#he can have one mote of joy as a treat

[teex]

Z scores his first goal post-Jamie | ANA vs LAK 04.10.24

#three months later #he can have one mote of joy as a treat #trevor zegras #nhl #ducks #oyb gifs #the look back and tiny hesitation #does he do a big celly or stay stoic #thank god he goes for a celly w the boys

[writing-good-vibes]

Hiii, so, for the Valentine's Day drabbles! Could you pretty please write the number 8 (Teddy Bear) from the fluffy prompts with Corey x Reader? That would be amazing! And it can be whatever you come up with, I'll be happy either way. Thank you so much for doing this and take all the time you need; even if it's past V-Day! You always come first, please remember that. Take care! <3 <3 <3

ahhh thank you for requesting !! 🥰 and for being sooo sweet, i really appreciate it !! happy valentine's day 💗 i hope you enjoy reading, because i really, really enjoyed writing this one !! no WARNINGS, only post accident!corey x gn!reader and fluff 💗

🧸 very cute divider by @/plutism 🧸

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

Three whole years. That's how long you and Corey had been together. Three years but every time he held your hand in his you felt those sparks , every hug made you melt into the soft, safe, serene embrace of his big arms, and every kiss, tender and tentative, felt just like the first.

You remembered the first Valentine's day you and Corey had spent together. In the weeks leading up to it, you'd catch Corey looking at the Valentine's display; candy in heart-shaped boxes, bouquets of somehow permanently wilting roses, teddy bears with plush hearts clutched in their paws proclaiming I love you!

He'd blush if he caught you watching him, and would hurry up to the counter to let you ring up his pre-dinner snacks. He was cute. Opening the M&M's, he offers the bag to you, pouring you a handful to eat while you waited for your shift to end.

When the day finally arrived, you exchanged cards, half excited and half embarrassed. You went on break and sat outside on the curb with Corey, fingers intertwined and sharing one of the novelty heart-shaped lollipops you'd pilfered from the display. Smiling, you licked over the same spot Corey just had.

The next year, Corey had to work in the morning but clocked out at lunch, and you caught the Valentine's matinee at the movies.

He still smelt vaguely of car grease, you can see the spots of it that will never fully wash out of his henley, but when he holds your hand his fingers are scrubbed spotlessly pink.

It was quiet in the theatre, exactly what you expected for a weekday afternoon and perfect for Corey who hating being perceived in public, and the two of you sat at the back of the theatre sharing a bucket of popcorn and a bag of Hershey's Kisses as the dust motes, caught in the light of the projector, float around you.

Watching Corey is just as good as watching any movie. You can see the way his eyes track the movement of screen, that way you can tell exactly when he'll reach for more popcorn, and how he bites his lip in concentration.

Joy paints your cheeks as your lips meet Corey's in the dim darkness.

This year though, even though you were expecting another beautifully laidback date, Corey told you that he'd begged his step-dad to let him have the whole day off work this year, without telling his Momma, and that he had made plans for you guys.

Plans?

"We don't have to do anything big," you assured him, ringing up today's selection of treats; chocolate milk, a slim jim and some skittles. "I just like spending time with you."

"I know," he promised. "All I ever want is to spend time with you, but I want to treat you too." He rips open the skittles and pours some out into your hand.

On Valentine's morning, you open your door and find yourself face to face with the fluffiest brown fur. Corey stands with a teddy bear in his hands, and in the teddy's hands a velvety red heart proclaims, "I love you!"

You didn't recognise it as one you sold at the gas station, although it was similar. Had he gone somewhere else to buy it for you? The thought gets to you more than you might expect, thinking about Corey wandering the aisles of the Walmart, or the Dollar General, or even venturing to the mall in the next town over. Corey hated going anywhere.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Corey says, handing you the teddy.

"Oh, Corey! He's so cute! Happy Valentine's Day," you pull him into a hug before you can even take the bear from him.

Corey throws one strong arm around you, you can feel his broad hand half-cover the expanse of your back through your shirt. Warm and safe.

When you part, you look down at the teddy again. Holding it beneath its armpits, you bring it to your face, nuzzling the chestnut-brown fur of its face. "Does he have a name?" you ask.

"He's for you, I think you're supposed to pick his name." Corey hasn't stopped blushing, even when you take his big hand in yours and lead him into your apartment. He settles on your couch, ready to wait while you finish getting ready.

"Hmm," you consider your options. The bear looks straight out of a story book with wide glass eyes and a felt snout, his fur really is chestnut-brown and swirls into little rosebud curls. "His name is Corey."

Boy-Corey's eyes are as wide and bright as Bear-Corey's when you look at him. "Are you sure? You don't have to --."

Corey's arms circle your waist when you sit in his lap, his legs spreading just slightly to cradle your weight, "You're the only person I want to cuddle, now I have something almost as cuddly as the real thing for when you're not here." Bear-Corey is nestled between the two of you, as if to prove your point.

One corner of Corey's lips quirk upwards, then the other, as a grin splits his face. Pleased, proud, he squeezes you tight, hiding his smile against your chest. You indulge him, petting at his hair and over his broad shoulders while he breaths you in, humming happily.

God, how badly you want to hold Corey like this forever, where you know he's safe, and loved, and you don't have to think about anything but the pinkness of his cheeks and the softness of his lips.

"So," you finally say, softly, reluctant to disturb this most perfect moment, but mindful of Corey having mentioned plans. "What romance awaits us for the rest of the day?"

on the topic of fluffy romance, you should also read:

first of many by blake (@/slutforstabbings). a little bit angsty, but watch corey and reader be obliviously in love.

amusement park date by toxic (@/toxicanonymity). toxic is a woman of many talents; she can write fluff just as well as she writes smut.

#corey cunningham x reader #💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗 #did i use this as an excuse to write the fluffiest sweetest lovecore relationship possible ?? yes i did. #holding hands supremacy. giggly romance. sharing candy and afternoon movies #but also cuteness aggression 😳 #i hope you enjoyed reading !! 💗💗💗💗

[lightningandfireinmybones]

Okay besties!!! I love the vibe we have going in here. Might I also throw in my two cents because regarding the whole Rhaegar / Lyanna thing, I have some thoughts as well?

So... I think that no matter how you slice it, it could never and would never have worked out. Not only was Lyanna a child (older than say Dany when she was sold to Drogo yet still a child) but also Rhaegar never treated her as an equal.

I find it very hard to believe that the She- wolf, Lyanna Stark herself, the Knight of the Laughing Tree, the girl that was so head strong that Ned is reminded of her when seeing Arya train with Syrio, the same girl that so earnestly and gently was moved by Rhaegar's sad songs at Harenhall, that she would be on board with fulfilling some grand prophesy.

Because the good version of events is that Rhaegar was forthcoming about the prophecy. He was the Heir, he was slowly and under the table making moves to remove Aerys from the throne and since his youth he was conceived that he could recreate the three heads of the dragon. (being born during a horrific accident that leaves almost everyone dead and was maybe caused by your grandfather in an attempt to revive dragons will mess you up I guess)

So when Elia could no longer safely give him that third child he looked elsewhere.

The bad version, and one that I am mote inclined to believe is that Rhaegar didn't tell Lyanna of the prophecy. He was sent to find the Knight of the Laughing Tree, he found her in the God's Eye and that's how the mess started. Lyanna was already infatuated with him (iirc the grand feast had been the night before and that's when she'd heard him sing)

In addition to that, he was the Prince and the Heir. You don't have to be Cersei to get blinded by that.

The whole dynamic was completely off. Rhaegar knew what he was doing. He knew the consequences and that's why he took her and kept her at the tower of Joy, otherwise he'd just have a bastard, or keep her as a paramour. But he knew how outrageous something like that would be.

He had an opportunity to "give" Lyanna back and he didn't.

Instead he started a war that ended with the brutal rape and murder of Elia and his already existing babies and poor teenage Lyanna all alone in Dorne.

Idk what Elia knew or though or didn't think but i believe that GRRM means for us to be very suspicious of R+L.

Besides throughout his book despite insisting upon the very young age of his characters (mainly girls) when being introduced to sexual situations the narrative always condemns them. For more thoughts on this let me suggest this video

ht tps: //youtu . be/QnYa0zSDl7o by Hill's Alive. It's her thoughts on this exact topic and I thing she makes some valid points.

Targaryen men and their prophecies and their ease to cast away their living children in favour of more future kids. The only thing that can bring the fall of the house of the dragon is the delusion of some of their Kings istg.

In the end no matter what one's thoughts on the R+L thing is (All opinions are valid and respected 🖤🖤 let's allow room for everyone) we can all joyfully be united under our hatred and rage over Aegon being Jon's name in the show. Rhaegar already had an Aegon! He was going for a Visenya!!! D&D kind of forgot about that i guess.

(besides aegon is so basic couldn't they do sth sexier? Side eye)

bestie you just do not miss

because whether you believe rhaegar to be a master manipulator (i am somewhat inclined towards that,,, growing up as the crown prince knowing you will probably have to usurp your father,,, you're not unaware of the moves you have to make) or not, there is something inherently unsettling about the way he approaches lyanna

his tragic background also indicates he had to grow up faster, should be mature enough to know exactly what he was doing!! (also that art piece released recently from the calendar i think with rhaegar and lyanna on the cover,,, the vibes are haunting which is very interesting to me)

and i think it's just like a man like rhaegar to think he is this savior and be determined to fulfill a prophecy that actually has far-reaching horrific implications on everyone around him with zero regards for the consequences (especially to the women,,, his wife is raped and murdered, his daughter is murdered, lyanna is left to die alone in childbirth, his mother is alone on dragonstone giving birth to his sister in terrifying conditions)

THAT VIDEO DOES NOT MISS, i think at the very least thinking critically about how and why it's presented like that is important

and all opinions and interpretations and shipping are respected in this house bc fandom and media is a very safe place to explore ideas and kinks and fantasies and i am a staunch supporter of rights and wrongs both being fun and important while also being aware there are implications and critical thinking to do at the same time

for real, i think a consistent theme is the hubris of men (particularly targ men: daemon, aemond, maegor, aegon I, etc) being their inevitable downfall LIKE WE GET IT YOU'RE HOT AND SPECIAL BUT PLS HAVE SOME NUANCE AND CRITICAL THINKING SKILLS

and i feel connected in this chilis tonight over rage for how D&D just gave up on any critical thinking about some of the more difficult concepts in the end, i know it's hard to give any targaryen a better name than aegon but sweaties i can think of at least 4 off the top of my head:')

EXACTLY HE NEEDED A WARRIOR PLS

(also this is just my pure want thing here is that if he's trying to recreate the 3 heads of the dragon, the third head should be a hot warrior woman,,, jon snow eat rocks give me a dark magic queen instead)

#bestie you wow me everytime #this is a very nuanced take on it and pls i think it's incredible #shipping and fandom are fun and valid for everyone #but mostly just fuck robert and rhaegar #i blame them for all my problems #like the red wedding robb my sweet #ask

[theramseyloft]

After Ankhou died, I have had a very hard time keeping up with both manual loft maintenance and media work.

Manual loft maintenance is the higher priority of the two, so that's were the energy I have has been focused.

The birds are happy, but I have failed to advertise availability for two months.

The birds currently available do not meet the specifications of anyone on my wait list, and to prevent the loft from getting crowded, we've frozen rescue intake and implemented strict hatch control.

Breeding pairs on the roster are only permitted to hatch their first clutch with another bird also on the roster.

Every subsequent clutch will be swapped with fakes at least until all currently available cocks go home.

As I am not caught up on editing photos yet, I will have to make due with listing the name, parents, and temperament of available birds.

Please message me privately, email [email protected], or call/text 706-993-7452 for more information.

1. Raddish

Mia x Cara

Retired. ($20)

Was friendly as a young bird, but has not had the opportunity to express temperament in Qt.

Not to be bred under any circumstance due to one known and a second possible cancer in his blood line.

2. Wukong

Blue Check Chinese Owl cock

Loft Bird $30.

Wukong is an excellent father that will definitely benefit a breeding program.

He's very human shy, unless his mate isn't.

Chances of him bonding with a patient person that will let him make friends at his own pace are decent, but I can't guarantee it in good conscience.

3. Farthing

Pied Almond Blue T-pattern het for Toy Stencil mixed cock.

Betty x Hagrid

Comfortable ($50)

A bit of a himbo, Farthing is one of our better known cocks.

He likes people and often gets in my lap or on my shoulder, when not distracted by being the loft bi-cycle.

He's pretty and sweet, but Giant Homer and Frillback ancestry make him a big boy with long flights and tail feathers that will need a lot of room.

4. Leela

Khaki T-pattern mixed hen

Cody x Rigby

Comfortable ($50)

Leela is a mellow little sweety that likes my lap and shoulders.

She's a great pumper, but chain lays and starts a new clutch INCREDIBLY early! Leaving nestlings well fed, but largely unguarded.

5. Todoroki

Tippler

Sooty Ash Red Bar cock

Rescue ($20)

Todoroki is an EXTREMELY high energy breed that will need a LOT of space to free fly most of the time.

He would be happier in a loft than as an indoor pet.

6. Amiga

Blue T-pattern mix hen

Pippin x Cookie

Retired ($20)

Amiga is going to be a pain.

She hates people to the point of trying to break herself to get away from them, and she cannot under any circumstance be allowed to hatch an egg.

She provides her own hatch control by nest cup dancing on her hatchlings. She has been given two chances to hatch clutches, and eviscerated all three peeps this way.

So she will need to be housed in a loft with minimal interaction other than obsessively switching her eggs with fakes.

7. Dolly

Blue Bar mixed hen

Pippin x Cookie

Loft Bird ($30)

Dolly is her sister Amiga's opposite in almost every way.

She's only retired from my program because she's the hen on the roster that likes people the least.

She is an amazing, devoted mother and would make a fantastic foster hen.

8. Wess

Blue tailmark mixed cock

Wukong x Suki

Curious ($40)

Wess is shy and dislikes being approached directly, but often chills nearby preening my clothing and occasionally hops up on my knee.

He is a TERRIBLE dad! It took him two weeks to start helping Dolly feed their nestlings and never sat on them when they were little enough to need it.

9. Arco

Pied Ash Red T-pattern mixed cock

Vito x Cookie

Loft Bird ($30)

Arco is uninterested in people, but not afraid of them.

He'd be a good partner for a nervous rescue bird, or an absolutely amazing foster dad!

He's devoted to his mate and her nest and doesn't start shit with flock mates once he's settled.

10. Bridget

Blue T-pattern feral cock

Rescue ($20)

This is the boy we found with a broken wing and foot on the sidewalk under an overpass.

He's healed entirely and though flighty and skittish, gets along very well with his flockmates.

Like Arco, he takes a mate, picks a nest, settles, and doesn't start shit.

He'd make an excellent foster or partner for a skittish rescue.

11. Scan

Pied ash red cock

Cherub x Tandy

Loft Bird ($30)

Scan is Cherub and Tandy's first hatch.

I was initially going to keep him, but his brother, Nimbus, has a better temperament.

Scan is a flamboyantly aggressive pain in the ass, constantly starting shit with established pairs to earn himself a spot in the hierarchy.

He'd likely mellow out with fewer birds, but isn't interested in being social with me, so I don't think he'd be the best house pet.

12. Acer

Ash Red T-pattern mixed cock

Pippin x Cookie

Loft Bird ($30)

Acer's classification as a loft bird is maintained by technicality.

He has to come in after repeatedly attacking nestlings.

If he does it again with different ones when he goes out on Thursday, his status will be changed to Retired foe unusually severe aggression.

This seems to be a pattern developing in the Pippin x Cookie line...

Which is going to make the birds afflicted hard to place.

13. Bell

Blue T-pattern mixed hen

Pippin x Cookie

Loft Bird ($30)

Bell is the same intense degree of skittish as the rest of her siblings, but gets along well with her flock mates.

She has the best chance of them of being ok as a house bird, but she'd honestly be happiest either in a loft or with a bird friend.

14. Rusty

Pied Ash Red T-pattern mixed cock

Ginger x Danica

Curious ($40)

Rusty is an energetic boy with places to be and stuff to explore!

He occasionally lands on my shoulder or head, or hops briefly up into my lap

He isn't afraid of people, but not liking to hold still makes him hard to interact with.

He's very fun to watch, though, and would be a good match for any one who wanted an independent bird.

15. Checkers

Pied blue check mixed cock

Ginger x Danica

Loft Bird ($30)

Checkers is less interested in people than his brother, Rusty.

He's energetic, gorgeous, and fun to watch, and would make a lovely addition to a pet loft.

He probably wouldn't enjoy being a house bird unless he had a hen to interact with.

He's very combative with other cocks, and has not yet learned the virtue of "Don't start none, won't be none."

16. Frieda

Khaki tailmark mixed hen

Wukong x Suki

Comfortable ($50)

Frieda, though not super outgoing, is friendly in spite of her shyness.

She often gets up in my lap to loaf, but doesn't like being reached for, even with treats.

If you just want warm, quiet company while you read, watch videos, or do desk work, she'll be an excellent match for you.

17. Berry

Pied blue bar hen

Cherub x Tandy

Loft Bird ($30)

Berry is not remotely interested in hanging out with me. She isn't even curious.

She's not afraid by any stretch, she just would rather do literally anything but interact with me.

With lots of enrichment or another bird, she could be ok inside, or she'd make a pretty loft bird.

18. Shinobi

Black pied mixed hen

Leonard x Elliot

Comfortable ($50)

Like most of her siblings, Shinobi is friendly and interested in people, but too energetic to really hold still for long.

She is sweet and polite about taking treats when she feels like it.

She'd be quite happy as a house bird with lots of flight time.

19. Mote

Blue check mixed hen

Wukong x Suki

Curious ($40)

Mote is shy and reserved, but mostly seems overwhelmed by how many of her older and younger flockmates want to be in my lap or on my shoulders at any given time.

When my lap is free, she will usually hop up unto it and loaf for a bit.

She has a good chance of coming out of her shell as a house pet.

20. Tye

Pied tiger grizzle ash red cock

Ginger x Danica

Loft Bird ($30)

Tye is a drop dead gorgeous little man, the spit'n image of his father, Ginger.

He's not afraid of people, but literally everything else is more interesting.

Being a roller and tumbler mix, he's a delightfully acrobatic flier who is a joy to watch.

He'd be a striking addition to a pet loft, or, with enough enrichment or a friend provided, a great addition to a household.

21. Slate

Dirty, smoky blue bar mixed hen.

Satin x Chiffon

Interactive ($60)

Slate's brother, Cotta, is my new therapy prospect.

Slate is mellow and sweet tempered, happily accepts treats, and occasionally tries to play with my fingers like she would a stick.

She's quite happy to loaf in my lap and occasionally lets me stroke her little neck with a fingertip.

22. Flint

Blue check mixed cock

Nobu x Leela

Comfortable ($50)

Flint is a sweet little man that has started jumping into my lap at every opportunity, and often flailing his way up to loaf on my chest.

He accepts treats politely when he feels like it, but doesn't try to play with me yet.

I told y'all there were a TON of birds available. XD

I'll do my best to update this post as there are updates to make, but 22 is WAY more birds ready for homes than I'm really ok with having, especially with winter on the way.

It's my own fault for failing to advertise that they were available as soon as they became available.

Now I'm just going to have to wait before I can do any more rescue work or hatch peeps out for the people on my wait list.

Back to playing catch up...

[avversiera-writes]

try again; in everyday we breathe life [tobirama senju/you] - chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Then

Summary: some comedy,, more doing the deedddd, some comedic relief, hah! light-hearted stuff while the glaring dramatic irony lingers

Word Count: ~4k

Author’s Note: ik ik it’s been a while! almost done tho. thank you for reading <3

also on AO3.

Chapter 1 - Now | Chapter 2 - Then, part 1 | Chapter 2 - Then, part 2 | Chapter 3 - Now | 

Tobirama is busy meeting with delegates from Kumogakure, and you are stuck being a wife in your own home, trying not to get embarrassed in front of the servants as you talk about replacing the broken bed in your room and changing the curtains around the house, or some other household detail that needs attending. You also talk with the cook in the kitchen about dinner, as Tobirama’s students are going to come over tonight, and you want to make sure that the food will be up to their tastes. 

  You trudge through your day until past noon, deciding that it is a good time to drop by the Hokage mansion to get your stubborn husband to eat something. The more Tobirama gets busy, the more he ignores the simplest ways to sustain himself. It is even harder to get him off when he is hard at work and is very focused on his tasks. He has a way of zeroing in on whatever he is doing, and while he is quite efficient at it, hours can pass him by before he even considers taking a break. 

This part of Tobirama, you admire and loathe him for it, because he rarely thinks about taking care of himself. It has always been work for him, and you know that he enjoys it more than anything, despite the stress that it brings him. 

  Now that you have taken a step back from being an active shinobi, you are able to look after him in your own way. There are times he resists being looked after, but after some pushing and prodding on your part, he would grudgingly accept it. 

  Being married to him and getting to know more sides of him is thrilling, and it makes you fall for him even more. 

In your bedroom, preparing to drop by the Hokage office, you study your clothes, deciding which kimono you should wear and which outer robe or pair of sandals you want to match it with. You have never really thought about fashion that much, because you often opted for practical clothing. Now that you are the Hokage's wife, you know you have to look the part, and also, it does not hurt to wear something pretty for your husband. 

  After deciding with a light green kimono with a slit on the left leg, and pairing a yellow outer coat to complement it, you step out of the bedroom to head down the kitchen. 

  The house is quiet, except for the quiet footsteps just outside the house, indicating that the servants of the house are keeping away to give you some privacy. You really do not mind their company, but they are gone before you can express your sentiments. 

You make a mental note to change that. Despite being in a village where classes of people are blurred, it seems to be different within clans. You know that some of the Senju have married with the common folk and into other clans, but since the two heads of the clan are Hokage, that part of the family is treated almost like royalty. 

  You shake your head. Hierarchies were the least of your problems, especially one that involves family. In the shinobi world, it is simpler, and there are many opportunities to move up your rank. Whereas, being part of the more mundane life, it is a whole different world from what you knew. 

  You uncover the pan where the cook had left the fried fish that Tobirama likes and you begin to pack it into a box, along with rice and some side dishes that he sometimes eats along with this kind of dish. You prepare his tea, and a few rice cakes, then you wrap everything into a nice blanket to make it easier to carry. 

Footsteps approach the long kitchen, and you whirl around, only to spot Miura Kimiko. 

  “My lady, I am so sorry to interrupt!” Kimiko expresses. 

“Oh, it’s you,” you greet. You throw a smile at the last minute to reassure that there is nothing to worry about. You are completely caught off-guard by her presence, since no one is really around you at the moment. “I have been meaning to talk to you.” 

  Kimiko smiles kindly. “Really?” 

  You let out a nervous giggle. “Well, it turns out that I may need your help after all. You know, with the...” You trail off and you give Kimiko an embarrassed look. 

Kimiko’s face lights up in joy, and you finally let out a genuine smile. “That’s great, my lady!” 

  You press a hand to your forehead and laugh. “I had no idea that he would be so quick to decide. He seemed very eager.” 

Kimiko laughs, and you take Tobirama’s wrapped lunch. 

“I see,” Kimiko walks towards you, and pauses at the cupboards. “I will have to make a quick trip to the market. We can talk later, and I can show you and give you your first batch of tea for fertility purposes. Then, along the way, we’ll talk of the supplements that will ensure a healthy birth.” 

You meet her eyes. “Thank you, Kimiko-san. I really appreciate this.” You give her a small bow. “I will put my trust in you.” 

  “I am honored, my lady,” Kimiko replies, and from there, you leave her be in the kitchen to make your way towards the Hokage office.

//

There was some waiting to be done, once you get in the Hokage office. The mansion is flourishing with many people, delegates and their aides that have been authorized to stay there for the duration of their visit. It seems that peace negotiations are coming along well, judging by the atmosphere of the place. There is no tension that you feel. You hope that Tobirama’s alliance with Kumo will come along soon, though you foresee the many months of more political talks that will ail his office hours. 

  Sensing that Tobirama will not be available immediately, you tell one of his guards that you will be waiting in the library for him, and make your way there. 

You smile at the familiar sight, the moment you step in. It has been a while since you have been here, in this place, where you and Tobirama had spent a lot of your earlier years together, and where your love probably first budded from. You learned more from each other through observation and silence, and of course, your nonstop banter that somehow turned into a dance of flirtationship. 

  It seems so long ago. 

You look to the table where the two of you had spent countless hours poring over research books, record books and writing into scrolls and manuscripts about plans for the growing Academy. This place has evolved–it used to be smaller. There are now more bookshelves that are being filled with newer books, and the restricted section, only accessible to those jounin level and higher, are also growing, no doubt due to your husband’s non-stop inventions. He had a huge hand in writing a lot of academic research and theory that will certainly help the future generations. That is what he is hoping for, after all, to build something that will last. 

You finally sit at your table, where dust is gathering and swirling in motes due to the sunlight peering in from the window. There is a clock at the back of the library, and it clicks loudly, echoing in the dusty, warm place to signal the passing time. 

  You trace a finger on the table, remembering that Tobirama found it childish that you doodle on random things, and then you remember telling him off and to mind his own business. 

“What are you smiling about?” Tobirama’s voice interrupts your thoughts and you turn your head to his direction. He comes closer and he glances at the table, probably coming into a realization. “I see. You were a bit of a terror back then.” 

Tobirama sits across from you, and you notice that he is wearing his Hokage clothes. 

“Long day?” You ask. 

  “The day has not even begun to start,” Tobirama sighs, and he begins to roll his sleeves back. “It is hard to keep track of the delegates coming in and out, and harder to make sure that our own delegates in Kumo are not messing up anything.” 

“Well, have a little faith,” you tell him. 

  Tobirama rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure a little faith will do it. One of them, by the way, is my eldest nephew, and he is everything Hashirama is and none of his mother’s tact and charm.” 

  “Your brother is charming, stop it.” You crack a smile. 

  Tobirama narrows his eyes at you as he unpacks the lunch you have brought him. “Yes, he has charm, and he is sunshine and all about inspiration, that will dazzle the leaders of Kumogakure.”

You roll your eyes. “This is a good thing. He gets to show off the youthfulness that peaceful times can only bring.”

  If Tobirama could laugh out loud, this moment would be it. However, he lets out a huff of breath with a small smile, his version of being amused. “Perhaps. That ought to be the winning argument.” 

You let Tobirama eat in peace, and instead, decide to wander around the library to find the old places you used to crash into when you and Tobirama had to pull all-nighters, or when you just needed some space from him being a blunt asshole. You pull out the books that he used to recommend you, and flip through the pages where he had left tiny notes and markers for you to find. All of them, you have kept and preserved. 

  Back then, you found this part of Tobirama confusing and annoying, because he keeps passing you one book after another in the guise of studying it, but now that you think about it, this was his way of letting you know that he was interested. You remember the folded papers and bookmarks that would fall out when you open them, and your miffedness from trying to collect them from the ground. You were convinced that Tobirama was out to get you. 

“You know what, husband, I take it back. You were a bit of a charmer back then,” you note as you sense him approaching. You slide the book back into its shelf, creating a cleaner path from the dust.

  “And you were quite mean,” Tobirama says with a hint of mock wonder. “What were your words? That I was a senile, arrogant bastard who can go stick–”

  “Alright, alright,” you interrupt and shoot him a glare. “I said I take it back.” 

  “Yes, but my poor heart,” Tobirama sarcastically replies. 

You look at him, feigning bewilderment. “Are you joking around with me? Wow ! You are capable of such things!” 

  Tobirama smirks. “I am capable of many things.” 

You scoff. “Your audacity at this moment, Lord Nidaime.” 

  Tobirama does not even look like there is a hint of shame on that proud, stoic face of his. 

You bite back a smirk, and the two of you stare at each other for a short moment. The air between you changes, and before you know it, Tobirama is pushing you against the bookshelves, his mouth on yours, and his rough hands slipping through the slit of your kimono to grope your hips. You hear books fall to the floor and scrolls rolling on its surface, and your hand goes above your head to find some sort of purchase. 

“Maybe I should have done this earlier and saved us the confusion of finding out if we really did like each other,” Tobirama roughly whispers into your ear. 

  “If you did, I would have certainly, absolutely have stabbed my katana into your–” 

Tobirama steals your last words by pushing his tongue through your mouth and you moan, pleased. 

“Can you really afford to waste time like this?” You gasp as Tobirama delves into your neck intensely. 

  “I’m the Hokage,” Tobirama answers curtly. 

  “Some abuse of power right there.” 

You close your eyes as Tobirama’s hands cup your ass and presses you against his body, where you can feel his half-aroused erection. You grind against him, and he pushes you into the bookshelf again, where you can feel the edge of the shelves pressing against your back. 

“Haven’t you had enough?” You ask him beguilingly. 

Tobirama stares at you with a serious expression, and something about it makes you weak. “Of you?” He plants a tender kiss on your lips. “If you begin to impose too much.” 

  You roll your eyes. “Alright, goodbye. I’ll see you at home. Enjoy your erection.” 

You attempt to leave his grasp, but he steadies you in one place with firm hands. 

“Where are you going, and with this cut in your clothing? Let’s put it into good use, shall we?” Tobirama says in a low voice. 

  He whirls you around, and hikes up your clothes up to your hips. The cool air makes you shiver, and you grab onto a shelf to steady yourself. Tobirama is taller, and he is pulling you against himself, making your balance unsteady. 

  Your husband runs a hand between your thighs, and you can’t help but moan when he begins to rub his fingers against your heat. He stops, and then you hear quick shuffling of clothes behind you. You reach behind you to feel Tobirama and you let out a low chuckle when you realize that he has opted to shed his Hokage robes. 

“You have got it bad, Lord Nidaime,” you murmur. 

  “Yes, poor me, whatever shall I do now,” he says quickly. He grips your hip and positions it so that he can perfectly align against your entrance. 

  Then, he slips in, and you let out a long drawn moan as he sheathes himself inside you completely. 

  You hear him murmur curses, and you gasp as he rears back, only to slam himself back in with a precision that immediately paints your vision white. You forget you have legs, and you almost fall down as Tobirama begins to thrust into you unforgivingly. You let out a cry, and his hand quickly slaps over your mouth. 

  You hear his harsh breaths, getting louder and faster. Your lower back curves a little bit more, and the angle changes, and Tobirama begins to pound the spot that makes your body buck into him wildly. 

With nothing to support yourself, you accidentally tear the shelf in half above your head, and more books come crashing into the floor. Tobirama moves the two of you away from the mess, and he plasters you against the wall. You can only gasp as he resumes his fucking, and the slick sounds of skin against skin, of the neck-breaking speed that Tobirama snaps his hips to, makes you come so hard that you only remember worrying about the roof or the floor caving in until Tobirama places you on a table, and begins to fuck you there. 

  You cry out, slewing curses with a creativity that only comes when you are high. 

The table beneath you breaks, and Tobirama lowers your conjoined bodies onto the floor. You hold on to his shoulders, and lean back as he uses his tongue and his lips trace your neck and to plant light bruises there. You grind into him, chasing another high, and you end up pulling at his hair to expose more of his neck. 

You suck on the side of his neck, and his hands on your hips begin to guide you into a slow, agonizing rhythm. Finally, the two of you kiss, and Tobirama gives you a hard thrust upwards that sends your legs flailing, and you feel his cock twitch inside you as he breeds you with his hot seed. 

“Oh my gods,” you murmur, but you are not sure if you have said it out loud. 

Tobirama is still breathing harshly against your shoulder, and he is holding onto you like a tight coil. You feel his heart thundering against his chest, and as you come to, Tobirama shows no sign of letting up his grip. Slowly, you run a hand down his arm to soothe him. You give light kisses on the side of his face, and you continue to caress him gently. 

"Too much?" You ask teasingly. 

  Tobirama coughs, and even that sounds embarrassed. "We're really doing this." 

  "It hasn't set in yet, huh?" 

Tobirama squeezes your waist with his arms as his reply and you rest your head on his shoulder. 

  "Are you going to let go of me?" You ask tentatively. 

Tobirama lets out a sigh and you stifle a giggle. It is rare to catch a very soft Tobirama. 

  "Are you not tired?" Tobirama asks. 

  "No, not at all." You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. "Are you? Is your age catching up?"

  Tobirama scoffs and he immediately scowls. "I am not that old, and I can go for more if you want." 

You lean towards him languorously, a victorious smile spreading across your lips. "Yes, but you have a job to do." 

Tobirama slowly eases you off of him. "They can wait. I think I'll get a chronic migraine because of some hard to please delegates." 

  "With that expression of yours, one might think you already do," you can't resist saying back.

Tobirama stares at you blankly. "Now I get why people are wondering why I married you,” he deadpans. 

  “I beg to differ, Lord Nidaime, I’m quite the catch,” you smile cheekily as you watch Tobirama’s ears flush pink. 

You give your husband a few quick kisses on the lips before he can react, and you move away to stand up and gather yourself.

  “Whoah.” Your legs wobble slightly as you take a step.

  Tobirama catches you by the elbow, and you feel your face blush from his action. 

“Careful,” he warns. 

  “Right,” you say in a quiet voice. You survey the damage and you swallow nervously. “Um...I am going to stay here, and clean up and also make sure that I do not look like I just got mugged.”

Tobirama throws you a dirty look as he searches for his clothes. “Don’t worry about the mess, I will take care of it.” 

  “I was talking about myself,” you run a hand through your hair. 

Tobirama quickly puts on his clothes, and you watch him, surrounded by the broken bookshelves and the books littered on the floor. You can sense that the two of you are panicking about getting caught, or having someone walk in here, especially when the Hokage mansion is housing so many people. 

“You’re the worst,” you blurt out. 

  Tobirama raises an eyebrow and slides on his sandals. His serious expression becomes funnier as his hard features begin to morph into helplessness. You note the blooming bruises on his neck, and you gesture at it, with the same helplessness. 

  “Right,” Tobirama awkwardly says and tugs his collar up. 

  The two of you stare at each other with the familiarity of two strangers in the wrong place, and Tobirama skeeters out of the library in the most elegant way that he can muster, and when he is gone, you slide to the floor, staring at the space in front of you, then, you begin to laugh out loud. 

//

Instead of going straight home, you try your best to clean up the library, and to check your image on the glass window to make sure you look representable. Then, you wait for Tobirama in a common lounge since this whole ordeal took the whole afternoon, and it is now nearing dinner. 

  You wrap your outer coat tighter, and try to mask the slight limp that you have developed over the course of the afternoon. 

  Finally, your husband is out of his work’s clutches for now, and the two of you hurry home, trying to beat Tobirama’s students there so that the two of you can freshen up. 

  However, your plans are ruined, when you find the six of them standing on the yard, aghast as the servants haul out the bed that the two of you have broken, and they watch, as a new bed is carried into the house. 

Tobirama stiffens beside you, and you manage a small smile, knowing that you look disheveled as you feel. 

  In the yard, both Hiruzen and Danzo look horrified, Torifu is pale, Kagami and Homura have their mouths opened, and in all of their eyes you can see a growing realization, while Koharu struggles to keep her face from deviating from her usual strict expression. 

Tobirama stands beside you, calm and collected, regal and shameless. He nods, and he leaves you in the yard and walks abruptly into the house. 

“EW!” The boys shouted. 

  Koharu rolls her eyes and she starts to walk away. "Get it together," she snaps. 

  You resist the urge to put a hand on your face to cover up your embarrassment, and instead, choose to walk towards the house with your whole chest. 

To be continued...

Chapter 5 - Then >>

#angelica writes #Tobirama Senju #Senju Tobirama #tobirama x you #tobirama x reader #naruto fanfiction #you never said goodbye timeline/au #'til death do us part

[heaven-in-a-wild-flower]

Sizzy Headcanon (Simon Lovelace and Isabelle Lightwood)

If you'd rather read this on ao3 here's the link

Chapter 1: Purple Tongues And Pumpkin Spice Lattes (The chapters aren't related and can be read separately)

Izzy

It's summer! You probably wouldn't guess this about her, but Izzy’s favourite season is summer. You might think she’d find it annoying that her hair gets frizzier and her makeup runs with sweat, but no, well, these things do happen and she does get a bit annoyed but she believes that the good far outdo the bad.

She wakes up to the sun shining brightly through her curtains, making the dancing dust motes glow. She turns to see Simon sleeping peacefully and gently brushes her lips against his cheek. As she's getting ready for the day, smoothing sunscreen over her skin, she feels warm arms wrap around her waist and a head full of curls nuzzle her neck. Surprised (but happy, always happy) laughs burst out of her as she smears some sunscreen onto Simon's face too (She loves the way his face scrunches up at her unsuspecting sunscreen-covered hands). They eat freshly cut watermelon for breakfast and Izzy blushes as Simon gently, oh so gently (how did she find this wonderful boy?) wipes the watermelon juice from her lips.

They set out from the house with the wind blowing Izzy's sundress (yes, I know this is unexpected too, but she loves wearing sundresses) and making it swish around her legs. She spins around in the sunlight, enjoying the freedom. Simon thinks she looks like a nature goddess when she does it (well, he thinks she looks like a goddess always but still). She sees a popsicle stand and runs towards it. Simon follows, of course he does, he'd follow her anywhere. They each get a popsicle, Izzy's turns her tongue bright red and Simon's turns his a cool blue. She winks at him and says, "Wanna make purple?" He blushes and she loves the bright red of it.

They walk aimlessly and she loves the way the sun keeps warming her skin, like a continuous hug or like the feeling of a lover's arm around you (luckily for her, she can now have both). She loves that the sunshine makes everything bright and glowing, the season wakes up the child in her. The one who never had to wonder if the clothes she were wearing were “inappropriate” or that she didn’t look poised and graceful licking popsicles or worry that one day her brothers would die at the hands of demons and she’d be able to do nothing about it. That child in her just wants to skip and laugh and be happy without anything weighing her down. (Well, the dream is a bit edited now, with Simon’s hand in hers and him beside her). And now that she finally has it, she compares the sun's heat warming her skin to Simon's presence warming her heart.

***

Simon

Simon’s favourite season, quite obviously, is autumn, also for very obvious reasons, i.e. Halloween! It's the first of October today and the day he's decided that they'll start preparing for Halloween. He wakes up even before the sun rises and caresses Izzy's hair lightly. She groans and turns over and he smiles fondly. He makes breakfast for the both of them, liberally sprinkling cinnamon over the food, it is autumn after all! When Izzy finally walks in the kitchen with her hair all over the place (he loves her likes this) and her eyes bleary, he grins at her (she's nearly blinded by the brightness of that smile). It also makes her fully forget her suspicion that he decided to make food early so that she wouldn't do it. Some smiles are more powerful than steles.

Izzy walks to the living room to see that he's already set out all the materials they'll need to make their decorations and costumes. They settle down and begin. This is the part Simon loves best. He loves painstakingly creating outfits to match his favourite characters just for the reward of making them perfect (and if Izzy’s eyes shine when she sees him in them, well, that’s just a bonus). He loves having a reason to reread all his favourite comics. He loves flipping through many many pages to find all his favourite details and adding them to the costume like tender caresses. The joy he feels when someone recognises his character and all the effort he put into it, is unmatched. They work for many hours, Izzy asking for Simon's help from time to time and Simon regaling her with some comics book tales she hasn't read yet. (She loves this part best too)

A few weeks later, the most important day of the year (Izzy made him promise that their anniversary is also in the first spot along with this one) finally arrives. 31st October! Their house is horrifically decorated with blood and zombies and demons and monsters (Simon can tell Izzy loves it, when she just stands and stares for a few minutes at a time, completely speechless). After, they get ready in their costumes. Izzy carefully paints Simon's skin in red and he just loses himself in her gorgeous eyes. Simon helps her affix her headpiece and they're done! Scarlet Witch and Vision. They both take a few moments to admire each other's costumes, they each steal the other's breath every time. Izzy touches his lips to make sure the paint is dry. Then she pulls his forward with the front of his cape and kisses him deeply. "Now, we're ready," Izzy says and they set off, smiling.

Simon loves going trick-or-treating and showing off his costume to all who’ll appreciate it. And he loves, loves watching the awe and wonder in little kids’ eyes when they see their favourite character come to life. The best part is that he gets to let them keep believing in that magic, and even though he knows of actual magic in the world, this will always feel more magical to him. He’s so occupied with the kids that he's never noticed that Izzy always just melts when she sees him interact with kids. He shows them some tricks he learnt that make it look like he actually has Vision's powers and all the kids gasp and hang on his every action, transfixed. Izzy knows the tricks behind all his magic, yet she can't help but stare anyway.

They return home and fall asleep cuddling and watching Marvel movies. Izzy thinks Black Widow is incredibly badass and Simon says, "I think you're badassier." Izzy laughs and smacks him with a pillow, "That's not a word, you dork!". This leads to a pillow fight and finally they fall asleep using each other as pillows.

Halloween is a big part of his love for autumn, but he also loves other things. He loves bundling up in cozy sweaters and cuddling with Izzy as they work on educating her with pop culture knowledge. He'll wrap his arms around her at any moment he can, often when she's cooking (and if this has ulterior motives, no one has to know). He'll cuddle her when she's trying to practice. He'll cuddle her when she's about to get off the bed and refuse to let go. (She calls him her little koala bear).

Simon also loves taking long walks outside and stepping on crisp leaves (Izzy laughs and laughs and laughs when she sees him run around, finding the crunchiest leaves and shouting out ratings). And the food! He loves all the comfort food at Thanksgiving, and he especially loves watching all his friends and family sigh contentedly when they’re full. And he’ll literally murder you if you dare tell anyone about this, but he loves Pumpkin Spice Lattes from Starbucks (Izzy knows this deep dark secret of his and buys him Pumpkin Spice Lattes and leaves them around the house for him to find).

Next chapter (Chapter 2)

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

#sizzy #simon lovelace #simon lewis #isabelle lightwood #izzy #tmi #the mortal instruments #sizzy headcanon #sizzy hc #this is a super underrated ship but I love it so I thought I'd write something for them #tsc #The Shadowhunter Chronicles #cassandra clare #mortal instruments

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 12: Follow Me to the Letter

Keith takes a moment to reflect on his first few movements on Altea.

First  Previous  Next

Keith fails to show up to court again. Lance isn’t overly surprised. The man (kit?) seems to struggle with patience, and holding court tends to push him to the very precipice of his self-control.

It’s odd, truth be told, that Keith is so lacking patience when he’s always so reserved. Lance would like to see the Galra open up a bit more. Quiznak, he’d just like to see him a bit more! Keith is almost always wandering around somewhere or hiding in his loft. Lance finds it lonely, but he’s not sure if he’s lonely for himself or for Keith.

He doesn’t have time for others anymore, having thrust himself into his adult duties. The duties that have been neglected since tensions rose between Altea and Daibazaal. His sister is gone. He and his two friends are quite busy, and never free at the same time. He only has Keith and maybe Adam, and Keith has only him and maybe Adam, when the other Altean isn’t running around micromanaging everything. That’s all there is for them.

Lance heads for the only place he’d bother to check before returning to their room. If Keith isn’t in the library, then he’s either in their quarters or wandering about. If he’s wandering about, Lance will never find him. He wouldn’t want to. He’s pretty sure Keith goes out to be alone.

Keith is in the library. He's sitting at a desk, stylus in hand, staring vacantly at his datapad. It looks like he’s been there for a while. “Hey. Finished holding court? How many windows are we replacing?”

“Yes, I am finished. None. However, there’s a missing cobblestone that broke the wheel of a wagon yesterday. So, a legitimate minor concern. I’ve issued a decree to have it fixed. I also performed a marriage.”

“Hm. Was it as dry and lifeless as ours?”

“No, they were passionate and full of joy. I’d never performed a marriage before. It was... nice.”

“Hm.” Keith taps listlessly at his datapad.

“So what have you been doing?”

“I… Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

Pfft. Right. Lance pulls over another chair, sitting backwards with his arms crossed over the back.

“Nonsense! What’s the matter?”

“I wanted to write a letter to my mother and brother.” Keith stares at nothing. Perhaps a dust mote or something. “I just can’t think of anything.”

“I thought you wanted to sever ties with your mother? At least temporarily?”

Keith’s ears droop as his body seems to shrink. “I know… I know I did. But…”

“But you miss her.” Keith nods, and Lance reaches over and rubs that spot Keith himself sometimes does. The one behind his ear that releases soothing hormones. Keith leans into the touch, allowing Lance to comfort him. That’s more proof than anything else that Keith is upset; he’s allowing himself to be cared for. It's nice to know the Galra trusts him, though. “Would you like me to help? I can help you get something down if you want.”

Keith nods. “Thank you.”

Lance smiles. Keith usually comes off as lukewarm thanks to his quiet, reserved ways, but Lance has found that if he says something, he means a lot more than the words he uses. 'Thank you' means 'I deeply appreciate your help and compassion. I could probably use some kind of affection later and definitely need some cheering up.'

“Alright. So first give a general greeting. Talk about how you’re feeling, genuinely, but avoid specific incidents.”

“You want me to tell them-”

“That you miss them so much it hurts? That you’re not happy, but not really unhappy either? That you just feel kinda empty? Yes. Tell them. But don't tell them that nobody will let you do anything and that you feel useless and imprisoned.”

Keith swallows hard. His eyes burn quite suddenly. “How-”

“Allura and Romelle. It’s how I feel when I think of them. And how they felt their first few phoebs on Daibazaal. Well that's how Allura felt. Romelle... That's for another time.” Keith glances up to see that Lance looks as vaguely sad as he himself feels. Keith begins to write as Lance gets up, thumbing through tablets and pulling random volumes from the shelves. Adam hustles in moments later, drops his own datapad, and begins to assist Lance with his work.

Mother, Takashi,

It’s been a little while now since I have seen you, and I have not heard from Daibazaal at all, so I assume you are doing well. Life here is fine. I am not happy, but I am not quite unhappy, either. Crown Prince Lancel is the only person I truly interact with, at least for long periods of time. I believe he understands my situation, given how dearly he misses his sister and her lover. He mentions them often.

I made one friend, and Lance wants me to meet someone else, but he’s been busy lately and Pidge is not always available. The guards won’t talk to me. Adam says it’s because I haven’t proven myself yet. He says they’ll warm up to me if I contribute something. I’m not sure I believe him.

“Lance?”

“Hm? Hey, what is it with Lotor and his aversion to water conservation?”

“I’ve finished. Water conservation? What for?”

“Well it’s not like it falls from the sky, or anything!” Lance whines. Keith frowns. Yes, water does fall from the sky. What is Lance talking about? “Okay, so now write about one thing you dislike and one thing you enjoy. Then ask them a question they can respond to so you set up a correspondence.”

Keith sucks on his lip for a moment, continues writing.

Lance holds court every movement. Sometimes twice, if he runs out of time the first day. I find it tedious and frustrating. Alteans live such comfortable lives, they find the most trivial things to complain about. I find myself at the end of my patience more quickly than even you might believe. I don’t know how Lance puts up with it. I think he’d rather do something more useful. But he also doesn’t wish for Alfor to know he is useful. I don’t understand, but Adam expects me to go along with it.

It’s pretty here. The ground is covered in soft moss. There are trees that sound like windchimes, and the garden has little flying creatures called bumblemoths. I like them. I’ve befriended a few. They keep trying to follow me inside. Lance pretends to be mad about it, but he is fond of them too. He’s named them after their colors. There are six.

Keith glances back to where Lance is sitting at his own desk, glaring down at a few different tablets, searching for keywords, typing furiously on his datapad, leaning to whisper something to Adam every now and them. “What about this? Lotor says that the Stone Forest is rife with predators?”

“We also have predators.”

“But not this many! What the utter quiznak?! They turn their prey inside out before eating them?! ”

“Okay, that I don’t like. That’s just too much. Completely unnecessary.”

“Right?!” Lance mutters something under his breath. Keith smiles, tentatively fond. 

Oddly, the thing I find myself enjoying most is the Prince himself. Lance is kind, understanding, and does not want to touch me. In fact, I believe he is horrified by my age. He does not look at me while I change.

Or perhaps he simply finds me ugly. I do not know. But still, he is funny, and he treats me well. King Alfor gave him a choice, and he chose to marry me. I can’t help but respect him for that. He loves his people and is working to better their lives. It would seem he also works closely with Lotor, perhaps to break down their fathers’ more archaic policies.

He seems smart, too, despite not appearing to know what rain is. He also did not know what taxes were until Adam told him, but caught on very quickly. I think he will make a good king one day. I am curious to see what he may become, if we might become better friends. Speaking of friends, Takashi, have you spoken to Adam? He says no, but that man lies like I take a drink of water. Mother, how are you and Kolivan? I miss you both, and hope you are well. Are the guards in top form yet?

Has the brush begun to bloom yet? What phases are the moons in? Altea doesn’t have a moon and I miss it, though I can sometimes see Kraav’nik’da during the darkest hours of night.

Love,

Crown Prince Yorak (Keith) of the Kingdom of Altea and of House Kogane of Daibazaal

“I make a potion for that,” Adam says, cutting through Keith’s thoughts of home.

“Really?” Lance raises his eyebrows, seeming only mildly surprised.

“Of course. Impotence cures are one of the most common requests I receive. That and contraception.”

“Well, fortunately for us, there is no question of Crown Prince Lotor’s genetics. His heritage is quite apparent.”

“Thank quiznak for that. With all our other problems, paternity is the last thing I want to deal with. It’s good you look so like both of your parents.”

“Given my father’s proclivities, it’s a miracle he managed to procreate at all.”

“Too true. Too true. Honestly, I like my own chances better. And that’s saying something.”

Keith smirks, deciding to make his way into the conversation. “Shiro’s biology is identical to mine. I’m sure you wouldn’t have too much trouble.”

Lance laughs evilly, grinning ear-to-pointed ear. He picks up quickly.

“Oh not this again,” Adam mutters.

“Is that so? Tell us, Adam. Did you send Shiro off with a ‘going away’ present?” Lance is thoroughly unrepentant, moving to lean against the back of Keith’s chair. Keith hides his laughter behind his hand.

“That would be the ugliest quiznaking kid,” Keith snickered.

“You never know. Lotor turned out okay,” Lance countered. “Pity he can’t bear. Or myself...”

“That’s it. I quit. You’re on your own, your Majesties.” The princes protest, still laughing. “No. I draw the line at listening to His Majesty’s sexual fantasies. I’m not that kind of attendant. Good day.”

Keith giggles, watching his spouse double over with laughter, waving as Adam flees the room. He eyes Lance, wonders what it’s like to look at and be physically attracted to any random person. He brings up another form, typing in Shiro’s comms code. He has things to tell his brother.

Alteans are weird.

#LoveAftertheFact #LAtF #klance #galtean au #galra keith #altean lance #adashi #altean adam #galra shiro #voltron legendary defender #vld

[grimoire-of-geekery]

Valentines, Lupercalia, and Thoughts on Love

I had a really nice Valentine’s Day, and it’s because of love.  So, I’ma talk about that.  :)

This Valentine’s Day, I had a lovely quiet day mostly to myself, with the evening spent with my husbands, eating together and giving each other small gifts, and playing games together.  Valentine’s Day is a fun day for me.  It has all the elements I love in my spiritual practice- weaponized romance, rampant glitter and paper magic, deep roots in ancient Roman festivals of decadence and stress-relief polished up and reupholstered by a new more-prudish regime...

Literally, I love it.  As a young kid, I never got valentines at school, though I often gave them out to everyone in class.  Valentine’s Day was about the social pecking order, about kids reminding each other who was at the top of the food chain and who was on the bottom.  Speaking as someone who was always at the foot of the hierarchy, it’s odd to say this, but I always really liked Valentine’s Day anyway.  I think it became one of those days that I held my breath in anticipation for, waiting for something magical to happen.

Love has been and likely will always be a major root to my magical practice.  It’s a high priority to me in all aspects of my life.  My friends and I, I always say, need to be a little in love with each other for it all to work.  My work needs to be at least mostly a labor of love.  My spirituality is centered around love, around love of the gods and spirits, who love me in return.

Valentine’s Day is about showing one’s love, and I like to do that.  Usually through little things like gifts.  I took up origami again so I could show my family and loved ones that I loved them, and it became a major part of my magical practice.  I started designing tarot spreads and spells (like the one up above) to spread a little wonder and hope and romance.

It’s funny- I don’t have an affinity specifically with love deities in my practice, because to me, all gods are gods of love.  Even the cranky ones.  I mean, Hades and Persephone are one of the most powerful relationships in Greek myth (don’t even start with me about the whole “rape of Persephone” bullshit, that’s not how it went down in any story but one).  Kamadeva was brought back to life after he was obliterated by Shiva, because the world without Kama’s magic was simply awful to live in, and all the gods petitioned for his return.  

That being said, I don’t find myself doing much love magic in my profession.  Probably because it’s essentially sacred to me, and most people who ask for it aren’t worthy in my eyes of my assistance.  Lots of obsession, crushes, and creepy bullshit, very little love.

To me, love is devotion to another, loyalty, faith.  It’s hat-in-hand apology when we do something wrong to each other.  It’s not validation-centered or delusional, where we flatter each other desperately so as to avoid our problems or pretend our world is okay when it’s not.  It’s being on the same team, so that no matter what happens, we’ll face it together.

I think the world needs at least one day a year where we celebrate that, and sacrifice to it.  So, it’s become a serious holiday for me.  Roses, always my flower, represent renewal of a promise, generally a secret or private one.  The story of Aphrodite giving a rose to the god of silence to ensure her dalliances be kept secret has always inspired me, so I give and receive roses as signs of renewal of faith.  And chocolate (and really any aphrodisiacs) have long been foods of delight and surrender, both in general and personally to me.  I love most aphrodisiac foods (not oysters though, bleh).

I had a friend tell me recently, that he hates Valentine’s Day, and he prefers Lupercalia.  He felt it was “less complicated, more simply about indulgence.”  Since Valentine’s Day has elements of that in it, but also has a more genteel and graceful aspect to it, it confused me that he felt it necessary to choose to ignore one aspect of it for another.

I asked him if he’d ever received a rose from anyone.  He, a straight man, said no, and asked if I had.  I smiled and told him I had, but the details were private.  I think he wants one now.  I’ll have to see if I can think of a conspiracy or secret to share with him.

Valentine’s Day is a day when I try to reacquaint myself with faith and trust.  It’s sometimes a risky indulgence, but I find it usually worth it.  Even when things go wrong, I can usually go back and see where things were right, and be happy about that.  Roses have thorns, after all, but that doesn’t detract from their virtue.

I treat Valentine’s Day like a season, so even though it’s over, I wish these blessings for you all:

The blessings of the Rose, that secrets may bring you joy; The blessings of Chocolate, that bitter and dark, or sweet and light, your heart bring you delight; The blessings of Paper, that sorrow be thinned out and flattened into something which provides beauty and joy to yourself and others.

So Mote It Be.

#Now don't you dare come here and tell me you hate Valentine's Day!

[dealbrekker]

The Stars in a Child’s Eyes

So my friend informed me that the fandom rather loves the idea that Lucifer created the stars, and I immediately fell in love and decided to write this.  I’m still only on season 2, but can reasonably assume Chloe learns the truth eventually.  So this little scene takes place after that.  Enjoy!

~~~  

“Lucifer!”

Trixie’s cry of welcome from the other room sent Chloe’s heart pounding even as a grin parted her lips. Maze, seated across the counter, shot her a look, winked, and disappeared into her room.  Chloe’s face warmed, but she steeled herself and shouted a greeting from her spot in the kitchen.  A grunt of exasperation answered, and Chloe knew Trixie had enveloped the Devil in one of her particularly jubilant hugs.

My child is hugging the Devil.

The idea would never really vanish from her thoughts, she knew.  It was…too much.  Too much for her human brain to handle entirely.  Even that phrase, human brain, was too much.  Too self-aware.  And, if the knowledge that Satan himself walked the earth no longer bothered her in what should have been an obvious way, there’d always be that voice that nagged: The Devil.  

This was to say nothing of her heart, which somehow made her prided logic as inconsequential as a tickle under the nose.

Indeed, hers positively leapt when the man in question poked his head around the corner and leered dramatically at her.

“Detective!  I would come deliver a proper greeting unto you, but,” he grunted again and turned, one hand planted firmly on the wall. “Small human, please, I’m talking to—yes, alright.”  He turned back to Chloe.  “Your offspring is outlandishly annoying today, Detective, did you not walk her or something?”

His body jerked, and Chloe could only assume he was being tugged in the opposite direction by Trixie.

“Manners, Trix,” she warned halfheartedly.  Seeing Lucifer manhandled by a little girl held a certain charm.  Especially once he made a show of relenting.

“Yes, human child, what do you want?”

Trixie huffed.  “I want to show you my constellations. Mommy just put them up today! They glow in the dark!”

Lucifer shot a look at Chloe.  She was unable to read his expression.

“Oh,” he said.  “Color me intrigued, tiny child.”  He let Trixie lead him off to her bedroom.

Chloe refocused her attention on the vegetables on her cutting board.  The recipe called for three carrots, an onion, garlic…

Her fingers were the only things in the game, this evening, with her head and feelings conspiring to draw her toward the muffled voices down the hall.  Not the safest way to go about using cutlery.  Trixie’s voice came to her most clearly.  She was so excited about the plastic sticky stars Chloe had brought home that afternoon.  The girl’s class had been studying space this week, and she had spent that time educating Chloe and Maze about what stars were made of and the fact that space was a vacuum and as such, no one could hear you scream.  Choe expected that fun tidbit was more for Maze’s benefit than hers. The demon—demon—had laughed enthusiastically.  

“That is true,” she’d conceded when Trixie had beamed at her.  “But what fun is that?”

Chloe had put the brakes on the rest of the conversation by telling Trixie to go get her homework started.  She’d long since given up on chastising Maze with words, but threw the wicked thing a look anyway.  Maze only chuckled.

“Those schools would shit themselves if they knew how space really came to be.”

Chloe, immediately interested but unwilling to show it had asked, “Oh?”

Mazikeen turned flinty eyes on her.  Her lip had curled in that needling way.  “Lucifer created the stars.”

Chloe had no reason to disbelieve those words.  She’d spent enough time skeptical of a lot of things, that this fact clicked into place rather easily.  Lucifer meant light bringer, after all, that much she recalled from her youth.  He’d done inhuman things plenty of times in her presence.  Turning on a few lights seemed almost blasé.  

Trixie’s voice rose from her room, and Chloe set down the knife and wiped her hands.  Slipping down the hall, her mind dwelled unerringly on the fact that her ten-year-old was currently lecturing Lucifer on the mechanics of red dwarf stars and black holes.  Stopping quietly outside the door, she wondered how much Trixie truly understood of Lucifer and Maze.  Hell, she probably understood more than even Chloe did, smart creature that she was. If she knew the truth, the little girl had taken it in stride, and treated the pair with as much blinding enthusiasm as she’d always shown.

“And this is Ursa Major and this is Ursa Minor,” her voice piped from behind the dark crack in the door.  “Ursa is latin for bear.  I guess if you squint, they kind of look like bears…”

She was cut off by an obnoxious snort of derision.  A sound came, like snapping fingers, followed by a gasp of emotion so strong, Chloe felt the hair on her arms rise.  The black shaft of space between the door and the frame lit up and flashed, almost like a fire had started.  She eased the door open and looked inside.

Stars—no, galaxies—spanned the ceiling of Trixie’s room.  Chloe felt her mouth drop open and the air catch in her lungs.  No more could you see the plastic ones tenderly pressed to the plaster earlier that day.  The space was laden thick with real stars. They bloomed like flowers in double time, flickered like sparklers in July, gave off heat that should have melted skin but merely warmed the air comfortably.  The exquisite glow seeped through the dark and turned the room white.  

Trixie looked at the stars and nothing, nothing, would ever mirror the beauty of them reflected in her eyes.  Chloe tore herself away from the image to look at the being responsible for it all.

“No, no.” Lucifer scoffed.  “That’s not meant to be a bear.  Or a lion.  Or a dipper.” He muttered something under his breath, but Chloe only heard dipper repeated with scorn.  Trixie giggled.  Lucifer snapped his fingers again, and the room grew brighter still, more stars erupting across the ceiling.  So many, they seemed to trickle down like dust motes, and cling like snow to Chloe’s lashes.  “I ignited a swath of pure, unbridled chaos into creation’s pitch-black nothingness, and you ridiculous humans had to go and play connect the dots.”

Chloe nearly laughed out loud at the indignant spasm that crossed Lucifer’s face.  “It was random,” he insisted, more so to himself, now. He was watching Trixie play with the stars.  She’d hesitated at first, afraid to touch the balls of light.  But now she grabbed them up and threw them around like confetti.  His voice was low.  Reflective.  “It was wild abandon in all my Father’s order.”  Trixie laughed as a star shower spun around her, faster and faster until Chloe could only see the blur of her features.  Her daughter did not notice Lucifer twirling his fingers to shape the whirlwind, but Chloe did.

Lucifer’s eyes glittered in all that starshine, and he sighed.  She wondered, suddenly, how his wings would have looked amidst so much heavenly light.

“It was my way of saying, ‘Here is that beauty you’re trying to so hard to manufacture.  Instant, unplanned.  Just.   Here.’”

Miniature supernovas exploded around the room, and Trixie gasped delightedly, her joy as effervescent as the popping suns.  Chloe heard all of this, and could not remove her gaze from Lucifer as he rubbed stardust between his fingers, his own attention fixed on the glimmer at his command.

A loud shout of triumph brought both of them out of their reveries, Chloe more slowly so she did not miss the slight widening of Lucifer’s eyes or the quick quirk of his lip.

Trixie had pushed and pulled stars before her, shaping them into a mass that sort of resembled…

“Well,” Lucifer hummed.  His head turned, then, and his eyes caught Chloe standing in the doorway.  She felt pinned under their age—billions of years and twice as many stars passing between the two of them in a single, human heartbeat.  She could not know that when he looked into her eyes, he swore nothing would ever replicate the grace of his stars shining there.

“I suppose it does look a bit like a dipper.”

#lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer on netflix #lucifer fanfic #tom ellis #lauren german #chloe decker #trixie espinoza

[returnofdedsec]

(I have an explaination for thermite and ash’s personality switches. This is not canon nor did ubisoft actually do this bc theyre stupid but im super smart and have a big galaxy brain)

Since Six’s departure, Harry has turned to confining every operator into a role. He’s studied them, picking out their weakness and their strengths. He assigned a role, and even if you denied it, he wouldnt recant. All it would take would be weeks of prodding, insistant advice and warrants, and youd have no choice but to adhere to what he wanted.

Six was different. She knew, she trusted, the operators enough to trust where they fit best. CTUs operated on their own times, fitting together like cogs in a machine.

But to Ash, it feels like she was taken from one well-oiled mechanism, and shoved into a different one, trying to find a place to fit.

Harry assigned her not only as a team leader, but as leader of Rainbow. Ash had to abandon her life as a capable woman to become what is a glorified high school principle. Every fight, every incident, every revelation and problem and disagreement and every negative aspect of the team, shes there to file an incident report on it.

Her time dwindles. She barely goes out, too buried in paperwork. Headaches persist through the day, her diet consists of coffee and bagels, and she finds sleep escapes her. She doesnt smile anymore, she barely finds anything that brings her some sort of satisfaction that isnt accompanied with a problem.

And worst of all, Harry thinks shes capable enough to be in charge of fifty operators, the numbers only growing as the months go on, the interpersonal dramas only becoming more and mote volatile. Ash resents him, in a way, forcing her into a role she never wanted to be in.

She wishes it was Thermite. He was just as capable, much more organized, much more logical in his approaches. He had a good head on his shoulders, much more tempered than Ash, by a longshot, but he was passed up. Ash cant understand why.

And when the role as leader was clear out of his sightline, he relaxed. Like this was a vacation for him. He let go of responsibilities, fell into the missions and the camraderie while Ash was on desk duty.

If Six were here, it wouldnt be an issue. If Six were there to restore a bit of order, to stop treating the operators like psychology experiments, to maybe get Ash a fucking secretary to help her out with the mountains of incident reports because nobody taught these children trapped in adult bodies to keep their hands to themselves, maybe Ash would be happier. Maybe she wouldnt be so bitter.

If Six were back, maybe Ash wouldnt be so angry.

The only time she has is for training. Shes particular to boxing, and her aggression flows out of her through her gloves, or the blanks of her pistols. Frustration and irritation becomes the fuel for her fire, and not even Maestro can handle the flurry that comes his way when he steps into the ring.

On the rare nights off, she spends time with the FBI, but falls back from the conversations.

What happened to me? Where did that charmer go? What happened to the Ash who wouldnt blink at dancing with a beautiful woman? Or heartily yell over the music to buy a round? What happened to the passion? The drive? The joy? Where did it go?

#izt #rainbow six #im sad i just want rowdy ash back xxx

[sigritandtheelves]

Hour of Lead

2.2k wds | angst | s8: DeadAlive through Vienen

A/N: Hope y’all like pain. There’s some second-person experimentation here, but it moves into limited 3rd after a little bit.

_+_

You are watching the person you love, who is somehow no longer dead. His chest moves up and down, with help at first, and then on its own. You are holding the weight of his child under your palm and wondering if it is okay to hope. This child will not have a father to love him, a thing you have been telling yourself for weeks, a thing you have been forcing yourself to acknowledge, may no longer be true.

Will you open your eyes and know me? You think. Will you see what we’ve done and smile like I did?

You want to believe.

The chair is uncomfortable and your back hurts but you will not leave him because his chest is still moving. Moving again. On its own. This means that maybe your child will have a father and you won’t be flung into motherhood alone and with only half of your heart. You try to swallow these things into yourself, to believe them, to plant them in the black hole in your chest that exploded and collapsed like a dead star in Helena eight weeks ago—so they might regrow into some small pinprick of light.

Please, you think.

And then he moves—just a twitch of a finger. Then his head, and then his eyes and he is looking at you, joking at you and you are crying helplessly because it is him and he does know you. You cry onto his still-breathing chest and think how you will wait to show him your belly until he is stronger, so you can be sure he understands: you searched for him; you were strong for months; you kept yourself and his baby safe, in spite of everything. Here is the so much more he promised you both, waiting for him.

He falls back asleep, but you don’t let him go. It is hours before you allow yourself to rest in a nearby cot.

—

You don’t mean for it to happen, but he sees you, all of you, before you have a chance to tell him. The look on his face is such confusion, with eyes that reflect a deep, unexpected wounding.

“Oh,” you say, disappointed that it happened this way. You look down at the roundness of your middle. “I’m sorry. I wanted to wait a little longer to... show you.”

You look up again, expecting some kind of wonder or even some joy. You wait for him to ask questions, to reach his hand out to touch, to smile, to just look at your face, but he only frowns and turns away onto his side.

“Mulder,” you say, tentative, but he has closed his eyes and is pretending to sleep. You’re not sure what to do, so you sit back down on the cot. It’s not what you planned. It’s not how you thought it would be, having your partner back, your other half, and a father again for your child. You try to remember what he’s been through and you close your eyes, breathe deeply, because he probably only needs time.

You cling to this thought for days (he needs time; he’s been through so much) as he recovers and learns to be conscious again for more than a few minutes, to sit up, to walk. But he won’t make eye contact with you: he treats you like a stranger, or maybe something worse. He’s not the man who once told you he loved you and promised you miracles (We’ll try again, we’ll adopt, I’ll marry you if you’ll let me) and the so much more that he no longer seems to want, now that it is here. He’s forgotten those things, or they were taken from him on that ship.

You wait for him to remember that he loved you once, but you also try to prepare, again, to do this alone.

_+_

“Dana, please tell me what’s happening.”

A dust mote drifts in a beam of early-spring light that falls across the desk. She watches: holds her palm out to watch it disappear against her skin. “He’s back,” she says.

Margaret Scully is justifiably concerned about her daughter, who called to say only that her partner was no longer dead, and that he didn’t want to see her. “I went to his funeral. That’s not possible.”

Dana nods because it is true, an undeniable fact: people who are dead and buried do not return. She is still wearing the brown turtleneck she brought him back to his apartment in. He didn’t seem surprised that she’d kept the space—kept paying rent and feeding his fish (and sleeping on his mattress, but he would never know that, not if she could help it). She wonders if he’d have been angry—angrier—if she hadn’t, if she’d had to bring him here with her.

“It’s Easter next week,” Scully says, as if that’s what they were talking about. And then, “I have to go in to work early tomorrow.”

Maggie places herself in her daughter’s line of vision, perching on the edge of the desk to cup Dana’s face in her hands. “Tell me what happened.”

Her daughter meets her eyes: wet and blue and far away. “He wasn’t really dead. It was a virus that slowed his vitals. He... he came back, but he’s still not quite himself.”

“Is he still sick?”

“No.”

“Does he know about the baby? He must.”

The eyes lose focus even further, wander to the window and out over the street. “We’ll be fine.”

“You and Fox?”

Dana closes her eyes and breathes.

—

On the phone, Skinner tells her to meet him at Mulder’s apartment, that they all need to talk. She almost doesn’t come because talking doesn’t feel like something she can do right now. She lowers herself slowly onto his couch and tries to remember when was the last time, of so very many, that they sat this way: some other life of beer and bad movies and slow kisses.

Mulder wastes no time in reminding her that she is not strong anymore—that her body, their baby, has made her vulnerable and unable to do the work. He laughs, but it is at her and unkind: her hilarious betrayal of him. She will have more important things to worry about soon. She alone.

Scully’s heart pounds and she looks away. When she tries to explain about Agent Doggett, she feels something disappear. The tether breaks, and she is lost, searching for bearings again. 

She floats. She puts on a suit. She develops a head cold and fails to make connections in the case they begin work on. (See Scully? You were never good enough for the X-Files.) She hears his phantom voice in her head, and then aloud saying just what she feared: At least that’s the way it used to work, he tells her, reminding her in case she forgot that he has always been, is still, the beating heart of the work that holds them together.

He calls it a cause, her desire to keep him alive.

She is spread too thin and coming apart. “I need to...” She tries to think of an excuse. “I left some things at, um... I have to go out. I’ll leave you the keys, okay?”

Mulder looks up from the computer. “Okay.”

She calls a cab and walks out into the night, not sure where she is going but thinking, for some reason, of the bench beside the reflecting pool where it is quiet and where he’d come back to her once before. The cool air in her lungs reminds her that she, too, is still breathing. But then Doggett appears, calling her name, and everything, everything unravels.

Skinner is the only one who’s seen or heard her cry since October—since the incident with the ship in Arizona when she steeled her spine and lowered the shutters on her heart. When he asks what’s wrong, she can barely get the words out because her chest feels like it is collapsing and she is holding onto Mulder’s sweater, the one she keeps in her closet, and squeezing it until her fingers are red. 

By the time Doggett finds her in the car, an hour later, she is calm and silent.

When Mulder doesn’t die again, when he comes back to her, angry at having failed, he asks her to drive him back to his apartment. The baby kicks hard, but she won’t touch her abdomen in front of him. She bites the inside of her cheek and drives him home without speaking. He is still finding his way, she thinks. He owes her nothing. It should be enough that his heart beats.

—

She surprises herself by smiling when he is kind, when he brings her a gift, or when he touches her belly after leaving her alone in the hospital for two days. She can’t stop these smiles—they emerge from her body’s memory of a time before, from the part of her that forgets he is different now. She reminds herself that he never agreed to this: that he promised her children because he thought he was dying, and not because he wanted to be a father. He says he will protect it, her baby, and she wants to scream. Instead she nods and looks away.

Now he lifts his chin toward her middle and says, “The kid all right?”

She tells him yes, but she has no other words and nothing else to give. He came to tell her he’s been fired, that he took the blame for the incident on the oil rig. He came to tell her these things because she wouldn’t meet him at the airport, because she turned off her phone and has brought home a briefcase of paperwork to catch up on, because looking at him and thinking about him hurts her, even as she craves, needs, aches for his face and his eyes and his hands.

“Scully.”

She is looking for the line where her signature goes, but the words have blurred and her ears ring. It is Mulder’s turn to sit awkwardly on her couch, now, in his jeans and leather jacket. She realizes he’s waiting for her to say something else, so she looks at the top button of his shirt and says, “I’m sorry you were fired.” He clears his throat. She turns back to her paperwork, where she still can’t find the signature line.

“I guess it was a long time coming,” he says, and the silence stretches like an ocean. Outside, a car honks. “You want me to help you put that together?”

He’s looking at the partially-unboxed crib that sits in pieces in the far corner, and Scully’s face feels suddenly hot. Her mother bought it for her, and she’d meant to finish it weeks ago, when she’d still been in the haze of solitary grief, moving mechanically through all her necessary tasks. In the last weeks, though, her solitude has felt sharp rather than hazy, and the thought of completing the two-person project alone is painful.

“No, it’s fine. I can do it.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t take the hint. He’s still sitting on her couch.

“Scully,” he says again.

She closes her eyes and breathes through her nose. Sitting for long periods is uncomfortable, so she shifts to relieve the pressure at her hips. “Why are you here?” She asks.

His elbows are on his knees and he’s watching her discomfort. “You want me to go?”

“That’s not what I said.”

He sighs. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Like little needles, his words. “So you’ll settle for my company.”

That catches him off guard—she hears it in his hesitation. “What?” There’s another brief pause—Mulder shaking his head—in which she realizes they’re going to have to actually talk about it, and her heart sinks. She feels one of his fingers touch her knee. “Scully, what’s happening here?”

She opens her eyes, cold and blue and haunted by the last six months. She is at the top of the roller coaster, staring down the first long drop. “You said to tell the kid you went down swinging, but who was I supposed to say you were?” He has leaned toward her, but she is backing into the corner of the cushions. Her voice is quiet, rough, but it gains strength in her frustration, refined and intensified by hurt. “I had to prepare once already, you know. I already had to think how to explain what happened. I started a stupid scrapbook, which seems pointless now, because even if you die again, which you seem determined to do, now I know you didn’t really want us anyway. So what should I do? Scratch out daddy and write ‘Mom’s work friend’? What am I supposed to do, Mulder? How am I supposed to be around you?”

He looks as if she’s slapped him. He is stunned silent, and the quiet grows until she breaks it again.

“I was ripped in half once already. I didn’t expect you to do it again on purpose.”

Scully feels used up entirely, emptied out. There is a twinge of guilt, even still, because she knows he is also confused and hurt and floundering in his post-death world. But she has run out of strength, she thinks, at last. Scully lets her head fall into her hands and listens to the sound of her own breathing. She feels his weight shift on the couch. A moment later, she hears her front door swing open, and then click shut.

For a long while, she doesn’t move from the couch, but she doesn’t let herself cry, either.

-- end part one --

Go to Part Two

#a thing i wrote #s8 #angst angst baby

[a-vamp-and-a-half]

A teary chuckle escapes her at that, the words so similar to Host’s. She sniffles again, resting her head “I think-I think I just want to hug now” she says quietly, letting heavier thoughts drift down for now, the weight of speaking about what had happened and how she felt letting a weary numbness settle, mind shielding itself from the relentless onslaught of emotions. Her flame dimmed a little, the protective mote hovering beside them turning from an agitated red spark to a serene blue flame

Yancy and The DA eye the blue flame a little warily, remembering the last time her fire turned that color. But she’s calm, and it stays a little mote.

Yancy and The DA just sit there holding her.

Eric watches, twisting his cloths. He hesitates, and then walks up, handing Sia the yellow one. “It-it helps a lot,” he says quietly. “You-you can hold onto it for as long as you want, if-if it helps you as much as it does me.”

He eases back out of the room, finishing the macarons. He quietly takes them up to Doc’s room, unlocking the door and stepping in.

Someone still needs to clean up the bloodstains, but the walls are fixed up, so there’s that.

Doc blinks sluggishly at him from the bed, the sedative clearly having done it’s job very well.

“I-I made some macarons,” Eric says, holding up the plate. “Little ones, like-like you said you liked.”

Doc’s body feels too weighed down for it to snarl, though he feels a slight bit of... not strong enough to be joy, really, but it’s not anger, or hunger, or desperation, so there’s that.

Eric walks closer. It moves to try and grab him, wanting to force him to let it out of here, but it’s arm falls back down quickly. 

Eric hands him a macaron. It glares.

Eric nudges Doc’s hand. It tries to toss the macaron away, but only manages to let it roll onto the bed.

Eric sighs. “I-I’ll just leave them with you, and-and you can um, eat them when you-you feel like it.”

He leaves the macarons, leaving them on a paper towel rather than the plate.

He leaves the room, feeling it’s eyes boring into his back. He locks the door behind him, sighing.

Inside the room, Doc glances at the macarons. It doesn’t want these, it wants blood. Nice, warm, fresh blood... racing hearts making it easier to drink quickly...

It tries again to push itself off of the bed, but it’s too sluggish. It tries to scream, but it can only mumble.

It looks at the treats again.

Well. There’s not much else to do in this state. Except sleep.

He eats one.

[wellntruly]

The Exorcist - Re. 2.06-2.10

Last set of rewatch motes

And forgive me, but the end of this series still sets me OFF, I just start CHIRPING about it! Because this show went out of its way, in both location shoot and camera rig, to ensure we understand that their central thesis is & has always been that God wants the sad hot priests to be together. Just incredible.

It frames the unusual love story they’re telling so clearly, too. That the demons had used what happened to Mouse to convince Marcus that if he loves someone for himself (not simply as God would love them, this is allowed and so Marcus loves in this way Very Much), he and the person he loves will both be weakened and destroyed. Love is a liability, Marcus concludes. He’ll tell Tomas this. Because oh ho, that’s what God then does: He sends this scarred, skittery exorcist warm, faithful Father Tomas, who wonders at God’s methods but never that he is meant for this, for exorcism, and for Marcus---and who believes, as he tells his own demons when they’ve stolen Marcus’s face, that no, love doesn’t make you weak, it makes you strong.

But the demons, scared of strength, had turned Marcus’s heart on itself, created a trap in it where as soon as he loves Tomas too much, he will flee. “Compromised,” he says, tears shaking in his eyes, his bag in his hands, but oh Marcus you forgot, you forgot that demons lie. It was they that told you you would fail Tomas as you failed the one who came before, a thought you couldn’t bear. They that knew as soon as Peter’s name passed their lips, you would never see him again. It was they that taught you you shouldn’t love, not God. Which we know because God returns in this final moment, to say to His beautiful scared son what He bid His other beautiful idiot son at the very beginning of the series: Go to him. I like you two together.

..Y’know I do find that the longer I watched this show the more I began to imagine its God as Maya Rudolph’s Judge character in The Good Place, obsessively watching television and getting really invested in her faves.

Anyway, my fave episode of this season is probably the sixth, the one where the priests come over for dinner and Andy makes two different cheese courses. The episode is basically two extended scenes of 4+ characters gathered in a room engaged in a long shifting conversational ballet (fuck yeah), bookended by two shorter yet highly intimate scenes where vision-stricken Tomas’s new ve-r-rry shaky exhale catches Marcus every time. Both scenes, Marcus is going on some tear about something or other when Tomas breathes out like a newborn colt finding his legs, and just like that he’s the only thing Marcus can see, anchoring him between his hands, asking if he’s alright. Could I ask for anything more? Hardly.

But I can! Because the intervening dinner scenes are incredible, by which I mean INCREDIBLE UNCOMFORT, with such bolts of joy in the mix as:

God this makes me laugh so. Tomas and Rose are both (separately) like “Jesus Christ,” while Marcus is just *on swivel* to Andy. Anyway getting these screenshots meant that the third time in a row I heard Andy say “You two don’t strike me as the missionary types” I suddenly choked.

Also, I mean there was never any chance in this show that Tomas was going to be homophobic (The Young Pope this is not), but this was still the first time anyone asked just how progressive this young priest was willing to be, and Father Tomas---

It’s his intent acknowledgement of Verity that really gets to me in this moment, looking her in the eyes at the dinner table and telling her the members of his group had been wrong and personally apologizing. God, it wasn’t even that partially hedged “I’m sorry that happened to you,” it was just: “I am sorry.” I wonder how many men besides Andy have ever truly apologized to Verity. Definitely no member of the clergy has ever treated her with the simple, meaningful respect that Tomas does here, and keeps doing, like when he welcomes her into a terrible demon room with a sincere little “Hello Verity,” and she responds, vaguely comforted by this bizarre social nicety in the midst of all this horror: “Hi.”

But, perhaps what murdered me the most in this episode on the second round, was noticing that as SOON as Andy leaves the living room for a refill during their tense after-dinner teatime, Marcus and Tomas both sit up and take their ankles off their knees, like their positions were deliberate, like consciously or un- they thought their whimsical gay slouching would put him off the scent or something?? I DIED.

And of course, the rest of the season after this also has much to recommend itself, including the highlight that is John Cho’s demon performance, easily my favorite of those. Demon John Cho has such a weird sprightly energy. When he’s got the kids in Andy’s old Chevy and he goes “You guu-u-uysss! It’ll be fuunn!!” I was reminded of no one so much as Andrew Scott, and it was good. That like, dead-eyed glint, what even is that, how is that. Cho’s finest work is definitely in the last episode, where he’s toggling between bloodied Andy Dad grimly fighting for his family in a haunted house of his own mind, and his top-side presence of this like, chill ludic chaos agent. The way his face lights up when Marcus tells him he’s “the first one to get that right,” both eyebrows like *spring!*, god it’s so silly in the best possible way. He clearly conveys that this demon is on a whole different plane than everyone else. Even though they are fighting over the exact same thing---Andy’s soul---somehow he has totally different stakes? It’s just a great fun performance.

Miscellaneous notes

“Why do you keep pulling away, when this is everything you’ve ever wanted?” What the demons fundamentally do not understand about humans, is our need for truth. Our minds are very stubborn about this, and our feelings follow. If Andy knows it’s not Nicole, then it doesn’t matter if it looks like Nicole and sounds like Nicole and feels like Nicole, because it won’t feel like Nicole. The demon is going to have to work harder, trick him, get him so turned around and scared that he no longer knows where he is or who she is. And they don’t understand why humans are like this! When Tomas calls false on the demon’s sham of St. Bridget’s, again it’s like ugh why do you care, “What’s wrong with a little fantasy,” why are you fighting this. Because: we are at our hearts a prim and honorable species, apparently, adorably.

I do not believe I have mentioned yet my discovery that the theme song---but just the theme song, not the score as well---is by Daniel Hart, of the fantastic Ain’t Them Bodies Saints soundtrack

I know this is a lot to ask, I don’t know if WSDOT would even let you borrow a ferry to shoot on for a day for all your ferry scenes, but I wish it. They look like this! They would be a very neat setting for scenes!!! The big windows, the cold fore and aft decks, buying a disappointed packaged muffin from the food counter.... Anyway what I previously thought was a ferry in this generic Seattle B-roll establishing shot may actually be a small cruise ship, so I take that back.

“I can tell you that kind of negative thinking isn’t going to help us resolve this situation.” You GET the kind of energy you put OUT - Rose

Alfonso Herrera saying “vulnerability” on loop pls

Rose is a magnificent liar, with magnificent freckles

“Heyy, how you doing sunshine?” I love Father Marcus with my (whole) heart

“started” an exorcism on Harper—Tomas only had three candles out, that’s nothing, you can’t get started exorcising shit with just three candles

Marcus dunking a biscuit in his tea is the second most British thing he’s done since he said “Lob us that strap.”

I’d like to know where skinny jeans over here has been stashing this rock

There were really only two options for a moment this emotionally heady, and it was for Marcus to either pray with him or kiss him. And by kiss him I mean a kiss to his forehead, like a benediction, but long.

See this is what you get for never locking your front door, Andy. Intruders.

Is her name Lorraine? Is Tomas the only one who knows Mrs. Graham’s Christian name

You know this is actually an interesting question that the show never answers: was Nicole actually the demon’s first victim, as Shelby suggested, or was it depression? In support of the former, in the previous season the demon killed Kat’s crush and dropped the scaffolding on Henry all to make it easier to work its way into the Rance family, so I could absolutely see this demon drowning Nicole to try to fracture the Kims. But in support of the latter: the themes of the rest of this season, notably around Harper’s situation, and how well Therapist Andy talks about what depression really is and the ways someone might ask for help. But regardless of what may have ~really~ happened, we do know that this demon preyed on a grieving husband & father knowing he would be vulnerable, and how dare you.

Tomas hasn’t slept in two days at this point. No wonder he fell to a demon who looked like Marcus and smiled at him

Hold on, there are THREE different ways to make coffee on this counter, THREE. How are they fucking up the coffee so bad!

Oh Andy you wear contacts, how are you ever going to find her under water

See they got like 20 candles in here, that’s how you exorcise someone

Maybe it wasn’t Tomas on an errand, maybe it wasn’t Marcus, maybe it wasn’t Bennett to then give to Marcus, maybe it was even just someone else who gave it to Bennett to give to Marcus—but at SOME POINT in the supply line, a member of the Catholic clergy had to figure out where to purchase, and then purchase, leather cuffs and ropes with which to tie someone down to a bed.

Wow I genuinely started crying when Verity did!

Oh I love the demon detail of Imaginary Nikki having a MASSIVE engagement ring, as if

How many times did John Cho have to run into this water

Moues following House (M.D.) Rules: once the stubborn patient goes unconscious, then you can treat them

Tomas softly smiling at Marcus: “You know so much about me, and I hardly know anything about your life,” still just has me Screaming. I’m interested in you, tell me about you. You hold me until I come back to myself, and I want to know everything about you.

Whenever they do the demons sitting on their victim’s chest thing I just freak out. CLASSICALLY TERRIFYING. I love art.

“Must be one hell of an infection to call in a couple of priests.” Possibly we don’t give Peter’s jokes enough credit.

All Peter wants to do is transport Marcus places.

I’m relieved to find I wasn’t totally missing the mark last time thinking this body in the tub was a vision, as Tomas is definitely hearing things that aren’t there in connection with it. Also hat tip to whoever decided Tomas would wet his face and then not dry it before turning around, so he’d have water droplets hanging in his eyelashes and off his outstretched fingertips.

Tomas is leaning against both a wall and a dresser. He is so tired.

How To Center Your Priest, by Frs. Marcus Keane & Tomas Ortega 1. Notice he’s starting to fall apart 2. Wrap your hands around his shoulders 3. In extreme cases, skin-to-skin contact can work wonders: the neck, the nape, the side of the face. (Ed. note: They are all extreme cases. - M.K.) 4. Look searchingly into his eyes, with all the lights turned on in yours 5. Repeat his name intently 6. Bonus level: Starting to lift your hands away only to hover them like he’s a bird you’re ready to catch

@memory-for-trifles​ casually observed to me that Tomas’s Marcus fantasy might as well be scored with George Michael’s ‘Father Figure’, and I’ve never been the same since

Ben Daniels whispering prayers with his eyebrows steepled and worry flooding his eyes: great look

“The love of God enfolds us. The power of God protects us. Tomas—”

When he walks into Russ & Colleen’s house Marcus calls out for Harper first :’) daughter

Tomas deciding to carry out this mass anyway like well I can’t let down this congregation, even if they are fake

What gives Verity the strength to keep fighting back is Rose’s words, and seeing Harper across from her—her little sister

“You think you’re clever? I was onto your ass from the start.” Love u Shelby

After two major possessions I’ve concluded that all the demons want is a captive audience to witness their monologuing about what a dick God is

I mean the fact that this looks a lot like Northwest November does explain how short this day seems to be

The idea that if you get off the island you’re safe is really appealing to me. I do not believe this demon is actually bound by the water, but it’d fun if that were the case. I like when there are rules to the game.

Rose is not going to have the strength to pull herself up this rope having been in cold water that long. My dad always told me that after about 10-15 minutes in the Sound without a wetsuit, you won’t be able to climb out, someone will have to pull you. But that said, Li Jun Li ABSOLUTELY plays this like she’s fucking freezing. Her voice is nearly gone, and I love the realistically ungainly way she just immediately tips over as soon as they get her out and she tries to stand on her feet. Good cold acting!

Demon Casey is taller in every shot, this is so fun

“We don’t leave family behind.” Well I’m crying

Verity saying thank you to Marcus for throwing himself between her and the danger, giving her a chance to run, reminds me of my unending sadness that we never got a scene where they could Talk. But I can hope that Peter stays in her life after all this, and that they do. Let Verity have a gay uncle pls.

Mouse pulls Tomas out of his trance, getting to save herself someone else that Marcus had left behind---holy moly, Wow, that had not hit me before!

One flaw to season two is that there is not near enough Father Bennett in the latter half, but I do appreciate this scene very much as he saw his sister when he was near death last season as well. Also, Bennett figures out whether things are real with what essentially seems to be a logic flowchart he runs through for any given situation, which must make his relationship with Marcus taxing.

At least Marcus left Mouse in good hands, which is frankly more than he can say for having just left Tomas in the closet. Pun not intended.

Confession: “I don’t want to lose you.” Prayer: “Then bring me back.”

Tomas is having a Thought here and I’m wondering what it is. Andy is saying that if he leaves, the demon runs, but Tomas already knew that as it’s why he’s here. Oh honey, is it finally hitting you what it will mean for you to be the one holding the devil close, until the end.

Tomas, gently: “Say what you have to say.” Because Father Tomas understands that confession is something people need sometimes, and hearing it is something he can offer Andy. Ahhh

“There is another way” possibly only beat by “You don’t know my partner” for Trope-y Lines I Love

Was getting a shot of Marcus folded up on the floor watching Tomas, when I realized that this building is a SCHOOL. That’s why Demandy joked “Eyes up at the front of the class, kids”! It’s not the Witch House, it’s the Witch SCHOOLHOUSE.

For a second I thought Andy and Tomas were coming out holding lightsabers

It’s not your fault, Andy! Marcus would tell you that, Tomas meanwhile feels it is his fault so is just stuck in a fault quandary

Tomas: “Let him go. Take me instead.” Demon: “With pleasure.” We can be grateful that she is nearly unrecognizable gloppy paint Nicole at this point and not Marcus again, hooo boy it is already bad enough watching this inky thing try to wrench its way into his mouth!

OH these poor darlings they are all so distraught!!!

The butterflies flying around Andy’s body in the morning light, like angels

Harper laying across Verity’s lap <3

I’m full ass crying again over the Kims!

How do they continually find the world’s tiniest motels

Marcus is sitting on the bed rubbing the gun muzzle tattooed on the back of his hand with his thumb, END ME

For a few seconds I was about to concede that you could interpret “I wasn’t” differently, but what else would it be?? Marcus was not willing to make this sacrifice! The sacrifice was Tomas! 

An Emmy for Alfonso Herrera’s bewildered pained double take when he realizes Marcus ‘Tactile’ Keane is trying to say goodbye with a handshake

Oh my god and Marcus can’t even look at him anymore! He keeps his gaze down and flees! BEN.

Stricken, lost Tomas just like yes please, give me an evil to throw myself at so I can try to forget this ache in my heart

Shelby said “Don’t call me dude, bro” to Verity aaahh babies

I would like to know what Marcus has been doing on the waterways for the past three months

I would REALLY LIKE TO KNOW...everything, everything about what comes next. What untold possibilities. God, thank you, thank you ever The Exorcist Show

— — —

The Exorcist The Show

Season One Part 1, Part 2 Season Two Eps 1 & 2, 3 & 4, 5 & 6, 7 & 8, 9 & 10

Season One again: Part 1, Part 2 Season Two again: Part 1

#The Exorcist The Show #The Exorcist #Tarra takes notes

[expressandadmirable]

Tomorrow Untrodden (Morgan)

I.

“Hey.”

Morgan offered a wan half-smile. “Hey.”

Pulling the Lefein into a soft hug, Aviva was struck by the memory of hugging Morgan the Gnome. Back then she had been half the Tiefling’s size rather than half a head taller. “Is he gone?”

“Yeah.” The pair released one another and settled onto a bench in the hallway, the soft, misty light from the windows at either end making the world seem preternaturally quiet. “He was happy to see us. He told us a couple times.”

Aviva considered making a joke about how impossible it had always been to unravel Lukahn’s ramblings, even for someone as adept at prophecy as Elerian or Cid, but she thought better of it. Morgan had always had a gift for deciphering her spiritual kin. “You came to see him often, huh?”

Morgan nodded. “Uncle Cid and I made regular trips. We built a lot of card houses, and we told him how the world was changing. I came up with a lot of ways to play games differently, like extra rules and variations and stuff, and he really liked that.” She smiled. “Maergrahn trained me well, I guess.”

“Was he able to leave you with any parting thoughts?”

“A few. Mostly he told us he was happy. And he asked me to build an extra large card house in his honour.”

“Sounds like an appropriate cairn.”

Morgan snorted, then let it fade into a sigh. “Uncle and I are the last of the Lefein now.”

Aviva nodded slightly. “How are you feeling?” The eternal question.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.” For a brief time, Aviva had known what it felt like to be the last of her kind. But they had been able to restore the Tieflings. The Lefein did not share that destiny. She took Morgan’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You want to come back to Aelfheim for a bit? Spare room’s yours whenever you want it.”

“Uncle and I need to take care of a few things first. We’re going to scatter Lukahn’s remains in places of significance to the Lefein. It shouldn’t take too long, with the Highwind. But then yes. I’d like that.” Morgan smiled a little more broadly. “I think Starman is pining for Demon.”

Aviva chuckled. “I know Demon’s pining for Starman, she regularly tears up the toy you gave her that looks like him and then cries at me until I mend it. Please let our cats reunite before she drives us mad.”

Morgan giggled. “Okay. I’ll come by once I’ve dropped Uncle back at his lab. Maybe a week or so.” For a few moments, she lapsed into silence, then laced her fingers with Aviva’s. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.” Aviva kissed the Lefein’s cheek. “You’re family.”

II.

Leaving Halei in their sitting room, Aviva grinned in anticipation, the air turning translucent gold as she cast her spell. A moment later, the bridge of the Highwind shimmered into view. “Cidney!” she called. “I’m here early, and I brought treats from Aelf--”

“‘Viva, get down!!”

Instinctively, Aviva ducked, just in time to see a bolt of energy streak through where her head had been. Turning in a crouch, she realised the ship was listing precipitously to one side, the internal gravity only thing keeping her from tumbling into the window. “Cid?!”

Another bolt of energy struck the floor near her knee. A mote of flame instinctively forming in her palm, she spun to face her attacker and nearly collided with Morgan coming for her at a sprint. “Cid, what in all the hells?!”

“Behind my chair!”

The pair dove beyond the captain’s chair just as the hulking metal humanoid at the other end of the bridge fired again. Calculating the distance of its prey, the living tech lumbered towards them. “Making friends?!”

Morgan flashed her a lighting quick withering look, then raised both guns and fired, hitting the tech square in the chest. “Lefeinish creation. Prototype servitor. In near perfect working condition, and I’d like to try and keep it that way--” She ducked to avoid a retaliatory blast. “So don’t hit it in the head!”

With a curt nod, Aviva let loose handful after handful of searing flame, dutifully aiming for the torso. Morgan reloaded her guns with practiced efficiency and separated the tech’s joints from its body, causing it to topple forward onto the deck. In perfect unison, each woman took one final shot, and with a frustrated whir, the tech stilled.

Silence crept across the bridge. Morgan stood cautiously, stepping out from behind her chair and nudging the tech with her boot. It did not move. Confidence instantly restored, she crouched by its head. “Well, that didn’t go how I expected.”

“And how, exactly, did you expect that to go?” Aviva straightened, then leaned against the chair.

“How was I supposed to know it had defence protocols?” Morgan replied testily, rapping on the tech’s head. “Just means I have to run more diagnostics before I turn him on again.” Sensing Aviva opening her mouth to retort, Morgan waved a hand. “It’ll be fine.” Every inch the mad scientist. She pushed to her feet, straightened her hair, then turned to Aviva with a wide, delighted smile.

“You said you had treats?”

III.

“It’s time.”

Halei set up from her place on the sofa, instantly alert. “Are you sure?”

Aviva glared at her wife, then doubled over as a contraction shot through her, leaning against the dining table for support. “Yes,” she forced through gritted teeth, “it is most definitely time.”

“Right.” Appearing at Aviva’s side, Halei helped her into the bedroom and over to the bed. “Mei and your mother are in the garden; I’ll fetch them first, then Elerian. You breathe. What else do you need?”

“Infinite willpower. And water.” Aviva winced in pain as Halei turned on her heel, then an irritated chirp drew her attention to the corner of the room. From a nest of old fabric, the amber eyes of Demon of the Abyssal Reach stared back at her. “You too?”

“Hmm?” Halei returned from the kitchen, pressing a mug of water into Aviva’s hands. “Me?”

“No, Demon.” Aviva nodded to the ball of black fur. “I think she and I are on the same timeline.”

Halei’s eyes widened. “Seriously? That’s far too many babies for one set of quarters.”

“I’ll say.” Aviva sipped her water. “Well, I promised I’d tell Cidney when either Demon’s clock went off, or mine, so…” Flicking her fingers in the familiar gestures of Sending, she announced into the air in front of her: “I’m going into labour -- and so, I think, is my cat??” She took another drink of water as she listened to the response, then promptly spat it out in a burst of manic laughter.

“What?” Halei pressed. “What did she say?”

Aviva looked up at her, her breathing laboured and her eyes watering, though whether due to joy or contractions was unclear. “‘What did Elerian do to your cat?’”

IV.

“This might be the best augment you’ve made.”

Morgan grinned, sliding into the steaming bathwater and letting out a happy sigh. “There we go. Worth it. I wasn’t using this space as a cabin anyway.”

“No?” Aviva laughed. “I guess your garden variety servitors don’t use beds.”

“These aren’t garden variety servitors,” Morgan replied haughtily. “They’re salvaged Lefeinish tech, updated with my own personal designs. They don’t make them like this in Scanderimus, no matter how good they are down there.”

Aviva humphed in acknowledgement. Morgan had spent years collecting and restoring these specimens and they ran the Highwind like clockwork -- in some cases literally, given her clock-making background. It did, however, mean that the majority of Morgan’s interactions with living people came in the form of shopping for supplies or visiting Aviva and her family. “Have you made one from scratch yet?”

“Not yet.” Morgan slouched further into the water, creating tiny ripples that lapped against Aviva’s chest. “I think I’m gonna try soon, though. I have enough small pieces to build most of the chassis, and I think I could synthesise the rest. I can do all the internal programming. After that it’s just a matter of designing the right exterior. If I’m gonna make it entirely by myself, I want it to be really special.”

“Like you?”

That caught Morgan off-guard. “I… I don’t know. I don’t think I would make it look like me, but less metallic would be interesting.” She paused. “It won’t be like me. I mean, it won’t have a spark. I was an anomaly.”

Aviva watched her, head tilted in thought. “Anomalies can happen more than once.”

Morgan slid up to her nose in the water, her white hair piled atop her head like a captive cloud, and she thought for a few long moments before coming up for air. “They can. I guess it could happen.”

“Would you like that? Is that something you would want?”

“Hadn’t thought about it.” Spying Aviva’s raised eyebrow, Morgan glowered. “Okay, I’ve thought about it. I’ve wondered if there were ways for me to do it on purpose, but I don’t think there are. It’s just random. So I haven’t gotten my hopes up.” She met the Tiefling’s gaze. “But I think I would like that, if it happened.”

Aviva smiled. “I could see that being… really nice.” She grinned. “Parenting without the childbirth.”

“What, no!” Morgan squealed, water splashing as she sat up. “I wouldn’t be its parent! Maybe its teacher, or its caretaker. But I wouldn’t be giving it life, I’d just be building a vessel.”

“Mmm. Maybe.” Aviva leaned back, resting her head on the lip of the bath. “I may be relatively new at it, but that sounds an awful lot like parenting to me.”

“Maybe.” Morgan watched the ripples on the surface of the bath. “Maybe.”

V.

“Cid,” Aviva slurred, rolling her head to look lopsidedly at the Lefein at her side. “Ciiiiiiidney.”

“Mmmwhat,” Morgan responded, blinking the Tiefling into focus.

Aviva grinned brightly, if sloppily. “I’m real glad you’re here.”

Morgan reached for her bottle of wine, nearly knocking it over in the process. “I’m glad I’m here too. You know I’ll always come visit.”

“I know, but I mean, like… here.” Aviva gestured broadly with her own wine bottle. “In the world. In my life. I’m real glad you’re here.”

Spreading her arms wide, Morgan pulled Aviva into a hug, nearly tipping them both over in the process. “Me too.”

(Art by @stufflaalikes​)

#Dungeons and Dragons #Original Characters #Canon #Aviva Lux #Epilogue #Title: The Flashbulb #Aasimar

[elegantshapeshifter]

.:: Historically Attested Offerings for the Major Spirits (i.e. the Gods) in Traditional Witchcraft ::.

Let’s try to go back with our mind to the IX-X centuries. In 906 CE a legend starts circulating, initially in the Franco-Germanic area, and then in all Europe. It’s the legend of a procession of Spirits, led by a female character, a Lady of the Night, a “Domina Nocturna”. This Domina and her procession passed from house to house during particular days. For this occasion, people cleaned and ordered their house, in order not to let her find it untidy or dirty. These people also left at night something to eat and drink on the table of their kitchen, knowing that the procession would have come. According to this ancient belief, the spirits would have appreciated the banquet, spiritually savoring it and filling its material remnants with blessings. Then all the procession would have danced and finally the Domina would have taken her wand and blessed the whole house and its inhabitants to thank them for the hospitality received. The heart of the Historical Traditional Witchcraft is this. The witch was the human who had the privilege to go with this procession still being alive. This same procession, in later centuries, would have become the “Ludus Bonae Societatis”, i.e. the “Game of the Good Society” (the “Good Society” was the set of all the witches in the world) or Sabbath. So the Offering was not just a simple act, was the complementary of the Flying with her spirit along with the procession. With the Offering you gave the food for the Domina and her retinue, with the Flying you took the food that others gave.

The Theory:

From Carlo Ginzburg's "Night Battles":

"The Thesaurus pauperum of 1468 condemned “the idolatrous superstition of those who left food and drink at night in open view for Abundia and Satia, or, as the people said, Fraw Percht and her retinue, hoping thereby to gain abundance and riches.” The same practice of offering drink, salt, and food to Perchta, “alias domine Habundie,” on certain days had been taken note of and subsequently condemned in 1439 by Thomas Ebendorfer von Haselbach in De decem praeceptis."

"There is a reference to these nocturnal hordes guided by a female figure in a work by William of Auvergne (d. 1249). According to the common people, a mysterious divinity (but in reality a devil, William explained) called Abundia or Satia, wandered at night through houses and cellars, accompanied by her followers, eating and drinking whatever they could find: if she came upon food and bread left as offerings, she bestowed prosperity on the house and its inhabitants; otherwise she withdrew and refused her protection."

From Claude Lecouteux's "Phantom Armies of the Night":

"This custom was observed throughout the entire Middle Ages, as the clerical literature testifies. It is mentioned by Césaire of Arles (died 542), St. Boniface (675–754), the pseudo- Augustine (eighth century), Atto de Vercelli (died 960), Yves de Chartres (d. 1040), and Gratien (d. before 1179), and others. The canonists and clerics note that offerings or gifts are placed on the set table (mensas cum dapibus vel epulis in domibus preparare). Sometimes the rite is referred to by two words: mensas ornare. A Munich manuscript from the Alderspach Monastery alludes to those who “garnish their table for Percht.”"

From Jeffrey Burton Russell's "Witchcraft in the Middle Ages":

"Another popular story relating to witchcraft has to do with the wild ride and the bonae. A typical version from about 1254 is told by Jacques de Vitry in his Golden Legend. One evening, St. Germain of Auxerre was dining at the home of a friend. After they had risen from the table, the hosts began, to Germain's astonishment, to set the table again. When asked why, they said that they were preparing for the good ladies who ride out at night".

The Practice:

- How to understand which Major Spirit to worship?

First of all, let’s state that this choice must be a considered choice; it is a matter of building a link with a Spirit, a bond that will probably last for your lifetime. Therefore it absolutely cannot be taken lightly.

After we understand this, the first thing to do is to see if there have been trials for witchcraft in our area (or the area our Ancestors came from, if we are Americans or Australians). Usually the most useful trials are those before the mid-1500s, because roughly on this date the Church begins to associate witchcraft with devil and therefore we risk finding trials where there is Satan at the head of witches and no more, for example, Diana, Herodias, the Lady of the Game or other characters. The later trials are therefore completely useless for our purposes.

By analyzing these trials if they are any and/or local folklore (for example, by reading books of local popular legends, especially legends related to witches), we must pay attention to: - the names of the characters who lead the witches; - the names of the characters who lead the fairies; - the names of the characters who lead the the Wild Hunt/Procession of the Dead; - the names of characters who are present in folklore which come from pre-Christian Deities.

Once we obtained the names that are linked to the region we choose as a reference point, we have to choose one of these names, the one of the Spirit that we feel closer to us. The Major Spirit we would have chosen will become our Patron Major Spirit.

- How to perform the “Offerings Table” for our Patron Major Spirit?

The Offerings Table for our Patron Major Spirit is very simple, it’s nothing else but a table laden with food and drinks for our Patron Major Spirit and his/her retinue (of which we have just spoken). Here's how to do it:

1) We start by carefully cleaning and ordering our entire house (or at least the room in which we will perform this ritual, usually the kitchen).

2) We set the kitchen table (or alternatively an altar, if we cannot use the kitchen and we are forced to work in other rooms), putting a clean tablecloth, napkins, cutlery, plates, glasses, a bottle of wine or other drinks and a banquet worthy of a king (we're talking about important spirit, after all!). We will dispose, then, a first course, a second course, a side dish and a dessert or fruit. They will also need one or more chairs, in order not to make our guests stand up.

3) Let's affirm our will to leave these offerings for our Patron Major Spirit and his/her following, by saying something like this: "[Name of the Major Spirit], I offer you this banquet. May this night you, together with your retinue, enter my humble abode that I have set up for you, clean and tidy. May you eat the food and drink the wine [or the drink of your choice] that I prepared for you, dance in my home and bestow your blessings on me, on this house and on all those who live here! I also entreat you, [name], after having consumed the spiritual qualities of this food and this wine, may you and your procession fill them with prosperity, so that tomorrow, when I will wake up, may I eat their material remains and assimilate in me every good that you have instilled in it! So mote it be!"

4) We can light incense (and saying something like "I offer you this perfume to cheer you up, [Name of the Major Spirit], may you appreciate it and give your blessings to me, to my house and to those who live here!") and leave one or more musical instruments on the table (saying something like "I leave these instruments for your joy, [Name], and for that of your procession. May you use them to cheer your banquet and revive even more your already magnificent party while you stay as honored guests in my house!"). These additions were made by Women from Outside (Sicilian practitioners) but are not found everywhere, so it is a licit - but not mandatory - variation.

5) We can customize even more by adding candles to illuminate the working area, representative candles of our Patron Major Spirit, representations or images of him/her, flowers, and so on. These are modernizations (perhaps except for candles to illuminate the working area), but if you feel you want to insert them you are free to do so, as long as you are aware that it is just modernization, and that the basic practice is the offering of the banquet.

6) When we wake up (or at lunchtime), we will approach the prepared table, thank the Major Spirit, we will sit down and eat. An example of a sentence to say as a thanksgiving is the following: "[Name of the Major Spirit], I thank you for having entered my home tonight, together with your retinue! Thank you for having consumed the spiritual qualities of this food and this wine [or the chosen beverage] that I prepared for you! Thank you for having celebrated inside my house and, above all, thank you for having bestowed your blessings on me, on my home and on all those who live here! Thank you for having filled this food and this wine, after having eaten and drank, with prosperity and abundance! May I assimilate your blessings by eating the material remnants of the banquet that I offered you! May I absorb in me all the good that you have instilled in it! So mote it be! Thank you, [Name], thanks to you and your retinue!"

7) So we will eat, will drink and when completed, we’ll thank again our Patron Major Spirit and his procession, greet him/her and move away from the room after putting everything back into place.

- When will we perform the “Offerings Table”? 

The Major Spirit is the main Familiar Spirit of the witch. So, as for every Familiar Spirit, the witch has the duty to nourish him/her, to feed him/her. Not because he/she needs offerings to survive (Spirits are immortal!) but because in this way we can feed the bonding, the relationship between us and the spirit. For this reason, we should treat the offering and its frequency as we should treat our relationship with food. Would we eat once in a month? I don’t believe so. In the past the witch fed her Familiar Spirit, it was said that s/he offered him/her something to eat at least once a day to nourish him/her. Today some people can decide to make an offering every day, others several times a week, others only once a week, but in my opinion we should not fall below this frequency.

#traditional witchcraft #reconstructionist traditional witchcraft #stregheria #tradcraft #trad craft #paganism #pagan

[tipsycad147]

Artemis Of The Moon

https://abstract.desktopnexus.com

Project Created by Kerritwyn )0( © All original material in this site is under copyright protection and is the intellectual property of the author.

Artemis Here is the virgin Goddess, Artemis, Running across the mountains of Taygetos, Or up the steep hills of Erymanthos, Running with her maidens, Running with the deer, Accompanied by birds, Ranging widely in the wilderness, Playful and strong and free and beautiful: The heart of her Mother is glad. Homer, The Odyssey (1) Artemis is the preeminent goddess of classical Greece, though her origins are lost in time and matriarchal goddess worship, and may include a descent from a pre-Indo-European sun goddess.(2) Artemis is known from Greek, Lydian and Etruscan inscriptions and texts, and on very ancient tablets from Pylos.(3) Artemis and Hecate are linked through time, through the moon cycle: Hecate, awesome and linked with death, and Artemis, youthful, beautiful, reflecting the purity of nature, and linked with unmarried motherhood.(4) Hecate and Artemis can be seen through the prism of time as two sides of a mirror, and many qualities attributed to one, in one culture, were passed along to the other, at a different time. Artemis was said by the classical Greeks to be the daughter of Zeus and his mistress, Leto, and the twin sister of Apollo, who was born a day later.(5) Athenian girls of marriageable age dressed as bears and danced to her, and offerings on her altars included phalli, sacrificed animals, fruit, spindles, loom- weights, shuttles, and woollen and linen cloth.(6) Artemis was the protector of all life, but she was also the essence of apparent contradiction: the virgin who promoted promiscuity, the huntress who protected animals, a tree, a bear, the moon.(7) She was the epitome of feminine possibility, changing as a woman does as she moves through her life, and an expression of infinite, explosive and sometimes terrifying power. Virgin. Artemis was viewed as perpetually unmarried, virgin in the sense of being her own woman, subject to no male, though she was often invoked in dying-god fertility and harvest rituals.(8) In this context, virginity symbolised autonomy and independence, and the freedom of the goddess to be her own person, to be true to her own beliefs and instincts, and to pick and choose her lovers freely.(9) Other authors see this aspect of Artemis as an Amazon and a passionate and aggressively sensual lover of women.

Huntress. On the full moon in August, in Ancient Greece, one of the great festivals of Artemis was held, dedicated to Artemis in her aspect as Huntress. She is often depicted with a bow and arrows, and with one or more hounds. A goat was sacrificed to her during this festival, to honour the magickal control she exercised over all animal life. Honouring the savage huntress recognises that life feeds on life. Whether the life we consume is animal or vegetable, we cannot survive unless we devour the bodies of once-living entities.(11) In this form, Artemis was an elemental force, a creature of instinct, who killed certain individual animals, but assured that the species survived, and who killed anyone who hunted pregnant animals or their young.(12) There are few Whom laughing Aphrodite cannot conquer; Artemis is one, For she is already in love with the hunt, With the bow and the quiver full of arrows, With the sound and the scent of the chase, The songs and calls of the hunters, And the fierce blood shed by Wild boar and deer as they die In the shadowy forest glades; And the dancing, later, To the music of lyres Among right-living people. Homer Artemis also used her bow and arrows for specific acts of justice and vengeance. When her mother, Leto, was angered by the bragging of Queen Niobe that her own children were superior to Leto's, and called upon her archer daughter for vengeance, Artemis killed all of Niobe's offspring, and turned Niobe into a block of black stone, from which a weeping fountain endlessly poured. Artemis also killed the serpent, Python, and the giant, Tityus, for tormenting her mother, and the spying hunter, Achteon, who secretly watched Artemis at her bath. Artemis executed him by turning him into a stag, and setting her own hounds upon him. Dozens of others were allegedly killed by Artemis, according to Greek myths. Artemis also inflicted Teuthras with leprosy, so that he would die slowly and miserably, when he killed one of her sacred pigs.(14) In addition to being an aloof and balanced game warden, this aspect of Artemis was also a ruthless and swift force for vengeance against sacrilege or insult to the goddess, or on behalf of any woman or female creature who was cruelly treated.

Matron of Birthing Mothers. Artemis was invoked by women in childbirth, as Artemis Eileithyia, and was also considered the protector of young girls. In contrast, in another form, as Artemis Brauronia, she was said to have aroused madness in birthing mothers, and her anger could cause the death of a woman in childbirth.(16) Moon Goddess. As she is most typically pictured in Western Art, Artemis is the virginal moon goddess roaming the forest with her female band, bearing a bow and a quiver of arrows, avoiding men, and killing any many who looked upon her. In an even more ancient association, her name has been said to mean 'High Source of Water', and the Moon is considered to be the source and ruler of all water, and of the tides of the ocean, and of the menstrual cycle.Some depictions of Artemis combine the lunar crescent with the archer's bow, and show her bending the moon into the sickle shape, and aiming an arrow through it. Dark Goddess. In Sparta, her dark aspect was worshipped as Taurian Artemis, allegedly with an annual human sacrifice, which was later modified to ritual flagellation. Ephesus. The many-breasted Artemis of Ephesus was worshipped as a fertility goddess, in a temple which was said to be one of the seven wonders of the ancient world.(21) This temple at Ephesus is believed to have been originally built by the Amazons (1000-600 B.C.E. (22)), and was destroyed by barbarian hordes in the middle of the 3rd century.(23) King Croesus rebuilt the temple 100 years later, and it's chief object of love and adoration, mentioned in the Acts of Apostles, was a palm-wood statue of Artemis. She received many rich gifts, including gold and silver awnings and garments for the statue, which were regularly changed, and which included golden sculptured grapes, giving the appearance of many breasts.(24) Artemis was served by chaste priestesses called Mellisai, or "bees", and by eunuch priests.(25) The temple continued to be a place of reverence until approximately 400 A.D., when Christians allegedly destroyed it.(26)

Temple of Artemis at Ephesus

Magickal Associations. Bears, the fiercest animal mothers, are sacred to Artemis, and she is associated with the constellation of Ursa Major. Guinea fowl are her birds. Her magickal number is 777. Her Tarot cards are Nines, the High Priestess and the Temperance card. The gems associated with her are quartz, moonstone, pearl and crystal. The plants associated with her are artemisia (one form of which is dusty miller, often known as wormwood because it is said Artemis wormed her hounds with it, banyon, mandrake, damiana, almond, mugwort, hazel and moonwort. The animals associated with her are the elephant, dog, centaur and horse. The mineral associated with her is lead. Her perfumes are jasmine, ginseng, menstrual blood, and all sweet, virginal odours. Her magickal weapons are perfumes, fleet sandals, and the bow and arrow. Other concurrent names for her were Callisto, Cynthia, Delia, Phoebe, Pythia and Parthenos. She was subsequently adopted into the Roman pantheon as the goddess Diana. 

Spells.

http://majorolympians.com

Much magick invokes Artemis, because of her extraordinary depth and complexity. Out of the wealth of possibilities, here is one lovely example: Woodland Love Spell This spell is designed for those seeking a female lover, using earth-focused forest energy and woodland spirits. On a bright and sunny day, go to a favorite spot in the woods, with fruit, cheese, bread, a knife, a felt tip pen, a small piece of rose quartz, and some green cord. Get comfortable, let go of the mundane world, and tune into the life of the woods around you. Cut a slice of bread, a cube of cheese and a piece of fruit, and bury them in a hold you have dug at the base of a nearby tree. Then, on a large broad leaf, write with your pen: Lady of the Forest, Lady of the vine, Bring to me The love that is mine. Blessed Be. Wrap the leaf carefully around the rose quartz, tie it with the green cord, and raise earth energy to charge your charm. Place the charged charm on top of the buried food, and chant: Oh Ancient Huntress, I come seeking you. Come to me, Artemis, Mistress of the Hunt, Earth Daughter, Green Mother, Lover, Creatrix. Bring me a woman suited to be my partner. I will accept and love the one you choose to Embody yourself within. Let us bind together, Play together, Love together, Entwining our souls and minds, Entwining our hearts and bodies, Entwining our paths and lives. So mote it be.

Poem & Invocation to Artemis

Fierce Goddess By Kerritwyn )0( Mighty Goddess, Proud and free, Tall and strong, Swift as the wind, Fill me with the fierce joy Of your riotous passion. Noble Goddess, Stern in punishment, Brooking no cruelty, Suffering no mockery, Fill me with the fierce joy Of your righteous vengeance. Mesmerising Goddess, Changing with the moon, White as ice, Red as blood, Fill me with the fierce joy Of your female mysteries. Artemis and Achteon by Boris Vallejo

http://www.orderwhitemoon.org/goddess/artemis-moon/Artemis2.html