#lookit him!!! how can you look at this face and say hes not a freaky fabulous fella!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gingerwritess · 5 years

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I DONT THINK I HAVE EVER SHIPPED ANYTHING MORE THAN ELLIOT/MORGAN OTHER THAN STUCKY. PLEASE IM BEGGING IM ON MY KNEES SCREAMING FOR A PART 2

here honey here have a part two that’s like a prequel but not but it is mwah

i should try following a timeline huh

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The worst day of Elliot’s life, and he’s barely five years old.

He was blue, Morgan was wearing a sunny yellow dress that didn’t quite reach her knees and billowed around her when she ran.

The blue wasn’t supposed to show up, but he slipped and fell off the ladder to Morgan’s treehouse, scraping up his left knee pretty badly. Morgan ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, yelling for her parents to come help.

That was the first time he thought yellow could be a nice color—yellow means sun, sun is hot, hot isn’t good. But it’s nice and happy on Morgan, it dulls the pain in his knee for a little bit.

She comes dashing back to him dragging her dad behind her. “He’s hurt, you gotta fix him!”

“I’ll need some new batteries for this one,” Mr. Stark smiles, scooping him into his arms and brushing away a stray tear with his thumb, carrying him back to the house. “Miss Morgan, will you run ahead and fetch us an ice pack and a band aid?”

She bolts off ahead of the other two, Elliot still sniffling into Tony’s shirt. He doesn’t seem to mind.

Plopping Elliot on the countertop, Mr. Stark cleans up the scrape with a wet cloth and flicks water at his teary little face, looking for a smile again.

“Y’know, I broke an actual bone one time,” Morgan offers, patting his leg with a comforting little hand. “My baby toe, it snapped off!”

“You stubbed it, sweetheart,” her dad corrects with a small smile, “that doesn’t count as broken.”

But it brings a little laugh to Elliot’s eyes, and he wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “So y’only have nine toes?”

“Yup.” She looks down at her bare feet and counts for a moment. “Wait...no, this time there’s eleven.”

The little boy laughs, much to Tony’s relief. He’d rather not have to answer to an overprotective, angry god for hurting his son on his watch—while the two of them have of course reached a mutual understanding, being thrown out another window isn’t exactly something he looks forward to.

“All clean,” he hums, ruffling a hand through Elliot’s curls. “Let’s get some ice on this and we’ll seal the deal with a bandaid, alright?

It’s a fun ice pack, one of those ones shaped like a little cartoon animal—this one’s a turtle, smiling up at him as Tony sets the ice pack on Elliot’s bruised knee.

A few seconds later, Morgan is staring and Tony is desperately trying not to.

Elliot wipes his nose again with a sniffle and catches a glance of his hand as he moves, his heart dropping.

He’s, um...blue.

His skin is all patchy, spots of blue spreading over his arms and legs and he’s sure it’s going to his face, too.

A hollow feeling settles in the pit of his stomach and he taps Tony on the shoulder.

“Mr. Stark?” He whispers, hoping Morgan doesn’t overhear. “Is it—is it on my face?”

Tony gives him a reassuring smile and nods. “It looks awesome,” he tries to assure him, but Elliot drops his head to his hands.

“I wanna go home, Mr. Stark,” he mumbles. “Please, I wanna go home.”

He peeks out from behind blue fingers to find Morgan still staring, mouth open in a surprised little gape, and his eyes start swimming with tears when she won’t look away.

“Please don’t look at me,” he whispers, and Tony quickly wraps him in a hug.

“Don’t worry, Elliot,” Tony chuckles nervously, tiptoeing around the sensitive subject at hand. “We, uh, we love when our friends can do cool things, don’t we, Morgan?”

No answer, and the little bit of hope left in Elliot’s blue heart is gone in a blink.

“Morgan?”

“Y-you’re blue.”

The pointed look Tony tries to shoot at his daughter falls short as Morgan takes a step closer, little index finger extended and—

Poke.

“Morgan,” Tony hisses, holding Elliot tighter when he flinches at her touch. “Don’t do that.”

“Ooo, you’re cold, too!” Morgan’s jaw has dropped, and she pokes him again. “Are you really a snowman?”

“Mr. Stark,” Elliot asks thickly, “please, c-can my dad come pick me up now?”

“Of course, little guy. Friday, get his parents on the phone?”

It’s barely minutes until you’re knocking on their door, piecing together what’s going on when Tony opens the door with your almost completely blue kid hoisted onto one hip, Morgan still stunned and staring behind him.

“We hit a little hiccup,” Tony explains, and Elliot rushes over to you, burying his face in your knees. “He fell off the ladder to the treehouse, bumped a knee, I thought an ice pack might help...my bad.”

“That’s not your fault,” you assure him, running a comforting hand through Elliot’s hair. “Thank you for having him over, Tony, I’m sorry, we should’ve...y’know, warned you.”

“No, don’t worry about it. He’s you and Loki’s kid, I expected a hell of a lot worse.” He winks and squats down, rubbing a hand over Elliot’s back. “When that knee gets better, kid, you’ll have to come back over, I—”

“HEY!!”

Morgan’s broken out of her daze, gaze landing on you and raising an arm to point at you with wide eyes.

“Did you know he turns blue??”

“I did, actually,” you chuckle, but Elliot just hugs your legs tighter. “Pretty cool, right?”

Morgan gapes, that finger frozen in midair. “Do you turn blue, too?”

“Nope.” You smile over at her, waving away Tony’s wince. “He gets it from his dad!”

“Daddy,” she gasps, “lookit, his eyes’re red now, too—”

“That’s enough, Morgan.”

Tony scoops her into his arms. “We’ll see you next time, Elliot, alright?”

Judging from the tears starting to soak through your pants, he won’t be answering any time soon.

Mouthing I’m so sorry one more time to you, Tony gives you a last apologetic smile and closes the door, just as Morgan starts blabbering again.

“That was freaky, dad, he got real cold and blue, and his eyes—”

“C’mon, kiddo.” You bend down to lift Elliot into your arms with a wheeze—“you’re getting pretty big for this, hm? Growing up so fast. Lets get you home.”

“Mommy?”

Buckling him into his car seat, you pause and press a kiss to his little blue forehead. “What’s up, sweetie?”

“Are you scared of me?”

Your jaw drops with a shocked little huff and you buckle the last strap, patting his knee and looking him straight in the deep, blood-red eye.

“I absolutely am not.”

“But I’m a monster,” he whispers, eyes glistening. “Like dad, right?”

“Wrong,” you nearly choke, a lump forming in your throat. “No, Elliot, no, no, no, you and dad aren’t monsters, where’d you get that idea?”

“But we’re blue, a-and our eyes turn red—”

“Listen to me, Elliot.” Brushing some curls off his forehead, your voice turns stern. “Just because you’re a different...different colour than other people, doesn’t make you any less than them, do you hear me?”

The little boy wipes his nose and nods.

“And it would never make you a monster,” you assure him. “You are beautiful, Elliot. Inside and out. And you know what?”

“What?”

You tap a finger against his blue chest with a small smile.

“This heart right here? It’s yours and no one else’s. And I don’t care what body is carrying it, I’m going to love you because of the pure, beautiful heart you have inside.”

The corner of Elliot’s mouth twitches, almost a tiny smile.

“Does that make sense?” You laugh quietly, giving his seatbelt a tug. “It means that I love you, Elliot, no matter what colour you are or how cold you might get. I’m still gonna hug you.”

He giggles then, teary and hesitant, but right away opens his arms to wrap around your neck when you hug him tight.

“Makes sense,” he whispers, sniffling into your shoulder amidst giggles. “I love you, mommy.”

“I love you, too, kiddo.”

Hugging is difficult when you’re working around a car seat, but you stay there in Elliot’s arms until he sniffs and loosens his grip.

“Monster,” you scoff with a laugh, rubbing your eyes and giving Elliot one last kiss on the cheek. “Who made you think that, sweetie? I’d like to have a word with them.”

You wink and smack your fist into the palm of your other hand, bringing another adorable little laugh from your son.

“Don’t beat him up,” he giggles, shaking his hair out of his face—he needs a haircut, these curls are getting out of control. “I heard it from daddy, so you can’t beat him up!”

“Wha—excuse me??”

“Dad thinks it sometimes,” Elliot explains. “I hear it in his head! He’s really loud in his head, y’know? S’weird, he’s quiet outside, but inside he’s super loud—”

“Dad said that?” Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach.

“He never said it...just in his head. I dunno, I just hear him sometimes when he’s too loud.”

“O-okay.” Taking a shaky breath, you give your kid a half-hearted smile and go get behind the wheel. “Well, um, sometimes...sometimes dad thinks the wrong thing.”

“But dad’s always right,” Elliot grins.

“Not always...” you anxiously chew your lip as you drive, mind racing. Your son having these kinds of thoughts is one thing, but if he’s hearing it from his father?

You thought Loki was getting better with that whole “monster” image of himself.

“I’ll talk to him,” you promise your kid with a sure smile. “But dad’s wrong. You’re not a monster, and neither is he. That’s the bad parts of dad’s brain talking. Don’t listen to those bad parts, you understand?”

Elliot nods, gaze drifting to the trees zipping by. “I don’t think dad’s a monster,” he says simply, more to himself than anything, it seems. “I love him.”

You try, but just can’t stop the lone tear that slips down your cheek. “So do I,” you hoarsely reply. “I love him, too.”

Years.

It’s been years, and that’s still not enough?

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hope you enjoyed, please reblog and feel free to send me ideas!

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novelelitist · 6 years

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Chaldea Halloween: Saint Martha’s Fireside Farm

Aerial Drive

“I was beginning to think you’d never visit us, Master!”

“The other servants are trying to steal you away from your responsibilities. The Month of Halloween only lasts 31 days and we have a lot of work to do.”

"You’re about Drake’s size, right? ...Hush. You can’t be that much smaller than her. Here, put this flannel on.”

“Hmph, maybe you are that much smaller than her. That’s okay, you don’t look bad in the oversized shirt. Let’s adjust the brim of your hat so it tilts at this angle, and we’ll put this stalk of wheat between your teeth...”

“Ha! You look perfect, Master. You’ll fit right in. Let me give you the grand tour. It’ll be a good time, I assure you.”

“HEY. Don’t try to run away from your responsibilities. Your butt belongs to me today. Ergh--I mean... You already said you’d work with us today, so if you would please--”

"Well lookit what the cat dragged right to Billy the Kid. Howdy, Master. Good to see ya. ...You don’t like the accent? Robin said it’d make you laugh. Think it worked?”

“The Lord and the Saints’ll send me to Hell if I don’t put you to work. Let me give you the rundown and you can choose where to work today.”

Saint Martha put me and Robin in charge of the hayride. We take this tractor and cart along the whole farm for guests. Get some complaints about hay getting stuck in places it doesn’t belong, but it’s part of the fun if you ask me... Here, grab my hand. Hop on before someone sees. I’ll take you around the secret trail so we don’t get caught.

Over there’s the pumpkin patch. See all the faces and designs? That’s all Coffee and the Old Man. Nobody makes pumpkin art like Coffee. Never seen anything like it. Man’s the master of the carving knife. Pops guts the pumpkins for him and delivers them to guests when they’re finished. We have self-carving, but some of the servants get a little out of hand with the knives so we gotta be extra careful. Oh, sorry! Geronimo and Hector. I forget their names sometimes.

No idea how Saint Jeanne puts up with two Gilles de Rais-es running around, but I guess that’s why she’s a saint and we’re sinners. The one isn’t allowed on the farm but if we leave him with the other two he doesn’t cause trouble. I’d love to make a scarecrow out of that guy. The three of them run the market and bakery. The Saint does the talking and the Saber does the selling. Not sure what the Caster does. Don’t want to find out.

See the big brown barn next to that? That’s the petting zoo for freaky creatures. Lady Boudica and Saint Georgios keep them under control. You’d be surprised what Martha has them taming in there. Pretty sure she left Tarasque and a bunch of servants’ familiars and friends. Robin says they got a load of dragons and big lizards in there. Too loud in there for my liking, so I haven’t checked it out yet.

Last stop. Perfect timing. We gotta go before Saint Martha sees us. See her over there with Robin? She’ll have my head in a heartbeat. Sir Francis Drake should be somewhere deep in the corn maze being a map. She won’t bother us. She’s busy being drunk and telling stories to lost boys. We’ll hide out in the stalks until Martha leaves and we can pretend we've been good all day.

“Hang on, you got some corn stalk leaf things stuck in your hair. Let me get those for you... Ta-da! Pulled an ear from behind your ear. Bet you weren’t expecting that, were you?”

“What do you think? Do you know what you want to do? If you get bored you’re welcome to hop on the hayride anytime. I hope you’d come by again before Halloween. There’s always more to do around here and I’d sure be happy to see you.”

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