Eliza's face and all her beauty, framed in short red hair, with her arm reaching back as if to find him. "No, this is exactly what I want. Thanks." He remarks cooly.

A little too cooly, Eliza reckons; he doesn't like the picture. "Okay well..." she tries to bury her apprehension within competitiveness, "don't forget to tag me so that I can regram it. I want to see which one of us can get more likes."

"Okay," is all that Henry replies while emersed in his phone, tapping away at the caption, and that's what really sends Eliza spiraling. Knowing Henry, and his adamant commitment to lecturing her about keeping their social media lives and real lives as separate as possible, she makes a play for his phone. But not before he'd managed to finish his post.

"Oh God, how bad is it? Did I blink, am I sweat-shiny, can you see up my nose? You better not be sharing my nasal passages with the world, Henry. My nasal cavity, my business."

"It's nothing like that, I promise. Take a look for yourself, I tagged it for you like you wanted." Just then Henry's phone starts exploding with alert tones, and Eliza, no longer able to conceal her mortification, whips out the matching phone from her hiking arm band.

Instagram could not open fast enough.

Her notifications were intent on loading more slowly than the lumbering accountants disembarking the office elevator on the second floor just moments from the lobby.

The spinning queue wheel was about to make her lose her mind.

When the picture finally appears, Eliza drops her phone. Henry obligingly bends down to pick it up and sweeps his hands over his joggers, just as he had a moment before, to wipe away any tell-tale sign of trail dust.

As the phone shares the space of both their hands at once, Henry is the first to break the silence. "Please put me out of my misery and tell me that I tagged you, not some other Dooley."

Eliza laughs and looks down to admire the photo again; even as it was gets more blurry with each hazy, misty blink and the world IRL grows darker around them, the words below Henry's photo stand out loud and LCD clear.

"@the_doolio can do just about anything, but will Eliza Dooley say 'I do' to yours truly?"

"Definitely the right Dooley. No denying that." She couldn't stop smiling, just like in the photo. The photo that shows only part of her face and her dishelved sweaty hike-hair, her arm swung back to where, just out of reach and unbeknownst to Eliza, Henry held a small box on one knee.

"As our company's leading sales rep and social media presence, I would really like your...feedback." Henry waited patiently as the photo's popularity exploded: 2K, then 3K, and comments rolling in faster than Eliza could read, including one all caps remark from Mr. Saperstein to the effect of JUST DO IT ✔️. "Feel free to...regram at any time."

"It is, by far, the worst caption I have ever read. It is pun-y and redundant..." Henry's palms began to sweat waiting for Eliza's insta-response that was anything but instant. Instead she kissed Henry, put down her phone, and said, "and I do."

#abc selfie #henry higgs #eliza dooley #tag my heart #fanfic4ia #mine #afterward by amelia pond...i mean #fan fiction #selfie fan fiction

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