#maybe a little morally greyish?

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Arsonist's Lullaby

As you may have guessed, this one is inspired by "Arsonist's Lullaby" by Hosier. cw: arson (as you might have deduced, no one is hurt and they're burning their own property)

Draco was doing that thing with his hands again. The thing Harry had noticed first in 8th year and then hadn't stopped being able to notice in the past five years since.

It's what had drawn him to Draco in the first place, like a moth to flame (pun very much intended). There was something completely mesmerizing about watching him snap his fingers and then cradle the blue flames in his palm absentmindedly while he talked, or read a book, or performed any number of mindless tasks. It was sexy as fuck.

"You're staring again," Draco murmured, not raising his eyes from his book as the fire danced across his knuckles.

Harry hummed, "You're doing the fire again."

"You're as obsessed with fire as I am," he said, mouth curling at the corner.

"Mostly obsessed with you," Harry replied and Draco laughed and finally looked up for his book.

He stared at Harry for a moment, the fire winding its way through his fingers the way some people rolled coins along their knuckles. "You know," Draco said, voice a hint too casual and Harry internally perked up at what was sure to be a fantastic confession, "I thought it would end."

"What would?" Harry asked after a moment when it was clear that Draco wasn't going to go on without a bit of prompting.

His silver eyes latched onto Harry and his head tilted as he looked at him, like he was trying to parse something out. "The desire to light things on fire," he said and something hot flared in the pit of Harry's stomach.

"Tell me more," Harry said softly, voice low and seductive in a way that it normally wasn't outside of their bedroom.

Draco's pupils dilated sharply, "when I was a child," he said, the fire burning brighter in his hand for a moment, "I would sit for hours and stare at the flames in the manor's giant fire place. My parents couldn't understand it, they'd find me just sitting there, doing nothing but watching, like I was transfixed."

And frankly, Harry could understand that; he could watch Draco hold fire all day.

"When she caught me, Auntie Bella would say, 'don't ever tame your demons, Draco,' then she'd wink and tell me, 'but always keep them on a leash.'"

"What did that mean?"

Draco gave him a little smile, eyes flashing, "she could sense the bit of chaos, the desire for destruction, I think."

Harry hummed, "What did you want to destroy?"

"Oh, it changes," he replied easily. "When I was sixteen, the last time she said those words to me, I wanted to burn the entire world to the ground."

A shiver raced up Harry's spine, he remembered feeling the same way at sixteen. "And now?" he asked.

"I always thought it would go away," Draco said, "after I fell in love, after I had given the fire within me permission to consume someone the way I've consumed you."

Harry made a soft noise, low in his throat in agreement.

"The way I've let myself be consumed," he added. "But there's still this desire to burn down the past, to start fresh."

He nodded slowly, "that makes sense, actually."

"What if-" Draco started before snapping his jaw shut and clenching his fist around the fire to put it out.

"What if..." Harry prompted, moving to straddle Draco's hips, looking down at his lovely face.

Draco swallowed and rested his head against the back of the sofa, staring up at him. "What if we did start over? What if we moved to the states, or moved to some muggle city? What if-"

"Yes," Harry said, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Draco's lips, fingers skimming up his neck. "Godric, yes," he said, living in the world as the chosen one had only gotten harder since defeating Voldemort.

"What if I burned down the Manor first?" he whispered.

He felt his eyebrows hit his hair line, "What?"

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, but Harry could see the tension in his jaw, the fear of being too much. "Just," he sighed, "no one lives there. It's full of dark, cursed magic and even darker, more cursed memories." He blinked up at Harry, "What if I burned it first?"

He stared at him for a long moment, just searching his face, and finding only earnest desire there. "Alright," he said finally.

"Yeah?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded and leaned in to kiss him again, Draco's palms skimmed up his back and sides, touching him reverently.

"Pack for us?" he asked when he pulled back.

"Everything?"

Draco shrugged, "not furniture."

He closed his eyes and gathered his magic for a moment, letting it pool in his gut before holding out a hand and snapping. The contents of the flat organized themselves into boxes, shrinking down until everything fit into a tote that they could easily put into the back of the beat up old Subaru that Harry had purchased and refit with magic.

"Fucking hot," Draco said, pulling his face down and kissing him soundly.

Harry let himself get swept up in the moment, lost himself in the fire of Draco's kiss, let himself be consumed as Draco's fingers slipped under his shirt, nails raking up his back.

Far too soon in Harry's opinion, Draco was pulling back, flushed and panting. "Drive us as close as we can get to the Manor?" he asked, "then I'll get us through the wards?"

He nodded and stood, tugging Draco up behind him and out the door. The Subaru brought them faithfully through the night to the Manor and Harry parked just on the other side of the wards.

They climbed out of the car and Draco reached for Harry's hand, his cloak billowing dramatically behind him. Harry took it and they were being moved through time and space to a hill where they could see the whole of the Malfoy estate, the Manor centered in front of them.

There was fire flickering in and out of the hand that wasn't clasping Harry's and he watched the other man carefully. "Are you sure about this? You don't have to-"

"No, I know," Draco said. "And there's a part of me that doesn't want to. I loved this home when I was young."

"We could-"

"But it feels all wrong now," he said, shaking his head. "Can't you feel it?" he asked without looking at Harry, "the way that the darkness seeps from this place, it's killing everything around it," he added, pointing to the forest and the meadows, even the yard was brown and dead.

Draco shook his head, "For a little while, it felt like all I had was this fire burning within me, ready to scorch the earth, to wipe out that maniac and everything he stood for. I just feel like there's something more for me out there."

He slid his fingers through Draco's, holding the hand that wasn't currently holding fire. "There is," he promised, raising Draco's knuckles to his lips.

"I don't think that you can tame your demons," he said softly like he wasn't talking to Harry at all. "And I don't think you can keep them on a leash, either," he added. "I think the only thing to do is to destroy them entirely."

Without another word, he released Harry's hand and held up both of his, letting balls of flames build in his palms before hurling them down toward the Manor. As soon as those were sent on their way, he started on two more, then two more, and so on until the entire building was ablaze, flames leaping dozens of feet in the air.

He threw one last ball of fire, then collapsed. Harry dropped with him, reaching out for him and supporting him as they watched the representation of his old life, of everything evil, burn.

What could have been minutes or hours later, they heard the sound of distant sirens and the first few firefighters apparated in, wands blowing streams of Aguamentis at the raging fire.

"Time to go," Draco said, squeezing Harry's hand and apparating directly into the car.

"Where are we headed?" Harry asked, starting the car and punching the button that turned it invisible.

Draco hummed, turning his head and staring at Harry with a thoroughly blissed out, content expression on his face.

He leaned across the center console and kissed him, "You're so," he shook his head and kissed him again, "fucking amazing."

Humming, Draco kissed him back before redirecting his attention to the open sky, "the world's ours. Wherever you want to go," he shrugged, "we're free."

And it never really mattered where they went, there were always plenty of things to find joy in if they were together.

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

Read more of my fics inspired by songs

#drarry #arsonists lullaby #what a vibe #hozier is my jam #a little 'be gay and do crimes' feeling #but also just burn down the past that you had no control over and start fresh #maybe a little darker that i usually write- just so you've got a warning #love #running away together #established relationships #ewe #maybe a little morally greyish?

[nintendodeathsystem]

He slowly fades in behind Blue, a greyish-pink blush spread across his face. "T-thank you for putting him in his place." He peeks out from behind his bangs. "You seem really nice."

Oh hey, it's Red's replacement! Silver, or whatever. Or was it Ethan... Maybe Chris? Oh well, didn't matter. Either way, the kid seems to have mistaken her for someone of moral soundness. Cool to see someone else without any eyes! Shame about the limbs though, he should really see a doctor about that.

"Just doing my part!" Her cheery voice rang out through her ever-present grin. "Allllllllll in a day's work for a Champion-level trainer like little ol' me!"

"...So! Surely ya didn't show up here empty-handed, friend! A great hero like myself deserves a reward, don't ya think?"

Ah, there it is.

#tmtrainer (ic) [p1][!].zip #tm35 (asks) [p1][!].zip #gildead

[jekyllnahyena]

here’s mister I’ll-throw-a-wrench-at-you, Byt Rosa (hehehehehehe) owner of a small junkyard. He was a illegal cage fighter for most of his late teens and early twenties and has the respect of quite a few people for being a very straightforward dude that will help you with a lot of crime if it’s on the side sorta greyish white morality. He’s the one that found Saaki and nursed them to health. Has broken his nose more times than he can count, swears in every sentence he speaks but is actually pretty chill if you are nice. Just. Don’t piss him off. He worries quite a lot about the people he holds close and tells them so. He has threatened Saaki to go to bed almost as often as he’s broken his nose. He and Dusk have a. Thing. They’re not really trying to figure it out too much, because neither is searching for a specific label rn. He should be on quite a few no-fly lists and if he’s not, somebody’s not doing his job.

He, eh, has bitten people’s fingers off. Even before he filed his teeth. He’s a good dude! Just maybe a bit unhinged. Funnily enough, still the one with most common sense/ sense for normality out of Upendo, Dusk and Saaki. They’re a funny little group.

#byt rosa #commander dusk #ajekyllsart #have some doodles of new ocs because i need to introduce him and saaki to build up a bit of story n interaction

[headingalaxys-spicy]

Yandere!Demon!America with Doomguy-like darling who was sent to Hell with a mission to exterminate all the demons and now she had to confront Alfred himself?

I’m not familiar with Doomguy and I read like a Wiki page of it and came up with this.

There was an attempt and I hope you like it.

Also this one is a little violent so viewer discretion is advised.

Y/N had just tossed another large orange and black gerneade into another swarm of demons. The loud resounding crack in the air made it sound like the sky had been shattered and the crust of the underworld trembled like a frail dying daisy. The smoke and fire from the latest explosion made it difficult to see a few inchesfrom your face.

Y/N an angelic war angel decided that it was time to ride the world and the entire cosmos of demons forever. She had her scythe that was normally used to cause armageddon every now and again. This was no exception. She had the authority to do as she wanted now. With her trusted tool in hand she wanted to get up close and personal with her execution with some of the demons in her way. She wanted to leave a damning image that would last them all of eternity to ponder over. Instilling fear and crating hellish image of bodies on the ground like fresh refuse after Cochella.

The angel on the war path had only been in the solar dead zone for an hour and yet 50,000+ denizens of this realm had already been vaporized. That’s when King Alfred’s generals alerted him to the incoming threat that needed to be dealt with quickly. It wasn’t somthing that his generals could handle on their own.

“Hold that violent heretic at bay. I know what will be able to stop them and maybe make them useful to us.”

The Devil-Winged TrackingPoint rifle. This was the American Demons favorite weapon to hunt angelic and celestical beings.

“Give me any extra detail that any of you know about the rampaging angel. What direction they’re heading? I have a plan.” He opens up a hidden drawer that was beneath his dark teakwood desk. It unveiled an onyx rod that that tight intricate webbing that was greyish black like beginning of a fresh fire. It looked fragile but it was an instructable and hold hold onto any unlucky being that found itself to be caught within it’s confines.

Alfred’s generals had a grizzly battle with the demoniacal angel. Out of the 8 generals he had sent to the frontlines 3 of them had fatal injuries and had to pull back and seek aid. The remaining 5 were struggling to keep the armageddon angel away from casuing more carnage.

The afreoementioned rifle fired off a round into the scraffle and his generals knew that it was time to retreat and let the king handle the rest. He was armed with the only two devices that he would need to take you down.

“So you’re the nuisance thats been destroying my domain and from the looks of it you killed about 50,000 upwards. I wasn’t aware that angels were capable of committing something this heinous espically unprompted.”

“Your existence is provocation enough and it’s time I respond in kind by killing all of you. You’re an eyesore to huma-” Before you could finish your statement about exterminating all demons was a moral duty of yours. A silk fabric like net grabbed the backs of your ankles and stung you. A sharp pain sent shock waves through your body and you fell to your knees in front of the towering demon king. A greyish black cloud shrouded your vision and you began to feel light and it felt as though you were having an out of body experience. You were no linger in control of your limbs.

“But I can make use of you my new war machine.”

#hetalia #hetalia fandom #hws #hws america #headingalaxys writes stuff #headingalaxys #alfred f jones #yandere hetalia #demon au #hetalia demon au #hetalia headcanons #hetalia fanfic writers #hetalia fanfiction writers #demon america #aph allies #ヘタリア #axis powers ヘタリア

[scentedchildnacho]

I don't know why the young woman yelled at the older lady at homeless meals with silver hair and God symbols made out of tin foil about the alien invasion.....apparently if your India there are applications for various jobs though I think she is a Bernardo gui type nun did you do that morally without seeking trade

Because it is suppose to be performance and tourism

Its my guess that she screamed bitch at her for no reason because she is in pornography and her appearance is actually kind of creepy.....

Her skin tone had a greyish ness to it like she was pulled out of the shark tank jerk creeped not as beautiful or valuable as claimed aquired appearance harassively

David grey....I assume if her character defect is to tell off alternate feminines as not straight and so not valuable then she has to be criminalized and it's maybe very wealthy and very alone to be punished here

I think it is the juvenile tendency if they can't maturate then they have what it takes for militaristic initiation into upper middle class places and finally get to be alone

I tried to think what about that lady is so unpleasant that one would need to swear at her......and she mostly just kind of does stuff Catholic and it's Brutus again please don't kill Caesar yet don't to me yet

Anyway the woman who sweared at her again i guess it's these humiliations....they called her butt mud flaps like want to send her in for an ass lift and I would believe her life is scary enough to stalk really anyone to steal her life or metropolis

Hare Krishna Krishna and arjuna I don't completely enjoy being reminded of my sister does everything correctly by catholicists and I have to finally do ME......to have things in life......it is not going to give the whole empire a different dictator it's just reform to not give ultimatums

Later the lady screamed at at the library didn't like the pastor at the presbyterian meal.....she was upset that he was talking about ornaments to a homeless person

So I told her it's just poetic....Phoebe friends....saint Michael Phoebe is his favorite....this was to steal your kettle of fish with an ornament hanging from its handle.....doral Florida if you must know when renewal is finished there won't be no nasty bumpy hazard sidewalk to trip and strain you you can sell ornaments for the games your walk will be that smooth ....this was very very nasty to us

Homelessness....the military recalls a lot of equipment calling outside equipment was very bad for them and new is all these inessentials for women that could improve resilience to infrastructure because they desperately union history to confederates needed to raid your home for random stuff

See all these things my friends veteran dad's let me try.....men's health turns all men into rageing vegan annoying vain problems and its now stuff i will use.....so they finally want mens stuff for transexual untreated homogenetics and stop needing to be women .....i think they do though need a transexual ..

Eating disorders don't respond to behaviourism till it's treated as desperately wanting a mother's power

Then see for gay it's a pink ribbon to remember gun shot victims on pajama pants....its all these little alterations to mens stuff to help them restore the boys relationship to God the father as a benevolent universe and say their prayers so they stop compulsively stealing our woman's lives in the home

[reikiajakoiranruohoja]

Show don't tell and the urru

After I made my skeksis post on how the supplemental content of Dark Crystal often makes the skeksis out to be much worse than we are shown, I feel I should also address the other halves of the equation.

The urru or the Mystics are often treated as the 'good' half of the urskeks. The more thoughtful and considerate half that does not harm Thra. Unlike the skeksis, with whom we have multiple examples of behaviour per character, the urru suffer from the opposite problem. What we know of them is almost completely from the supplementary material.

One reason is that the urru puppets turned out to be a chore to act in, given their hunched stances. Thus, to save actor sanity, I feel a lot of the more important urru scenes were cut. However, we still really get to know only two urru well, and one mostly in cut scenes. UrSu the Master who dies and UrZah the Ritual Guardian who spends 70% of his screen-time being a dick to Jen. The rest are a mass of brown and don't matter.

This lack of depiction for the urru is most likely due to them being the opposite of the individualistic skeksis. The urru don't bother to stand out from one another. However, each urru was still given their own design and look. Thus, they were not clones of one another and each one filled a different role in their society.

It just does not matter, because we never truly know the urru of the movie. We see them doing their jobs and maybe have a line or two. Thus, there is nothing for the supplementary material to subvert or get wrong. All we know of the urru outside urZah and urSu is from the various books.

What this does in terms of narrative, is make the skeksis into the only depiction of what each urskek was like. It also means that we don't have such a push to see the urskeks whole again, outside the safety of Thra, because we never truly see the point to it. If we don't know what was lost, how can we want to erase the personality that already exists?

This is where Age of Resistance and the novels it was based on show how it is done. We -know- urGoh, we -know- UrVa, we know what urLii is like and what urSan thinks. These are urru who we can know and understand and that are given enough time to stand out without subverting the concept of the species.

The AOR urru also showcase more greyish urru morality. UrLii was happy to let Ordon die if he was not given an item of value, UrVa is an archer and that means he uses violence as his tool. And urGoh is a stoner who plots the demise of the government and makes up discordant operas.

Yet, even in AOR, we see how little the urru are considered. UrMa and urSen are never mentioned, never discussed or involved. Then their skeksis halves die and we are left with nothing on those poor souls. SkekVar and skekLach were MAJOR characters, but their other halves might as well not have existed.

To go back to the urru's role as the 'good' half, it follows a sadly common trend TV Tropes aptly calls 'Devil but no God.' We see plenty of the 'evil' side and its actions, but the 'good' one is often missing or using catspaws to fulfil its goals. While narratively this allows the protagonists to act, it also creates an unbalanced sense of the world. The good side twiddles its thumbs and hopes that the heroes will save the day because such is foretold.

In AOR, we see a good example of how to avoid this, by having skekGra and urGoh serve as informants. They don't solve the situation themselves, because they want the gelfling to stand up for themselves. But that does not mean they cannot help.

This also allows us to examine the actions of the urru we don't see in a much more critical light. The urru who have not put their lives in the line, even as Thra dies around them, are essentially committing evil by inaction. Their philosophy is not to affect Thra in any way and wait for the conjunction. But by doing so, they are putting their heads in the sand to ignore that they -could- take action but refuse to do so.

Though this is a good implication, it still does rely on the audience to fill in the blanks. This is not good when you already have almost no content of the original urru. It also gets forgotten by the other TDC material as easily as any positive trait of the skeksis. The urru are seen as wise mystics and their actions are decided by some unknown alchemy. Yet we know they neither hear Thra nor are that wise.

One of my favourite examples of this came from The World of the Dark Crystal. In it, urSu the master is said to have chosen when he died to destabilize the skeksis. Aughra sees this as wise and we are not led to believe otherwise.

However, if we look at the action in the context of the movie and its events, it is not that heroic. First, urSu's timing meant skekSo had already done all the bad he could. What was left of him by the movie was a rotting barely alive husk. Second, this means urSu had all the time in the world to teach Jen about his quest and why he should go for it. Instead of giving vague hints at the very end.

The concept of the urru is that of True Neutral alignment at its worst. Inaction and ennui towards the world, unless the person is forced to act. Though intentions might be good, the lack of action damns them.

The urru of the movie and books before AOR are an example of telling but never showing. They are an example of relying on the audience to accept goodness since they oppose the skeksis. Yet, if you never show and only tell, there is no truth in your telling. Only your words trying to convince us. It robs us of knowing these characters and who they were, what their lives were like and what dreams they had.

If the skeksis are the example of telling and showing not matching, the urru are a great example of why you need to show in the first place. Without it, without letting us know the Valley as well as the Castle, we are left with the reality of why urSen and urMa were left out of AOR. What happens in the Valley and with the urru does not matter, most urru are plot devices and not characters.

As such, with nothing shown, neither is anything told.

#mystics #urru #tdc #meta #rambly ddw #thedarkcrystal #darkcrystal

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 39

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers

Running is a funny thing. Despite what you probably think, it can actually bring a lot of pleasure if done in the right circumstances. A lot of people run to feel better. Some do it for sport, or for health reasons. There's running through the park, or in the gym. There are many types of running and most of them are actually quite enjoyable.

Running for your life is not one of those.

Running for your life overrides everything you think you know about running. The adrenaline pumped into your veins allows your body to overlook some of its limits, which is very handy. It lets you do things you'd never have thought about pulling off, like, for example, cutting corners with godspeed, while also ducking your head to avoid having it bitten off. It also allows your legs to fly you through the tangled mess of gardens despite the breath hitching in your throat. 

The chemistry of the human body is truly a marvelous thing. 

You'd give it more thought, but the beast of a spider scuttling behind you occupied too much of your mind. It was a marvelous thing too, and one you wished to never mull over too deeply. There was little you wanted to do less than think about its abnormally sharp chelicerae trying to bite the flesh off your back. Or the spindly, wiry legs sending it running after you with the speed no insect, and definitely not one of that size, should ever be allowed to achieve. It was simply unfair. 

The dagger Loki gave you was still buried into one of the creature's huge, glowing eyes, now leaking a greyish muck. It should raise your morale, to see it hurt. It didn't. 

You slipped on the mud, and slid down between the trees. Thorns broke your skin and roots slammed into your legs. The spider hissed, strings of saliva spraying from its gaping mouth, when you ducked under one of the lower branches - a thick, sturdy thing that shook when the spider threw itself at it, but didn't break. Not at first, at least. 

It gave you enough time to push yourself up and back in the direction of the massive castle looming over everything. The mountain that was a part of it rose over even the highest trees. Under different circumstances, it would be a menacing sight. In yours, it was a relief not to get lost. 

The wood creaked and groaned and then broke somewhere behind you. What a pleasant way of reminding your legs that they could run even faster. 

You broke out of the woods and back onto the winding paths leading to the fountain. It was broken now, and its pieces cemented in the mud; as if running wasn't difficult enough. 

The castle was so close. There must've been someone who’d seen all that mess, someone who would surely come to help. 

But they didn't. 

"Loki!" you screamed at the top of your lungs toward the pile of marble - all that was left of the original construction. "Could you not be dead right now?!" 

There was little that could have reached the god laid sprawled among the debris. It would fit the romantic narrative if hearing your voice gave Loki new strength and raised him from the dead, but the truth was, all that he could hear was the blood pumping in his veins, the water rushing from the damaged pipes, and on top of it all the—powerful, although turned inward—scream of his devastated pride. 

To be swept like a bug, like an insect unworthy of any more attention, like a nuisance to get rid of - what a pitiful sight he must be. 

Even just imagining that made his blood boil. Steam rose from the debris and fueled his rage further. Loki was no bug. 

He was angry. 

An explosion sent the debris flying. You scuttled forward, shielding your head in your arms. For a moment, you thought something even worse than a bizarrely overgrown spider came to ruin your day. 

The golden helmet shone as Loki rose, his eyes immediately turning to the monster behind you. The god reached into the depths of his magic. It awakened eagerly.

"That's quite enough," he groaned from the heights of the pile. 

He was battered, bruised, and a little embarrassed, which was never a good sign. The green light crackled hungrily around his fingers as he eyed the monster rushing after you, stumbling through the mud. 

Mud was not what he'd prefer, but mud was all he had. 

The magic surged out of Loki's hands in a wave of shivering air and glistening frost. It writhed and bit and raised in a wave of freezing spikes. Ice crackled with sudden chill as it pierced through the belly of the spider and raised it off the ground, helplessly wriggling its legs. 

The ground was freezing under your hands as you pushed yourself up, balancing on the coat of ice. 

"Glad to see you alive," you said, backing away from the writhing spider. Yellow entrails oozed over the ice, but it still refused to die. 

Loki shot you his best grin, brushing the dirt off the leathers of his armor. "It would be rude to just leave you on your own. Besides, you'd probably hate me if I didn't take you to Valhalla with me." 

"You know me too well." 

Relief clutched his chest when you looked mostly unharmed, even if a little out of breath. There was a lot Loki wanted to say to that smile you gave him, and to the hand that grasped his in looking for balance. He even started on the words- but wasn't able to finish. The spider was a wicked thing, born of feral magic and it did not want to die. 

The spikes broke and rained shards of ice around. The huge, bulbous body shook with the impact of striking the ground again. Hissing and shaking, the spider's fury rose as it clawed the frozen mud, digging trenches into the ice.  Its eight legs were perfect for keeping balance and hurtling it with terrifying speed forward. 

Loki pushed you away as the magic surged around him and struck the monster to the side. It curled as it hit one of the statues of people long gone, and sent it flying in pieces. The cracks on the spider's back were deep, but they were already healing when it raised again like it couldn't even feel the pain. And maybe it was true and the reason why it was such a vicious, unstoppable enemy. Loki sent another spear of ice through it, washing the frost in yellow. 

You cursed, looking around for anything or anyone. 

The castle walls were right there, and the corridors you'd walked not so long ago all overlooked the gardens you now fought for your lives in, and yet, no one seemed to be aware of it. You'd waited, and hoped, and it did nothing to change the tides, so you gave that up and focused on what you knew best. 

The spider hissed and spat greenish acid as it tore itself open on Loki's spikes, pushing itself despite ripping parts of its body off. Loki kept on cutting its legs off with a lance bleeding golden dust, but it slowed the spider down only a little. 

If only there was something you could use for a bigger impact… Like the huge, already half-crumbled marble statues just standing around. 

Well, you'd already ruined some of them, how much would one more matter in the grand scheme of things? 

Loki had the full attention of the monstrous spider, which was very convenient and equally dramatic. He looked unfairly good with his green cape flowing behind him as he cut, ducked and stabbed the spider while also trying to freeze its remaining legs to the ground. 

You tried to be less dramatic while you snuck around and made it to the back of one of the statues nearby. It stood high on a pedestal, with the figure majestically carved like a moving warrior. Whoever it depicted, was standing on one leg, in the middle of a run. It was such a perfect little detail, you thought, as you took a nice, heavy block of stone and climbed up the pedestal. 

"Loki!" you shouted while chopping the marble and watching the cracks spread up its surface. "Get your ass over here!" 

There was not much time Loki could spare to see what you were doing, but he retreated a little, luring the spider after him, closer and closer to where you now stood. You pushed with your remaining strength. 

Right when the statue started to fall, Loki cut off the spider's front legs and sent another wave of frost over the already frozen ground. He jumped away while the spider struggled to stand. 

The statue had fallen with a loud, nauseating crack of splitting stone and splashed juices. 

You half-slipped, half-climbed down the now empty pedestal, trying to avoid the disgusting yellowish muck that coated everything thickly. 

You watched Loki push some bigger pieces of the carcass around with the tip of his spear. He was very focused on whatever he was doing, which was convenient, because you'd had absolutely no desire to lend him a hand. 

The ground was wonderfully cold as you knelt on it a healthy distance away from the mess. Sweat covered every part of your body that was now trembling out of exhaustion. Your breath came out in a cloud of white as you laid down on the frozen mud and crumbled stone. The stars were beautiful as always, and so huge they looked as if in your reach. 

There was nothing short of disgust on Loki's face as he held up something hidden in the soaking remains of the shriveled spider. It was a piece of stone with a slim handprint in the middle. He felt its magic under his fingers, angry to have its vessel ruined. Now that it was taken out of the carcass, its power was not enough to heal it yet again. 

Loki was very glad about that. His evening was eventful enough for his liking. He hid the stone in his pocket. 

He headed your way, discarding his golden helmet and the spear as he went. They disappeared in a shimmer.. 

You looked up at him. Blood covered the right side of his face in what a painter would call violent brushstrokes, and what looked to you like a face slammed into a fountain. 

"You look like shit." 

Loki looked at the arm you held stiffly over your stomach, and at all the scratches and scrapes you'd collected like autographs from every tree and a bush on your way. 

"At least we match." 

His face contorted in pain as he lowered himself next to you, embracing the blessed chill of the ground against his bruised flesh. The magic was a flickery thing on the Edge, and it did not like outsiders. Loki could already feel it working against his spells and undoing the coat of ice around. 

"You know what," he said, laying in the mud and looking at the stars. "I used to like spiders."

"I used to think magic was cool," you said, watching galaxies travel through the never ending night. "Now I feel like it hates me." 

"I can assure you, that abomination was aimed at us by someone much more real than the general concept of magic. And I know how to track that someone. Tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow?" 

"Yes. I think I'm done with today." 

You nodded. Your joints felt stiff and loose at the same time. "Agreed.."

The stars looked down on you, boneless in the melting sea of mud and marble. The stars understood little of the ways of mortals, but they knew what it felt to be tired. 

"Loki." 

"What." 

"How is it that you got injured by that thing?" 

"My face had been introduced to a few surfaces, you know. That smile of yours tells me enough about how much you'd seen."

"Yeah, that was marvelous, I wish I got it on tape. But, usually you don't get so roughed up. Remember when you got hit on Earth? You said it hurt, but you never blacked out." 

"It doesn't work that way. I wasn't born on Earth, so things that are inherently earthly, and lack the magic matching the one in my veins can't influence my state much. I might feel pain, and maybe get a few bruises, but it just doesn't work on my… being." 

You frowned. 

"But back when you invaded New York, you got smashed quite a few times by Hulk, and you, from what I could tell, didn't enjoy it. "

Loki sighed. "...I don't want to be talking about that incident ever again. That beast is… not entirely like everyone else on your precious Earth, that's all the explanation I can piece together."

"And that's why it Hulk-smashed you for good?" 

"To put it in terms that you can understand without any knowledge on the theory of magic, you can't destroy water with a stone, no matter how many times you clash them together in your hands. They have different… cores. But if two stones clash, they will both take damage, because their very being is similar in nature and they can interact with each other fully. I am a being born of magic. The spider was too, so every hit from it did more damage than anything else invented on Earth."

 "...so you're saying you're too stoned for guns?"

"I swear on Valhalla, on one of those nights I'm gonna murder you. Your puns are not half as funny as you think."

"That's fair, I guess. Could you please at least choose a pretty night?" 

Loki took your hand in his. He liked the feeling of your fingers linked together. "I will." 

"You're so romantic. I promise to only ever share the mud with you." 

Loki chuckled, despite the sharp pain in his cut face. He looked at you and saw stars in your eyes and love in your smile. There was dust in the kiss you shared, and blood on your tongues that didn't stop you. There were very few things in the universe that could've stopped your embrace there. In fact the stomping of the castle guards that finally made it to the gardens qualified. 

Loki still held your face in his hands when their swords aimed at you. Despite the gentleness he embraced you with, there was nothing warm in the gaze he met the guards with. 

"I suggest you reconsider your hostility," Loki's voice dripped with threat. 

The lean man with a needle-like rapier you'd seen earlier, stepped out. There was a growl in his features, and tension in his arms. The star-like freckles that used to cover the night expanse of his skin were now dim and grey. 

"My name is Faroq and I am the captain of the guard. I demand answers, now," was all he said, still as a statue himself. 

Loki didn't rise from the ground, and neither did you. He only gestured to the steaming remains of the spider behind their backs. "I believe someone has lost their pet. Do me a favor and give it back to them."

Faroq snapped orders at his guards to check on the muck underneath the broken stone. In the meantime, Loki helped you to your feet with a charming smile and his back to Faroq. Whatever the stone he had found was, Loki had no intention of sharing it with the fuming lord. 

The captain of the guard only asked you a few questions, but it was clear that he believed nothing you said, even though for once you weren't even lying. It was not your fault that someone on the Edge wanted to silence you before the investigation found the ambassador's murderer. There was no point in Loki or you setting a ravenous murder-spider on yourselves, but Faroq didn't buy it. 

When he ordered you to return to your chambers, both of you gladly followed, with as much dignity as you could muster while covered head to toe in mud. 

#please hate me #loki x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki imagine #loki #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson imagine #loki mcu #loki marvel #i love loki

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Congrats on the 3k followers 😁🎉❤

I would love a ship (if I'm not to late 😅) with one of Pedro's characters.

I’m a mother of two. I have greyish blue eyes, the left one a little darker, and curly strawberry blonde hair. Pale and with freckles. I have 23 tattoos, my right arm is covered with a Disney sleeve and I have quotes from Edgar Allen Poe, Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. Nerd alert! 😆

I am an outgoing introvert. I’m super shy, so I use humor as a defense mechanism and usually end up making people laugh, so that way they never see how uncomfortable I am sometimes. But when I know people, I’m completely different. Totally honest, speaks like a waterfall, funny and charming. I can also have a bit of a foul mouth 😅

People say I’m funny, intelligent, and nerdy. Ask me anything and I can answer. I have always loved to learn new things and love books. I have my own library 😁

You’re not too late. I was actually kinda scared of doing these ships but they’re so much fun 😂

Okay. I’m gonna match you with

Frankie Morales

You meet at the tattoo shop. You’re there to freshen up one of your many tattoos while Frankie is there to get the name and birthdate of his daughter on his upper arm.

The two of you talked a little, waiting for your appointment and he told you that this is the first time in weeks he has been out on his own. Being a single dad is challenging him in ways he never thought possible.

You empathize with him, telling him your a mom yourself. He’s new to this town and asks if it would be okay to call you if he had any questions. Strictly kid related of course. You chuckle but agree, give him your number. You never thought you would see him ever again anyways.

This is why you are more than surprised when a unknown number calls you in the very same week while you’re at home, reading your favorite book for the millionth time. It’s Frankie asking if you knew a good babysitter. As a matter of fact you did and promise him to send him the details. Your call doesn’t end there though. He asks about your day and what your up to.

It’s easy to talk to him. His calls become your daily highlight of the day. It turned out you have quite the similar taste. You end up watching your favorite tv show together, on the phone, every week until he suggests that maybe you could actually watch it together. Like in person.

You agree, feeling nervous as you invite him over.

He shows up with the biggest bowl of popcorn you had ever seen, making you laugh out loud.

You just have fallen asleep at some point. You feel something on your upper arm and when you blink your eyes open, immediately embarrassed that you fell asleep he just grins at you, asking you about the meaning of your tattoos.

You answer every question, shivering when his fingertips traces the paint on your skin.

”You’re beautiful.” he whispered when you’re finished. You smile at him and before you can stop yourself you lean over and kiss him softly.

#follower celebration #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Myling Around || Morgan and Miriam

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: The Archive

PARTIES: @meflemming & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Miriam and Morgan go looking for leads to Morgan’s ghost problem and scare up an entirely different one in the process.

Even with her muted senses, Morgan couldn’t help but run her fingers over the stacks and breathe in the smell of old books in the Archive. “You ever miss the smell of old books?” She asked her companion. “Or do you have the smelling problem? Is everything still roses and lavender in your garden of un-earthly delights?” She steered down another aisle in the stacks and checked the titles she’d written down again. They had to be somewhere around here. “Thanks for coming, again,” she said. “I know this is up your special interests alley, but you don’t have to do anything for me. This is personal, not principle. And you are more than just my rent-a-witch-killer call, even if I’ve been kind of bad about showing that. You’re more, Mim. I believe that, even if I did drag you out to The Archive for a research field trip on ghost torture.”

“I have heightened senses,” Miriam murmured as she looked at another shelf, taking in the Archive. She believed that the last time she’d been in this place, she’d been alive, looking for some obscure book for Gilly and paying for it, of course. “Though, I wouldn’t say it’s all roses and lavender. You wouldn’t believe how much worse certain things smell now. Some of the colognes the kids wear these days? Disgusting, truly.” She wrinkled her nose at the smell of some teenager that had walked in her store the other evening. She had smelled his acrid, chemical scent from her office. “Of course, dearest, I’m happy to come.” She was happy to see how things had changed, certainly, and happy to see if there was anything around that she could add to her own home library. Miriam had grown quite the collection of books on magic. She liked seeing it get even larger, though it was mostly from trophies. She looked up at Morgan, an eyebrow raised. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that you think much more of me than just a witch hunter. I appreciate it.” Even if it did seem that all they did together these days was hunt witches and then discuss the moral implications of her continuously hunting witches. “Color me curious about the ghost torture, though.”

Morgan wrinkled her nose at the thought of smelling teenager body odor and cheap cologne, or even Deirdre’s carcass hauls with their odours dialed up to eleven. They were almost comforting to her with the way she was, sweet in their decay, but not enough to turn her stomach. At least, not in a bad way. “Maybe we should hold off on the sensory swap, then,” she sniggered. “Although I do have a literal garden with roses and lavender you could smell, if you wanted. You can remind me what they smell like. Hey, does this mean you can smell things you couldn’t before? Is there anything, like, surprising?” She glanced over at Miriam as she spoke, noticing the small upturn of her lips and the brightness of her eyes and she looked the place over. She was interested, engaged, almost alive. “The thanks still stands. I wouldn’t have thought you’d enjoy a place like this with all the, you know. But then, I guess I only know you a little well after all.” She stopped as she came to one of the titles on her list and hefted the book in her arms as the flipped through the contents. “I just...want to make sure you know that I’m not all talk. We can do normal things too, you know. I would even prefer that, maybe.” Or, also, not. Morgan couldn’t pretend to herself that she tried to keep her distance at least a little. She knew Mim was dangerous, that she could never be brought close enough into her circle to know who the Vurals were or about the coven that had thrown them out. But she did care for the vampire, and wondered how many people she had who bothered with her beyond what she had designated herself to ‘do.’

“I mean, bookshop trips are kind of normal,” Morgan went on quickly,  “But I’m not really here just to browse, although we could, if you want, once I knock this out. And as for my purpose, well, as I said in my message when I lured you out here, I’m trying to torture a witch that’s already dead. And there’s not much that can hurt a ghost. But if I know humans at all, someone, somewhere, came up with something truly horrible for just that purpose.” She flipped back to the index and skimmed quickly, then put the book back, dissatisfied. “She’s the one who killed me, Mim,” Morgan said quietly. “The same one who cursed me. Well, me and my entire, miserable bloodline going back a hundred years. And she still can’t leave me alone. What’s up with that, right?”

“What?” Miriam asked in mock surprise. “You don’t want to smell all the wonders that White Crest’s population has to offer?” Some things, places, people smelled lovely. Some smelled wretched. “I have a nice garden myself, but I’m sure yours is far better. I don’t actually tend to mine.” She sometimes thought she should. It wasn’t like she had a problem getting her hands dirty. “Of course I wouldn’t mind describing rose and lavender to you. I might not be as descriptive as you’d like, but I certainly can.” She cocked her head a bit, thinking. “People who are sick smell different. Then, there are certain chemicals released when people are excited in any sort of way that I can smell if I’m close enough. And, if there’s spilled blood, I can smell the difference is species. All of my senses are heightened. Not to the sort of level as other supernaturals, but definitely a major difference.” She ran a finger along the spine of a book, old and brittle. “I can smell ink on pages, sometimes.” It had been far more overwhelming than she cared to admit, when she first turned, the heightened senses and emotions and urges to kill. Now, though, Miriam couldn’t remember what life was like. “Well, then, you’re welcome, of course.” The thanks settled in improperly. She didn’t really feel like she should be thanked for much of anything. “I do know that. Unfortunately, this town, what we are, doesn’t really agree with ‘normal.’” She laughed. “I don’t even know what that means, at this point.”

Miriam shook her head. “We don’t have to worry about browsing today. This is more important.” Both for Morgan and for herself. She’d been trying to… control herself, be a bit more discriminatory on how and off who she fed. And it was leading to her being more… irritable, at times. Anxious, but not anxious. She felt like she was slacking a bit, like she was denying an itch that begged to be scratched. “We’ll find something, I’m quite sure of it. It’s like you said: it has to exist somewhere.” She narrowed her eyes at Morgan’s quiet words before she gave a sharp nod. “Then we’ll make sure she suffers.” If she thought about it too hard, she knew that it could be her that all this quiet, simmering rage was directed at, this desire to hurt. She would have killed Morgan without a thought. Even though she’d liked her, liked talking to her, she would have done it, and there would have only been the slightest pang of guilt. She wouldn’t have allowed herself anything more.

“Why have a garden if you don’t tend to it?” Morgan smirked. “I mean, some weeds get a bad rep that they don’t deserve, but, don’t tend at all? Really? We need to get you a better hobby, Miriam. You deserve more than sad, lonely flowers. Maybe something with a group, like a book club, or sports. You kind of look like the volleyball amazons I ogled in high school.” But Miriam was right, this wasn’t a bookstore and coffee Instagram sort of outing. Constance hated her enough to tear down her life before she went in for the kill. For all Morgan knew, she was hiding around the next corner, waiting to throw down a shelf of books and grind her to pieces. Morgan shuddered at the thought and picked up another book. “We will,” she agreed, oddly strengthened by Miriam’s assurance. She flipped through the contents again, scanning as carefully as she could in case she missed anything. Lots of notes about exorcising ghosts in the abstract, or simplistic, but not about making them suffer on the way out. She was sure she’d read or heard something about the word ‘harm’ being attached to this or ‘to the ...something.’ Certainly not death. Morgan’s thoughts were interrupted by a shrill scream.

“MOMMY SAID NO HITTING!!”

“Wow, someone’s having a really bad da--”

“MOMMYYYYYY SAAAAAID!” It was one of those ragged wails that threatened to break the sound barrier. Morgan looked and...found most of the store looking at the walking child corpse with dazed bewilderment. Did anyone else hear that? A little kid, right? It’s probably someone watching a movie without headphones. Weirdest thing. But she was there, right there, and she was pointing at Morgan and Miriam like they had personally stomped on her Barbie dream house. She stomped towards them, screaming again.

“Because it’s something nice to look at. Besides,” Miriam said, a bit defensively, “it’s a bit difficult to only garden at night, you know. Better to just hire someone that knows what they’re doing in the day.” She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Volleyball amazon, huh? I’ve never been the best at group activities, you know.” She tended to enjoy taking charge and doing the work herself. Besides, team sports didn’t suit the image she’d made for herself in her youth. It was a shame, really. She wished she’d had a better outlet for all that rage. Miriam began her own excursion into looking through books, hoping to find something that might help Morgan, occasionally skimming to see if there was something that struck her own fancy. She was startled out of her browsing by a child screaming. Her head snapped up to look at it, wondering who would leave a child unattended in a bookstore, when she saw it.

The child was clearly dead. Greyish parlor, vacant eyes, dirtied dress (something that looked similar to what Miriam herself might have worn as a child), and no discernable heartbeat made it impossible for Miriam to do anything more than stare, for just a moment, as the child stomped towards them. Then, she panicked.

“Morgan. Morgan, what do we do? Morgan?” she hissed out, eyes wide as she stared at the advancing little girl. Miriam liked children. She did. She had always wanted a child. She… did not know how to handle children, especially not undead ones throwing temper tantrums. “Hitting what? Books? Isn’t that all metaphorical?” Who was she talking to? Herself? Morgan? The toddler? She didn’t know. Miriam backed herself a bit into one of the shelves, her heels making clicking noises as she tapped her foot. She was at a loss on what to do here.

It took Morgan a moment to compose herself. When she first saw the spectral image, she froze, fearing Constance had found her. She knew what she should be doing: she should be pulling the iron rod out of her bag. She should be dumping lines of salt around them, or running for the door. But she couldn’t find her feet or her grip. The child was shambling towards them on broken legs that might’ve been made of gauze, for how she wobbled on the airy shapes. Morgan was sure she would have remembered her face if they’d met before. She didn’t make friends with all the ghosts in town, but those younger than her tended to stick out, it just seemed so much more unfair. This girl couldn’t have been more than seven at a generous guess, and Morgan wasn’t sure she had it in her to strike the dead girl. Which was looking...really unfortunate, since the Bad Seed didn’t look like she was going to be putting herself in time out anytime soon.

Miriam’s voice snapped her out of her fear. She’d never heard Miriam be afraid before. She had to do something. Now. “Get behind me,” she said, moving in front already. “Also, maybe uh--” She considered passing Miriam the rod, wondering if she’d have the nerve where Morgan faltered. Guilt gripped her at once and she fished into her bag for the salt. “If she gets too close, throw some of this,” she said. “I’ll just, uh…” See what she wants? “Hey, sweetheart…” she cooed, “You okay there?”

“I KNOW WHAT YOU DID!” The girl bellowed. “MOMMY CONNIE TOLD ME WHAT YOU DID!”

“Oh, shit. Mim, we gotta--” She was pushing them towards the door when the shelf they were next to cracked. The ghost girl waved from the other side of it, smug as a loony toon as it toppled down on them.

“I don’t need to get behind you, Morgan,” Miriam snapped in a hushed voice, though she moved a bit anyway. “I’m not scared of a child, dead or not.” Part of her ached for the little girl tottering towards them. A slightly larger part of her was still panicking, though, so unsure about how to handle this situation that she was more than happy to allow Morgan to try and handle it. She took the bag of salt, though she wasn’t convinced she could even possibly begin to use it. She watched Morgan try to deal with the little girl, her voice soothing and syrupy sweet. And she watched as the little girl brought the shelf down.

“Fuck,” Miriam snarled, eyes flashing red in panic as she used a burst of speed to try and maneuver her and Morgan away from the toppling shelf. It was coming down on them, there was no stopping that, and it was definitely going to hurt. It was a good thing that both of them were nearly impossible to kill. She grunted as the shelf fell, trying to support it as well as she could. “You’re the brawn, darling, you’re going to have to help me lift.” Why did fucking books weigh so much. “This child’s a brat,” she said through clenched teeth.

Morgan didn’t remember falling. She was trying to run out of reach, squeezing Miriam’s hand, then she was on the ground, wood digging into the small of her back and books crushing her limbs.

“YOU HIT MOMMY CONNIE!”

Morgan grimaced, struggling to push herself up on her arms. “Getting fucking kids to your work for you, Constance?” She hissed under her breath. “Because that’s so mature…” Her back burned with effort. She didn’t remember moving being this hard when she was alive. “Mim--” she grunted, rising a little higher. “I’m doin’ my best here. Still not exactly the Hulk.” But she had braced herself well enough to lift an arm, give herself a little extra push. Morgan hissed through her teeth. “How’s this sound? We get out from under here, run off with whatever looks useful that we can see, and go literally anywhere else. Maybe Al’s, they’ve got those giant salt shakers!” Morgan could just about sell herself on the idea when two little oxford shoes crept into view. “Or maybe we just go home. Push on three, okay?” She looked over at the vampire as best she could, hope just brimming through her grimace.

“Mommy Connie,” Miriam said, her brows furrowed with thought and effort in trying to help lift the stack off of them both. “Morgan, if this is about that witch bitch of a ghost that killed you, then, truly, count me in. One, two--” Instead of saying three, Miriam started to lift with all that she could with Morgan’s help, lifting the shelf off of them both. “Sounds lovely,” she said, feeling out of breath even when she didn’t have to breathe. “You grab what you need, and we can go to my place if you’d like. I’m going to--” she looked to where the child was, unsure and a little pained, “--to try and give us a bit of time.” She took out the bag of salt.

“I don’t want to do this,” Miriam told the little dead girl. “I’d rather not salt you. I like children, as hard as that is to believe. I don’t like brats, though. You seem like a bit of a brat. You could have hurt someone.” Dead things can’t be reasoned with. Still, here Miriam was, trying to reason with a ghost child. Fuck, she hoped Morgan got what she needed and soon. “Did you see my friend here hurt your… mother?” Could this child even answer a question? Or was she too far gone, just another creature that acted on instinct. Miriam clenched the bag of salt tightly, hoping she wouldn’t have to use it but ready just in case.

The little girl’s screams were starting to devolve into sobs. “M-my--Connie--TOLD ME!” If she’d been alive she would’ve started turning color. Every word ripped from her dead throat, raw, shrill, and choked. “She--!” The little girl pointed a chubby, trembling finger at Morgan, “Wants to make her go away! And I. WON’T. LET HER!” Her scream made the glass over the overhead lights buckle. Lights sparked and flicked.

Morgan, meanwhile, scrambled out from under the shelf and waded through the mess of books for anything that had Exorcism in the title. If she didn’t get anything useful out of them, she’d just return them. She kicked the other tomes out of her way, following the last of the panicked customers through the doorway. Some college kid was running backwards, phone out, trying to capture the spectacle. Morgan slapped it out of her hand and shouted, “Run, you idiot!”

“My phone!”

Morgan pushed the girl next and bolted out the door. She skidded to a halt and looked over her shoulder. Miriam was still in there, trying to...reason with the kid? “Mim!” She opened the door and held out her hand.

“NOT UNTIL YOU PAY FOR HURTING MY CONNIE!” The little girl smacked down another bookshelf, starting a cascade.

Morgan grabbed Miriam’s wrist and pulled. She couldn’t die again, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get hurt either.

Miriam’s eyes widened as she took in the sobbing child, her undead heart cracking just a bit. Maybe the little girl could be reasoned with. But then she started pointing her finger and screaming, and Miriam gritted her teeth. “Oh, bite me, you little brat.” She jumped back as another bookshelf fell, reaction and instinct taking over to push herself away. For just a moment, she considered throwing the salt, ending it. She… couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Instead, she ran to the door and allowed Morgan to yank her out of the destroyed bookstore. Brushing an errant curl back into place, Miriam huffed and looked over to her zombie companion. “Never a dull moment with you, is it, sweetness?” She let out a breathless laugh. “My god, that bitch Connie really hates you.” It wasn’t funny. She didn’t quite know why she was laughing. She sobered a bit, gave Morgan a nod. “If you’ve got the books we need, then let’s get to researching how to get rid of this wannabe undead bitch.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m the only one that gets that title.”

“Yeah, that’s me!” Morgan said, laughing shrill. “Always one for adventure.” She checked herself over as much as she could with one arm and edged away from the doors. Nothing looked permanently damaged, but there was more debris than shelves in there, and in the middle of the room, the dead child with the broken legs continued to wail, heaving her dead lungs for a relief that was never going to come. “I never took you for much of a maternal type, Miriam.” A smile of amused wonder spread as she edged them further into the night. “You really are full of amazing surprises.” And just as quickly, the smile faltered. “I should tell you, though, the Constance pain in my ass was only nineteen when she died. “I don’t want to trick you into anything you’re not up for, but I can give you the rest of my sordid story back at your place, or tomorrow. Maybe next week?” She laughed again. “After all that, you’re the only dead girl I wanna deal with today.”

#myling around #wr miriam #wr chatzy #wr miriam chatzy #wickedswriting

[spacegaywritings]

Shattering Morality (oneshot)

Summary: In order to keep up productivity, Logan needs to put Patton into his place once more. The moral side knows it has to be done but it hurts when he feels the rejection, hears the hostile tone and cold words Logan uses. But as always,he can rely on his best friend to make it go away. Just this time, Virgil is using extra awkward methods to make him feel better. Too bad Morality starts finding a bunch of comfort in this dangerous Tags: U!logan, u!Virgil, u!sides!, abuse, emotional/verbal abuse, manipulation, false friends, encouraged self harm, isolation, emotional dependence, internalised self-deprecation, feelings of uselessness, cutting/self harm, blood, encouraging self-harming behaviour, persuasion, helplessness, self-blaming, twisted friendship, force, bruises, idealised self-harm, addiction, repression (own feelings, needs)(if there are any other things you would like me to tag, please please do so. I am open for suggestions and warnings! I want you to be safe so please do not proceed in case you recognise any potentially triggering content)Basically: this is a lot of Patton angst. ao3: *click me*

My KoFi  - Support me ♥ or Commission me

Story under the cut:

Patton let out a shaky breath. It should not bother him so much. It should not eat away at him like this. Still, the feeling of dissolving from the inside, his heart slowly sizzling and hissing in pain, was there and left Patton to suffer in silence. Surely, he had promised to not keep all the bad feelings inside of him. Bottling up was bad. The idea of bottling up feelings sounded like fun. He could try to make happy feelings into bubbles and put them into bottles so he could send a feeling in a bottle to his beloved friends! He adored them and wanted them to know that they always had a piece of his heart with them. His lips flinched a bit, the corners of his mouth quickly shooting upwards before they immediately sunk into the neutral line. His body tried to smile. The moral side was used to smiling it all away but even his random happy thoughts just did not cut it anymore. Hah, cut. Like pie. Aw, it would be su-PIE to have some sweets at the moment. A little giggled tickled his throat but it faded as quick as it appeared within him. He was already steering towards the kitchen to go and get something to eat or maybe make a p- No. No, he should not! Logan told him to stop eating whenever he felt bad because it was bad for Thomas’ health... He was right but he still wanted to. Instead, he got a glass of water and drank. Adult things. Hydration was important and someone had to think of it so Thomas would not forget about it. Logan reminded them a lot and maybe .. maybe if he just did that instead, Logan would be happy with him and let him talk more during meetings and videos. Patton fidgeted with the cup in his hands instead of putting it into the dishwasher. Something... something.. His mind was working on something but he did not know what it was. It felt like a vague idea, a picture rather than words. Sometimes he thought in pictures, sometimes in words or both. But right now, he seemed to think in feelings. But his mind did not give him any understanding of the foul feeling within him. It was like his heart was a glass bowl with a fish in it. Like in The Fairly OddParents! But he did not have funny Cosmo and Wanda in his chest. Instead, there were dark creatures that flinched and sprinted without warning. Whenver he came close to getting a grip on these vaguely greyish emotions, they suddenly bounced away from him. Fishes had a tendency to move suddenly and rest a bit or slow down immensely. They were funky creatures and he did not know much about them. Even if he could actually manage to catch one, it would just glide out of his hands. They had tiny gills and were wet and almost slimy. These tiny creatures were impossible to catch. Not only that, the chance of him feeling them for a start was hard. The water in his glass bowl was not transparent like water. It was soiled by multiple layers of colours that reminded him of oil you needed for cars. Deep and dark in colour. Just.. unpleasant. He did not enjoy any of these thoughts. Maybe it would be easier if he just set his feelings aside for a moment. His fingers rubbed against the smooth surface of the glass cup in his hands. The moral side stared at it for a bit longer before finally putting it into the machine and closing it at last. Yeah, adult things. He was doing well. He was being a very good adult by trying to move on, keep going, to be productive instead of dwelling on all these feelings. Logan would be proud! Maybe he could tell him later after he had calmed down. For now, he thought that talking to Virgil and seeking refugee in his arms was probably the best thing to do. Then he would not be in the way of Logan and his plan to make Thomas more efficient and productive in general. Morality was doing great! The logical side had recently given him a compliment for keeping away so much. Thomas had started working more instead of hanging out with friends as he usually did. It pleased the planning part of Thomas’ personality. Well, if Patton staying in his room a lot more helped them all then he would gladly do that. He did not mind. His feet stepped forward. Patton knew the way to Virgil’s room blindly. He knew Logan wanted silence because he was working alone with Thomas - he had told Patton to get out of his way and play or whatever... yeah, the adults were talking so he should better stay away. He nearly tripped. A hand extended to support his stand by pushing against a nearby wall. He was so close to Virgil’s room. If it was for him only, he would just sink out and appear but Virgil did not like that and making him anxious made him upset and would affect Thomas. Again, Logan would be mad... So he could not do that. Patton took a deep breath and slowly let it out. It was shaky, intense. One would think he was used to his chest stinging so much by now but even at this moment he could not help but stop to suck in breath after breath, each deeper than the other. He was not a fish so he had to breathe. When he hurt a lot, he needed to breathe a lot, Virgil had told him. After some time, the pain would get less, usually. ...Often, it did but not always. It made the stinging a lot less worse! Still, it did not change the fact that he leaned against the wall once more, eyes closed and squinting wrinkles into his facial skin. He looked like a pug but not as adorable. ...aw... he wanted to cuddle a dog now.. dogs would never let him feel a lot of pain. It was okay. Logan only wanted to help him and Thomas! It was okay if it cut back on Patton’s appearances every now and then.... or.. well, always. But hey! It was for the sake of their beloved Thomas and his productivity! After all, it was logical. Patton was the one to obstruct him with all these feelings and that made Logan’s work really hard. Even Virgil seemed more relaxed with Patton more in his or his own room. Patton held his heart and rubbed his fingers against his skin, softly massaging into the pain. He could barely tell whether it made it worse or better but it gave him something to do. One deeper breath in. Mmmm. And a whole shaky breath out. Yes, yes. His lungs danced under his ribcage and his fingers worked the magic of drumming against his skin and lessen the stabbing sensation in his heart. When he thought about it, the agony seemed like a much heavier sensation than before but he quickly reprimanded himself. How could he be so thoughtless to just think about his feelings? Logan said to ignore it. He had to ignore it. It distracted Thomas! “Hahh”, Patton panted out. The pain was fading away, nearly gone. Like a snake, it was slowly sliding away, only a bit of tail trailing after the head. Almost gone. Patton continued breathing like the great adult he was. Four.... Seven.. Eight. He had the pattON memorised. It was oddly comforting. Not just the breathing but also the counting in his head were nice.. they made the hurt go away, they blew down the steam of his boiling pot of feelings with all these dying and screaming fishes inside. The moral side slowly let his hand slide towards the ground, his palm lifting itself from the stability first. Eventually, his fingers joined and even their tips’ soft pads broke contact with the concrete. Virgil. Yes, he wanted to go to Virgil and just hug it out and listen to these really funny songs his soft friend would play for him and giggle and jump around. The anxious side was not lazy at all with how much he bounced around his room in rhythm to the loud music he often jammed to. Ah, kids these days. He loved him, no matter what. Even as a teenager, he loved Virgil and all the other light sides. Foot steps could be heard as he finally set himself into motion again. At last, he made it over to Virgil’s room. As polite as always, Patton made sure to knock first. Two times. Then he waited for a while. “Virgil, it is meee~  It is me, mangorality!” He could hear a snort before the door opened and Virgil stood before him, just a bit taller than Patton himself. “Patton! Come in!” The emo stepped aside and Patton took the hint to come inside and look around. As always, he took a moment to appreciate the interior. Virgil did change his interior a slight bit every time the season changed a bit or something special came up. Halloween was a special thing. The room always had some spider webs. There were dark curtains, band and film posters. Patton had made him a drawing based on the Disney film liked so much - Black Cauldron, he one without all the singing. It was on his nightstand in a little framed photo. He did not have to check, he knew it was there. He could feel it, could rely on it. Virgil cherished their friendship. Whenever Morality came into his room, he could feel the slight tickles of anxiety intensifying his emotions but at the same time, he would have Virgil and his comforting, calm energy around. It was nice. It was pearls running over his chest, slowly trailing down and combining to a weight on him that just felt like a warm hand on his heart. “What up, popsicle?” The guest fell into a tirade of giggles and carefully shifted closer to Virgil. His favourite Kylo friend did not budge away at all but laid an arm around him. He was pulled in and immediately snuggled closer to the signature warmth of a black-hooded cuddle buddy. The shadowy fishes in his heart seemed to be outshone by the warmth and light Virgil sparked within Patton with the simple mutuality of some physical contact. It was not even skin-to-skin. Still, he was melting. “Ah, you know.. We worked on some ideas together! Thomas asked for help and Logan was there too but Thomas said we headbutt again and then Logan ..” Patton sighed. “Logan made me leave because I made Thomas unproductive again.” His voice dropped and so did his body. It sagged against Virgil with heaviness and made the anxious side tug the fatherly man over to his bed. It was this time of the day again. The atmosphere of the room seemed to change. The layers of darkness were gone in Patton’s fishy heart but they now haunted the width of Virgil’s room with foggy transparency. “I-it.. it hurts so much!” Bubbles of water welled up in Patton’s eyes. Hot, uncontrolled and messy. They spilled from his eyes and all over his cheeks, storming down his face in rivers as they wet his skin and stained the usually oh so happy mask. Breathing was hard, it ..it hurt. It was agony to suck in oxygen. Existence was pain. There was nothing but darkness and hurt in Patton. Hurt hurt hurt So much hurt It hurt!! “Patton, no! No”, Virgil interjected. His thick, dark voice stabbed through the angry voices and cracks in Patton’s heart. The barrier of dark layers was cut through and for a moment, the tightness in his chest was just a bit better. There was cities and hordes of people on his chest, still. Whole worlds and every crime and guilt to ever be imagined and committed. He struggled to breath, to be. His blind hands reached for Virgil who was holding him still and allowed his bestest friend to touch his chest and let him eventually find his shoulders. Virgil did not let himself be distracted. He drew his friend into his arms, into his lap and cuddled him. “It is okay, Pat, really.” “NO!” The moral side screeched and curled as if in physical pain. His head slid down from Virgil’s shoulder to his chest and he forced the oxygen out of his constricting lungs. They did not want him to live either. It hurt.. it hurt.. it hurt so so bad. Breathing felt like swallowing when your throat was all swollen and red and hurt like during the flu. “Why does he hate me, Virgil, why does he hurt me so much. He hates me, he hates me! He does not even want me to be around Thomas, he glares at me the second I show up and he ignores everything I say! He only ever pays attention when Thomas himself repeats what I said and you know that he just shoots him down on these occasions” Patton wrung for breath, his words stuck in his throat. He was swallowing on his own complaints, on his desperation and his fears. That is what he got for disclosing instead of pretending to be okay. Why.. why.. Why did Logan give him a cat onesie when he wanted him gone? When he kept making him leave or actively excluded him from videos. He had prevented Thomas from summoning him on multiple occasions by just appearing himself instead of letting Patton appear. He was blocking them off. Why.. Why? WHY?! Patton’s body shook and he flinched. He felt the whipping agony of Logan’s word cutting into the flesh of his mind. Red, burning streaks appeared inside of him and he could basically feel his chest build actual scar tissue. Probably crap. Yeah, he was full of poop, according to Logan. All feelings, no logic. “Patton, you need to breathe, breathe with me” The voice was so distant, so blurry and wild. Patton barely recognised the sound to be a coherent noise, a voiced sentence of meaning by that. The lifeline before him was a messy bunch of notes, a disturbance. It stirred up the bad feelings of him even worse. “V-Vi... What did I do..?” His breath hitched and his next attempt at a sentence simply ended in a mess of stutters and sobs. “Shhhhh...” Virgil persistently squished his friend in his arms. Patton grunted in discomfort but his wiggles only made Virgil hug him harder. “Vir-” The anxious side looked down at him and put a hand on his back, pressing it from the other side towards his chest. Patton cried harder. He could not even breathe and his head was only fire and glowing dizziness Even his ears were smoking with tears and frustration. Feelings really were that strong. Patton’s body continued to flare his skin up with goosebumps. Shudders and dizzy spells hit Patton and the violent sobs still rippled through his vulnerable form. Virgil squeezed him from time to time and told him to be quiet when he started to speak up. Eventually, even opening his mouth had his friend shush him without missing a beat. But it hurt. His chest cleared up but it was so tight. He did not remember the last time he had drawn an unrestricted breath, when he had full lungs and energetic breathing rather than shallow or violent spasms of his muscles. Patton was calmer. His body was limb between Virgil’s legs and he curled up like a miserable fetus stretching for their absent caretaker’s love. They were alone on the diaper changing table. Patton was not alone. Virgil was there... But in some ways, he was truly lonely and not even his best friend being there with him, letting him lean against his chest and rest on his body could really have him feel like he was not completely alone in this world. “Fuck Logan. He is not here.” Patton inhaled. Language. He did not have the heart to say it. The way Virgil held him was a finger on his lips and he wanted to be silent forever. Logan would want that too. They all wanted him to be silent. Roman just gave him weird looks but did not really say much. Instead of correcting Virgil, the fatherly figure considered simply nodding. It was always better to nod and agree. When he did that, everyone liked him. Especially when he smiled too or maybe made some jokes to keep up a good mood. It helped the sides, it helped Thomas and his audience. “I have just the thing to help you out. It is pretty private.. uh..”, VIrgil’s voice went from clear to dark and it dipped deeper. “If I show you, you have to be quiet about it.” His hands dug into Patton’s body. A whine escaped his lips, broke the seal of silence he had wanted to keep so much. Fine. “S-sure kiddo!” Virgil’s black fingernails retreated a bit but the pressure was still there. It was lighter, though. His friend just wanted to hug him a lot because he wanted to help him and that was how he showed it. Maybe he should teach Virgil how to hug people better... He probably did not exactly learn that from the others. Patton swallowed the thick mass that was his doubt. It was crawling down his throat, heavy and lethargic in its movement. Nothing was harder to swallow than moments like this when people gave him vibes he knew better than to ignore. Still, he wanted to believe the best to happen. People were inherently good so he could trust others, especially his friends. On top of that, Virgil was clearly his best friend. “Alright”, Virgil spoke. His words seemed so heavy as they launched from his tongue and right into the ground. “I will show you.” He shifted a bit and let go off Patton. The moral side inhaled deeply, the heavy feeling on his chest away for long enough so he could breathe freely and properly. Now that Virgil did not hug him anymore, he could adjust a bit but as soon as his body shifted, one of Virgil’s arms, that was still loosely around his hip, immediately fastened around him like a safety belt. You move rapidly, it restrains you in order to safely keep you within the vehicle - in case of a crash. And it was more than just restricting, it was limiting, it was holding him back and hid rips were creaking and squeaking under the torture of so much force pushing against his chest. They were curling and arching, threatening to give in. Patton gasped at the sudden pressure applied to his body and he shrunk into himself. At the same time, his best friend, the dark little emoshine returned, a little box in his hand. “I got you, Patton. I will never let you go.” The usually oh-so happy and pappy man feared that he would never be able to smile through the icy shiver that ran through his body, chilling him down and making him tremble and sniffle. He could not help but dread these words. Otherwise so sweet-sounding and lovely to his heart, he could not bring himself to be flattered. He was terrified. When Virgil did not try to scare them, he certainly did an even better job at it than he usually did already. After all, he still was anxiety and not just a shimmering gem that needed to be freed from his cage of hardened dirt that dared tainting his beauty and true shine. “W-what’cha got there, kiddo?” His voice was hopeful, it was the little shine of light breaking through the spaces of the blinds that blocked out all the sun and other sources of illumination. There was darkness only, even with his weak attempts at making it through, his voice was swallowed by the room around him. “Because we are friends. We are best friends, right?” Virgil’s long fingers curled around the metal box. It was just small enough to fit into his hand judging from how broad it was but it was longer than his hands. The arms around Patton framed his sides but he was not held so tightly anymore. Patton hummed in agreement. The slender digits pushed against the opening of the box and broke it open, splitting the two sides. “O-of course, Vi-we are friends.” His voice was shaking with his body. Actually, his whole soul seemed to tremble before the box. Virgil’s hands revealed the insides of a box after he pulled the sides apart and laid the contents open, letting the scarce light of the day illuminate the area. The metal box had even more metal inside. A little silverish thing was shining inside and a bit of cloth and some band-aids were there as well. A small tube of sanitising solution was packed next to it. “Virgil?” The former darkside left the innocent box or horrors in Patton’s lap and retreated to hug him again, his hands choking his existence. He was already close to tears. It was still better than talking to Logan... His friend did not speak, he just gave Patton’s cheek a little cheek and nudged his side once more. “Take it. I promise it will help.” Patton’s shuddering heart complied. It calmed itself when the moral side melted into the little bit of affection he was shown. “Okay.” He pressed his lips together and licked them. His mind was unsure whether he was trying to think about this again or just stalling but the taste of fear would not leave his tongue anyway, no matter how much he rubbed it against his lips and tried to wash it free from his sin, his flaws and faults. “I trust you, Virgil. I would always trust you.” The other side eased his grip on him and closed his eyes, relishing in the image of being loved, of being the accepted and trusted side. His lips spread into a smile. “You can do it, Patton. Take it and feel the magic. It will draw all your fears away.” Patton let out an unsteady breath and carefully reached forward, gracing the box as he took the little blade up with his smooth fingers. His caring hands held the sharp thing up and he took the time to lean in and look at the tool. It felt so easy to focus on the cutting edge, the silver steel and the gleaming shine of promise and relief. For some reason, he felt.. absolutely captivated by the little something before him. “But w-...what do I do with it? It looks very nice” His tongue pressed against his gums and decided to stop himself any more than that. Not that he really knew what else to say. Virgil grabbed the blade with one hand and wrapped his other hand around Patton’s wrist. “You gotta use that cardigan of yours later, my little popstar.” Patton wanted to ask what this what about and why he would say such things but before he could even look back at his friend, he felt a sharp pain literally cut through him. His skin split apart where Virgil ran the edgy side of the tool over his exposed arm. His arm flinched, wanting to pull away from the stinging pain. It did not hurt much, it was just intense, it was so so intense and present. This was the kind of pain to wake you up and suck in a breath rather than groan at the dullness and constancy of it. Red pearls started blooming from the cut through his skin, little strings of tissue could be seen but they quickly drowned in the wine red liquid filling up the sudden abyss within his arm that was created through Virgil’s intervention. His pulse spiked up and he pressed his back against Virgil’s chest. “Virgil!” Patton did not even what to say, how to articulate his thoughts, form any words at all. It was all blank. His mind ran out of him like the blood flowing out of his arm and slowly travelling down his skin to drip onto the dark sheets below him. Patton hiccuped and sniffled, his body already retreating into his fetal position for protection. He was ready to tolerate worse. Heart pumping and blood flowing, the first tears rolled over his curves cheeks as he instinctively pushed into Virgil’s arms further. “m sorreh”, he squeaked into his own arms. The sounds were mostly swallowed away by his desperate hiccups and wretched sobs. Red life juice dripped everywhere, burning at Patton’s open wound and screeching in alarm at the injury. Virgil pushed him back into place. “It is okay, keep going”, he instructed, calmly as always but his voice doubling a slightest bit, “I don’t care about the blood, it’s just some fucking sheets.” His mouth fell open to restrict Virgil’s speech and reprimand him. Using such filthy words was not good for any of them - especially Thomas. But instead he let out a gasped breath and shook his head. Still, he moved into position as before and Virgil made sure to pad his arm clean with a cotton pad. The movements were clean, secure. The white balls sucked up all the crimson crime and slowly removed every sign of sin Patton had spilled with his mistakes. He wanted to apologise again but decided to swallow it again. Along with the tears, he just drank up all questions and panic so it would be good. If he tried hard enough, everything would be okay, it would be great and fine and all would be great. Thomas would love him again and Logan would be nice if he tried hard enough... just trying more and more until it would work again. Instead, he caught the little instrument of pain Virgil plopped into his hands after nudging him into a proper position. As before, he put the blade down, close to the injury on his arm. The blood was rather dried by now and white balls tainted in red were between his crossed legs. Slowly, Patton pressed the stinging feeling further into his skin until he pushed through, closing his eyes and holding his breath as he let the sharpness run through his arm once more. As before, blood bubbled up in large amounts, pushing forward to cover up all the exposed skin he had forced apart. More dark juiced flew over his arm, decorating his pants, Virgil’s bed and Patton’ heart. The arms around him returned but this time they felt soft and supportive. The tears were standing in his eyes, patient and Patton-pending. The streaks on his cheeks were dried and felt hard when the moral side’s lips twitched to make space for sucking in a large potion of oxygen. “Good, Patton. Let all your bad feelings spill out of you”, Virgil spoke softly. The man gently nudged him. It was a silent command to keep going and before Patton knew it, he had draw the blade a few more times until he was dizzy and exhausted, heartache faded and vision blurry. Virgil held and supported him through it all and now busied himself in softly patting and massaging his shoulders as his friend struggled to regain proper conscious. With all his energy leaving him, Patton did feel better. Tears and blood were dried by now and his problems seemed so far away, he wondered whether Logan had ever been anything but gentle and considerate with him. “You did well, my dear” Patton heard the subtle mumbles coming from the other and he gave a barely visible nod. A few sounds escaped his mouth as and he let himself sink further into Virgil’s chest, a sweet bliss of being free of worries and mental pain blessed him. The physical pain was still burning into him. It was like eating very spicy things but his arm was his tongue and it was very concentrated and hot for certain areas. The stinging was persistent, especially with Virgil applying certain pressure to it as he cleaned the streaks and cliffs of injury. “I hope you are feeling better at all or something. I got other methods, too.. you just have to be quiet about it.” Virgil dipped a ball of cotton into sanitising solution and carefully shushed his blabbering friend who was still too far gone to react appropriately. “This will sting a lot, prepare for it”, he warned and carefully secured Patton’s abused arm with his own other hand. “Breath in, now” With his last words, he proceeded to press the damp fluffy ball against his arm. Without missing a beat, Patton hissed at the sensation, the sudden intense burning undeniably torturous as it did not leave him any space to take refugee to. “Ow ow ow ow ow!!”, he whined rapidly, his words merging into one lazy string of sounds that could not be spliced. Virgil’s steel grip on him returned and he pushed Patton back into the spit between his own legs that were clad in black ripped jeans as always. “I am almost done, stop being a baby. You are free from all the bad feelings, so be happy about it!” The Tempest Tongue had Patton quieted down. His mind was too fuzzy to disobey, too out of it to argue and point out that he was not overreacting but there was another thing holding him back. Virgil was right. Even after this event, he found himself returning to Virgil’s room for bruising hugs and stinging wounds. There was always the worst part, the stinging and flaming clean-up afterwards and obviously the hissed words and strict voice Virgil used on him. Eventually, he learned how to do it alone but it was nicer with someone else around and hug him. He learned how to hide away and excuse things such as wearing his cardigan because it was so cold or fit his new aesthetic. Logan said he looked more serious and he agreed. Still, he did not get a place to talk to Thomas much. At least he knew how to cope with the rejection pains by now. Without the pain, he made sure to freshly cut himself some slack every now and then. Literally.

#unsympathetic logan #unsympathetic virgil #fanfiction #fanfic #fanficion #ts fanfic #ts fanfiction #story #writing #joey writes #writer #writers #writeaway #writblr #patton sanders #blood #tw blood #self harm #self harm ideation #cutting #toxic frienship #toxic friends #moxiety #logicality #self deprecation #patton angst #angst #angsty fanfic

[drjackandmissjo]

Roses are Red, Tattoos are Forever

Chapter 1 --- Next Chapter

Feysand Masterlist

Pigtails and Liliums

They have two shops, one next to the other. They're friends. She disappeared and now she's back. He tries his hardest. The only thing that gets a reaction from her isn't the one he planned

Florist and Tattoo Artist Au, Modern Day

“Excuse me, sir?” a little girl with missing front teeth and pigtails asked him as he was cutting the leaves off a long Lilium.

He gave her his brightest smile and, after having put the tools down on the counter, leaned over towards her. “Yes, sweetie. What can I do for you?”

The little girl began to look nervous and turned her little head towards her mother, who motioned for her to go on with her question. The girl couldn’t have been older than seven and, after taking a big breath in, she said:"Do you have to put the drawings on every morning by yourself or does your mom help you?”.

Rhys was shocked for a couple of seconds, but promptly replied:"My mommy helps me every morning before I leave for work. But, if you want and if your mom agrees, there is a little shop next door that can give you a drawing for your skin that can last for a week or two! And your mom doesn't have to help, there are some that you can put on your own."

The little girl’s smile grew so wide and bright it might’ve outshone the Sun itself. The mother mouthed a little ‘thank you’ laughing a little at his response.

He nodded his reply and went back to his work. He gave the flowers to her after he was done as the little girl kept on asking:"Can I get one of those for one week? Pretty please."

Rhys did not hear the mother’s affirmative nor negative response as she said it while getting out of his shop, but he imagined it must’ve been affirmative, based on the girl’s reaction.

He went back to work, smiling to himself.

***

An hour later, it was time to close the shop and call it a day.

What a wonderful day it had been!

He had an appointment with the others for dinner at Amren’s house, and he knew perfectly how much she hated when he showed up late, so he turned the sign at the door and went on to finish his chores. He had exactly 20 minutes to complete his paperwork and head out, so he moved as quickly as he could. Or at least he wanted to.

When he had arrived halfway to his desk, he heard a small knock on the glass door.

“We’re closed, I’m sorry.”, he yelled without looking.

“Did you just send a freaking seven years old into my tattoo parlour?”, yelled back the person on the other side.

Rhys didn’t turn around, but simply smiled and took some steps backwards, until his back hit the glass door. “I did it one hour ago, not ‘just’, and I sent her to get a temporary one with the roses that you hand draw and that usually last a week, just as those into the Polaretti.”

“I know and I proposed one of those, but she saw my arm and choose a full sleeve. I gave her a henna one. Will wash down in a month or so.”

Now he turned around to open the locked door, letting the girl in.

Feyre wasn’t particularly remarkable: golden brown hair, piercing blue-greyish eyes that usually threw daggers and glared at everyone and threatened everyone from her 5’6 glory. A tattoo adorned her whole left arm, a full sleeve made of intricate waves and vines and thorns that went from the top of her shoulder to the tip of her fingers, leaving only her palm empty of ink. On the back of her hand, there was a little spot not covered by those thorns and those vines, but by a VFD's style eye. His idea. It came out off a bet, like many things in their friendship.

He did not like that word.

When Feyre walked past him to walk into his shop, she left a trace of vanilla and blueberries in her wake, probably from her shampoo or perfume.

He was intoxicated.

“It’s the third kid that you specifically send me to get a temporary tattoo.”

“Do you blame me for making you work a little bit more?”

She sat on his counter and pouted. “I blame me you for the looks the parents give me after the job’s done.”

“I’m sorry they’re causing you trouble. They look very convinced when they leave from here.”

She threw her hands in the air:"As they are when they come in! But, as soon as my work's finished, they whine about how the kid will get sick of it, how their classmates will react, how their other parent friends will react, etcetera etcetera etcetera.”

He nodded respectfully. They set into a comfortable silence and, while he worked, Feyre read one on the handwritten labels next to some petunias, explaining the meaning of the flower, the history, its origin and even a synopsis about Harry Potter’s aunt.

“I’m sorry again if I have to cut this lovely visit short, but I gotta be at Amren’s, and you know how she gets when someone’s not punctual.”

She nodded solemnly, fully aware of the of the little one’s wrath.

“Besides”, he continued even though the topic pained him, “don’t you have to be home soon? It’s a miracle Tamlin lets you out of the house to go to work even. Without anyone to check on you regularly even!”

She scolded, but didn’t comment, shutting the conversation down.

Shady? Maybe. True? Yes. Bitter? Totally.

He had been in love with that woman since day one, but didn’t have the guts to ask her out. They started as friends, then besties and then, when he finally found his courage, Tamlin came into the picture.

The blond-haired lawyer asked her out the same day he had planned to, just one hour earlier. Feyre then came to his place, as they had planned, to a Disney movie night and ice cream, and told him everything. Rhys couldn't believe his luck, but as long as she was happy, he wouldn’t have said anything.

And he didn’t. Things started out perfectly for them, but Tamlin rushed into it head first, arguably forcing her into moving in together at his place, which was very much better than hers. ‘Arguably forcing her’ because, even though she denied, he gave her no choice. Small comments here and there about her living situations, bigger comments about how he would’ve appreciated to have her around 24/7 and three weeks later, she had given up her apartment.

"You'll save money like this, since you don't have to pay rent anymore.", he said.

And then:"I don't see why you choose that as a living profession. It isn’t proper for a lady to work in a tattoo shop”.

Later:"You know you can stop working, right? My salary is high enough and, besides, the house could use someone to pay attention to it."

That sentence came one month earlier. Feyre didn’t show up at her little shop for almost four weeks after that, not even texting Rhys or letting anyone of their shared friends knowing if she was alive. Rhys had to even call her bigger sister, Nesta, that didn’t exactly appreciate him very much, nor his brother Cassian for the matter.

Moral of the story: nobody knew where Feyre was for three weeks and four days. Three days earlier, when Rhys went to work, the little tattoo parlour next to his florist shop was open. He rushed in, relief written all over his features, but she was with a client already, so he decided to swing by later. She was constantly with clients whenever he showed up to check up on her.

It pained him, how she looked: pale, almost invisible. Her collarbones were showing more than usual, the bags under her eyes more prominent than ever.

The worst thing was a simple one, though. A month or so, after she had started dating Tamlin, she stopped drawing.

She did her job, still perfectly. Only with less passion.

She used to draw the tattoos by hand on a piece of paper before transferring them to the skin, to make them more personal for the buyer. She made the most complicated details with her pencil and pens and the results were breathtaking.

After moving in with him, she started using her laptop, searching for the tattoos online or using pre-drawn models. She still focused and did what she was paid to, but each time with less energy. Until she stopped at all.

Now she was back, empty as a shell. And still didn’t hand draw anything.

Until now. It struck him as a lightning.

“Feyre, you gave that girl a Henna, isn’t it?”

She smiled, timid and small, but it was a smile nonetheless. “She couldn’t stop talking about how pretty was the tattoo on you and how pretty was mine and how she wanted one up her arm and I couldn’t just make a sticker one.”

“You free-handily draw that?”. Rhys was hoping so hard. He prayed every deity he knew.

Feyre looked down at the point of her shoes. She was shutting him down again.

He couldn’t let it happen. “Fey, what happened? You stopped coming to work, stopped talking and texting. And now you come back, looking like a ghost. And a little girl shows up and you gave her a free handily henna. It’s the first drawing you’ve done in months. What happened?”

“She reminded me of you.”, she said, still looking down. “She reminded me of you and I... I just wanted to. I left him. A week ago. I just couldn’t stay there any longer. He was obsessive and jealous and I felt like I was dying. We argued about how maniacally he was acting and he snapped. So I packed all my things and left in the middle of the night, as he was sleeping. He came looking for me the next day and I was scared. I told him to get the hell out of my life or else I would've gone to the police and fucked up his perfect lawyering career.”

For once in his life Rhys didn’t know what to say. He simply stared at her as she was looking at the floor.

“Who kept Lucien?” his voice said before his brain could even register.

Feyre’s head bubbled up quickly, her eyes open wider in disbelief.

“I mean, he’s like a puppy. A red furred puppy. So, usually, when two people split up, one keeps the dog.”

“Lucien is a grown man and can make his own choices.”, she replied stubbornly.

"I take that as ‘at first he chose The Tool and now he's turning around towards me'”

She smiled. “Indeed”

Rhys’ heart was about to explode. He was about to tell her everything, how he felt truly.

But he didn't. Instead, what he said was simply:"I gotta go at Amren's. There is a seat reserved for you, you know."

Feyre looked at him, truly looked at him for once and he thought she could stare at his soul.

“Smile again” he whispered. She did, broad and without restraint.

“You’re exquisite”, he breathed.

She was brilliant, broken and healing at the same time. She needed time and he would’ve given her all the time in the world.

Feyre looked at the clock on the wall. “If we leave now, we can arrive at Amren’s in time, hell even beat Az in the race there!”

That was enough for now.

#feysand #to the stars who queue #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #a court of thorns and roses #fanfiction #feyre archeron #feyre x rhys #feyre x rhysand #feyre #rhysand #rhys #au #modern setting #no magic #florist au #tattoo #tattoos #tattoo artist au #fluff #friends to best friends to lovers #fanfic #sjm #sjmaas #sarah j maas

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2020 - 20 (Grey)

Summary: An armor test brings up a lot of unanswered questions among the Warden crew... like why the fuck were they called Grey Wardens anyway? Seriously, does anyone know?

(That Dragon Age Actor AU, Dragon Age Origins)

---

“Does this armor make me look more intimidating?”

“You're playing an 18 year old hunter's apprentice. Nothing could do that.”

Nothing like new costumes to bring out the excitement for filming the next season. After weeks of waiting, it was finally time for the four actors known as the Warden crew to try on the armor they would be wearing during the season finale. Today was just a preview – final adjustments would be made after.

Merin pouted a little as he adjusted one of his leggings. “Eli, don't be a dick.”

“That's my job, for I am the bearer of dicks.” Eli crossed his muscled arms over his chest. Since it was just an outfit try on, he had both eyes functioning. Once they had to do it for real, the makeup and contacts would be in to simulate his character's ocular issues. “Though, maybe with the tattoos it would work. You're going to lose some points once they cover Elgar'nan up.”

That only made the elf groan harder as he sat back down. At the moment, his tattoos were on full display, covering half the side of his face in dark blue. They would be covered up the moment he became Cahel again, however. Unlucky for him, the famed apprentice didn't match vallaslin with him. He wasn't Shianni.

“Damn it all, we need to speed it up to Awakening or something.” Merin sighed as he ran a hand through his hair – his undercut was starting to grow in since he was wearing a wig so much. “Remi, you almost done in there or what? We wanna see!”

His question was directed to the curtain they were standing in front of. Their costar had disappeared behind there a few moments prior, citing issues with his breastplate. Judging from how much he was grumbling, he was still having that issue.

No surprises there – idols weren't typically known for being able to get armor on.

“Just...” he started muttering to himself in Orlesian. “There! I got the strap right!”

The curtain parted as he stepped out. Like Eli, Remi had a copy of Warden warrior armor on. It was only fitting, given he was supposed to be playing the future king of Ferelden in his Warden days. The effect was somewhat spoiled due to the fact he was using his actual accent, but he could handle that when it was time to film.

He was pretty good at hiding it. So was the guy who played Loghain...

“Not bad, you make the heavy armor work.” Merin frowned as he stared at the griffin on his costar's breastplate. “Though... serious question. Why the fuck are they the Grey Wardens when they wore silver and blue?”

The question caused both Remi and Eli to look down at their armor and pause. A glance passed among the three men in the room, none of them able give a proper answer. It was one of those things people just... accepted.

But yeah, they didn't really wear grey. What was up with that?

“It's because your skin turns grey before you off yourself in the Deep Roads.”

Their final costar entered on that killer line. Shianni, like Merin, was dressed in rogue armor. Unlike him, she made it look damn good. He cursed that a little as she took Eli's chair, perching on it like some rare bird of prey. Her reaction time was just as good too – he had seen it first hand when they had been in Orzammar.

People were still making gif sets of their group fight. It was kinda endearing.

Merin shook his head at this answer, though. “Nah. That's way too on the nose for these guys. You know they hid the taint thing until it was killing them.”

“Hiding the answer in plain sight is pretty Grey Warden if you ask me.” Shianni sounded almost bored. “Why, what's your bright idea?”

To this, the elf shrugged. “I figured it was a linguistic thing. You know how words change over time. Maybe silver meant grey then or something.”

Truthfully, even he could see that answer fell flat. However, Eli and Remi were quick to remind him of that as they both shook their heads. So, that was another idea shot down by the peanut gallery. Two were still in play, however.

Though... he could tell it was about to get stupid in here.

Remi tapped a gloved finger to his cheek as he thought about it. “Aren't griffin feathers kind of greyish? Maybe it was supposed to represent them.”

“Griffins come in a shit ton of colors, it's only the babies that are all grey and fuzzy.” Merin, ever the ranger, shot that one down pretty quickly. “It's the down.”

Eli rolled his eyes at this. “Only you would know that, Lavellan.”

“Hey, excuse me for doing some research, Rodriguez.”

There was no barb to their words, of course. By now, Eli and Merin were something like friends. It was a natural consequence of having to spend so much time with each other, though it helped the older elf had finally let the stick up his ass go. So he was a necromancer – big deal. It was the digital age, after all. Nobody really minded.

Nobody except them when it was time to tease him on it, mind you. After all, they were only sentient.

Remi knew when he was beat at least. He nodded at the information. “Right... I doubt they'd name them after baby griffins. It's not exactly intimidating.”

“They probably picked the name because they all had hard ons for grey morality.” Eli rolled his eyes. “I mean, that whole take who they want no matter what, get the job done even as your rotting in place, no lands or master thing just screams it.”

Shianni snorted at this response. “It be less impressive if you weren't saying that dressed as the berserker.”

Yeah... the whole conversation was just punctuated by the fact they were all standing around in prop armor discussing the history of a name. This was the kind of thing shitposters on the internet did when they were bored. So... maybe they had more in common with their fans than they thought.

Eli's cheeks turned hot at this as he turned away, pulling off a pretty decent impression of his character as he did so. “Who says Miris wasn't a man of philosophy?”

“Uh, he did. A lot. It's in the journals, check page 30, 56, 120...” Merin started counting off his fingers, smirking a little. “I can keep going.”

“Nobody likes a smart ass, Lavellan.” He paused. “Yeah, except Remi I know. You don't need to remind me.”

That just got him a tongue stuck out from the would-be ranger and his boyfriend. He returned it in kind, which meant civil conversation was definitely lost for the moment. Thankfully, before the battle of the tongues could continue, someone stuck their head in.

“Why do the Wardens have their tongues out?” Kaaras was practicing his Sten inflection, probably because he was in costume as well. The rest of him soon entered the room, coming to rest next to his on-screen girlfriend. Off screen, she was gay and he was a father of two. They played it well, though – they had won a few chemistry awards.

Merin pulled his tongue back in before Eli got the chance, though that was mostly because he needed to use it. “Because Eli is being an edge lord.”

“Hey, you're the one who asked the question in the first place.” Eli turned to the new occupant. “How about it, Kaaras. Why do you think the Grey Wardens are called that?”

All eyes turned to the qunari as he stopped to think about it. He tapped his chin a few times, deep in thought as he mused on the subject. Given he was dressed for war, it was a pretty hilarious sight. However, they wanted the answer more than they needed the laugh. So they waited, pins and needles jabbing into them.

He finally shrugged. “Because the Wardens have a thing for qunari I suppose.”

His response was met with a mixture of groans and snickers. That seemed to be what he had wanted in the first place, because he flashed them a very out-of-character thumbs up that shouldn't have been possible with his gloves. Someone in costuming was really earning their paycheck, no doubt about that.

“Should've seen that one coming a mile away.” Shianni shook her head. “Who knows, maybe it was the first Warden's favorite color. For all we know, they had a lover with grey eyes and the name stuck.”

Merin nodded at this, beaming suddenly. “Sounds gay, I'm down.”

That got Eli chuckling, though it was somewhat exasperated. “You're always down when it comes to gay subtext.”

“Hey,  I was in fandom for how long? Gay subtext is my bread and butter.”

Nobody could argue with that fact. Still, it was clear by that point that it could have been any of their suggestions, or a thousand other ones they didn't have the time to think of. The true answer was probably lost to time, as was many things about the Dragon Age and what came before that.

So... maybe they were all right. Or wrong. Who knew?

Kaaras shook his head as he glanced around the room at the assembled fake Wardens. “Anyway, they wanted you guys out to see how the armor fit. Hurry up and get going or you're going to keep Herah here for ages on makeup once that's done.”

Right... they were supposed to be working. Sometimes it was easy to forget that. The Warden crew nodded as they left, ready to handle whatever came next. With any luck, they wouldn't be seeing the head of makeup that day. It was kind of late for that.

Still...  why were they called Grey Wardens anyway? That was going to bother them for a while. Damn it all...

#writober2020 #ramblinganthropologist's writing #That Dragon Age Actor AU

[5-of-spades]

IkeRev Cradlesona

Here it is finally, it’s lacking pictures for now, only until I am back home and can doodle something out; this will be updated;;; thanks for everyone who posted their Cradlesonas before and gave me a boost to do it too 😭😭😭 and for @lovingsiriusoswald for starting the craze and to @msquercusalba for listening to my rambles over her before I actually made this

Maybe this is more of an OC than a Cradlesona??

Sample pictures before I’m able to produce some myself ; made using picrew makers [2] [2] [2]

Cradlesona: Elise Marlowe

Basic Info:

Nicknames: Elí (family only; Edgar Bright is an exception to the rule)

Birthday: 27th of August

Age: 27

Height: 177 cm | 5’ 9’’

Blood Type: 0-

Physical:

Eyes: Greyish-blue

Hair: Silver

Accessories: Long hanging earrings, family ring on her left hand with family crest

Features: Fair skin tone, long silver hair reaching slightly over her shoulders, almond shaped eyes

Illnesses: None

Social:

Affiliation: Red Army / Red territory

Occupations: Youngest daughter of the family, in line to take over family’s pharmacy

Relationships:

Lancelot Kingsley - can’t call him a friend, can’t call his an acquaintance either, had known and met his since childhood (as well as other army officers); has only recently realised her feelings for him and tries to suppress them from surfacing and being obvious

Jonah Clemence - old school colleague, has a great deal of respect for him and his opinions but does think he can be overwhelming to deal with at times

Edgar Bright - finds him a bit eccentric but charming and amusing, had tutored him with chemicals under Claudius Bright’s request, considers him somewhat a friend and meets occasionally for a cup of tea

Kyle Ash - highly agrees with him on his morals and admires his dedication for his profession, has collaborated with him on formations of new medicines

Zero - unsure what she feels about him, he’s the only officer she hadn’t met during childhood and doesn’t feel he wants to meet her, get a change of heart after her ‘brother’ tells her what Zero is really like

Blanc Lapin - as an old family fiend, can remember him from childhood visits to her home, holds him in high regards

Oliver Knight - only heard about the man and his renowned inventions from Blanc and social circle talk but had never met him in person

Ray Blackwell - no opinion so far, knows he’s the opposing side’s King

Sirius Oswald - no opinion so far, only knows little what she had seen of hi during school and what Lancelot and Jonah had told her about him, and it’s hard to figure out what’s the truth and what’s a lie

Luka Clemence - despite his betrayal she isn’t hostile towards him, mainly because Edgar’s reports when he manages to get in touch with Luka, can’t understand why he left

Seth Hyde - knows nothing about him, only his position in the army thanks to Edgar’s intel, no opinion so far

Fenrir Godspeed - knows him due to family name and Edgar’s reports, had seen him around Civic Center but has never interacted with him, no opinion so far

Harr Silver - knows of him because she had seen him around Lancelot and Sirius but he’s a mystery to her, ever since he was pronounced an outlaw she is afraid to run into him, not a positive opinion

Loki Genetta - has only heard rumours about him and isn’t sure he is real, no opinion so far

Personality: Gentle and caring would be the best words to describe Elise Marlowe. The traits very unusual in her family, yet the soft spoken and sweet girl is always with a smile on her face and a forever optimist. Raised in a family of high expectations and a legacy to bear, Elise is very goal-oriented and will find the way to achieve her goals. But unlike the rest of her family, she would never use someone for her own gain. It’s against her morals and she can’t bring herself to harm anyone, no matter their deeds.

Elise is the baby of the family and had always been spoiled but instead of making her into a brat, it further enhanced her inner feeling of needing to give back to the less fortunate than her. Having shown a talent for chemistry and alchemy early on and seeing the possibilities she can use it to help others. She is a very curious woman that could get lost in books or whatever subject she finds interesting.

Aside her good and caring side, she can be stubborn and easily scared of situations she can’t understand. She is not used to not know what’s happening and when something strays from her norm it scares her. She can be too hard-pressed on something to give up, even knowing it’s in vain. Sometimes she can get overly sensitive and let her emotions make decisions rather than her mind. She believes in “actions speak more than words”

In short, Elise is a selfless and caring person that wants to help but sometimes acts before she thinks.

Family and History: Youngest of three children of family, Elise had a childhood many would be envy of. Her family had held the position of 10 of Hearts for generations and had strict rules about which child will inherit the prestigious title of future 10. Marlowes have been among the first families to be established as part of the Red Army in Cradle’s beginnings and have further secured their position by handling pharmaceuticals and providing alchemy services to the citizens. The founder of the family, Augustus Marlowe, established first ever pharmacy in Cradle and his books are used in education of future alchemists and pharmacists. As a founder, he had set rules his descendants were obligated to follow. One of them were to marry people from strickly choosen families to avoid diluting the bloodline. Thanks to this, Marlowe family is also renowned for all family members having eye-catching silver hair and each generation has to provide 3 offspring, of which one has to be a male. These and many more were the rigorous rules that have to be followed.

As the youngest, Elise was utterly spoiled by both her parents and her brother and sister. She got everything she set her eyes on and pointed at with her finger. Despite the overwhelming spoils, she was raised with proper manners and her sister insisted that she should hold herself with dignity and not let her desires get a better or her. Her brother, who is expected to inherit the position of 10 of Hearts, has often read to her and greatly influenced her fashion sense. All three of them used to be close until the fallout between the older siblings. Now, she only remains close with her brother.

As a rule, 3 children are an obligation for Marlowe family. One for the army, one for the alchemy and one for the pharmacy. All children are free to choose which profession they’ll follow, provided that the oldest male heir is sent to the army. At the young age, Elise showed a remarkable talent for chemistry. She was a much quicker learner than the older siblings and her family was overjoyed to have decided on her future so early on. It was a good thing she enjoyed what her future role will ask of her. It only came to finding her a perfect husband down the road.

As a child of nobility and high officer, she had the opportunity to meet with higher and lower ranked officers and through that had met Lancelot, Jonah and Edgar and Luka and later on, Kyle. Same age as Jonah, she attended the same school and same class he had and developed a friendship with the future Queen of Hearts and held his little brother in high regard all up until his betrayal. Due to how her family took a stance against the Clemence family, their friendship took a hit and now, they are slowly trying to bridge that gap. Future Jack had her be his tutor with chemistry outside the school on Claudius Bright’s request for Edgar’s future missions. Through that, she bonded with Edgar and they remained good friends.

Having graduated and set to inherit her family’s pharmacy when her aunt retires, Elise had been put to immense studying for her future job. She found joy in her studies and gladly took everything she was given and looked for some more afterwards. Elise is still very much lives a life she wants and already decided for her, and even if she likes it it, she can’t help feel it’s suffocating to live it.

Skills and Special Abilities:

Extensive knowledge of chemistry and alchemy

Quick reader

Can play the viola

Paired with: Lancelot Kingsley (one-sided ?)*

Life in Cradle: During the day, Elise is tasked with overlooking the family internary and accounting for everything that is lacking. Afterwards she is scheduled for studying for her future employment until lunch. Afterwards she’s usually helping her aunt in the pharmacy. After closing time she is always making sure she visits her ‘brother’ in the barracks. Secretly she sends small medicines or gifts over him to the King, Queen and Jack. She hopes it finds them well. Recently she found that her feelings for the young King of Hearts have resurfaced after seeing him more and more after her ‘brother’s’ enrolment into the army and her heart undeniably skipping a beat. Alas, she knows he is not her intended groom in the future, and if Marlowe puts something above themselves, it’s the family tradition.

* On Elise’s feelings towards Lancelot

Elise had known Lancelot since they were kids throughout various social events her family was invited to along with other families from the red territory. She had considered him a friend but she has never outright called him that, since he was raised to respect him above everything else. As children both were happy to see each other and just have a playmate they could play with before knowing their duty will take over their lives.

That continued through the school years up until they both respectfully graduated. Elise has helped Lancelot with a few tutoring sessions with some of his subjects and had gotten close to him again, just as there were as kids, but has always been more content as his silent supporter from behind. She had also enjoyed making small gifts in form of healthy snacks for him and Jonah when they were all still close back then. At 17, it was the first time she realised she had feelings for him. She didn’t know how it happened but she knew her feelings were strong enough for her to call it live. She fell in love with him due to Lancelot’s selfless actions and kindness, that wasn’t always so obvious at first, but mainly due to what a strong person he was. She admired him for managing to not let his emotions sway him upon his dad’s death, that he carefully considered the best way he could go about things without inconveniencing or causing harm to anybody. And above all, for making a tough decisions when he absolutely had to. Elise knew she never could do that were she in his place, she was far too emotional to be able to think rationality in a situation like so. For most part she idolised him, wanted to be more than friends but she knew she could never. Not only was there a hierarchical difference, she had already been bethroed to someone else.

And yet, she wrote him a letter, detailing her feelings for him in it and left it for him to find. Unsigned of course and let her feelings subside and dull over time, all the while convincing herself that it she had ever told him how she felt it would just end up in rejection. She had wondered if he maybe felt the same way when she had caugh his glace to her over the hallways and during their tutoring. She hoped his small acts of kindness to her meant more than just that. But she didn’t want to be selfish, her sister taught her better than that. She should be happy just being his friend and living to see him rise to the throne to rule. And she was. She convinced herself that she was happy being able to support Lancelot during his reign as a new King of Hearts.

She truly had tired to love her choosen husband. He wasn’t a bad guy, he didn’t do anything to hurt her or make her feel awful for having feelings for another man. He was too good for her and Elise pitied the man. She was still going to go through the wedding when the time comes and tried to erase all feelings about Lancelot from her heart. After all, she is a Marlowe, and a Marlowe always follows the family duty. She had almost done it until her ‘brother’ joined the army and asked for her to visit on a daily basis under the pretense of ‘using her knowledge to help Red Army advance.’ Even if it was just a ploy, she was still happy and eager to help. That’s when she met Kyle through her ‘brother’ and had all the more reasons to visit the barracks. That’s when she had encountered Lancelot again one night in the hallway after having discussed with Kyle about new possible medical solutions. Seeing him again after years and exchanging just a few words had lit a flame inside her once again. Visiting barracks for work bacame the perfect excuse to see him again and have just a greeting between them. Now older and more mature, Elise knows she could never stand by his side as his choosen one but she still hasn’t given up on supporting him till the end. It’s was she has to do.

But so far, she hasn’t received any complains on sending him gifts again after all those years.

#cradlesona #ikemen revolution cradlesona #elise cradlesona #cradlesona oc #ikemen revolution #ikerev #boy this got long #im going to hate this in a few hours #cant belive i actually have to make the rest of thr family for this to make sense #if anyone read this through the end #you a true mvp #thank you for coming to my ted talk

[svtegg]

hogwarts!svt (97line)

i feel like this one is a little longer than the other one?? idk but here u go!

Mingyu:

Gryffindor boy, the sorting hat didn’t even touch his head before the Gryffindor table erupted into applause

His father was a gryffindoor, his mom was a gryffindor, his grandmother was a gryffindor, his grandmothers grandmother was a gryffindor….do I need to continue?

Very very good at potions, despite being terribly clumsy

His favorite subject however is transfiguration

Once turned himself into half human half goblet….. a human sized goblet with two freakishly long feet

And the Transfiguration Professor, Mr Rodney Silvering, had to get Minghao to walk him to the hospital wing because Mr Silvering couldnt stop laughing

He’s a well-liked goof, very gullible and charming, everyone knows him but he’s bad at remembering names so he doesn’t always know who the person he just had a 5 minute chat with was 

Often falls victim to Jihoon, Jeonghan or Seungkwan’s feet binding jinxes

Once broke his nose from a jinx Seungkwan had shoot at him as they walked up the moving staircase and Seungkwan has been eternally sorry since, gifting him a new set of Quidditch Keeper gloves and a helmet for christmas 

Jihoon, Mingyu and Minghao are the only members of the N.M.P.C (Non-Magical Paint Club)... Mingyu started it after starting Muggle Art in his fifth year....and he found out he loved painting.......so the Headmaster gave the three of them persmission to use the room of requirement as a clubroom 

Mingyu is the keeper on the Gryffindoor quidditch team, and once fell off his broom mid-match because he got distracted by an Alicantro flying above him

Jeonghan had to take him to the hospital wing with a couple broken fingers and a broken rib

Often talks to the portraits, they all know him by first name because he stubles up the stairs even five years after he first started at Hogwarts

Does okay in school, but is terrible at History of Magic

Joshua often tries to help him study because he’s the only one that doesn’t get annoyed at Mingyu’s whining 

He could be a good duelist if he wasn’t so scared of being hit by stupefy

Jihoon tries to help him get over his fear of the stupify charm by surprisingly casting it at him when Mingyu isn’t paying attention

Mingyu loves Wonu’s cat Pocha,,,pocha doesn’t love him back…….

Has a pet fire dwelling salamander that his sister Minseo caught for him when she was five, its name is Scarlet

Scarlet is currently around 14 years old and Mingyu was extremely relieved when Seungkwan told him that salamanders often live to be over 20 years if they live a happy life

He’s often seen hanging around the great hall with Seungcheol, Vernon, Seokmin, Chan and Seungkwan His other favorite spot is by the lake, where Jeonghan, Junhui and Seungkwan often skip stones and sneak prank supplies into school grounds through a secret passage in the boat house

Mingyu is on lookout duty but his heart is still beating out of his chest as he sits by the water waiting for the rest of the guys to return

Mingyu’s wand is a greyish brown Alderwood with a beautifully corset like carved handle. Unicorn hair core, 12.5 inches

His patonus is a Stag with an impressive antlers

Seokmin:

A gryffindor that doesnt think he deserves to be a gryffindor

Not because he’s a coward or unloyal or any of that sort

He just doesn’t think he deserves it….plot twist….he does

Seokmin is one of the bravest people in his year…..he dares to be loud, different and weird n is often the center of attention during lunch 

His laugh can be regcognised all the way from the quidditch bleachers to the owl tower

He’s also extremely loyal to his friends and the people he cares about and his moral compass is his path in life.....will stand up for anyone he thinks 

This boy thinks doing the right thing is so so important and deeply cares for everyone he knows

Even people he barely knows the name of

He rooms with Mingyu and is seatmates with Minghao

Seokmin’s favorite subjects are Herbology, Potions and Charms and this is based purely on the fact that these subjects are key to becoming a healer

Because Seokmin wants to become a healer!!! Maybe he’ll work at St.Mungos,,or maybe the hospital wing at Hogwarts,,.,,.,…who knows! Not him! He doesn’t rly care either he just wants to be a healer

That smile can heal though

Often volunteers to help in the hospital wing n all the matrons that work there adore him!! The cheif matron, Ms Corck, made him his own little desk in the office room and he’ll often sit there when he needs some room for himself

He also loves Care For Magical Creatures bc he loves animals n wants to learn everything about them, even though he’s lowkey scared of the Hippogriff that lives by the Owl Tower

Loves the bowtruckle family that lives on Soonyoungs bed though!! Often brings them food when he sneaks into the Hufflepuff common room

Seokmin, Seungkwan and Jun often spend time in the Owlery, Seungkwan and Jun taking care of their owls and Seokmin chatting and petting the owls that doesn’t get as much attention as some of the bigger and prettier owls

Studies very hard n often falls asleep on the couch in front of the fireplace in the gryffindoor common room leaving Mingyu or Seungcheol w the task to get him up to his room and into his bed

The great hall is his domain, and he often hangs there to battle Wonu and Soonyoung in Wizards Chess

Seokmin doesn’t have a lot of friends like Seungkwan, Jeonghan or Seungcheol but everyone seems to know who he is

Known for his amazing singing voice and he’ll often attract a small audience of people when he hums on a ballad while he sits in the viaduct courtyard with Jihoon, Seungcheol, Jun and Chan 

He’s best friends with the portrait of the fat lady and knows a lot of the passwords for the secret passages

Keeps books from the restricted section under his bed.....Maybe Minghao and Vernon stole them for him maybe they didn’t who knows

Seokmin’s wand is made of willow with a phoenix feather core. 11.5 inches, light wood with a charmin twisted handle

His patronus is a St. Bernhard dog, Seokmin was also the first in his group to cast the patronus spell successfully, thinking about his happiest memory (when his friends had gotten him a surprise birthday gift and took him to see a quidditch match)

Minghao:

Slytherin through and through

Pureblood, family history in Slytherin

A true Slytherin, his resourceful and cunning ways shining through

He’s the Slytherin seeker, one of the best in years says the flying instructor

A disciplined and good duelist as well as a top student

He’s basically Slytherins pride, and teachers often try to convince him to become a prefect

Minghao is truly a calm and compassionate soul, his favorite subjects being Care For Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies

He often seats with Seokmin in lectures……Except for in Astrology…..He sits with a random boy from Ravenclaw in that class because Mingyu steals Seokmin bc they sit at the back and nap

His favorite spot is the secret staircase leading down to the pathway down to the boathouse, he will often sit there and read, sometimes alone, sometimes with one or two of his friends

Hangs with Mingyu, Jihoon, Vernon and Jun a lot......they like hanging in the ravenclaw duelling arena........tee hee

Spends a lot of time with the Quidditch players of his friend group...Seungcheol, Jun, Soonyoung, Jihoon, Mingyu and Chan 

They often sit in the Quidditch Pitch changing rooms

Genuinely interested in his friends interests and often reads books on Care Of Magical Creatures to discuss with Seungkwan and Seokmin, or Potion recipes to talk about with Mingyu and Joshua,,, talks Quidditch with Jun, Soonyoung, Chan and Seungcheol, reads up on muggle music to have a topic to chat about with Vernon and Jihoon, reads up on Magical Theory to ask Wonu some insightful questions

He just cares a lot but doesn’t show it in a typical way

He kinda looks out for his friends from the sidelines u kno

He doesn’t really care about rules or authority bc he never gets caught when he breaks the rules anyway bc he’s a master...planner

Knows a lot of secret rooms around the castle,,, esp the secret passage that leads from the clocktower courtyard to the back of the restricted sections of the library

Spends a lot of time with Jihoon in the Slytherin common room, often discussing muggle instruments and bands

Minghao is well liked, and takes good care of the younger students in his house, often becoming somewhat of a mentor for them as he helps them understand their curriculum and explains the basics of Divination and Study of Ancient Runes to the confused third years

He doesn’t keep pets, but is very friendly with the Thestrals that pull the carriages from the train tracks and up to the forest each semester starts

Minghao’s wand is white wooden Aspen with golden rims around the handle and a blue sapphire fastened at the bottom. 8 inches, long slender pointy tip, Unicorn hair core.

His patronus is a black sable mitt ferret, tiny but feisty and long skinny bodies, just like him! jskjdskj

#svt #seventeen #svt drabble #svt imagine #svt scenario #mingyu imagine #mingyu #kim mingyu #xu minghao #minghao #lee seokmin #seokmin #seokmin imagine #minghao imagine #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #seventeen au #svt au #hogwarts #harry potter au #bulletfic #svt bulletfic

[spearcast]

I don't mean to bother you since I know you've had some absolute shit heads in this ask box here and there. I just want to let you know I approve of your sudden attachment to Mando and I'm glad you've resuscitated your love for SWars thru Mandalorian and Clone Wars!

Awh, thank you!! Yeah I'm glad for it too despite how its hit me like a ton of bricks lmao

And Mando is polite, morally greyish, sarcastic, made of beskar steel husband material, and is simultaneously badass and a dweeb. I would kill for that man. Pedro Pascal does wonders acting as Mando from the body language to his WONDERFUL voice , and while Pedro is INCREDIBLY handsome and I would love to see his face, I also don't want Mando to ever be forced to take off his mask cause he doesn't deserve to have his boundaries crossed so harshly. He instead deserves the world and a happy ending and he BETTER get it with his little baby child and maybe Omera (unless Omera and Cara have a meet cute or smth. I'm not opposed to OmeraCara)

[brightly-painted-canvas]

Can you write something where Joe and Rami celebrate their tenth anniversary?

YES I CAN MY SWEET, PATIENT ANON. YES I CAN!Sorry it took me so long to write this, but stuff happened (and it’s still happening) irl that’s taking me away from writing and drawing. The hiatus is over, tho! No need for that anymore, I’ll just be slower to update than before (haha like I’ve ever been fast!).Here’s a fic for you, hope you like it!

(also on AO3!)

Ten years of special - mazlek

The first time ever Joe completely realises his and Rami’s 10th anniversary is approaching happens six month before the actual date, while he’s having a Facetime call with Martin.

Martin’s face is tired and badly illuminated in the dim light of his Dublin apartment, as is fully nighttime in Ireland while still midday in New York. Joe’s been back home from London for about a week and is getting ready for the whole BoRhap promotion tour ordeal, starting in about two weeks. He’s pretty excited about it, of course.

He has just asked when Martin is planning his next trip to the other side of the Pond when Martin replies: “Dunno? Maybe if you’re doing something to celebrate in March and plan for friends and families to be involved I can come around.” with a casual wave of his hand.

“About what?” Joe asks dumbly, confused.

Martin blinks twice before stating: “Your anniversary?”

“Of what?” asks again Joe, completely out of the loop. Something to do with ‘The Pacific’ maybe?

“You and Rami? Being together?” tries Martin, almost exasperated.

Joe gasps and covers his mouth, looking shocked: “Fuck!” he exclaims.

“It’s been ten years Joe, I thought you knew by now you two have been dating.” says Martin, amused by the reaction.

“That’s not it! Fuck, I haven’t got anything planned!” cries out Joe, frantically looking for his phone to check the anniversary date.

“There’s still time,” says Martin, trying to calm him down: “I’m sure Rami doesn’t even care for big celebrations anyway, he likes quiet things. Which is why it’s a wonder how you’re still together after this long…” he comments, but the joke is lost to Joe’s panicking mind.

“I mean, ten years, Martin!” he’s whining: “It’s big! It’s a whole decade!”“Yeah, Joe. That’s what ‘decade’ means.” says Martin, tone flat and completely unimpressed.

“What should I do?” Joe asks, looking desperate.

Martin shrugs, shaking his head: “You’ve got six months to figure it out? Just let me know in time if you need me there as a moral support, okay? There are plane tickets to be bought.” he warned.

After that the conversation just move toward something else.

Time flies by and Joe’s (and of course Rami’s) life gets extremely busy with the BoRhap promotion tour and award season that he starts postponing their anniversary celebration plans until he all but forgets about it.

Suddenly is March and both him and Rami are back in NYC.

Rami is an Academy Award Winner with a schedule so full it would be stressful even if it was split between two people. Joe is been spending his days and nights sick in bed for an obstinate flu he’s caught right at the end of award season which is taking too long to cure.

On the very day of their 10th anniversary, Rami has to leave home before dawn for Mr. Robot shootings and doesn’t come back until after the sun has set.

Meanwhile, Joe has been trying to sleep his sickness off for the whole day, though to no avail.

He has been waking up periodically to get his medicines and try to eat something that he then promptly vomits shortly after. He’s feeling miserable, too hot and too cold at the same time, feverish, tired and weak.

When Rami finally steps back into their house, he finds Joe knelt down over the toilet bowl, shaking like a leaf, looking greyish and completely fed up of being sick.

“Let me ask Yasy if she can suggest something stronger to get you.” says Rami, flushing the toilet before kneeling down beside him on the bathroom floor to gently rub his back: “Maybe you’ve been taking the wrong medicine.”

Joe sigh loudly and shrugs, his body suddenly tense and resting heavily on Rami’s support.

“I’m dying, Rami.” he declares, shaking his head.

“Haha, nice quote.” says the other, tone flat and humorless: “But no, you ain’t dying.” he clarifies: “I won’t allow that. Ever.”

“Thank you, baby.” Joe whisper again, weakly: “‘s nice to know I can count on you to keep me alive.”

“Well, it’s been true for ten years. I have no problems keeping it like that.” smiles Rami, more like a passing thought.

There’s a pause after that, one Rami thinks is due to the fact that Joe needs to puke again, but then he’s quietly asking: “What day is today?” and Rami has to reply: “The 6th.”

“Fuck.” is Joe’s hissed comment: “Fuck, Rams. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s really not your fault that you got sick.” reasons Rami.

“It’s not that, it’s…” whines Joe, suddenly turning around to look Rami in the eyes and taking his hand in his sweaty one. He feels extra disgusting and miserable. “I wanted to do something special. For you and for us. I really wanted this to be… special.” he sighs, defeated.

“Joe, I really don’t care about special, at the moment.” says calmly Rami, tugging Joe close to have him rest against his chest, chin on his partner’s messy-haired head. They are hugging on the tiled bathroom floor and the moment feel somehow cathartic, relevant: “We just had a shitload of special happening to us, it think it’s enough for now.” he almost laughs: “And anyway, you’ve been the one special thing in my life since I’ve met you, so… really, no need for anything else.” he says, starting to softly cradle Joe, rocking back and forth.

“God, that’s very romantic.” commented Joe, voice muffled by the fabric of Rami’s sweater against his mouth: “I’d kiss you if I hadn’t been puking all day.”

“Ew.” says Rami, laughing softly and shifting so he can place a kiss on Joe’s forehead.

“But you’re the special one for me too, Rams. That’s why I wanted to celebrate.” sigh Joe, straightening his back to look into Rami’s eyes, suddenly very serious: “Ten years. It’s a lot.”

“Yeah, but I thought the plan was to stick around each other for a little longer than that? So the ten years milestone really doesn’t bother me. It’s just there to tell us we’re doing it well, somehow.” explains Rami, smiling with easiness as he caresses Joe’s face: “Are you getting tired of me?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

Joe’s panicked expression says everything: “No, of course not. Never. You’re doomed with the responsibility of taking care of me for the rest of your life. Or mine, which isn’t gonna be long if things get worse than this.” he states and coughs for good measure.

Rami laughs again and kisses him on the cheek: “I guess it’s a deal.”

They look at each other again and then look around the bathroom, as they are suddenly figuring out where they are having such conversations.

“Do you think you’re good for now?” asks Rami eyeing the toilet and Joe grimaces, considering it for a moment, then nods.

“Then how about this for a plan: if you feel like it you can take a shower while I aerate the bedroom and call my sister.” proposes Rami, getting up from the floor and then helping Joe stand up: “After that, once you’re clean and properly treated, we can have celebratory cuddles in bed.”

“If I get you sick, Sam’s gonna kill me. I mean, probably a lot of other people would be mad at me and want me dead, but he won’t hesitate to kill me for real.” says Joe, standing there in the middle of the bathroom looking concerned.

Rami shakes his head and pushes him a little to guide him toward the shower: “I won’t get sick. And I’d deal with Sam anyway. I’d probably just need to bargain your life with a contract for a new tv show…” he comments.

“That’s how much my life is worth right now.” whines Joe as Rami forces him out of his sweated t-shirt.

Rami huffs and leaves him to deal with the shower, moving to the bedroom to open the windows and changing the sheets before heading to the kitchen to call Yasmine.

When he gets his phone out of his pocket he finds a lot of unread texts from friends and family, all congratulating him and Joe. The one which catches his eyes the most is from Martin, who wrote: “Miss you boys. Hope Joe found something special for you to do today.” to which Rami just smiles and sends back a “Special is the right word. Miss you too.”

#fanfiction #anon request #mazlek #joe mazzello #rami malek #martin mccann #(special guest!) #I'm back!