#the waistcoat was actually green but the lighting makes it look darker :(

[senviva]

my Halloween costumes of the past few years: Rachel, Maggie, and Sy

#rachel lindt #maggie holt #sylvester lambsbridge #the waistcoat was actually green but the lighting makes it look darker :( #my friend dressed as Jamie #im sure we came across as 'Victorian orphan boys' rather than any specific characters #oh well! #worm web serial #worm wildbow #parahumans #pact web serial #pact wildbow #twig web serial #twig wildbow

[amuseoffyre]

Time for round 2 of my look back on Stede's S1 clothes with the new layers added by S2.

This will probably entirely be focused on episode 4, because there's a heck of a lot of stuff going on here, what with the flashbacks and everything.

I've done previous posts about a lot of his outfits in Bridgetown that make him blend in with the backgrounds, but I also want to take a look at them in the context of who he was and the people around him.

First we have the carriage suit, when he's basically being sold off in marriage for a land-contract.

Compared to his father's austere black outfit, Stede's outfit is very, very dramatically different with the patterns. But specifically, it is the colour and pattern of the interior of the carriage. Like the carriage, he is a commodity, an object to be used and disposed with as Dad Bonnet sees fit.

Also I love that they put Stede and Mary in opposite colour palettes from the word go: she's in light clothes while his are mostly dark; he's sitting on a pale seat with a darker background while she's sitting on a dark seat with a pale one. A set up for contrast and contradiction.

Next we cut to the wedding flashback and Stede's still in the same cut and style of coat, but like Mary has an extra froth of lace on his cravat. It's a wedding. Gots to be special. (And again, the blue/white froth combo when he's near the sea)

The colour of the coat is fascinating. Reds, browns and grey with that splash of teal in there. It's not a colour we see Stede in much, but significantly, across both seasons red in a fabric becomes the symbol of love. Here it's subdued and dulled down by stronger colours, which makes sense when he's a man who wanted to marry for love. No place for all-out red here.

When we jump forward several years, the clothes are telling more of a story. Stede is in blue-toned (sea) clothing when we know he's already well on his way to planning his ship, while Mary is dressed in earthy tones (land) with flowers.

They're in contrasting colours again. There's no scene where they're together that they ever actually match their clothing. Even in the family painting from episode 1, Stede is in his blue tones while Mary and the children are in warm yellows and browns.

But - adorably - when Stede is playing with the kids, they're wearing shades of blues and greens like he was, a sign that he did have some connection with them, even as tenuous as it was.

And look at that scale motif on his waistcoat :D Someone had mermish aspirations.

On we go and to the wedding anniversary gifts and what I love about this outfit is that this is the very, very first time we see all Stede's outfit turn towards the warmer end of the spectrum.

He's had his ship built and he's about to tell his wife about it and this is the closest he's come to matching her right before he tells her this fab thing he's done for the whole family, including her. His waistcoat is nearly identical in colour to her dress.

The fact that he dons her colour and it's the same colour as his battle jacket? Interesting, no? Which also happens to be the colour of cowardice and fear. And yet ironically, also hope and warmth. It's a fine, fine line.

And then we have the nightshirt with the golden waves embroidered on it. Sir, your yearning is strong.

Oh and to get back on the yellow horse, our man ran away without telling one while wearing a yellow outfit. That really is his colour coded towards being afraid but Doing the Thing anyway.

And now, we're back to the present and Stede is once more in his bed nook in his yellow battle jacket, lamenting what a terrible pirate he is. Second time in 4 episodes. Well done, sir. Your emoting Jacket is working.

And I just had to take a moment to go and cackle into a cushion when I was capping the next moment, because Stede's next outfit is comprised of what I like to call the Slutty Red Breeches of Lurve.

Because he went into his closet with this man who showed a keenness for fingering fine fabrics and especially asked about silk. So what does our man Stede do? Grabs a pair of silk breeches in the canonically confirmed colour of love and holds them right in front of his crotch with a beaming, optimistic smile on his face :D

And the very very next frigging scene starts with Blackbeard's head level in the shot with Stede's red-clad crotch. I mean. I JUST. I'M THINKING THINGS.

But digressing. Yes. Stede does in fact have Pants of Lurve. And more significantly, he lets Ed get into his pants within an hour of meeting him 🤣

Also significantly Stede keeping his collar open is new. He's had it open before after being locked up or having his shirt shredded, but he's being a little saucy and wearing a gaping nearly translucent shirt with no waistcoat. Positively a harlot XD Combine that with the red "come touch my silk" breeches, he is flirting with his clothes, even if he doesn't realise it.

And last but not least, we have Stede's final outfit of the episode:

What I love the most about this is that it's clear he's absolutely comfy in those clothes. Right now, he looks so out of place in it, because we've only seen him presenting himself the way he thinks he has to present himself.

Yes, he likes his silks and frills and fripperies, but knowing that down the line, he gets leather trousers of his own, he's not limiting himself to what he thinks he should wear's meant to wear to fit in. He's a man who wears what he wants and likes, regardless of whether he "should" :)

Episode 1 - 3 / Episodes 5-6

#ofmd #ofmd meta #stede bonnet #ofmd costuming

[gaytobymeres]

Rating some of Raffles’ outfits based on how much gender envy they make me feel

Because I am once again bored <3

Brown suit no. 301

He has so many brown suits. I think it must be the 70s’ influence. Despite the brown I actually rather like this outfit, huge fan of the fit and if you know me at all you know I’m a slut for a waistcoat. The shade of brown is very lovely actually. I also really love the chain and the wee flower he always wears (pocket watches and flowers are two things we should bring back into everyday fashion asap). Makes me feel a fair bit of gender envy, and bonus points for the pose. 8.5/10

Drama Queen

Love this look but it makes me feel very little gender envy. The cloak looks cosy af though. 5/10 because of how he procured it.

Grey Suit

Big fan. Looks classic. Simple. Clean. The slightly darker shade of grey used for the trim adds interest and definition (though it does remind me of my school blazer a wee bit, except that was black with optional purple trim. Gross, I know). I like that this suit is light in colour and also that it’s not brown. Makes me feel a fair degree of gender envy. 9/10.

Ronald McDonald

Now I know how Jeeves feels. -5/10. The only time this blazer would be cute is if Bunny were to wear it (because they are bfs obvs).

EDIT I HAVE SEEN THE ERROR OF MY WAYS my lesbian self wants this blazer. 9/10 because it still makes me think of Ronald McDonald lol

Green Smoking Jacket My Beloved

I want this So Badly you don’t even know. It’s looks so plush and lovely and it’s green which makes it even better. Very flattering. Tbh I don’t feel much gender envy so much as I feel just envy in general for the jacket itself. 7/10 because most of my envy is actually just regular envy.

Beige.

Another brownish suit. Ngl this probably only makes me feel gender envy because I love waistcoats and want a made-to-measure or bespoke suit more than anything. Might need to turn to crime to afford one tho :/ I like the contrast of the cravat with the lightness of the suit, and I adore his wee flower as always. As usual he looks stunning and I want to look like him. 9/10.

Hhghgghhh

Why is this so sexy and why do I want to look like him???? Why?! I think it’s the hair. It has to be. Eboy middle part bangs before it was cool. I love his necktie thingy, and the overall dishevelment is so exquisite I love it. 10/10.

2 grey 2 suit

Okay I’m not entirely sure that this isn’t the same grey suit as earlier, merely it’s sans jacket. However I would like you to consider: sleeves. I’m obsessed with this look. With no jacket in the way I can freely admire the waistcoat, and admiring waistcoats is one of my favourite hobbies. And also to reiterate, SLEEVES. Literally his sleeves were all I could focus on in this scene lmao. He looks very elegant, kind of like a racing greyhound maybe. 11/10.

Cosy Contortionist

He looks so delightfully cosy and rumpled here I love it. Love his hair so so much too. I’m a huge fan of wearing a jumper over a shirt, great simple classic comfy combo. Perfect for any occasion including bank robbery. 12/10.

Evening Wear <3

He’s so graceful and elegant and handsome ugh!! I can’t fully articulate my thoughts on this one my brain is just repeating “I want to look like that” over and over again. He just looks So Good in formal evening wear it’s unreal actually. I’m not into men but for him I would possibly reconsider. Most of all though I just want to look like him. Obsessed with him. 15/10.

#he actually has so many outfits?? I had to leave a fair few out rip #crime and cricket #aj raffles #long post #so sorry but I am so bored and needed a distraction #I did this with bertie wooster and that was very fun #so I decided to do it with raffles <3 #emma spraffs #I make posts with a target audience of one (me <3)

[deancodedcastielenby]

It started out with a XX

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

I am putting Tags first so I don’t forget like the horrible trash panda I am: @casmick-consequences , @proudcasgirl , & @paintdriesfaster You have asked to be tagged, or for Casmick you are the reason this is here. The Date Continues  This is 100% unbeta’d and I am litterally on my work computer writing in between phone calls so. I apologize for any spelling errors or punctuation since I am a trash panda. XX love you all, enjoy

Castiel is under the impression that Mick Davies is an interesting human. The man seems charmed by many of the words that Castiel uses, and has no problems showing his obvious interest. There have been other humans in his time in this vessel that have shown a reaction to his person, and now that this body is his and no longer Jimmy’s it is an interesting notion that he would be coveted carnally from anyone. Still, Mick is interesting and the conversation that he engages in with Castiel over a shared dinner have kept Castiel enthralled at least. The dinner was odd, it still tasted like molecules, but Mick made a point to have him try a bite or two of everything and explain how he found the flavors. 

The white sauce on the noodles, for example, Castiel knew was called Alfredo sauce, but Mick described it much better before he had Castiel try a bite off his fork. There was flavor that he hadn’t expected, on top of the molecules, but perhaps being described before eating was the difference. No one had ever thought to try that before. The breaded mushrooms were an odd texture that Castiel was not sure that he liked, but Mick did say that sometimes the dipping sauces made them better, and the sweet dessert was delicious, and tasted faintly of coffee. That was a beverage he missed from being human. 

As far as humans go, Mick was charming and rather handsome, though at this point Castiel realized he had a type. Claire had pointed it out when he described Mick to her before the date. His eyes may not be the right shade of green that he prefers, but they are quite beautiful none the less. In fairness Mick had also dressed up for the occasion and was wearing an outfit similar to his own, though he was wearing brown. That was a brown slacks and waistcoat over a light blue shirt and a matching brown blazer. The overall effect was very charming, and very appealing. Castiel had on occasion browsed through different magazines and had seen similar outfits on different models, so he assumed it was a fashion thing, but Mick was able to pull it off nicely.  Of course there was a few glasses of wine with dinner, and Castiel was able to sip them carefully during conversation. It was true he had a rather high tolerance for alcohol, so it wasn’t that he needed to, but he had tried to keep pace with Mick to make sure that he blended in. Over all Castiel would say that the date was a success. Many times throughout the conversation he was able to pick up on the different flirtations that Mick was sending his way, and apparently he was sending back. Once or twice he was able to say something that made Mick laugh loudly and give him a wide smile that made his face mirror one in return. To say that dinner was pleasant would be an understatement.  After dinner Mick asked if he would like to take a walk and continue their conversation. It was getting darker outside, but still there was plenty of light with the street lamps and there was such a quaint little park they could walk around. It was simple to agree, and so they left hand in hand after Mick paid for their meal. “I insist Castiel, honestly it was mostly my meal anyway.” That was another strange feeling, being hand in hand with Mick. There was a brief moment where he remembered Daphne, she would hold his hand sometimes when they were out and about, but he never had this strange intimacy with another person after his memories came back. The hand in his own was not a dainty one, it was on the larger side with blunt fingers and the cool metal of a ring on his pinky finger. Over all he experience was new.  At one point Mick had released his hand, and of course Castiel frowned when he missed it immediately, only to have him slip Castiel’s hand in the crook of his elbow and seemingly step closer. “I am honestly surprised that you came out with me this evening.” They were on their second loop of the small park, their gait was slow and measured to eat up more time. Almost as if neither one was quite ready for the evening to end. “It seemed as though you were very much in the Winchester’s pockets and that they did not like me very much.”  “They do have a negative disposition to the British Men of Letters, Arthur Ketch left a rather bad taste in their mouths and I do not blame them for that, however they are not my keepers and I am free to make opinions on other humans.” Ever the peace keeper, or so it seemed, Castiel tried for a neutral ground. That was until Mick barked out a bit of a laugh. 

“I would suppose so, though not all of us Brits are quite like Ketch. I am hoping you would have a better opinion of me after our date. Perhaps I should inquire as to another?” It seemed the man was looking at Castiel out of the corner of his eye, which was odd, but it only took a moment to realize that he was asking Castiel out on another outing. This was courting wasn’t it? The odd human custom? 

“I would not be against another outing, though I had thought you were to return to England soon.” The words were out before Castiel could reel them back, but they were true none the less. Mick did not know that Castiel could travel to England with just a thought, so it wasn’t that the distance was a problem. Castiel would just like to know where he stood, it was so hard to gage with Dean where exactly things lay between them when Dean was in denial and never spoke. Perhaps this was Castiel’s way of making sure that whatever this was with Mick, it was different.   “I will have to return home eventually of course, but I would very much enjoy spending time with you whilst I can. Your conversation skills are spectacular, it is rather hard to have meaningful conversations about things anymore, and you are quite a sight to look at as well so that is a bonus for me.” These words were said with a smile and a pat to Castiel’s shoulder, “I am aware that our engagement here is limited, not just by time. I have eyes, I know I am not your first choice and that is fine with me, honestly. I just think that while I am here, I can show you what a relationship should be like, so that you know.” Stopping their circle of the park, they were in a bit of shadow of a corpse of trees but they could still see the stars if they were to look up. They didn’t.  “I will not take advantage of you, or your kindness. I want us to be open and honest with each other, so that when I do have to return to England, we could still walk away as friends and you can come to me with anything. Though right now, I would very much like to kiss you if you would be amenable?” The words were honest and open, much like the expression that Mick was wearing. Mick wanted a relationship, in what ever capacity that he could while he was here that could translate to a great friendship when he left, and honestly what did Castiel have to loose? The want to experience something good and meaningful after watching the one he wanted jump into bed with countless others....  “I am amenable.” The response was gruff and quiet, almost an afterthought, though Mick had heard it if the wide smile on his face was anything to go by. Oh so gently one of Mick’s hands cupped the side of Castiel’s head and guided their lips together in a sweet and soft touch. The kiss itself was chaste, but it seemed to cause an ache somewhere in the pit of Castiel’s stomach. It was genuine intimacy and affection, something he never knew he honestly needed, but with the gentle press of lips it was something that he was honestly going to crave. After a moment or two of soft pressure Mick pulled back to gage the reaction on the angel’s face.  “Well, no fireworks which is a shame, but I can live with that.” A slightly cocky smile lit the side of his mouth, “Unless you’d like another?”  “I always expected that kisses would be... more than just a press of lips.” It wasn’t that Castiel hadn’t experienced kisses, because he had on a few occasions, namely with women. Though the thought made him tilt his head slightly and squint in confusion. 

“Ah, you were expecting more passion and enthusiasm perhaps? What kind of Brit do you take me for, a savage? This is a first date after all, need to keep you on your toes and coming back for a second one.” There was something akin to mischief in Mick’s eyes before he laughed, “well I suppose one more couldn’t hurt.” With that he did pull Castiel’s head down once again to meet his lips, this time with a bit more of a firmer touch. The scrape of stubble against his skin was a bit firmer now, and he could actually feel it. After some maneuvering to fit their lips just so, a hint of a tongue pressed against the seam of the angel’s lips and he opened to the onslaught of Mick’s rather talented tongue. 

Unsure of exactly how long they stood there, in the slight shadow of the trees kissing quite like teenagers, they broke apart. A soft flush to Mick’s features made him more endearing in a way as he seemed to shiver and attempt to take a step back. It was a strange sensation feeling Mick release him, as it seemed that the hand that was not tangled into his hair had found his hip, not that he had noticed at the time. “Well now, that was... something else. Shall I return you home then Cinderella? Or is there a night in shining muscle around here somewhere waiting to whisk you away?”  “I do know how to drive.” Something about the way that Mick said the words was unsettling, though Dean did tell him to call when he was ready to be picked up. Castiel was an angel of the lord and he could take care of himself. 

“Of course you do, I never said you couldn’t. Perhaps you could walk me to my car then?” Mick gave a soft chuff and a slight bow of an apology holding out his elbow again. Castiel missed that strange closeness so he nodded and tucked his hand into the crook and walked Mick back to the restaurant and to his car. Luckily he did not see the Impala anywhere on their walk, and Castiel indulged Mick with another kiss at the car before watching him climb inside. “Do let me know when you are free for another Date.” Mick said after yet another soft press of lips before driving off and down the street.  It was a few moments before Castiel moved and headed back to the park, keeping himself invisible from any kind of eyes until he was standing where he and Mick had been only a little while before. Pulling out his phone he sent off a text to Dean, letting him know that he was not going to need a ride home, nor would he be back that evening. There was far too much for the angel to think about at that moment, and far to much for him to replay to even attempt to be near Dean right now. Instead he found himself sitting on a bench in that park, staring at the emptiness of the night, not getting a reply from Dean at all, but that was fine. The hunter had probably fallen asleep anyway, it was better for him to get the rest than worry about Castiel.  

#okay so it was shorter than I wanted it but full of fun #Casmick #cas x mick #long con still? who knows #date night #supernatural #Castiel #Mick Davies #just for fun #it started out with a XX

[yetanotheremptypage]

I hope i don't seem pushy for immediately asking its just i'll forget it later. Yk how in the book was unused to extravagance and luxury. What if Anthony goes out of her way to spoil her and she does the same for him once? I think prompt 56 would suit it. Thank you once again , your writing is a joy to read everyday❤

no escaping your love #42: the man who has everything (Read 1-41 here.)

What do you buy the man who has everything?

Kate had absolutely no idea, and that was quite the problem, considering her first anniversary was in less than a month.

Mary had been most unhelpful, going back to that whole “paper for the first year” tradition, but she couldn’t just buy him a journal or stationery or something. That wasn’t something you gave your husband, at least not if your husband was a viscount with one of the most profitable estates and land holdings in the country.

Edwina was still trapped in her newlywed bliss; Matthew had proposed to her at the end of the season, and they’d had a winter wedding once Kate’s leg was fully healed. He’d whisked her off to the continent for much of the spring while he did some sort of philosophy thing there (Kate admittedly did tune them out when they started talking about it, but they tuned her and Anthony out just as frequently--of that she was sure) and they’d only just returned.

Neither of them seemed to realize how pressing of an issue this actually was. Anthony was always surprising her with things. Flowers. Clothes. Jewelry. “Just because,” she was certain, was one of his favorite phrases. She would need to pull out all the stops to impress him.

She was finally, finally blessed with inspiration when they arrived in London for the season. Violet and the younger Bridgertons had vacated Bridgerton House just a few weeks before, settling into new lodgings at Number 5 Bruton Street. It meant that Kate and Anthony had now taken over the viscount’s rooms, rooms that Anthony had refused to move into, taking out his own bachelor’s lodgings almost the second he was able upon leaving Oxford.

One early morning, Kate was throwing up armoire doors and chests almost blindly, looking for what she referred to as her painting gown: a lightweight day dress, easy to move in, that she’d stained by accident several years ago, and then repeatedly afterwards. Unable to find it with her own things, she wondered if it had gotten packed in with Anthony’s; she had far more clothes than him, after all, and some of her things had been thrown in with his when packing. So she strode into his dressing room and threw open the first chest she could find.

It was full of men’s jackets and waistcoats, but they were almost certainly not her husband’s. Anthony favored navy and black, occasionally a dark purple or a deep green; this top one, a light blue, looked much more suited to Colin’s or even Benedict’s wardrobe. The deeper she dug, the more dark jackets she found, but they didn’t look like the sort of thing Anthony would much wear at all.

And then it hit her, suddenly: his father’s clothes.

She almost, almost, burst into tears about it (truly, this part of being with child was quite ridiculous), but she managed to keep herself together. But then she smiled, a wicked sort of thing, and pulled out one of the darker jackets and waistcoats. They all looked old, and clearly not well preserved if they’d been sitting in this dressing room for the past twelve years. But she was quite certain that was an easy fix, and she’d just found her husband’s anniversary present.

(And her painting gown, which had, indeed, wound up in one of Anthony’s trunks, along with several other day dresses she hadn’t even realized she’d been missing.)

By the time their anniversary finally rolled around, Kate was nearly breathless with anticipation for Anthony to open her gift.

So much so that she ambushed him in bed with it.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said even as he undid the wrapping. She hid her smile behind her hands, watching as he pulled the jacket out.

“It’s your father’s!” she blurted, and his eyes widened. “Well, not exactly. Not anymore. Did you know there’s a trunk of his clothes still in the dressing room? Anyway, I found it when we first moved in, and I knew this one would look so good on you, you know how much I love you in blue, and so I had it altered, for you.”

She was rather impressed with herself for saying all of that in one breath, but Anthony’s expression hadn’t changed. Her stomach fell.

“I’m sorry, if you don’t like it, I can—”

He kissed her, soundly, firmly, reverently.

“Kate,” he whispered as he pulled away, “Thank you. Truly.” There was a tear threatening to slip out of his eye that made her want to cry, too, but instead she kissed him again. “Shall I try it on?”

She nodded and they stood together. She held it out the way she’d seen his valet do and he slipped his arms in as she pulled it up. A perfect fit.

“There you are,” she said. He walked over to her mirror and she followed, standing behind him and meeting his gaze in the mirror. “It brings out your eyes, you know.”

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever worn something of his and it didn’t feel like playing make believe,” he said, playing with the sleeves.

“Good.”

She turned him to face her, kissing him. “You are a dedicated viscount.” Another. “A loving husband.” Another. “And you will be the best father.” Another. “And I am so thankful I got stung by a bee and was forced to marry you.”

He laughed and lifted her right off her feet, throwing her down on the bed.

Turns out, it was just as fun to put the jacket on him as it was to take it off him.

#thanks for the prompt! #kanthony #kate x anthony #bridgerton #no escaping your love #my fics #my ships

[msotherworldly]

The Cracked Mirror: Chapter One

This is the first chapter of my work in progress, The Cracked Mirror. It is the first book in The Children of Pandora series - I’ve written several books in the series, but am in the process of editing the first. This means this chapter will be subject to change after I’ve involved beta readers and editors. I’ve already done a few revisions myself, but am reaching a point where I’ll need to involve others.

Admittedly, I’m nervous about sharing this with others. I consider it training, though - if people on here read it, then I can handle people reading it as an actual book. It sounds like a silly thing to be nervous over, but us writers get overly protective of our work. It’s like deciding to post pictures of your newborn infant online (or so I think; I don’t have any experience of having a newborn so...)

Please note that this story is for adults. That said, if you’ve already watched Game of Thrones and read multiple Stephen King books, I probably can’t destroy your innocence beyond that. I also don’t plan to post more than two or three chapters, because...spoilers. With those disclaimers out of the way, here is the first chapter.

CHAPTER ONE: THE CORNER

Mommy paraded herself up and down the walk. There were dozens of people below: there was the family of Talking Alligators, their scales shiny under the streetlight’s orange glow. There were the Beast sisters; they looked like slim, beautiful Human women. They had smooth skin and fine blonde hair, but what marked them out were their long rabbit’s ears, brown and longer than their faces. Fluffy white tails, no larger than cotton balls, wagged from above their butts. Though they were dressed in fishnet tights and glossy corsets, the tails were not apart of their costumes.

    The Bunny Twins tittered as a glossy car pulled up. I couldn’t make out the man, but he opened the door and they hopped in. Sometimes people didn’t come back to the Corner after jumping into a car like that.

    Mommy could be one of those people.

    Turtle whores passed. Their shells shimmered with brilliant reds and purples where they had painted them. They moved slowly, but gracefully; every movement on the Corner was a dance.

    There were others still, the Anthromorphs who plied their trade along with the rest. They were so called because they were anthropomorphic—they retained the overall appearance of the Talking Animals, but they were built and walked like the Humans.

    A Foxmorph flagged a car down: the driver was a Mer, legally of the “Human” class despite his mauve skin and the hair and eyes that were a darker shade of the same colour.

    The Bunny Twins glowered at the Fox, their competition; I joined my glare with theirs. I guess that’s why Dad calls her a “crafty vixen.”

    Mother watched the car with eyes that were at once wistful and relieved. Daddy had accused her of not trying hard enough, but competition was abundant on the Corner.

    Mommy leaned against a wall, her sigh visible. She always looked odd, garish in her form fitting dress. It was black, with red ruffles for it’s trim, and it only came to her knees. Her back was left open, showing each knob of her spine. Her amber arms had been painted with a cream, but I could still make out the bruises.

    Mom was an Elf, with pointed ears larger than her face and a nose that was tiny and upturned, coming to sit directly below her eyes. The lips were a small bow; even when she was sad, the corners quirked up as if to smile.

    I scanned the silhouettes of skyscrapers. In the distance, city lights glowed and shiny cars passed in droves, their lights blaring.

    The sky was a deep indigo, only the lowest bar of it still a violet colour, tinged with pale mauve clouds, these in turn edged with blue shadows. The sun had set half an hour ago, but the city didn’t wake up until it was gone.

    Shade City never slept, and neither did Mommy. She tossed her strawberry hair as she stopped at another street corner, putting her hands on her hips; she began to walk, swishing her butt back and forth. Her legs seemed longer.

    Cars whistled past her, and she frowned—or grimaced, as she appeared to do.

   Mom stopped in front of the apartment. Glancing up, she met my stare. She wasn’t entirely of Elvish descent: her large eyes were those of a Wolf. A brilliant emerald green, the whites appeared black, as did the eyelids. The colour tapered past so that she appeared to be wearing permanent eyeliner.

    Mommy waved.

    I waved back. I enjoyed these evenings when Dad was gone. Mom smiled more when he was.

    When she turned away, I stared up at the line of the city. Above the skyscrapers, the castle loomed. It was a dark, brooding blue shape in this light. I could only imagine the Royals, and the members of the High Class, within as they strutted about in clothes which were as archaic as their thinking.

    They wore waistcoats and great robes with flowing, velvet capes. The Earthlings would have described their fashions as “Victorian” or “Medieval.” It was hardly practical...but then, nothing about the rich, about our sick city, was practical.

    I was only eight, and already I knew that there was something deeply wrong with how we lived. More than that, I knew Mom was unhappy.

#dark fantasy #writing wip #wip #am writing #am writing fantasy #fantasy novel #work in progress #fantasy series #writeblr #writers #writing #creative writing #fantasy books #self publishing #self published author #bookish #reading #fantasy writer #books #indie books

[themysteriousphoenix]

Do director's cut for the nighttime journey one!

Sorry, it took me several days to get to this! It was fun to revisit this one!

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

Moonlight shone down on the empty dirt road. It was late. It was quiet. A single man in a battered, mustard-yellow waistcoat appeared with a barely audible pop, landing in the grass near the tree line. His eyes were sharp as he looked around, watching for company. Newt Scamander, after years of watching for danger and tracking beasts, was quite adept at spotting what most others would not.

Creeping up to the road, his boots scuffling softly in the dirt, Newt set off for home with only the light of the moon to guide him. This was a practiced journey now, and it was best traveled at night. Danger lurked all around him most days, and he was finally on his way to the only place he felt safe. Years of war had put his senses on edge, and he was ready to let down his guard a little for the first time in several days. He was tired. He was always tired now.

I imagine this story to take place about 5 years after Paris. They have now moved into a home in the country. It may or may not be the house in Dorset where they retire. I am thinking...probably not. Starter home, for sure.

It was a surprisingly clear night, a few fluffy clouds danced in the light of the nearly-full moon, and Newt allowed himself to look up at the constellations above his head. His sharp, green eyes traced the memorized shapes of Draco, Cygnus, Aquila… They were familiar, constant, and a little calming; he realized they brought him back to nights of safety at Hogwarts, huddled under a blanket as he charted them from the Astronomy Tower with Leta. Distant, sad memories, now. He walked on, the summer breeze becoming slightly colder as it pushed his messy fringe back from his forehead.

I did so much research for this stupid paragraph. I looked up which constellations would be visible in England in the summer. I imagine he and Leta charting toward the end of the school year, May or June. This is probably taking place about the same time of year. Early summer.

Atop a hill, Newt stopped and looked down into an empty clearing below him. The moon shone on a wide expanse of grass, a rolling area cut out of the trees that stretched back to the small brook in the distance. He reached into his coat, pulling his wand out of hiding. Newt closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again. He smiled widely as a white cottage edged with white fencing, several small outbuildings, and a large garden came into view.

I’m thinking this charm used is similar to the charm used on Grimmauld Place. A break in the matrix, I guess. Visibly, they just eliminated part of the valley where the house is so that it’s super hard to find. You need a password to find it. Occamy is the password, for the record. Tina, Newt, Jacob, Theseus, and Dumbledore are the only people who know the password.

As Newt entered the front gate and let it fall closed behind him with a creak, he could smell the flowers that had been potted near the front door and under the windows. They were new. They must have been planted in the last four days since he had last been here. A single light shone in the window on the second floor, dim and welcoming.

Quietly, Newt unlocked the front door with a wave of his wand and let himself in, closing the door tightly behind him and replacing the security spell. It was dark in the entryway, but the light from the next floor was enough for him. He slipped his wand back into the holster at his hip and, with practiced agility, silently began to climb the wooden stairs. He could hear a voice now, a single, soft voice that was coming from the illuminated doorway to the right of the stairs.

For those who read this for the first time, I was trying to make this story seem like Newt was coming home and someone was in his house. I don’t know if that was the feeling that came across through the words, but it worked in its own way.

Newt was captivated by the sight before him. In the light of a single lamp was his everything. Tina was sitting in a wooden rocking chair, her hair tangled and her eyes puffy and tired. She wore the same blue housecoat that she had brought with her from America four years ago, even more worn and ragged now than it had been the first time he had seen her wear it. She was singing a song as she rocked, her eyes watching the small bundle in her arms. The song was in Hebrew. Newt didn’t know what the words meant as they slipped softly and with practiced ease from her lips, but he knew it was probably a song that her father had sang to her when she was young. One finger brushed the fuzzy, dark hair over the baby’s ear in a repetitive motion as she rocked.

He watched from the shadows of the doorway until she finished, his shoulders relaxing and his heart clenching at the view before him. Here he could finally be free of the dangers of the outside world. He was home. He stepped into the room and Tina looked up toward him.

Their baby is probably only a month old at this point. Tina is tired. As someone who has lived that life, you don’t sleep much that first month because babies need to eat every couple of hours those first few weeks. This is doubly hard when your partner is away. Tina can’t have random people into their home due to security so she has probably been going non-stop for days. Our girl is exhausted.

“You’re home.” Words that held surprise, relief, and care, all at once. She smiled tiredly up at him as he walked toward the rocking chair, kneeling next to her on the floor.

“I missed you,” she whispered as he leaned over to kiss her gently on the lips. He rested his forehead against her temple as he lifted one hand to caress her cheek.

“I missed you, too, love. Very much.” He looked down at the bundle in her arms where dark blue eyes stared attentively up at him. Eyes that looked just like Tina’s; eyes that Newt hoped would fade into a dark, fiery brown as beautiful as her mothers’.

Most babies are born with blue eyes. The darker the blue, typically the darker color they will fade into. This one will definitely have Tina’s dark brown eyes. ;-)

“Why are we still awake, my little one?” The baby in Tina’s arms was wide awake, her eyes were alert and a single arm that had escaped from her swaddle was waving slowly through the air, her little hand grasping and unclenching at nothing. At the added attention, she let out a coo and a grunt as she blinked up at them. Newt reached out and placed his first finger into her hand where it was gripped tightly.

Newborns grunt, groan, and snort....do not imagine a little coo. She probably is snorting like a tiny, cute little piggy. 

Tina leaned back and kissed his cheek. “She was waiting for her Papa, I guess,” she whispered into his ear. Newt smiled widely, his eyes never leaving his daughter’s face. He released a deep breath and slowly rose to his feet.

“C’mere.”

Tina rolled the rocking chair forward and stood, meeting her husband and sinking into the comfort of his arms, their child between them.

“I’m so glad to be home. Four days is far too long,” Newt whispered as Tina rested her cheek on his shoulder.

“Were you able to find it?” She asked, mumbling the question into the fabric of his jacket.

“I was. Dumbledore was very pleased.”

Honestly, I have no idea what Newt was trying to find. I never explored that, and I decided that it didn’t actually matter. “It” will remain a mystery.

Tina snorted lightly, “He’d better be-- and he’d better let you stay home for at least a few weeks before sending you off to Mercy knows where again.”

Newt chuckled as he leaned his head against his wife’s. “I told him just that not two hours ago. I’m needed here right now. No more trips for a while.”

“Good.”

Newt knows how tough this trip was for Tina. He put his foot down when Dumbledore asked for another favor as soon as he returned from wherever he was. He finally said no. It took Tina’s well-being and time with his daughter to get him to that point. Dumbledore is secretly approving of this and respects it.

They stood like that for quite a while, Newt rocking the three of them lightly and rhythmically. Tina leaned on his shoulder, breathing deeply and evenly, and their daughter gripped his finger as her eyes finally began to soften.

Tina yawned, breaking the peaceful moment before snuggling more closely into Newt’s shoulder. He chuckled again, rubbing her back where he held her. “Go to bed. It’s late.”

“Yes, but you just got home.”

“--and I will be here when you wake up,” he whispered. “Go.”

Tina sighed deeply and kissed his shoulder. “Mm, okay, fine.” She grinned tiredly up at him and leaned forward for a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Tina gently transferred the baby to Newt’s waiting arms before leaning down and kissing her forehead gently. “--and I love you, my darling,” Tina whispered as her knuckle gently caressed her child’s soft cheek. She stood up straight and began walking from the room. She waved at Newt from the doorway before making her way back down the dark hallway to their bedroom.

It’s probably around 11:00 at night, Tina will sleep for at least 6 hours, and it will be glorious. She earned it.

“Goodnight,” Newt said to her quietly as she slipped from the room. His attention fell to the child in his arms. She squirmed as she tried to get comfortable, letting out a single cry in the silence.

“Sh-sh-sh,” he whispered as he rocked her in his arms, “Shh, I’ve got you, Papa’s got you.” Newt shuffled over to the painted rocking chair in the corner, a gift from Uncle Jacob, and slowly lowered himself into it, rocking forward and backward steadily. The baby seemed to settle a little in his arms as she struggled to find sleep.

I decided that Tina called her father “Papa,” and when she introduced her baby to Newt, she said, “Meet your Papa.” The name stuck. 

“Do you want me to tell you a story?” he asked softly as he continued the comforting motion, “I’ve been on quite a journey for Dumbledore this week. I missed you and your mother terribly, but I found some truly interesting things while I was away.” Newt’s gentle voice rose and fell as he began to tell of wanderings through the woods, spellwork, and searches for old books. His daughter’s eyes drifted closed as he spoke of a meeting with a very odd old witch who had been determined to ‘fatten him up’ before she would allow him to leave her rickety, stone cottage. He continued his tale, rocking gently, as he held his child in his arms. Even after he was done speaking he continued rocking. He watched her sleeping, her cheek pressed against his chest as she breathed deeply.

Newt is a pretty fidgety guy, but at this moment he finds himself to be completely relaxed and happy. I’m imaging he’s pretty tired too, but he’s prepared to give Tina the rest she needs. Tomorrow will definitely be a lazy day in the Scamander household. 

He was home, and he was staying. War might be raging outside, but he was needed here. The rest of the world could wait.

#newtina #newtina asks #ashley writes

[mcgrillzdumpinc]

Meeting with Masks

Summary: Nie Huaisang is beyond excited when he is invited to a Jin party including Carnival masks.  He doesn't expect to catch feelings at the party, but it's not so bad. Written for day 7 of SangCheng Month - First Meeting!

ao3 link

Pairing: Sangcheng, mentions of NieYao Rating: T Warnings: Mentions of queerphobia Word count: 1811

“The Jin invited us to a party.”

Nie Huaisang looks up from his phone just as Nie Mingjue tosses a letter on the dining table.  The envelope is crisp and cream, the flap decorated by gold filigree.  Nie Huaisang pulls out the invitation, which matches the envelope perfectly, and reads.  The party is actually a ball being hosted at the main Jin mansion, intended to celebrate Jin Zixuan’s twenty-first birthday.  Dress code is formal, drinks will be served, blah blah blah.  What really interests Nie Huaisang is the text at the bottom of the invitation, several font sizes larger than the main text and bolded to emphasize its importance—

Bring a Carnival Mask!

Nie Huaisang lets out a low whistle that quickly turns into giddy laughter.  “Da-ge!  Update the scoreboard!  The Jin are less crappy than the Yao now!”

“Because of the masks?” Nie Mingjue guesses very correctly because he is the best big brother ever.

“Yes!  Oh my god I’m going to have so much fun making your mask, da-ge!  Do you want to go intimidating?  Sexy?  Mysterious?”

“All white,” Nie Mingjue replies as he takes a black dry-erase marker to the scoreboard on the refrigerator.  “This party is stupid, anyway.”

“Booooo!” Nie Huaisang declares as he stands up, arms thrown into the air in protest.  “You’re boring!  The most boring da-ge!”

“I still get ass,” Nie Mingjue says with a smirk.

“Gross!!!!!”

~~~

Thankfully, the Jin (probably only Guangyao) had the foresight to send the invitation a few weeks in advance, so there was plenty of time for Nie Huaisang to research Carnival masks and start making one of his own.  To Nie Mingjue’s great pleasure, there was even a mask that fit his boring requirements.  So on the day of the ball, the Nie brothers arrive in hand-made and impeccable masks.

“Do you think anybody will recognize us?” Nie Mingjue asks as he readjusts his cape.  Yes, cape.  Nie Huaisang made him a bauta mask and Nie Mingjue, in his full jock-nerd glory, decided to wear the full historical garb, tricorn hat and cape and all.

Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes.  In contrast to his nerd brother, Nie Huaisang has opted to dress a little slutty in tight-fitted dress pants, a crisp white shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, and black corset vest.  His neck, fingers, and wrists are decked out in green and gold jewelry, all polished to shine in the light.  He’s decorated his white mask in a similarly lavish fashion—gold lips, black eyes, gold and black filigree at the sides and top, and below the eyes is a series of gold hexagons that lead into teardrops.  “I hope not,” he responds to his brother.  “It’ll be way more fun surprising people.”

Together they walk up the many, many steps into the main Jin mansion.  After temporarily removing their masks to prove their identities, they slip inside.  The foyer is already alight with revelers, most of them likely entertainment hired to hype up the guests.  It’s only 7 p.m., after all, and only a select few people would be this drunk so early into the evening.  Unless the food or drink is spiked, in which case Nie Huaisang needs to find out for himself before he lets Nie Mingjue have a taste.

“Be careful with the food,” Nie Huaisang advises as he takes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

Perceptive as always, Nie Mingjue replies, “A-Yao knows the diet my doctor recommended.  He wouldn’t poison me.”

Maybe in the past he would have, but Nie Huaisang is pretty sure Jin Guangyao has a more vested interested in his Nie Mingjue’s health now that they’re dating.  Hopefully.  It’s hard to tell when it comes to the Jin.

“Still, be careful.  Yao-ge could’ve missed something.”

Nie Mingjue stares at him.  Even beneath the heavy mask, Nie Huaisang knows his brother is giving him a disbelieving look.

“You never know!” he defends as the duo reach their destination.

The ballroom is massive, large enough to house the entire population of a small town during a natural disaster.  True to pompous Jin nature, Jin Zixuan is seated at the far end of the ballroom on a stage.  Nie Huaisang knows it’s him because of the way he sits—the body posture of somebody who absolutely does not want to be there.  Twenty-one years and the poor guy is still not used to the way his family does things.

Nie Huaisang can sympathize.  He’s pretty different from the rest of his own family, too.

“I’m going to go find A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue speaks up over the orchestra music.

“Okay.  Make sure he taste-tests your food!” Nie Huaisang exclaims as he raises his mask to take a sip of champagne.

“Shove off!” Nie Mingjue scolds good-naturedly.

Nie Huaisang waves off his brother before heading into the crowd.  Looking around, there’s nobody he immediately recognizes.  There’s one guy in bright red wearing a plague doctor’s mask that keeps catching Nie Huaisang’s eye, but he quickly decides that tonight is not the night to bother with the crazies.  It’s generally good advice to follow when in Jin territory.

In time, Nie Huaisang finds himself a wallflower.  He’s not the most easily sociable person.  Friendly, sure.  But he’s never been good at approaching strangers.  He would have gone up to Jin Zixuan, but Nie Huaisang has no idea if the guy would lose it the second he saw a friendly face.  Which would be an entire headache if that did happen.  So, wall.

It’s been at least thirty minutes since he finished his champagne and he’s not feeling even slightly drugged, though.  So that’s good news for his brother.

Just as he’s considering finding the buffet, a stranger joins Nie Huaisang at the wall.  The stranger is tall, at least 8 centimeters taller than Nie Huaisang, and cuts an intimidating figure with broad shoulders and large hands.  Their loose, black hair is long, falling to about their shoulder blades, contrasting starkly to the orchid purple button-up shirt they wear.  The waistcoat they wear is a darker purple with black buttons.  Slung over their right arm is a formal jacket that matches the waistcoat.  Interestingly, their choice in bottoms is a pair of orchid purple pants, with the left side covered by an ankle-length black skirt.  Nie Huaisang finds himself smiling at that detail—as a person who’s still questioning, he can appreciate a challenge to the gender binary.

He looks up to meet the stranger’s eyes.  The stranger is looking back at him with a lovely pair of brown eyes.  It’s a shame that the rest of this handsome stranger’s face is hidden by what Nie Huaisang would call the creepiest of the traditional Carnival masks—a moretta.  Pitch black and perfectly round, it’s like a void has replaced the rest of the stranger’s face.  In the bright lights of the ballroom, Nie Huaisang cannot see any ties keeping the mask up, so the stranger has opted for the traditional way of wearing the mask—a button between their lips.  Even if they can talk, they have rendered themself effectively mute.

Still, though.  Nie Huaisang likes a challenge.  He introduces himself with a bow.

The stranger bows silently in return.

Nie Huaisang laughs to himself.  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks.

The stranger rolls their eyes.

“Yeah, Jin parties are like that for me, too.  They care way too much.”

The stranger raises their champagne glass, as if to say Cheers to that.

Nie Huaisang finds himself smiling.  “You know, I really wasn’t expecting a moretta mask, of all things.  It’s unique.”

The stranger doesn’t respond.

“Not a bad thing,” Nie Huaisang clarifies.  “But I’m curious.  Join me for a trip to the buffet?”

The stranger nods.  Nie Huaisang offers his arm and, after slipping on their jacket, they take it.  Together, they leave the crowded ballroom for the crowded hallways and manage to get themselves lost a few times before finally finding the buffet.

“Why the hell would they put it so far away from the ballroom?” Nie Huaisang grumbles as he moves to wait in line.  He hears the stranger laugh.  “I hope you remember the way back.  I’m terrible with directions.”

The stranger reaches up to remove their mask.  Underneath the void is a strikingly handsome visage, with sharp cheekbones and shapely lips.  Nie Huaisang very much wants to ravish them immediately.  “Don’t worry, I do,” they say with a rumbling, deep voice.

“Fuck you’re sexy,” Nie Huaisang utters with absolutely zero forethought.  Realizing his mistake, he slaps a hand over his mask’s mouth.  “I’m so sorry!  That just came out!”

The stranger looks equally flustered, their eyes avoiding Nie Huaisang’s as they mumble, “It’s okay.  You don’t seem like a creep.”

“I promise I’m not,” Nie Huaisang says as he removes his mask.  “Which I know sounds exactly like what a creep would say, but scout’s honor!  Not a creep!”

The stranger stares at him for a long second before saying, “You’re not so bad-looking yourself.”

Nie Huaisang manages to hide his fluster by announcing, “I better.  It took twenty tries to get this eyeliner right.”

The stranger snorts.  “Jiang Cheng, by the way,” they introduce themselves.

“Oh, shit.  You’re pretty important, huh?”  The Jiang hold a near-monopoly in all water-based trade in and out of their city.  Nie Huaisang’s parents have pretty regular contact with Jiang Fengmian and his wife Yu Ziyuan in the interest of not losing some important trade negotiations.  But, last he heard, Jiang Cheng was the Jiang’s son.  “Can I get your pronouns?”

“Any,” Jiang Cheng answers.

Ah.  “So the moretta mask is pretty symbolic, huh?”

“I’m out as genderfluid, but I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Jiang Cheng tells him with a notably flat affect.

Nie Huaisang frowns.  “That sucks.  I’m still questioning, but my family is pretty supportive.”

“My siblings are, too.  Supportive, that is.”  The duo reach the banquet table.  Nie Huaisang receives Jiang Cheng’s mask as the other starts preparing two dishes of food.  “My parents are trying, but you know how some people take queerness these days.  Anyway, should I not refer to you with he/him?”

“I’m still comfortable with those pronouns,” Nie Huaisang easily responds.  “Oh, get me some sausage.”  Jiang Cheng obliges.  “Honestly, I might just be on the gender-nonconforming side, but I’m not sure yet.”

Jiang Cheng smiles.  It brings an ethereal softness to their features that Nie Huaisang would love to kiss.  But he keeps his hands to himself as the two of them reach the end of the buffet table and hurry to find a spot to eat.  “It takes time,” Jiang Cheng says as they trade a plate of food for their mask.  “Hey, after this, want to dance?”

Nie Huaisang offers them a smile in return.  “Absolutely.”

#mo dao zu shi #mdzs #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #sangcheng #sangchengmonth2020 #sangchengber #sometimes i write

[rsfmp2021]

Choi Kyung Won Analysis

Choi Kyung Won is a fashion stylist and is a fashion stylist for music groups in Korea such as Twice and BLACKPINK.

I like this outfit as it really fits in with the street fashion seen in Korea. I like the mix of a washed out pastel greyish green paired with big black boots with black and silver hair. I like how Choi has used layers to make this outfit stand out. It seems as JENNIE is wearing a tube top with a one piece over the top or maybe a waistcoat with matching trousers. I like how the trousers are tucked into the boots, making the boots stand out more along with the harsh colour change. I like how the neckless/chain matches with the boots with the black tones. It looks as if the neckless/chain has black pearls in it, I like this added detail, making the outfit more of an elegant feel to a street inspired outfit. I like the added buckle to the boots, accessorising the boots more, making them stand out more.

This outfit stood out to me because of the shiny material. I like how they have used a pink colour for the material as shiny and pink go well together, more on the material, I like how the outfit looks like a clean pastic-like outfit, making it more unique and stand out more. I like how they outfit has a ruffle theme going on with the double ruffled skirt with the double ruffles on the top. I like how the outfit was paired with simple jewellery so the focus is on the actual outfit and not deflected to the jewellery, less is more in this instance. I also think the minemilistic makeup and jewellery was done to give this outfit a light spring vibe, and so Rosé can move more easily when singing and dancing, making the outfit pretty while still being practical.

I really like this outfit due to the amount of shine and bedazzle. I like how Choi went a bit extra in terms of jewellery/accessories with the pearl top layer along with matching pearl-like earrings and upper arm bracelet. To match with the jewellery/accessories, I like how Choi added a crop-top with sparkly sleeves with sparkly shorts. I like how only the sleeves of the top have sparkles on, otherwise it would either be too much or would distract from the pearl top layer accessory. I like how the snake pattern it not too visible as snake pattern, when too harshly visible, it would look tacky and be too much. I like how the boots match with the top and how the shorts have similar tones with the top and boots.

This outfit is very eye-catching and stood out to me a-lot. I like how Choi went overboard with the seatbelt-like belts/clips on the snake-print outfit, making it look more elegant with a more street style twist. I like how the outfit works as a two piece (matching top and bottoms) with matching colour tones of the dark red and black, working well with the darker tones of the red to sculpt the snake skin pattern. The added diamond like bracelet add’s little but more texture to the outfit as a whole, making the outfit less plain however I feel it would of been better if the outfit had more added detail with the diamonds in the bracelet etc, adding more texture and detail to the outfit.

#research

[wide-eyedscottishlass]

Scarlett and the Professor

[continued from]

8pm sharp.  Well, at least I’m not tardy.

Without a further moment’s hesitation, Scarlett rang the bell, knowing that now there would be no turning back.  Though the sun was nearly set, the evening air was humid, as if portending a storm coming off the Caribbean after full dark.  Although Scarlett had taken a long bath before dressing, her exposed skin already felt sticky.  As if in answer to that thought, a light breeze suddenly whispered against her bare flesh, stirring the few wispy tendrils of hair that had fallen from her loose chignon.  How cooling it felt against her shoulders and arms, her back and her calves, rippling her hemline.

She had chosen a dress meant to please her lover, an Egyptian blue, rayon and silk trapeze silhouette, which loosely draped her form and fell into a high-low hemline that complimented her legs.  The color flattered her pale skin tone and dark hair, and matched the pure, bright ocean waters that surrounded this island—waters which she knew Professor Hennessy loved.  Silver and rhinestone embellishments adorned the spaghetti straps and low v-neckline, with celestial symbols of the sun and moon stitched in silver thread scattered upon the blue background.  As she donned it, Scarlett had been thinking of how she had unwittingly become the moon to his sun, locked in an unwavering orbit around him, pursuing his blazing heat, and seeming to come to fullest light only when she reflected his light.

Hyper aware of the growing night sounds around her, the nervous rasp of her own respiration, and the thundering beat of her heart, Scarlett still didn’t miss the click of the latch inside the door being released.  Warm, tawny light spilled out from behind him as Hennessy opened the door, and his classic, masculine beauty, the peerless angles and planes of his face, stole the breath from her lungs as it did each time she saw him anew.  His eyes held hers in stasis for several moments, taking her measure, raking across her form, coolly appraising her as though he saw not only right through her clothing, but down to her soul.  The first blush of the evening crept into her cheeks.

He had changed his clothes too, into a deep blue silk dress shirt, so snug across his chest that the buttons seemed to be straining not to pop off.   He had his sleeves rolled up again, and his waistcoat—in a shade lighter than his shirt—hung open.  Scarlett dared look no lower, not wishing him to catch her eyeing what lay below his belt—although she knew without needing a glance, that his bespoke trousers matched his vest, and fit him as snugly as his shirt.

Hennessy’s smile was warm and disarming, his clear blue eyes dancing with mirth.  “Well now, aren’t you the tastiest treat to grace my doorstep in about a month of Sundays!”  He backed up a little to allow her to pass, “But please do come in, Miss Scarlett--and welcome to my home.”  Though she hadn’t even tried to imagine what to expect, the place already felt to her as though it had been raised from it’s foundations to house the life force of this enigmatic, powerful, all too charming, yet dangerous, man.

Scarlett had seen some of Europe’s most opulent mansions and palaces during her gap year travels, and though Hennessy’s home paled by those standards, she was impressed enough to have to remind herself not to gawk.  The marble-floored foyer led into a two-story hall that housed a ten-foot wide, cobalt coloured, carpeted staircase, which swept upwards to an eight foot tall, stained glass window above the main landing.  A short run of stairs branched off on either side of the landing, presumably to bedrooms and bathrooms, and likely much more.  But it was the window that really grabbed her attention.

A large silver moon dominated a star strewn, indigo sky, riding above stylized waves fresh with white seafoam.  Several shades of blue-greens and blues marked the descending depths, which towards the bottom became nearly as black as true night.  A myriad of bright fish swam in the upper levels, along with several grey seals and tortoises; just beneath them dwelt jellyfish, porpoises, a few species of sharks, and a pod of orcas.  In the darker regions below cruised manta rays and bright red octopi and freakishly long eels.  Lurking the bottom was an ominous black sea serpent, outlined in the same silver that coloured the moon, so as to be visible.  It’s eyes were large and cat-like—and possessed the monster’s only other color besides black and silver.  Blue.  A bright blue that felt impossible to belong to such a menacing creature.  Why, even it’s deadly fangs and claws were silver.

Scarlett shivered at the sight, as though a goose had walked over her grave.  For several heartbeats she was overcome with deja vu—for it put her in mind of her nightmares of unseen, but too oft-dreamt, foul beasties populating the Deep, laying in wait to steal her away if she ever tread too far from shore.  Those terrors of her youth, which had only fully disappeared when she had tarried on the shores of the Aegean Sea during her Greek holiday.  And had just recently returned to plague her briefly throughout those weeks that Hennessy had left her languishing for his attention.  Still unaware that it was her ancient Selkie blood raising the alarm, she turned away—vowing that if…or when…she had cause to mount those stairs, she would avert her eyes from the troubling portion of the image, and focus solely on the moon and waves, the fish and sleek grey seals.

Hennessy looked back over his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t fallen behind, casually asking her, “Have you eaten?”

“Um…yes,” she replied quietly, not adding that she’d barely had an appetite in nervous anticipation of their evening together, “I assumed you didn’t invite me here for dinner…”

“That I did not,” he chuckled, stopping just outside a wide, open doorway to the left of the sprawling staircase, “But I think we could both use a bit of refreshment before the evening’s revelries begin.” He sketched a little bow, his handsome face become mischief personified, and motioned for Scarlett to proceed him into the room.

From the preponderance of leather and wood, she guessed this was his study.  The room had a decidedly masculine air about it, with dark wood paneling all around and full bookcases lining two walls.  With a quick glance, Scarlett noted a book of poetry by Dylan Thomas (which she would later discover was a first edition), well-weathered editions by Samuel Beckett and William Blake, and even a collection of works by her beloved Pablo Neruda.  That was a surprise: she never would have imagined Hennessy reading any sort of romantic poetry, let alone the works that she knew populated that title.  It certainly didn’t fit the image he presented to the world, let alone in the private moments they had shared thus far.

The wonderful smell of old, cherished books dominated the air and hints of cigar smoke lingered in the room.  Scarlett also detected traces of Hennessy’s cologne underlying it all.  A scent with notes of bright, clean citrus, mixed with amber and something that reminded her of an old cedarwood cabinet in her cottage back home, all tinged with a  salty tang. Taken altogether, scents that evoked sure thoughts of the sea.  Fittingly, a painting above the fireplace reinforced the aquatic feel---it depicted a ship with tattered sails wrecked upon a harsh outcropping of rocks, set against a backdrop of rough whitecaps and forked lightening.  Several sirens, creatures out of myths and sea dreams, beckoned with outstretched arms to the unlucky sailors, trapping the unfortunate men between the treacherous waters and the beautiful peril of supernatural beings seeking to wreck their immortal souls.

Other smaller paintings hung throughout the room, all celebrating various aspects of the sea, including one that would easily become Scarlett’s favorite: silvery moonlight adorning the ripples and waves that washed up onto a white sand beach—which put her in mind of the warm, lovely waters of the Aegean, when she’d vacationed in Mykonos a few years ago.

A bar cart sat beside a leather divan adjacent to one of the bookcases, topped with cut crystal old fashioned glasses, a gleaming, sterling silver ice bucket, and a sealed bottle of Glenlivet 18 YO. Hennessy dropped several ice cubes into one of the rocks glasses, then cracked open the bottle of fine, Scottish-distilled whiskey, pouring first onto the rocks, and then straight up into a second glass.  He turned to Scarlett, holding out the iced drink to her, “Care for a taste of home?

She stepped forward and silently took his offering, giving a small start at the brush of his cool fingertips against her skin at the transfer.  A sudden rush of anticipation—and damned desire—bolted through her, betraying her resolve to appear aloof to his wicked charms for as long as she could manage. And of course he noticed, the Man never missed a trick; her quick intake of breath, the dilation of her pupils, enough to give her away.

Hennessy greeted her response with a satisfied half-smile and a knowing lift of his brow, clearly pleased with her quiet but visceral reaction.  “It’s meant to take the edge of, darlin’…to help you relax a bit,” he winked, raising his glass, “Slainte mhath.”  He took a long swallow, while never taking his eyes off her.

She hesitated in meeting the familiar toast, instead swirling the ice a bit, so that notes of rich cream and caramelized vanilla wafted up from the heady ramber fluid, while she wondered if there might have been something in the bottom of the glass, or even in the ice itself, before he’d poured the whiskey in.  Closely considering if Hennessy would actually sink that low.

“Oh, Scarlett…my dear girl,” he t’sked, practically reading her mind, “Do you honestly think I’d want to dose you?”  He feigned a look of hurt that soon melted into an indulgent smile, “We both know why you’re here tonight, and I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of fully experiencing the…festivities…”  he bit his lower lip, daring her to answer.

“No,” she replied, almost to herself, letting her small overnight bag slip the floor, “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”  And then, wanting to prove herself up to whatever he had planned for them in the hours ahead, Scarlett lifted her glass and thickened her brogue for maximum effect, “Gu gaothan arda agus maighdeannan-mara!” fearlessly throwing back the full portion of whiskey he had given her.  Unaccustomed to hard liquor, she had to give a little shake of her head to keep from gagging as the bite hit the back of her throat---but soon enough, she felt the velvet burn go down, and even better, the liquid courage radiating out from the pit of her stomach to even the tips of her fingers and toes.

Her boldness appeared to please him, which left Scarlett pleased as well---until she gave a wee, ladylike burp.  He did a double take as she quietly excused herself, before he laughed heartily.  “Good god, Scarlett, but you never fail to entertain!”  To that, she could only shrug sheepishly, then give him a sweet, honest smile.

Hennessy downed the remainder of his own drink and set his glass down on the bar, before drawing his closest to her yet, so that she had to look up to maintain eye contact.  Unconsciously, she parted her lips, readying herself for his kiss, but that was not his intention.  Instead, he retrieved her tumbler and reached for her overnight bag, taking it to deposit on the divan, before he moved to refill both their glasses.  Scarlett started to decline when he held it out to her, but he shook his head.  “Take it, my dear,” he insisted, sounding kindly, but clearly expecting her to come to him at once, “’Twould be a cardinal sin to waste such good whiskey.”

Close up this way, his magnetism took over, reminding Scarlett there was very little chance she could withstand anything he would ask of her this night.  She sipped at her whiskey, allowing herself to enjoy its woody-spiced flavor and slight taste of vanilla, it’s mounting warmth spreading relaxation through her veins.  Hennessy was watching her keenly, biding his time as he polished off his portion.

When satisfied she had drunk enough, he put both their glasses aside, and turned to her with a soft smile, the request that followed completely unexpected.  “Scarlett, would you take down your hair for me?”  She blinked several times in surprise, so that he added gently, “Please, my dear.  You don’t wear it down nearly enough.”

“As...as you wish...Professor.”  His gaze felt like a slow, painless dissection, as though he was reckoning even her most secret details, thoughts, and desires.  Scarlett inclined her head a bit, and pulled out the silver comb that secured her updo, along with several bobby pins, then shook her hair loose, fluffing the length out with her free hand.  

She looked back up when Hennessy drew a whistling breath, to find he’d closed what little space had been left between them.  “There you go, my good little lamb.  Pretty as a picture.”  He took her hand between his two, relieving her of the comb and pins, softly stroking the back of her hand with the fingertips of his free hand, then sliding them up to her elbow in a slow, deliberate tease.  She closed her eyes, knowing that the seduction had truly begun.

Hennessy deposited her ornaments in his pocket, another trophy in his conquest, and with his hand still on her elbow, drew Scarlett to him.  She raised her face, waiting for his kiss---though he delayed, threading the fingers of his other hand through her hair, then tracing the shell of her ear.  Just kiss me, dammit, her mind cried out, kiss me please!  She parted her lips once more, in anticipation.

“Prettier than any picture that I’ve seen in a very...long...time,” he murmured, then finally laid his lips on hers.

Of all the kisses he had yet bestowed upon her, this was the most patient.  The most thorough too, for he knew he had all the time in the world.  Scarlett’s instinct insisted that this was as much for his own sake as for hers---for though he certainly knew what this evening meant to her, and that what lovers she took for the rest of her life would ever be compared to him, he was actually about the entire experience, and not just the consummation that had been her promise to him from before they had shared a single touch.  Hennessy savored her lips patiently, precisely because he knew she was already his---and surely because he had nothing to prove or anything further to gain.

When they broke the first time to catch a gasp of air, he leaned his forehead against hers, breathing just as hard as she was.  It felt like forever to her as she waited for him to begin again, yet before he did, he cleared his throat, asking huskily, “Before we truly commence, little lamb, satisfy my curiosity please…”

“Anything,” she whispered.  Anything for you, dearest man.

He puffed against her lips, amused, “Just what in God’s good English did you mean by that toast you made?”

Scarlett couldn’t help but smile, marveling that for once she had stumped him.  “Man of the world…Master of all you survey…surely you can guess…”

“I haven’t a clue, Scarlett,” he practically growled, “And I’ll have all your secrets this night, one way or another.”

Of course you will, she thought, and brushed her lips to his, delivering the translation.  “To high winds…and mermaids! Like a blessing—for an auspicious new endeavor.”  

She felt the smile that graced his fulsome lips, as he told her, “My oh my…you are a true wonder, Scarlett.”  Then he silenced any reply she might give by searing his mouth to hers.                        🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

Now these were, by far, the most alluring, the most delicious, most prized kisses of her young life, and Scarlett gave way most willingly, moment by moment, feeling as though Hennessy was slowly consuming her.  He held her face in his hands when they started, and she had pressed hers to his chest, dependent on his strength to keep her knees from buckling.  She panted for air when he withdrew his lips, and then heard the small, hungry sounds she made when he dipped his tongue back into her willing mouth.

When he noticed that one of her straps had slipped off her shoulder, his kissed his way down her throat and onto her bare skin.  Scarlett hadn’t bothered to try and conceal the love bruises he’d given her that afternoon—she had only worn a lightweight scarf to cover them while in the taxi that had brought her here—and now Hennessy softly revisited those marks, as though in deference to their tenderness.

That was exactly the sort of thing that always set her off kilter.  Scarlett was already well acquainted with how lustfully he pursued fulfillment of his appetites.  And she’d discovered that such reckless, heedless behaviors made her want him all the more.  Hennessy’s wicked proclivities were legion, ever waiting to surge up from his depths, and though she knew he had only shown her a fraction of those tendencies, what she had experienced thus far made her want to play his wanton.  But when he was gentle, solicitous of her needs, mindful of her inexperience, it was her heart that became more deeply entangled in the spell her body had all but fully succumbed to.  Scarlett had fallen hard, imperiling her tender heart beyond anything that Hennessy might visit upon her young, oh-so-willing body.  Or so she still believed.

There was no resisting his pull upon her, nor the confidence and skill of his elegant hands as they slid across the fabric of her dress, cupping her breasts and later her bottom with the fervor that had her wishing he would just strip her bare already. Pressed tightly to him, Scarlett could feel his erection growing more swollen and was imagining what it would feel like to have him finally buried deep inside her.

Hennessy was kissing her throat, occasionally grazing her skin with his teeth, each time a surprise enough to make her gasp.  With the latest, he brought his mouth to her ear, issuing a smooth command, “Come sit with me, little lamb.”  Not giving her a moment to consider disobeying, he dragged her along to one of the leather wingback chairs that sat before the unlit hearth.  “I’ve fancied sitting you on my lap for some time now, Scarlett,” he told her, and pulled her down onto him with enough force to elicit a breathy, surprised giggle from her.  “Does this amuse you, my dear?”

She shrugged, bit her lip, and then averted her eyes coyly, “Oh, Professor...everything you do...is...is like nothing I’ve experienced before.”  His silence bade her continue, so that she turned her widened eyes back his way, “You astonish me...again and again.  And sometimes...sometimes you frighten me.”  Scarlett felt her color rise once more, but would not flinch from her confession.  “But most of all, you fascinate me, Sir...and make me want to drown in your desires.”  She breathed out slowly, hanging upon his response.

He studied her closely, searching her truth--and finding not a speck of artifice in her admission, nodded, “You understand, sweet lambkin, that there is danger as much in my undertow as in my deep waters?”  Scarlett nodded solemnly.  “And that your innocence is no protection against this?”

“Oh yes,” she sighed, her skin atingle where he had spread one hand between her shoulder blades.  “I’ve spent my life shirking risk and danger at every turn--but I want yours now more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.”  With that she leaned in to kiss him, sealing her lips to his as fearlessly as she sealed her fate...

(to be continued)

tagging: @strangelock221b @letterstosherlock @ben-c-group-therapy @tsukuyomi011 @ravencatart @emilyinnj4real @humanbornarchangel @aziracraw @aeterna-auroral-avenger @adragonscloset @naughtynecromancer  and @cinderella1181 so you can see a sample of what I’ve been working on lately 

#my writing #Scarlett and the Professor #an alternate storyline to the RP thing #passion #lust #Scarlett Campbell #OFC #and an OMC #not my OMC and used with permission

[ficklefics]

Purpose - Part 2: Honesty Jeremiah Valeska x Reader

Jeremiah has set you apart from the others. But who he is is still a mystery. And you still don't know what he wants with you. 

PART ONE

MASTERLIST

Warnings: Violence, Threat to life, Murder, Family loss, Depression

Ecco had taken you to an office and left you there, the door locking behind her. Cupboards lined the walls, and a table dominated the floor, accompanied by a few chairs. The only light came from a flickering bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. You immediately try to open the cupboards, looking for something to help you, but they’re all locked tight. You throw yourself into one of the seats, wincing as splinters dig into your thighs. How did you get yourself into this mess? And even more importantly, how are you going to get out of it?

You stand up, determined that you aren’t just going to sit down and let this happen to you. You wanted answers, and you would get them, no matter what. The door can’t be that strong, not if it’s as decrepit as it looks. You cross the room and begin to slam your hands against it. It shakes in its hinges, but other than that it doesn’t change. You kick it in frustration and thump your forehead against the cold wood, groaning. There must be a way out. You just had to think.

 Before you get a chance to do so, you hear heavy footsteps approaching the door. At the last moment, you back up before it slams open. It’s him. Jeremiah. Whoever Jeremiah is. He strides past you, as though you aren’t even there. The door slams shut, and you begin to inch towards it. If you made a break for it now, you might be able to get away before he even notices you. But you shake that idea away as soon as it appears – just because he hasn’t acknowledged you doesn’t mean he isn’t paying attention to your every movement, every breath. He unlocks one of the cupboards, pulling out rolls of paper and tossing them onto the table. He discards his hat and jacket, leaving him in a white button-down and black waistcoat, with a blood-red tie. His hair is like ink, almost green in the dull light. Now that you can take the time to look at him, his beauty is even more evident. He’s hunched over the table, muttering once more as he examines the papers. They look like blueprints, and maybe a map of Gotham, but it’s difficult to tell from a distance. You watch as his eyes dart across the pages, as his lips twitch. You wish you could know what was going through his mind. He stands there for so long, apparently oblivious to you, that you begin to wonder if he actually hasn’t seen you. But just as you start to suspect his head snaps up, pale eyes locked with yours. 

 “I assume you have questions?” He straightens up, eyes never leaving you. Something about his voice makes you tremble slightly – you’re not sure what. A torrent of questions floods your mind: Why am I here? What do you want from me? But one spills out ahead of the rest.  “Who are you?” His lip twitches, almost a smile.  “Who am I…” He steps around the table closer to you, and you instinctively step back. You may not know he is, but you know he’s dangerous – you had to kill someone to even meet him, for fuck's sake. Your fear makes him chuckle.  “That guy – the other survivor – he acted as though I should know who you are. He said… “You’re the reason we’re all here.”” His smile grows darker, excited in a way, as though he can’t wait until you find out who he is. “You did something. Something important. What?” There it is. The real question. What did Jeremiah do to have so much power, for so many people to worship him, for so many people to fear him? “I think you already know the answer to your question, (Y/N).” You shake your head, confused. He tilts his head, the smugness building. “I’m the person you’re looking for.” The person I’m… Oh. Your mouth drops open in shock. It was him. It was all him. “You did it. You destroyed Gotham.” “Not quite as much as I’d wanted to, but a little destruction is better than none.” You’re shaking. It was him. All him. Before now you had planned out everything you would do when you met the person responsible for ruining your life. Ask them why, force them to answer you, make them pay for what they did. But now that he was right in front of you, only a few steps away, you were frozen. Jeremiah was watching your reaction, still smiling. Something about that smile… you snapped.   “You bastard!” You step forward and grab his shirt, fully intending to make him suffer, but before you can do anything his hands are on you, the smile gone – he twists one arm behind your back with an unimaginable strength, his other hand gripping your hair as he forces you against the wall, face pressed against the cold brick. You yelp, struggling against the pain blooming, but his grip is like a vice – bruising, unrelenting.  “True, but that’s not the point.” His body is flush against your back, and when he speaks his cold lips brush your ear. You let out a shaky gasp, your eyes wide.   “What are you going to do with me?” You feel him chuckle.  “Well, that all depends on you. Will you behave, or do I have to kill you?” At some point he must have released your hair, because now you feel a sharp blade against the side of your neck, making you draw in a sharp breath.  “Please… please don’t kill me…” You can’t breathe. This is worse than the roulette. One false move and you’ll be sliced open, and you know Jeremiah would leave you to bleed out on the floor whether he had intended to kill you or not. The blade glides across your skin, up and over your cheek, brushing your hair back and nicking your ear. He smiles against you, and you prepare for the worst.  “I won’t.” He steps away and you collapse against the wall, gasping for breath. “For now.” He leaves you there while he opens another cupboard, pulling out a black suit jacket and slipping it on. “Follow me.” You follow his instruction immediately – you don’t know why – catching up to him in the corridor outside the room.   “You still haven’t explained.” He ignores you, striding through the maze of corridors, moving away from the sounds of digging. “What do you want with me?”  “You’re different from my other recruits, (Y/N). They would follow me blindly to the ends of the earth – they do.” He’s leading you up a flight of stairs now. You’re still confused, not seeing what that has to do with you. “I can’t trust them. They would do anything to get ahead in my favour. But you-” He stops abruptly and turns towards you. You stumble to a stop, surprised. He grips your chin once more, examining your face, your wide eyes, lips parted from hurrying to keep up with him. You watch him, scared to make any noise or movement. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you (Y/N)?” You shake your head as much as you can; propelled by both honesty and fear. You wouldn’t lie, you know that, but you don’t want to think about what would happen to you if you weren’t special, if you weren’t different from the others who had come to this insane cult. “Even if you were scared that I wouldn’t like the answer?” Your agreement with him comes less easily this time, but you nod. “Good.” His hand drops to your shoulder pushing you up the final set of stairs. He gestures for you to open the door in front of you, and you hesitate only for a moment before doing so. You are immediately met with a burning sunset casting Gotham in orange light. Your mouth falls open – you haven’t seen anything so beautiful since before the bridges were destroyed. Since Jeremiah destroyed the bridges. You can’t forget that it was him. That he is the one who destroyed your life. You can play along, for now, you have to, but you can’t let yourself be ensnared by his charms. You take a small step forward, glancing back to Jeremiah for permission. He nods and you keep going to the very edge of the roof. From here you can see Gotham spread out before you, a beautiful ruin. Fires burn, buildings are closer to rubble, people shout and yell and sob, but it’s all dimmed by the vivid oranges and pinks that wash over it all.   “Why would you want to destroy this?” You wonder aloud. Gotham was never perfect, but it had a heart, a soul, one that struggled on despite the adversity it faced on a daily basis.   “You don’t see the imperfections.” You jump at the closeness of his voice. Somehow he has silently moved to stand directly behind your shoulder, just to your left, looking across the city with you. “I did not intend to destroy it for destruction's sake – I am not my brother.” His brother… Jerome. You knew you recognised the name, but only now do you make the connection between the inhuman nightmare standing beside you and the chaotic terror that brought Gotham to its knees on his every outing. “I sought to create a new Gotham, a better one. I didn’t want people to die. Destroying the bridges was a last resort.”   “But people still died.”  “A shame. But a necessary sacrifice.”  “My family was a “necessary sacrifice”?” You spit, stepping away from him, his presence fuelling the anger that has returned. “My friends?”  “I didn’t kill your family, (Y/N),” He’s getting impatient now. You can hear it in his voice. “That was the people of Gotham. The people that you would seek to protect. The people that wouldn’t be welcome in my new world.” His new world…   “Would I be welcome?” The question is like acid on your tongue. But you can’t stop yourself from asking it.   “Again, that all depends on you.” He steps closer and you force yourself to stay still. “I need you to trust me, and only me, completely.”  “I don’t know if I can do that,” He said not to lie, and you’re sure that he’d know if you did. He lowers his head and sighs. You hold your breath.   “That’s very disappointing, (Y/N).” His hand flies up and wraps around your throat – you instinctively try to yelp, but your airflow has been cut off, and you merely let out a pitiful whine. He pulls you towards him so that his forehead is pressed against yours, forcing you to balance on the tips of your toes. When he speaks you feel his lips move against yours. “If you can’t do that, if I can’t be certain of you, then truly, I have no use for you.” His arm straightens and you find yourself being held over the edge of the building. You cling to his forearm, tears of fear and pain forming at the corners of your eyes. You hate yourself for how weak you are.  “Please, I can try, I will, please-” He groans, his hand flexing around your neck.  “I just don’t know if you’re the right one, (Y/N). How can I, when you fight me like this?” Your heart aches at the disappointment in his voice. Rationally you know it shouldn’t matter, but you’ve been so alone for so long… Maybe Jeremiah can make you whole again.  “I’m sorry. I’m scared, confused.” Your voice is broken up by desperate sobbing. He tilts his head at you, examining you clinically. “Please, Jeremiah. I know I can do what you want me to.”  “Can you?” You nod rapidly, whimpering as his hand loosens and you glance down to see the fall awaiting you. “Prove it.”  “I’ll do anything; anything you want me to do.”  “Let go of my arm.” Your mind screams at you, your body tenses in resistance, but you release him obediently. Now the only thing keeping you from falling is Jeremiah. Your hands twitch by your sides, grabbing at your jeans, seeking any sort of purchase. He smiles, a cold, menacing smile. 

 “Good.”

And he lets go.

PART THREE

Tags:@yagurlrosie​ @yagirljoana​ @psychobitchtess​ @mistressoftorture​ 

#jeremiah imagine #jeremiah x reader #jeremiah valeska #jeremiah valeska imagine #jeremiah valeska x reader #purpose #honesty #ecco #Gotham #gotham fanfic #gotham imagine #gotham fanfiction #gotham x reader

[sylibane]

I wanted to talk about my WIP and saw this as a tag meme, but I don’t feel like waiting for someone to wait to tag me and am doing it anyway.

(If anyone knows the source of this, please let me know so I can credit them)

WIP: The Engine of the Ocean

1. Describe the plot in one sentence?

In a world where everyone has inborn magic, a group of unlikely allies travel from island to island, looking for a way to stop the monster that threatens the population of the sea.

2. Pick one sight, smell, sound, feel and taste to describe the aesthetic for your novel.

Sight: A lighthouse against the storm.

Smell: Salt and ozone in the air.

Sound: The voice of something liven hidden among the whirs of machinery.

Feel: Polished brass and wood.

Taste: Something fishy, with just a hint of something metallic and burned.

3. Which 3+ songs would make up a playlist for the novel?

I actually have 50 song playlist, so here are just some of the main ones:

Salt (Eivør)

Lightning (Fireflight)

The Wolf (SIAMES)

Jenny (Studio Killers)

Witch (Karmina)

Endless (The Birthday Massacre)

4. What’s the time period and location in which the novel takes place?

It’s an alternate universe, but the vibe is kind of that of New England in the late 19th century.

5. Are there any former titles you’ve considered but discarded?

Clarity, and the Witches of the Whaler Sea.

6. What’s the first line of your novel?

When humanity was new to this world, a girl came to the shore of the sea.

7. What’s a line of dialogue you’re particularly proud of?

Well, I was committed to this bluff now. “Because you can’t afford that. Someone else is here. Unless the one knocking things over upstairs is a friend of yours?”

Instead of fear as I’d hoped, Frost and Salzbach’s faces just showed confusion. “You know he’s a cat, right?” Frost said after a moment.

“What? No, not your cat, the other person! The one in gray!”

8. Which line from the novel most represents it as a whole?

The light of the heart will guide you across the water, a small, high voice said in the back of my head. Underneath us stretched the nervous system of circuits of the laboratory; while I could feel some dark areas, much of it was alive.

(Technically two lines, but whatever.)

9. Who are your characters’ faceclaims? 

I don’t usually use faceclaims, so I don’t have any here.

10. Sort your character(s) into Hogwarts houses.

Jenny – Slytherin

Clarity – Gryffindor

Justice – Hufflepuff

Silence – Hufflepuff

Dr. Morales – Ravenclaw

Kaito – Slytherin

11. Which character’s name do you like the most?

Either Jenny Lamar or Kaito Shimizu, since I managed to get multiple meanings into their names.

12. Describe each character’s daily outfit.

Jenny – teal long pirate-style coat over overalls and a button-down shirt, tall boots, black gloves, wide-brimmed hat.

Clarity – long red dress with an apron, hair coif, and darker red cape (will get another outfit partway through the story that I’m still working out).

Silence – same as Clarity, but with a brown dress and no cape (second outfit is a shorter yellow dress with a pinafore and stripy stockings).

Justice – stereotypical “Pilgrim” outfit, but with brown as the dominate color instead of black (which would be too expensive) and quickly loses the hat.

Dr. Morales – big patched-up overcoat over a sweater and trousers, green and magenta scarves, knit gloves, a pinkish headscarf that she tries to tie her hair up with, glasses.

Kaito – a waistcoat with built-in belts to hold all his potion vials, blue coat worn like a cape, big gray gloves, flat cap, trousers and boots; always has a change of formal clothes ready.

13. Do any characters have distinctive birthmarks/scars?

Jenny lost her right arm below the elbow in accident as a child and now has a prosthetic. Kaito also has some scars, but can keep them hidden beneath his clothes.

14. Which character most fits a character trope?

Not one of the main characters, but one of the main antagonists fits the pirate queen archetype? Is that an archetype?

15. Which character is the best writer? Worst?

Dr. Morales is best, if only by virtue of having an academic background and having to write papers that are at least somewhat coherent. Silence is eleven and from an area with few paper resources or education available, especially for women, so she’s worst.

16. Which character is the best liar? Worst?

Definitely Kaito for best, though he prefers the “technically true” school of deception. Probably Justice for worst, as he generally believed the misinformation he was spreading.

17. What character swears the most? Least?

Probably Jenny for most? There’s not a huge amount of profanity in this. Either Justice or Silence for least.

18. Which character has the best handwriting? Worst?

Kaito for best, Silence for worst.

19. Which character is most like you? Least like you?

Partway through the original draft, I realized Dr. Morales was me but older and more extraverted and went with it. Though Jenny’s kind of become a receptacle for my frustrations with writer’s/artist’s block. Probably Justice for least.

20. Which character would you most like to be?

Kaito if only because he has the coolest powers (creating potions he can imbue with other things’ properties, including abstract concepts like languages)

I’m not going to tag anyone because I don’t want to put that pressure on them, but if you want to, that would be awesome!

#wip questions #wip tag questions game #tag game #oc questions #writblr #long post #syli's ocs #the engine of the ocean

[radishearts]

Confession week: ladynoir july

Ao3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9,  Chapter 10,  Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13,Chapter 14, Chapter 15

day 4 part 15- Akuma:

“Al- bunnix!!” ladybug and chat noir shouted in unison as they parted the hold from dancing as they rushed over to her aid.

“Ladybug, chat noir, what? Where am i?” the pink headed heroine asked weakly

“We don’t know ourselves, are you alright? How did you get your miraculous?”

“Long story involving an old man, rings, and time travel.”

Ladybug offered her a hand as she stood up, the rest of the heroes (with the exception of viperon and the dragoness who they hadn’t seen since the afternoon) crowded around.

“Who is this? Some sort of super hero we don’t know about?” roi singe asked, really confused about everything.

“This is bunnix, she helped us save time tagger, well her future self at least!”

“Nice to meet you monkey guy.”

“It’s roi singe, but what's it to you, mary poppins.”

“Whatever,” she glanced back at ladybug and chat noir “we need to find that akuma, and escape, paris is worried, she’s threatening to take everyone here if you don’t hand over your miraculous by midnight, and a giant light bubble is hovering over the city, all of it’s superheroes are gone, I was the last resort, remember?”

“But aren’t there more miraculouses?” chat noir asked

“ iOf course, i said the same thing but master fu said that 10 was enough, we need to find it, i held her off for a while back in Paris, and her powers seem to be interdimensional travel between here and well back home and from what I can tell she’s writing a book, and we’re the characters in it!”

“So we’re in a book?” carapace asked.

“It seems so, I mean, everything that has come to pass only seems like it would take place in a-”

“Fanfiction, of course, this entire time, we’ve been stuck in an akumas world because she had a bad case of writer's block?”

“She was willing to get akumatized, because she couldn’t write?” roi singe laughed “if that happened at our- i mean my school, i’m pretty sure hawkmoth wouldn’t have enough akumas for that!”

“Although his calculations were an estimate, it’s a pretty good one, but I don't think it’s necessary to run the numbers in this situation.”

“The only book I ever want to be in is a biography.” Queen bee scoffed

As everyone ignored her. Ladybug spoke up.

“Ok, we need to split up and find the akuma, rena and carapace, roi singe and bunnix, pegasus and queen bee, me and chat!”

“This is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!” Queen bee muttered.

“Stay safe, find the akuma and don’t get caught, don’t engage, just alert us of your location, and then we’ll come and get you.”

“Just a friendly reminder: make the plan, execute the plan, expect the plan to go off the rails, throw away the plan.”

“It`’s true, superheroing is hard work, and nothing ever goes right.” ladybug added

Like many times before the conversation was cut short, the 8 miraculous holders crowding into a circle.

“Ladybug chat noir and you other insoldent minor heroes, give me your miraculous now, and we won’t have any problems.”

“We haven’t done it before. What makes you so different.”

“Fine be like that!”

She trusted her book open, shooting a light beam into the air.

“Finish the fairy tale!” she cackled. -

“What the hell is that?” the dragoness asked, to nobody in particular.

“I don’t kno-” his words cut short by the world rearranging.

The dragoness found herself in an epically disgusting dress which was a putrid shade of pink.

Disgusting.

“Well, well, well.” viperon teased

“Shut up.” she met his eyes, he himself had changed, sporting a sea foam green waistcoat, with darker tones emphasising the fact that they both look like they were present in a baby shower. Although she had to admit, he looked like a prince.

She analysed her surroundings   - The beam of light, had disorientated chat noir, he looked down at his clothes, which had changed again, seriously he felt like lady gaga at the met gala.

All these outfit changes.

Chatnoir let out a silent scream when he saw ladybug slowly making her way up the stairs to style queen, holding a rose for her.

“That's right my pretty, just touch the rose, and everything will be fine.”

Chat tried to run to her aid, but it was too late.

She had pricked her finger, and almost instantaneously, she had collapsed into slumber.

The deathly type.

The type that lasts for a 100 years.

- “What the actual-” bunnix began

“Father God, what have we done to deserve this!” roi singe interrupted, lifting his hands up in a prayer position.

“Didn’t know you were christian.”

“Whoever is playing this prank, they are at god level.”

“I don’t think it’s a prank.”

She looked down at her own clothes, the signature baby blue color seemed to be a consistent, all though she was wearing a dress?

Did fairy tales have any practically at all?

Roi singe dusted himself off.

He was wearing his colours too, but yet it was different. He was wearing a cloak.

“ I think he went this way, robin hood, is nothing but trouble!”

“steal from the rich give to the poor, what nonsense! Lady Mariam is a fool for falling in love with him!”

She pointed at his bow and quiver of arrows and he signaled for them to climb into the treetops.

- “Ughm this is ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!” Queen bee scoffed, dusting herself off and standing up to get a better view of the place, only to find the smart mouth partner standing behind her.

“Yeah, thought you’d say that!”

“If you’d be quite for a little bit, I could figure out where on earth we are, and what were doing.”

“Oh, I already figured that out, where in the Hansel and Gretel story tale, and considering she said to finish the fairytale, i’m pretty sure we have to add our own twist, any ideas partner?”

She held her silence, maybe he was useful after all. -

“Where the hell am i?” rena asked, when she received no reply she shot up.

“Carapace, carapace!!!!!!”

She looked down finding a turtle.

“What did that akuma do to you? Wait, no, am i supposed to kiss you and you’ll turn into a prince? Wait should i?”

The turtle stared at her with it’s eyes.

(well with what else )

That's right it was a turtle.

Which meant she couldn’t just ask it questions and expect answers.

She would have to figure this one out by herself.

Which was ethically harder than it looked.

Who even wants to kiss a reptile?

@ladynoirjuly2019 

#chat being drammatic #fairytales #hansel and grettle #sleeping beauty #cinderella #robin hood #the princesss and the frog #all of the miraculous characters #ladynoir #ladynoirjuly2019

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

just a very tipsy bit of June and Dante bonding because idk if it’s clear how much I fucking love their relationship :’) look, it’s something actually sfw this time!! :D :D :D

“Dante...” June’s voice was only vaguely slurred, in the way of one well in practice being inebriated. “Fuck, marry, kill-”

“Kill.”

“That’s not how it goes!”

“Myself. I haven’t been this bored since the Signs movie night.”

“Shut up, play the stupid fucking game. It’s better than sitting here.”

Dante rolled his eyes, admiring the way the whole room wavered as he did so. “Okay. Who?”

“Beethoven-”

“How old do you think I am?”

June narrowed their eyes. After one long moment, they obviously decided thinking in this state was too much work, so they just shrugged their narrow shoulders with a noncommittal grunt.

“Nice to know you care so much,” Dante grumbled. “One hundred and sixty three this year. Now you know.”

June made a noise half way between a cat coughing up a hairball, a snicker, and a giggle. Dante decided hazily to call it a snicker; he liked his head attached to his neck. “You’ve aged well,” they managed to get out after a moment.

“Wish I could say the same,” Dante said pleasantly.

“Oh, fuck off. The amount of times I get mistaken for a fucking prepubescent-”

“Until they see your face.” Dante laughed, a bit too loud for the enclosed space. He remembered the poor mortal woman the other day, who had asked June where “her” parents were, until June had turned around with their face of cutting sharp angles and ire and the woman had almost fainted on the spot. 

“Fuck off,” June repeated darkly. They drained their wine glass for the....... 14th time tonight? Dante looked at the multitude of empty bottles on the floor. They’d gone through five. Six? Given it took two to get a single demon tipsy, it wasn’t that bad. That.

Dante couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself go this far. A bit of a buzz, yeah. Not the-world-looking-vaguely-alive-and-also-kind-of-sparkly-in-a-way gone. He had responsibilities. People to look after. A reputation to uphold. But now Jesse and Vrox were safely in Hell, the rest of the pack, too. No strays running around causing trouble. A night of peace. Weight off his shoulders. It was... nice.

“Funny,” he said.

“What’s?” June didn’t look up from their wine glass, tilting it so the remaining drops glinted like rubies in the dull light through the windows.

“Think I’ve forgotten how to relax,” he admitted.

“Doesn’t fucking surprise me. You’re not a soldier anymore, Dante. I don’t think you’ve got that through your thick skull yet.”

“Yeah, and who’s fault is that?”

“You almost got yourself killed-”

“Aw, you do care.”

“- and left me with ruling over the Kennels, alone? Get fucked. Never happening. I will drag you out of a warzone myself.”

“You did. Literally. Drag me”

“Damn fucking right I did.” June tossed their glass aside - getting a few flecks of darker red on the couch - and grabbed the remaining bottle, forgoing the glassful now in favour of drinking straight from the bottle.

“Do you know what it feels like to be hellgated when you’re not ready to be hellgated?”

“Y-”

“It’s not a great feeling.”

“What are you, an infant?” 

Dante snorted. “A one hundred and sixty three year old infant...”

“Alric,” they both said at the same time, which caused a chorus of uninhibited laughter, even and especially if the subject matter involved a 13 year old hellhound who died via cult and who now routinely ate people.

“You know what?” June said suddenly, breaking off their laughter. “Are you ready now?”

Dante struggled to remember what they’d just been talking about. “What?” he said, a bit apologetically.

“Useless.” June flicked wine in his general direction, missing by a few metres and splattering more red on the carpet. Their lounge was beginning to look like a sweet-sour crime scene. “Are you ready to be hellgated?”

“Not... really...”

“Fantastic!”

Before he could process the level of sarcasm dripping off that one word, June had sprung up, staggered only a little to find their balance, grabbed his hand and dragged him forward - into pure darkness.

Dante didn’t like hellgating. Having to do it every day for one hundred and thirty four years straight didn’t make him any fonder of it. It reminded him of dying all over again, all sensation except a faint sense of consciousness flooding away - because that was exactly what was happening. At the end, his physical self re-formed around his consciousness - or what was left of his soul, he didn't know. He was grateful for one thing, and that was that he was a demon. This was natural to him. If he was mortal... well, it would take a lot of skill and care from whatever demon was with him to re-form him afterward. And while June was definitely skilled, they were always running a little low on care.

The moment in the consuming, absolute darkness could have lasted a second or a year for all Dante knew, but when it did end, it gave way to a hillside dotted with a few flowering weeds, sloping into a pine forest. The cold air instantly shocked more alertness into Dante’s brain.

What was more surprising than the sudden change of scenery, or that June had willingly elected to go outside, was that Dante recognized it. 

“Is this-?”

“Where we first met?” June was fastidiously adjusting the cuffs of their dress shirt. Their waistcoat was also decidedly slanted. “Yes.”

Alarm show down Dante’s spine. “June, are you - okay? Being here? I know-”

“Don’t you fucking dare try and mother me, Diệu,” June said through clenched teeth, without even looking at him.

Dante winced. “Don’t call me that, chết tiệt. That name is dead.”

“Like the rest of the past, yes? I’m fine.”

“Alright, alright.” He held up his hands as a peace offering and looked around. He could see glimpsed flecks of buttery yellow lights between the trees below, a few brave fireflies spiraled out into the open. One seemed to like June’s shiny dark hair, following them as they sank down onto the grass. He hesitated, but followed suit.

“Did I ever thank you for that?” June asked.

He glanced at them. They still weren’t looking at him, instead staring into the fringe of dark trees.

“No,” he said truthfully. He had never expected, wanted, or received any gratitude from them.

“Good.”

Dante smiled and leaned into them playfully, making them hiss and swipe at him with their nails, the blow going wide. Not on purpose. Absolutely not.

“How much do you remember?” he asked.

For once, they didn’t comment on his gentle tone. Their eyes grew a bit distant, lost in the past that was not as far gone as either of them liked to admit.

“Not very much, after...”

They didn’t finish. They didn’t have to.

Dante shrugged off his jacket. It was made of heavy, thick, green fabric, leftover from the Vietnam war. It was one of the few he hadn’t participated in, but the jacket had belonged to a friend of his who didn’t need it anymore. He started to drape it over June, but they recoiled with a hiss.

“Don’t be a jerk,” Dante said impatiently. “You’re shivering. Take it.” He wrapped it around them none too gently, clamping it shut with his hands for a moment so they didn’t try to shake it off.

June’s frosty stare turned into a glare, and Dante couldn’t help but start laughing: they were so small and the jacket was so big it was like a tent on them, and with just their face poking out from the collar, they looked like that alien from the movie Jesse liked... E.T. But angrier.

“Get,” June said, very delicately, “your hands off me.”

Dante obliged, and his guess proved right, as after their initial hate mode wore off, June kept the jacket on, though they did pull it down off their head and put their arms in so they looked more respectable.

“Are you happy now, mother?” June grumbled.

“Much,” Dante said with a smile, reaching over to ruffle up their hair. The firefly spiraled wildly away, and this time, June’s swipe connected. He didn’t mind.

“I don’t know why I interact with you,” June sad, still grumbling, as they fished their cigarette packet out of their pocket. Dante frowned at it, but June pointedly ignored him. “Got a light?”

“No.”

“Dante,” June said, mock-patient tone undermined by their snapping fingers. “I know you always carry a lighter. Give it to me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I will say it again.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“I’ll get you in a headlock.”

“Di-”

“Shit, fine! It’s in the second pocket down in the jacket.

June lit their cigarette like the happy little nicotine gremlin they were and tossed the lighter back to Dante. They took a long draw, the tip burning like a red firefly, and exhaled grey into the cold air.

Silence fell. A breeze tried its best to raise goosebumps on Dante’s arms, but he ignored it. The rustling in the trees, the beating of tiny wings, and the crackle of June’s cigarette were the only sounds.

“I do remember you,” June said, quietly. “You were in your hound shape. Your eyes were red. They lit up the entire clearing. But I wasn’t afraid. You smelled like... home. A home I’d never known about.”

Dante looked at them. In the light of the crescent moon drifting through the clouds and the aftermath of six bottles of red wine, the hard lines of their face seemed to have softened a bit, their mouth holding what could have been a smile.

“I know that home now,” June added. “It smells like shit and most of it is on fire. Not what I expected.”

Dante laughed. “Was I what you expected?”

“Only when you give me a light and buy me dinner,” they said with a grin.

“Guess I have to do that, then.” He inched closer to nudge them with his elbow, but he didn’t move again, and after a stiff minute, June put their head on his shoulder.

Grudgingly.

He’d take it.

#June #Dante #my OCs #my writing #Dante was 28 when he died #in case anybody's wondering #he still looks 28 #also NO DANTE. #I AM NOT. LEARNING. VIETNAMESE FOR YOU. #NOT NOW #OKAY. #NO. #sorry for typos #y'all know I suck!!! #god i fuckin hate math

[writings-and-wonderings]

High Tide - Chapter 1

One Shot/ Chapter no: 1 / ? 

Words: 1,351

Summary: (Y/N) is the daughter of a governor,and is promised a happy life with her betrothed. But her heart yearns for the ocean and the mysteries it carries. After an argument with her soon-to-be-husband, she heads down to the docks, only to find something - or someone - she wasn’t expecting. 

Warnings: swearing

A/N: a) i know the gif is from crimson peak, but i couldn’t find an appropriate gif of Tom as Loki. b) this is, in part, inspired by the Darker Shades of Magic series by VE Schwab because Alucard reminded me of Loki so much whilst I was reading this so yeah. Enjoy!

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

Chapter One I hadn't always wanted to be a pirate. Actually, that was a lie. I had always wanted to be a pirate, I just didn't tell anyone about it because, you know, pirates get hanged and stuff. When I was younger, I always managed to sneak off down to the docks, and watch the ships coming in and out of port, dropping crates off or picking them up. How I wished to sail off with one of the ships. But as I got older, my father insisted that I  learn to become a 'proper lady', and so I often found myself at posh tea parties with men attempting to court me. One of whom was successful, and my parents had arranged for me to marry him in a few months time. It was then that I started coming down to the docks again. Now that my lessons had paid off, my parents didn't mind me going out. They assumed I was seeing and getting to know my betrothed. One night, my said betrothed  had come round requesting my presence. I was curled up in front of the fire, nose-deep in a good book. My father showed him  to where I was, coughed surreptitiously, and then left, closing the door behind him. "Oh darling, you should not spend your time reading." He sat down next to me on the love seat. I sighed heavily, and, not looking up from the book, I asked why he thought so. "Women are becoming more suggestible these days, all because of this reading fad. Wouldn't you rather spend your time doing something more productive?" "And what, my love," my voice laced with bitterness and venom, "do you suggest I do?" He laughed then. "Do not quiz me on what you women do with your time. Knit? Improve your cooking! Plenty of things to be getting on with." My mouth fell open, looking in his eyes and hoping that he was joking. His dumbfounded expression proved otherwise. "Please get up," I muttered quietly, putting my bookmark on the page and closing the book. "What?" "Get. Up." He made no move, looking at me like I had a tree growing out of my head. "Now!" He stood up abruptly, and I joined him, taking a shaky breath. "I want to make one thing clear. When I am your wife-" a lump formed in my throat as I said the word, the realisation settling in. "When I am your wife, you do not tell me what to do. You hear me? We do not live in the dark ages!" He chuckled at this and cupped my cheek. "Oh poor thing, you don't understand," he smiled down at me, a sad look crossing his eyes, the same look people use when talking to small children or picking up a stray puppy. Anger boiled in my stomach and ran up my throat, burning my insides. I slapped his hand away. "Fuck off." "Pardon?" The look of shock on his face would have been comical in another situation. "I said, fuck off." He shook his head. "Fine, I will then." I grabbed my shawl from the back of the love seat and stormed into the hall, picking up my shoes as I walked out the door and into the night. It was a cooler night, the summer drawing to a close. But I welcomed the cool as my burning cheeks started to tingle. There was only one place I could go. After managing to calm down enough to put my shoes on, I ran the rest of the way to the docks. Tears started to fall as I rounded the corner and was met with the vast ocean. I ran down to the very end, hanging my legs over the side and wrapping my shawl around myself as I started to cool down. How dare he? Who did he think he was? I huffed and kicked the stone wall I was sat on. The tide was low,  and the lapping of the water against the side seemed distant, lulling me into a trance as my heart continued to beat harshly against my chest. Light footsteps behind brought me out of the trance. It took me a while to fully process what it was, and my suspicions were further  aroused when I could not find the source. "If you've come to apologise, I will tell you to fuck off again," I called into the darkness, hastily wiping away my tears. A figure walked out into the street, chuckling softly. I huffed and faced the ocean once again. "It isn't funny." "My apologies Miss, I didn't realise I caught you at a sensitive moment," I turned around again, this time the figure was closer, but still out of reach of a nearby lantern. I stood up, stumbling a little bit. The figure chuckled again. "Show yourself," my voice less brave than before, holding my shawl closer. The figure held up his hands, almost in mock defeat, as they stepped forward. The orange glow of the lantern still threw shadows across his face, but it also accentuated his cheek bones. His long dark hair framed his face, and there was an undeniable smirk plastered on his face. "Who are you?" "I'm more interested in who you are, Miss, and why you are out so late on a night like this." He walked slowly towards me, and the closer he got the more I was able to see. He had a white shirt on, with rolled up sleeves and half the buttons undone, exposing his bare chest. The green waistcoat he wore hung loosely at his sides. He also wore simple black trousers, and the shoes were definitely a few years old. "Are you not cold?" I asked quietly, trying not to stare at him. "Are you?" He took another step closer to me, his warm breath meeting my face and sending chills down my spine. The fact I readjusted my shawl to cover more of my arms answered his question. "Who did you think I was?" "Why do you want to know?" He shrugged, that same smirk coming back. "My betrothed. He told me a woman should not read. So, I came down here." His silence seemed to prompt me to carry on, his sincere look only amplifying the feeling. "I always used to want to be a pirate, it sounds so silly now but - oh, how I wouldn't give to sail the high seas," I glanced over my shoulder at the dark ocean. The touch of a hand on my arm drew me back to the man in front of me. "What if I told you you could have that?" His voice was low, and I couldn't help but scoff. "You laugh, but my ship is right over there, and my men are currently ransacking a warehouse. If you want, you can join." I looked up at him then, finally looking into his eyes. They were the colour of the Mediterranean on a sunny day. "Are you being serious?" "Deadly." His grip tightened as he drew me closer, my breath hitched in my throat as he took my other arm. "Aren't women bad luck on ships?" I whispered, trying to find some sort of doubt in his voice. "Not on my ship." "Oh, so you've had them before?" He let out a small laugh but shook his head. "Only if they were held for ransom, which you aren't being held by." I thought it over a little bit. "What will my parents say?" "Who cares?" A smile broke across my lips, a true smile, the biggest I have had in a while. I nodded my head, slowly at first before it sped up, becoming similar to a mad woman's. "I'm Loki, your captain." He bowed dramatically. "(Y/N)," I bowed as well, grinning the entire time. Loki took my hand, and led me round the corner from where he first appeared. He walked slightly ahead of me, as he whisked me away to a new life.

Want to request an imagine? 

#pirate au #pirate! loki #loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #high tide chapter 1 #high tide #chapter 1 #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x reader #reader insert #marvel #adsom

[franticbindings]

So Black it Shines

Jack is an occultist who just wants to solve his father's disappearance. Eric is a thief who just wants to do right by his mentor and help his friends. Together, they might be the only hope the sunless city of Duskwall has.

This is a crossover AU of Ngozi Ukazu's web-comic "Check Please!" with the setting from the role-playing game "Blades in the Dark" by John Harper. You don't need to know anything about either of them to (hopefully) enjoy this, but I highly recommend checking them out! They're some of my favorite things.

Thanks to Kirani for the beta!

Eric paused for a few heartbeats in the darkness of the late afternoon and peered from the top of the warehouse across a narrow alleyway to where a pair of double doors opened onto a small balcony. He had followed this particular rooftop route countless times before, and this was the part that had the greatest risk of discovery. Eric had discerned from the lingering smell of tobacco and discarded stubs that one of the clerks that worked in the converted manor house across the alley came out on the balcony to smoke from time to time. Should fate arrange a meeting between him and said clerk one night, it would be quite plain that Eric was up to no good; he was cloaked, hooded and veiled in a black that seemed to gather the shadows around him, armed with pistol and dagger and laden with the tools of a burglar.

Something the clerk might not realize until after Eric had vanished back into the night that always shrouded the sunless city of Duskwall, is that he carried no light with which to see in the darkness. There were numerous old wives’ tales about people who could see in the dark; it was said that ever since the Cataclysm shattered the sun, some people were born with dark gifts and darker hearts, and were driven to cruelty and murder. Eric didn’t consider himself particularly inclined to violence and was, in fact, perfectly normal until he went missing when he was thirteen. When he was found three days later with no memory of where he had been and some unsettling new abilities, it didn’t take much for the superstitious people of the Dunslough district to begin to whisper that he was not who he seemed. It was out of fear of what their neighbors might do that Eric’s parents agreed to apprentice him to Katya Ivankov, and so he had gone to train with her and learn the ways of the thief.

For the past five years, he had dutifully learned how to prowl the rooftops silently, how to pick locks and disable magical traps, and above all, how not to be seen. He used those carefully honed skills now to vault across the alleyway to the balcony and climb silently up the drainpipe to the roof of the building. It was a three-story hollow square and constructed of stone, with a small courtyard in the center. It was typical for the Charterhall district, being both ancient and wholly given over to the bureaucracy that kept the city from sliding into anarchy, and it also happened to be Eric’s preferred place to eat his dinner while he was in this district.

All thoughts of the hot meat pie in his satchel were set aside as Eric crested the rooftop and discovered that he was not alone. He slipped through the shadows and crouched behind one of the several chimney stacks that studded the rooftop and peered around it.

Two men were situated on the rooftop directly across the courtyard from him, illuminated with the harsh blue-white glow of their electroplasmic lamps. One of the men stood about a hand taller than Eric and had his back turned so that all that could be made out was his long brown hair that fell to his shoulders and the messenger bag slung across his back. He held his lamp aloft and moved it back and forth as if to ward away the darkness.

The second man was crouched near where Eric usually sat, and from the way his breath steamed out in a thick cloud despite the warmth of the evening, he was attuning himself to the ghost field.

Eric bit his lip in consternation; if this man was a skilled Whisper, someone who studied the arcane arts, he might be able to read Eric’s frequent presence on this rooftop from its echo in the ghost field.

Are these the hunters Katya has been afraid of? Eric settled deeper in the shadows and resolved to watch this scene play out, his trained eye picking out the details of the two men. The crouching man was handsome in a cold sort of way, with a few dark locks of hair that fell across his forehead. Except for his eyes, which looked almost colorless in the electric light, he was the image of imperial nobility, with pale skin, a chiseled jaw, and sharp cheekbones. His finely tailored waistcoat and pants reinforced the impression that he was someone from the upper classes. He was powerfully built but not visibly armed, though Eric knew that a Whisper didn’t need a weapon to be a threat.

Eventually, the man with the long hair turned so that Eric could see him clearly; he had a kind face, with curious green eyes and a gregarious mouth below a well-groomed mustache. Eric knew from experience that the appearance of kindness could hide a cruel heart, but he didn’t think that the obvious warmth and affection with which he regarded his companion was feigned. He didn’t seem to be armed either, but the messenger bag could easily be hiding some kind of weapon. His clothes were well made but of a rougher style; a brown jacket over a white shirt with suspenders. He seemed nervous, and absentmindedly fiddled with his lantern and smoothed the front of his jacket while he waited for his friend to finish surveying the local ghost field.

Eric was fairly certain, from their clothes and the careless way they stood in the open, that these men were not members of the criminal underworld like himself. The rooftops of Duskwall were the province of thieves and scoundrels, and if these men decided to make a habit of intruding so blatantly where they did not belong, they were in for a rude awakening.

Several minutes passed like this, as the crouching man’s distant gaze tracked unseen figments in the ghostly reflection of the city; it was silent save for the noise of people and carriages on the streets below. Finally, the man blinked and jolted as if startled awake and rose to his full height, even taller than his friend, who moved to stand beside him, eyes darting around the rooftop before they settled on his face with a look of concern. He stroked his neat mustache with two fingers and spoke.

“So, Jack? What’s the verdict?”

“I didn’t see him. I went back about two years, but if he came up here there’s no trace of it left. Someone else does come up here often, though.”

Eric’s mouth twisted with displeasure at the thought that bad luck had lead to his potential discovery by these men. Katya had been so careful to keep him separate from her affairs so that he could still move freely while she was confined to their shared lair.

“A clerk from the building? Or…”

“No.” The man, Jack, made a chopping motion with his hand, and strode up to the edge of the roof, looking down into the courtyard at the center of the building. His face betrayed no emotion other than an absolute focus, and his voice was confident. “Whoever it is, he dresses like a criminal. I think he’s involved somehow.”

“What does he even do up here?”

Jack deflated a bit and crossed his arms, perhaps in frustration, like he knew that the answer would somewhat undercut his decisive declaration. “He eats food while sitting on the edge of the roof and looks down into the courtyard.”

There was a pregnant pause before the other man walked up to Jack and gave him placating look and a clap on the shoulder. “If you think he’s connected then we’ll track him down. I know it seems like we don’t have much to go on now, but we’ll figure it out.”

Jack replied without looking at his friend in the face. “There has to be something more here, some reason that this place was in the journal.” His face hardened with resolve, and he continued, “I’m going down there and I’m going to get some answers, even if it means I have to go back all the way to the Cataclysm.”

He actually sounds like he thinks he could pull that off. Eric shivered in the dark. Anyone with a little practice could read the echoes of recent events in the ghost field, with more emotionally charged events leaving a stronger resonance. Katya had taught Eric that the ghostly reflection of Duskwall held memories of the city across the ages, but he had never heard of anyone seriously trying to peel back all eight hundred and fifty odd years to the disaster that formed it. Even if you managed to channel that much energy without burning yourself out, it would be like sending up a signal flare for every ghost and Spirit Warden in the district.

Jack finally looked at his friend, expression softening some. “You should stay up here, Shitty. It’ll be safer.”

What kind of name is Shitty? Now the other man, Shitty apparently, was the one to cross his arms in obvious frustration, “I made a promise to your mom, man, and Shitty Knight does not back out of his promises.” He unfolded the arm that wasn’t holding the lantern and poked Jack in the arm. ”Besides, if I’m with you, you'll be less likely to go too far and blow yourself up again.”

Jack rolled his eyes and his perpetually cool and focused expression lightened with something approaching levity. “That was one time, Shits.”

“Yeah, well, let’s keep it that way.”

Shitty lifted the messenger bag over his head and set it carefully against the lip that ran around the roof of the building before both men moved to start climbing down the iron trellis that spanned the full three stories of the wall closest to them, lanterns clipped to belts so that both hands were free.

As much as Eric liked to look at the courtyard while he ate, it had always been a bit of a mystery to him. It supported a surprising amount of plant life, with thick grass and flowering vines climbing up the trellis; much more than should be possible in a world without a daytime. Furthermore, at some point builders had bricked over all of the windows and doors leading out to the courtyard so that it was only accessible from the roof. It was like it was meant to be forgotten.

In the center of it stood an ancient well, dry except for when it rained. Eric had examined it closely when he first found this place, and probed it with what power he could muster, but only found old stone and carvings so weathered as to be indistinct.

Both men climbed quickly but with little grace, and while Eric rolled his eyes at the amount of noise they managed to make by clattering on the iron trellis, he wasn’t above using it to cover his movement around the rooftop over to where they had left their belongings.

It was the work of moments to get the bag open and begin rifling through its contents, and Eric didn’t feel even a twinge of hesitation in doing so. He still held onto hope that these men weren’t the ones who had attacked Katya several months ago, and that their presence here was pure chance. Regardless, this Jack had probably seen his face and would be looking for him.

Time to even the score. Inside the bag was a pistol (finely crafted), ammunition, a half-full bag of nuts (the packaging was from one of the luxury lightning rail lines), identification papers and passports for two people (neither was for a Jack), a number of thick reference books on spectrology, and a leather-bound journal.

Eric pulled the journal out and flipped it over. Embossed on the front of a journal was the sigil in the style of a noble house; a falcon soaring over black waves in front of a crescent moon. He knew what the ocean in the sigil meant at least; they were one of the families of leviathan hunters and owned at least one huge steam warship that sailed out onto the void sea to battle the giant demons that dwelled there. He was surprised he did not recognize the sigil, as Duskwall was the port of call for the entire fleet and he had stolen from or spied on most of the noble houses in the city during his time with Katya.

What looked like two lightning rail tickets were stuck between the pages of the journal, and Eric carefully opened the book to take a closer look, only to be stopped cold by what he found on the pages.

The left page was filled with a seemingly random assortment of numbers, but the right page was dominated by a sketch of his mentor, skillfully done in black ink. If there was any doubt as to the likeness of the portrait, it was labeled beneath, simply, “Katya”.

Operating solo the last six months while Katya convalesced in hiding had done much to bolster Eric’s confidence in his own abilities, but as he stared helplessly at his mentor’s stern face he longed for her advice on what to do. He could confront these men; he had the high ground and both pistols, and he would know if they tried to lie to him; another ability, both a blessing and a curse, acquired along with his night vision.

And if they are enemies? Eric was a decent shot if it came to violence, but he was leery of picking any fight, to say nothing of one with an unknown Whisper without the advantage of surprise. Visions of his body, charred black and twisted by blasts of summoned lighting danced before his eyes, and he shook himself to dispel them before he slid the journal into his pouch on his back.

I’ll bring the book to Katya and make her finally explain what’s going on. The time for secrets is over.

Eric was wrenched from his introspection by a blast of cold air and a shout of “Jack!” from the courtyard, and he turned his attention to the scene below.

Jack stood at the center of the courtyard, his back to Eric, with one hand extended over the well. From the way his breath bloomed in a white cloud, it was clear that he had thrust his consciousness deep into the ghost field. A low fog had risen from the ground and swirled in a lazy vortex around the Whisper and the well, stirred by an unnaturally cold, ozone scented wind. Both electroplasmic lanterns were flickering madly, and Shitty stood half crouched over his, with a hand cradled to his chest.

As Eric watched, the man shouted again and tried to approach his friend, only for a crackle of energy to leap from the well, strike him in the chest and send him sprawling back with a string of expletives.

Eric watched in horrified fascination as a stream of glowing, roughly humanoid figures began to file into the courtyard, emerging one by one through the solid stone of one of the bricked over entrances. They glowed with an eerie blue-white iridescence and arrayed themselves in a loose semicircle around the well. Eric reflexively drew his pistol and aimed it at the growing crowd, despite being almost certain that it would be of little use in this situation. Jack seemed blind to these troubling events and deaf to his friend’s increasingly desperate pleas to break off his attempts to attune with the well.

As one, the ghostly figures fell to their knees and prostrated themselves before the well, crying out in voices like the howling wind: “SETARRA!” “THE DEEP!” “SHE RISES!”

The well gurgled and began to overflow with jet black seawater, filling the courtyard with the bitter scent of brine. Whatever horrible thing that was going to happen next was seemingly interrupted when Shitty Knight, who had removed both of his shoes, chucked one of them at his friend’s head. It landed with a solid THWACK and seemed to jolt Jack out of whatever spell he was under. He collapsed to his hands and knees, breathing heavily, and the glowing figures flickered and then vanished.

Eric was only distantly aware of this because he was frozen with formless dread at the overwhelming smell of the sea and the sight of the well overflowing with water. His mind was consumed with the barest flickers of memory; the burn of scraped hands, the icy seawater as it crept up his body, the panic at the bitter taste of it.

He watched with unseeing eyes as a dark figure seemingly made of water rose up from the well; its lower body was a column of water, but its upper body seemed vaguely human and female, covered all over with scales and festooned with seaweed. The nightmare opened shark black eyes and looked straight at Eric, before turning its gaze to Jack and Shitty, who were climbing back up the trellis and unaware of the imminent danger.

They’re going to die! DO SOMETHING. Eric finally mastered his terror and brought his pistol to bear on the sinister apparition and fired, shouting “Look out!” in warning. His aim was true, striking the creature in the head, which exploded in a splash of water before reforming, seemingly unharmed. He glanced at Jack and for a moment they locked eyes. Eric saw a spark of recognition in them before Jack dropped back to the ground and turned to face the horror.

The Whisper gave a gruff shout and threw out his hand, summoning a veritable river of lightning that blasted the creature and much of the courtyard with coruscating energy. It recoiled with a hiss of displeasure and lashed out, quicker than Eric’s eye could follow. One black, clawed limb stretched impossibly across the distance to pin Jack against the wall by his shoulder. Jack grunted as the talons pierced his flesh, and Eric quickly reloaded his pistol, hands only steady because of Katya’s skilled tutelage.

Shitty entered the fray with a shout, pulling a dagger from somewhere and slashing wildly at the protracted limb that held his friend transfixed to the wall. His blows seemed to have little effect, but Eric thought he had the right idea, and carefully lined up a shot at the creature’s elbow. His pistol thundered and the bullet struck true again, severing the arm at the elbow. It splashed as water to the ground and a hand began to reform from the severed stump, but Jack was free, at least for the moment. The crackling of another blast of lighting began to form around Jack’s hands before he screamed in pain and fell to his knees, clutching his head.

The monster seemed to draw itself up as if preparing for another strike, before cocking its head to the side as if listening to something far away. After a long, tense moment its body dissolved back into formless water, which splashed harmlessly to the ground.

Shitty shouted his friend's name again and rushed over to him, pressing his hand to Jack’s wound. Jack collapsed back against the wall and tipped his head back, staring up at Eric with unreadable blue eyes.

Eric held his gaze for a long moment before he pulled back from the edge of the roof and moved his veil into place from where it had fallen in the excitement. In the distance, he could hear the whistles of the Bluecoats, no doubt attracted by the gunfire and blasts of lightning. If these men couldn't avoid the police on their own, there was little Eric could do for them.

He tried to shake off the lingering effects of the panic that had gripped him at the sight of the overflowing well and focus himself on the task at hand; the night was just beginning and he had business of his own to attend to. Eric’s stomach churned with uncertainty; he had temporarily allied himself with these men in the face of supernatural terror, but was it the right choice?

Will it count for anything if they really are after Katya? As he set out across the rooftops, he did his best to avoid dwelling on blue eyes and a handsome face.

#check please #omgcp #blades in the dark #bitd #pucks in the dark #fanfiction #thief!bitty #noble!jack #occultist!jack #casefic #peril #demons #ghosts