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black-dhalias · 2 years

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Desert Flowers

Ahkmenrah X Reader Warning: violence, death, graphic descriptions, implied smut

As night descends upon the Natural History Museum, Larry Daily arrives just before the sunsets, finding a large exhibit box in the lobby. His bosses curlicue writing on sticky note: ‘Unpack into Egyptology. On loan from the D.C. archives.’ He hmms, tossing the sticky note onto the desk and glances around. Waiting for the museum to come to life, and just as the last of the light fades off--he hears the subtle creaking of Rex beginning to move.

“Aaaaaa, how are you my boy?!” Larry looks up from the box, giving a half wave to the walking Roosevelt exhibit.

“Same as yesterday, Teddy.” It's lighthearted as the figure smiles down at Larry, hopping off his horse and looking over the box himself. Inspecting the wood crate, and the red fragile sticker stuck to the side.

“Larry!” The night guard looks up to see Ahkmenrah walking into view, his smile bright and nothing like someone who has spent forever cooped up in that tiny sarcophagus.

“Hey Ahk, just who I needed to see, this is for egyptology. So I thought you’d want to look.” He grabs the information key, or what he thinks would be. “It’s some books, some weapons, and-” His voice trails off as he glances back into the box, eyes wide. “And Ka-ha-mun-raaaaah? Kahamunrah’s wife?” Larry gives up on the name. “A mummy. It's a mummy.”

Ahkmenrah’s expression falls quickly as he rushes forward to read the paper himself, his eyes scan the page and his demeanor darkens as he reads the name of the wife. A dull echo of banging begins to reach his ears, but Ahkmenrah stops Larry from unpacking the box further just yet--a feeling of unease having settled in the room.

“Wait!” Ahkmenrah inhales deeply, “Just wait.” Ahkmenrah pulls out one of the historical books, and opens to the familiar page that details his life. Ahkmenrah’s life. He points at a picture of what would have been a recreation of your face. “That’s Y/N Y/L/N, and she’s the one in this box.” He begins to speak quickly…

Ahkmenrah stands at the palace entrance, his hands folded behind his back as you arrive with your parents. Your father is imposing and your mother endearing, and you are-Ahkmenrah smiles, seeing the softness of your expression. You are awe inspiring. He bows his head as the trio bows lowly to the Prince of Egypt. Their future pharoah. While your father walks off with the war generals, as your mother speaks with the ladies. You look up at the Prince with a smile, your cheeky grin mirroring one of his own as he walks towards you.

“Greeted by Prince Ahkmenrah. I must be special.” He always looked forward to your visits, and the kindness you often showed him with your doting gifts. You traveled with your father, gathering treasures from near and far. Things Ahkmenrah had never seen before, and those knick knacks brought him great joy when you left for months at a time.

“Only if you brought me something.” Your eyes go wide and expression flabbergasted as you laugh. It is a pleasant sound, one that brings a smile to his lips as he moves closer to you.

“Is that all I’m good for? Gifts?” He shrugs, inching closer as his eyes glance around to find the others all gone. Not that anyone would say anything. You were as good as promised to Ahkmenrah, chosen by him above anyone else. He embraces you tightly, his arms lifting you with ease as he spins you around.

“What can I say? Your immaculate taste is superior to anyone else’s gifts.” They’re not gold, or jewels, or things people give to him usually. They are things only you would think to give someone as a gift, specifically him. Once your feet touch the ground, his hands still resting on your biceps with your hands on his waist--just smiling up at him.

“Hmmmm…” You tilt your head back, lips pressed together before sighing and giving in. “I guess your compliments will work this time around.” He gladly returns the smile, as you begin walking towards the palace. His hands fold neatly behind his back as he follows beside you, a skip in his step that was not there earlier. “So what have I missed?” Ahkmenrah thinks for a second, leaning over as he sways.

“Well…” He pauses, “The Pharaoh has made a decision, one he plans to announce tonight, but…” Ahkmenrah draws out his words, his eyes are still joyful, but an unease forms in the pit of your stomach.

“But-?”

“But I wanted to be the one to tell you.” You stiffen, this sounds important. Like the kind of thing he shouldn’t be telling you at all. “I’m to be married by the end of the seventh sunset.” You completely stop in your step, your gift heavy in the pouch and your chest heavier. You feel as though someone- “To you.” At first, you do not register it. Completely, and blissfully unaware of it, but it does register and your smile grows. Everything feels as though it is on fire.

Face to face, you leap into him and feel Ahkmenrah catch you--swaying as he does and you smile. All you can do is smile for a moment. Nothing could ruin this, absolutely nothing could make this better than if you were marrying him tonight.

“That might just top my gift.” You hum, feeling him lower you to the ground, but this time, Ahkmenrah keeps you close. His parents had asked him months ago about marriage, and he pleaded with his father to consider you. You were the only child of the richest merchant, your family had wealth spanning the globe--recognition from other empires and it would be a wise match. But Ahkmenrah also explained his love for you, which will make his rule stronger.

“Oh Y/N, nothing tops something from you.” You could give him a scarf and it would mean the world, and he would shake the heavens and sky to show his thanks.

The banquet comes and goes, the room applauds the engagement and your parents smile with glee. You wooed a pharaoh, and would now take your place as one of the most powerful people in Egypt. You also fell in love, and while that mattered less, it still mattered to them. All through the night and into the early morning, Ahkmenrah does not leave your side even when his lips stain red from wine. He remains solidly at your hip, never too far and never out of reach.

You feel him lean into you, while you do not drink wine, Ahkmenrah accepted far too many glasses and soon enough, you were stumbling through the palace with his arm extended over your neck. His smile is lopsided and eyes dazed as he is unable to stop himself from staring.

“Y/N, did you know you’re beautiful?” You smile to yourself, blushing at the hundredth compliment.

“Ahkmenrah, you’ve only said it thirty times tonight alone.” You listen to the low hum as he leans his head onto your shoulder, which makes it significantly harder to walk towards his room.

“Did I now?” You lightly laugh, taking on more of his weight and continuing the trek.

“Oh yes, and you’ve poured your heart out twice in the last hour.” He nods, his smile growing and so does yours.

You reach his rooms though and the posted guards open the door, and you’d be blind to not notice one of them smiling at the Prince’s constant string of compliments. You murmur a ‘thank you’ before guiding him towards his bed.

Ahkmenrah feels your hands slip away as he sits on the edge of his bed, and he reaches out--making grabby hands as he tries to focus on your form. But the world began to go in and out of focus several hours ago. “Y/NNNNNNNNNN.” You sign, coming closer and placing either of his cheeks in the palm of your hands, feeling the sharp angles, but also soft skin.

“Ahkmenrah…”

“Don’t leave…” You are hesitant as you feel him guiding you towards the pillows, “You always leave, and now you can’t leave.” His words are laced with sadness, and it forces you to recall one thing that sits heavy on your shoulders. It has crossed your mind once or twice, because marrying Ahkmenrah prevents you from traveling as you used to--and you feel guilty for even thinking like that because you do love him.

“I’m just going to my rooms…” You brush dark curls from his forehead, smiling as he lulls. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With soft steps, you retreat from his rooms and begin the walk towards your rooms. The halls are longer now and much quieter, and when steps creep up behind you--unease bubbles to the surface. Something about those heavy steps doesn’t sit right with you. You walk faster and so do they, and you inhale sharply--daring to glance behind, but slow when you see its Kahmunrah.

“Sweet Y/N, you seemed to be rushing. Running away from your promise already.” You smile tightly at the eldest prince, but not the heir. That title belonged to Ahkmenrah alone.

“To your disappointment, no.” He keeps pace with you until the words leave your lips, and then he is grabbing your wrist roughly. Pulling you towards him, his eyes just as dark as you remember them. “So I guess you don’t get to kill me just yet.” Kahmunrah’s fingers tighten, and you feel the bruises forming already. The ache extends into the bone.

“Y/N, you’ll never leave this palace again. Regardless of what happens.” Your eyes flicker from his eyes, to his hand and then back, daring him to hold you any longer. “Take care to remember your commitments. Your priorities.” He smiles, but it is not kind or warm--lacking both entirely.

“I don’t need your veiled threats. I know what has to be done.” His eyes and expression fall completely, and you try not to shake under his glare.

“Trust me. I haven’t even begun to threaten you yet.” But he walks away, and you are left to your thoughts and anxiety. The worry plaguing you time and time again, so much so that sleep becomes impossible.

Exhaustion is creeping up on you, but still you follow through with every celebration and event that follows the announcement banquet. It feels like all of Egypt is outside the palace, waiting for a glimpse of the future Pharaoh’s bride, but you feel disgusting--you feel unworthy. Your bed is not as soft, the walls much too echoey and the noise of the palace seems to dance through the room. Every noise.

There are two brief knocks and then the doors are open, to which you know it is Ahkmenrah… He is stunning as usual, he’s always been perfect even as a child. You would play in the garden’s together for hours on end, your mother’s watching fondly with those knowing looks.

Even then, everyone knew.

“Dearest… Are you alright? You don’t seem yourself.” You roll over, avoiding eye contact as the pillows embrace your form. The distance does not last long as he climbs into the bed, and lies so close your noses are almost touching. “I’m worried…” You try to smile, but he sees right through the attempt and shakes his head. His eyes are full of warmth. “Please? Just tell me… We’re to be married.”

“I can’t sleep…” You mumble, leaving out the why--shrugging when he asks and he just accepts it which hurts even more. You wish he would beg to know, plead, because you’ve never been able to lie to those beautiful brown eyes. He embraces you close and weaves his fingers into your hair, he hushes your thoughts and breaks down your worry. For a second, you drift off to the sound of his heartbeat beneath your head.

Hours passed with you in his arms, Ahkmenrah did not dare move as he went still, then drifted off himself. Were you this worried about marrying him? That you couldn’t even sleep, his own anxiety was more about if it’ll be enough? If he did things the right way? Or needed to do more? He didn’t worry about making you happy, because he had done that your whole life, but now that doubt is beginning to set in.

Ahkmenrah woke slowly, seeing the eyes of his father staring back at him with perplexion as he raised an eyebrow. “Curious…” But he never heard a word after that, save for his mother wacking his arm the next time she saw him.

Yet somehow, you still stand at the edge of forever with Ahkmenrah, your wedding came and went--it passed faster than a blink. The ceremony was long and elaborate, and the banquet that followed lasted for the entire night and once morning came--Ahkmenrah was guiding you to his rooms. Your rooms, as he said. Your stomach twists in a knot as the door opens, the guards gone from their post, but Ahkmenrah says nothing.

You smile up at him as he shuts the door tight, and begins to remove the many jewels that crowd both of your forms. His hands are delicate and every touch is brief, his fingers never linger anywhere too long as his gaze does not waiver. The sensation of your heart pounding in your chest would be enough to shake your entire form, but it doesn’t because he keeps you steady. That’s just who Ahkmenrah is.

“Even without gold, you are the greatest treasure I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He whispers, it’s like the words are caught in his throat--like long lulls of music. You tilt your head, studying his expression as he speaks, before stepping forward cautiously. Your eyes just briefly drift down to his chest before reverting back to his eyes, under the light of the fires, his eyes shine brighter than they ever have. Either palm rests on his chest as you bring yourself closer than before, your hands drag until they reach around his neck to undo the ties of the neck adornments.

The clatter of the garments echo off the stone, but walls keep their secrets when he rushes forward to embrace your entire body into his arms. Before, when his lips would brush your own during goodbyes or when he would kiss the back of your hand. They lingered, but you wished they could stay against your skin forever. Every touch and kiss, you feel as though you could live forever beneath warmth.

You tighten your arms around his neck, letting him naturally deepen the kiss as his chest presses heavily into your body--his lips rest just above yours as he speaks in a hum: "My beautiful Queen..."

He looks at you as if you are the most beautiful thing in the universe, as if there were not enough jewels and gold to compare to you. That kind of look, it should send shivers down your spine, but instead you feel a swell of anxiety mount. Yet his kisses shut the feelings away as your back presses into the mattress--when all is said, and all is done--you love Ahkmenrah.

So much so that as his lips trail down your neck, and you catch a glimpse of the flames from your place in the pillows--you try to let the comfort embrace you. But the flames twinkle and fade away, and your eyes blur from the mist that forms. His hands brace on either side of your body, but once the flame has completely extinguished--there begins the echo of swords.

Ahkmenrah's eyes widen as he sits up, his attention shifting, but as the swords fade away--you see him shake it off, as if pushing it to the back of his mind. However, when the screams begin to bounce off the walls like the applause from earlier, Ahkmenrah climbs to his feet. His steps are hesitant as the dissent grows closer to the door, but it leaves him open to one attack. One moment, because he didn't think the attack would come from you.

Your hand curls around the hilt of the blade, the memory of leaving it there when you brought him to his chambers wine drunk, enters your mind. You see it flash, as your face contorts and eyes mist over. You wish you could close your eyes, and let someone else do the deed, but you can't. Instead, you release a long held breath and crawl to your feet. Ahkmenrah never saw it comes, but as you reach around quickly and push the blade deep into his chest--you begin to sob, finally able to make a sound.

All of Egypt moves in slow motion, every noise in the palace is muted as you feel him grow weary beneath your palms. His body going limp as he locks his gaze on you, those brown eyes full of betrayal. Using whatever strength you can muster, you drag him onto the bed and feel as if the Gods are ripping your skin away--layer by layer. Every nerve is exposed as you cry out, for Ahkmenrah, for the only love you ever knew. You cup his cheeks, his tears burn your hands and you wish they would scar you forever--to carve up your skin, in the same way that you feel.

Maybe then your heart would hurt less.

"I'm so sorry...." You break down, kissing his temple as you see him struggle to breath. Every break in breath that he tries to grasp, seems to shutter and lock. "I will never forgive myself... I-I am-m sorry." You tremble, your body swaying as the entire future you imagined for yourself falls from the heavens. No one will ever forgive you for this, and you don't expect Ahkmenrah to. Not that it matters, you see the blood sputter from his lips as he chokes on the essence meant to keep him alive. You listen to him struggle, hear his pain and its your own personal torture as you press your forehead to his, and just for a moment--he is only your love.

"I'll make it all stop." You whisper the words, but your suffering has only begun. You adjust your grip, the angle and run the blade deeper. And if he could be betrayed further, his eyes would have darkened a shade.

Then he goes still.

You had to do this, end his suffering--you can only look at him before you scream. You let your cries break the walls of the palace, and burn into the memories of all that can hear. Your heart shattered before you, a blade run through his heart entirely. You did this.

You just didn't know the last thing he heard was your screams, and for a moment, he felt pity for you.

Larry's eyes go wide as Ahkmenrah finishes, his eyes locked on the box and the book in the Pharaoh's hands. "So...We're not..." Ahkmenrah glances down at the box, the pounding having faded off the moment he began to speak. Maybe his own voice shocked you enough, just as your sudden appearance here.

"They were my wife first." He whispers quietly, every fiber of his being had thought you died right after him. Larry didn't even think it was possible for Ahkmenrah to cry, had never seen him emotional like this, but his eyes have glassed over. Yet the softness does not last as he throws the book onto the box, the clatter echoing through the quiet museum. "MY WIFE?!" The pounding regains its muster, and this time, Larry can hear the screams as Ahkmenrah walks away.

Larry clasps his hands together, glancing at his watch-- wow, only an hour, he still has ten more hours in here. As much as he wants to keep this crazy woman away from his friend, he has to unpack the exhibit. No one helps the nightguard, you were frightening to them--someone who hurt their friend.

It is a slow process, and meticulous as he sets aside the relics--books, goblets, crowns, jewels, and a blade. You have gone still, and as Larry pries open the lid to the box that contains you--he is shocked to see you curled into the wood. You do not look at him, but instead speak hushly.

"The universe in all its cruelty has brought me here to face my sins." There is a tremor to your voice, Ahkmenrah described you as jovial, but you seem as though you were broken many times over.

"Yeah well, you did kill him." You side eye the man, before sitting up just enough to look him in the eye.

"It was me, or his Kahmunrah... I made it quick..." You pause, "Kahmunrah was going to hang him from a post and whip him until he died." Even in death, as you rise from the box and onto your feet, Larry sees regalty. You are dressed ornately. "I gave him mercy."

"Did you tell him that?" He holds out his hand and guides you out of the box, your bare feet touching the cool floor.

"It was always my burden to bare."

You walk the halls of the museum with curiosity, the world has changed so much. Things are different, the air feels different, but you don't. You feel the guilt of your life, and the pain of your death echo through every step. Larry had offered to give you a tour, but the idea of being near someone after so long, makes your stomach twist in a knot. Familiarity begins to form as the walls turn to stone, and the statues become reminiscent of the palace... Then you see him, and you stop entirely.

What is air? You don't know because your lungs are stuck in a single position, and unable to inhale. He looks the same, stunning--with beautiful brown eyes, full of betrayal. Just as you remember.

"Go..." His voice is lower, and you cannot bring yourself to walk closer, or walk away. You just go still. Ahkmenrah finally looks at you. "Why can't you just go?" The pain is becoming clearer, visible in the glassiness of his eyes.

"I never loved him... I swear..." You close your eyes, but force yourself to look at him. To face your punishment. "Ahkmenrah... I did my best for you, he was going to torture you. Going to prolong your pain, until begged." Your lip trembles as you find the courage to step forward, "I wanted you to go quick, I thought he'd kill me for taking that away from him."

Ahkmenrah watches you crumble as a thought hits him, one that is heartbreaking. "You don't look any older."

"He wanted to be you, so he married me and took your throne. And when he found out that I would never love him, he gave me the death, he planned for you." You struggle to find the words, but Ahkmenrah knows there true. He knows Kahmunrah, in all his cruelty, would do that. You raise your shoulders back and close your eyes, before dropping to your knees. "I submit to your judgement, as my king."

You do not dare open your eyes as the last words leave your lips, you go still with your palms laid out on your thighs. Your head bent, you hold only the honor that you never bowed to Kahmunrah. You may not see him, but you feel him standing in front of you--the closest you've been in centuries.

He does not strike you. Or throw you. Or yell. Instead, you feel his hands wrap around yours, and the ache begins to grow. Your chest is expanding and your heart pounding, just as it did then. So you open your eyes and find him knelt in front of you, and you get to look him eye to eye.

"I never wanted to be your king. Only your love."

#imagines #imagine #requests are open #fandom request #imagine requests #angsty imagine #angsty august #ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah imagines #night at the museum #night at the museum imagine #SoundCloud

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orangepeelshortbreadcookies · 5 months

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Curtain Story: The super serious, dark, dramatic and heroic rivalry of Miles Bridgerton and Charles Bridgerton

by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies

Chapter 5 - 5.6 / 4.11 & Edmund

Ratings: General

Word count: 2,993

Chapter summary: Our heroes consult their Minister of Defense and form a tentative ally with the Opposition regarding a possible assassination plot.

The purpose of having an older brother, Miles decides, is to be given a loyal and free lackey for your entire life.

Miles is especially lucky that his brother is Edmund. He is seven years old and is twice as big as other kids his age. Miles believes Edmund must be at least 10 metres tall. He can reach all the highest shelves. He gives Miles piggyback when their Dad is not available to. Any kid who dares bully him, and by extension, Charlie (who is not his best friend), retreats immediately when they see Edmund coming. It is the best.

The greatness of Edmund’s stature, however, is not appreciated by everybody. To be more specific, Auggie, their eldest cousin, is so very jealous. He finds it deeply unfair, as despite being two years older than Edmund, Auggie is one head shorter than him.

“I am going to catch up with you,” he argues. “Our dads are the same height so we’ll be at the same height too. My Mum said we just grow at different speeds. I am what they call a “rate broomer.”

“Yes but Aunt Daff is shorter than our Amma.” Miles chimes in. “And children are supposed to grow as tall as Moms put on top of Dads.”

“That’s not how that works.” Auggie glares at him.

“Yes it is.” He sticks his tongue out at Auggie. “You will never be as tall as my Edmund.” Smart boy that he is, Miles quickly retreats behind his brother’s back while dropping this devastating “fact”, before Auggie can have the chance to jump on him.

---***---

Despite Miles’ very obvious dislike of Charlie Bridgerton, he is fascinated by Charlie’s younger brother, The Baby, Alex.

Known to their Mother as Seong-Gi, Alex is at the exciting age when babies start speaking. Sophie and Benedict, on occasions, find Miles and Charlie completely abandoning their toys and hanging around Alex for hours to teach him their favourite words, giggling at The Baby’s babbling. Miles can barely wait until the moment his sister reaches such a milestone herself, so he can play the role of teacher all over again.

“Charlie.” Charlie points at himself. “That my name. Chaar. Leee.”

“Cha-Lee.” Alex repeats enthusiastically.

“My turn.” Miles shoves Charlie aside. “Miles. Miilless.” He voices his name slowly and clearly. Alex blinks at him, a fist in his mouth, bemused. “Now you try it.”

The Baby throws his hands in the sky, grinning as if he has just won a prize. He exclaims happily.

“Meow!”

The education is a work-in-progress.

---***---

Sometimes Edmund can be such a poohead.

Such as right now, as his left hand holds one of Miles’s trucks so far above his head, while his right stretches out and ruffles Miles’s hair, preventing him from getting in range of the toy, revelling in his younger, much shorter brother’s frustrations.

From his place on the mat, Alex watches their scuffles, laughing and clapping his hands together in utter delight. Charlie, however, seems to ignore them completely. Priorities. He is rather content with getting the most of his time around Miles’s exorbitant amount of Lego Duplos, before the older boy gets into one of his moods and demands them back.

“Give it back, Edmund!” Miles demands.

“Sorry,” Edmund smirks. “Can’t hear you from all the way down there.”

“Edmund!!” Miles yells, near tears.

“Mun!” The Baby’s high-pitched voice draws all heads toward him. Unburdened by the attention, he keeps clapping and smiling as before. “Mun-Mun!”

“What– what did he call me?” Edmund is caught off-guard just enough so Miles can yank the toy from him and skips toward Alex and Charlie.

“Very good, Alex.” Charlie nods. “That is Mun-Mun.”

“Mun-Mun!” Alex repeats excitedly.

“Hey– that’s not…” Edmund, or Mun-Mun stutters, growing redder by the seconds, knowing he’s being duped but unsure how to respond.

“That’s right, Alex.” Miles wants to cry again, but this time from relief and gratitude. “His name is Mun-Mun.”

“Mun-Mun!” Alex declares, while Mun-Mun flushes and runs out of the room in tears.

Edmund’s new nickname makes the rounds among the other cousins, and the boy’s annoyance with it only helps cement its popularity. Later, as the name reaches the ears of the adults, it is game over for Edmund. The second Kate hears her eldest being addressed as Mun-Mun, she has found the name so adorable and endearing, it sticks.

See? Having an older brother is so great for so many things.

---***---

“Mun-Mun? Are you here?” Miles’s dark curls and hazel eyes peek into the room, hoping to find his brother where he has last seen him. On the contrary with his usual loud, carefree sprint/scream, the boy is putting extra effort into being as quiet as possible. Charlie and he are currently on a top secret, covert, dangerous, self-appointed (has he mentioned secret?) mission, so naturally, Miles does not want their nosy Bassett cousins to find out about it. Especially not Belinda.

Edmund still occupies the seat where Miles has seen him five minutes ago, completely immersed in Mario Kart. Looking around to make sure the coast is clear, Miles tiptoes toward his brother, before shaking his shoulder as hard as he can.

“Mun-Mun! Mun-Mun! We need your help!” Startled, Edmund’s cart takes a hard left off the lane.

“Do not call me that!” The older boy scowls, but pauses his game anyway. He is only begrudgingly resigned to his fate after all. One must still protest against such a ridiculous name as ‘Mun-Mun’ on the basis of principles. “What do you want?”

“There’s a cake in the kitchen!” Miles says, barely able to contain his excitement.

Edmund is unimpressed.

“So? We won’t be allowed any until after dinner anyway.”

“You don’t understand! There’s a cake in the kitchen and there’s nobody around!”

“Nobody around? What do you mean? Where’s Cook?” Edmund is still hesitant.

Impatient, Miles pulls on his big brother’s arm as hard as he can (which doesn’t do much), straining as he does.

“I don’t know. Who cares? Mun-Mun, there’s cake . It’s big . And they put it up so high. You’re the only one who can reach it.”

“You already had two biscuits just now.” Edmund reminds him. “Both you and Charlie.”

“We’re not going to eat it.” Miles argues. “We just want to know what it looks like. Where it comes from. Please , Edmund, it’s So. Big.” He pleads, making one more attempt at yanking his brother away from the chair and ends up sitting on the ground. “Hurry. Charlie is keeping watch in the kitchen. We must get there before the Bassets find out!”

The mention of the Bassets in a competitive context piques Edmund’s interest. His own curiosity seals the deal. How big is this cake?

“Just a peek, okay?” He says to Miles. “One peek, and then we’ll put it back where it belongs.”

“Promise!” Miles breaks out into a brilliant smile. “One peek. The quickest, tiniest peek in the entire world!”

---***---

It is neither a quick peek nor is it tiny.

In their defence, first and foremost, it is a big cake. An enormous cake. A gorgeous cake. Two-tiered, elegantly and decadently frosted, luxuriated with a generous pour of chocolate ganache. It is the kind of cake that, to their knowledge, must be what heaven looks like, made even more enchanting by the fact that they cannot have it. It is the kind of cake that demands one take time to take in all its beauty.

Secondly, as Edmund is just about to close the lid of the cake box and return the pastry to where they have found it, the Basset children storm into the kitchen and demand to know what it was they were doing. Then big-mouthed Belinda threatens to tell the adults unless the Bridgerton boys let them see the cake as well. So Edmund has no choice but to open up the cake again.

Really, it is not their fault.

“Who do you think it’s for?” asks Auggie.

“Perhaps there are some clues around…” Belinda, the aspiring detective, ponders. “Did you see any card attached to it?”

“No.” says Edmund.

“Interesting.” she rubs her fingers against her chin in contemplation. “Very interesting.” Then an idea pops in her head. “Maybe it was an assassin! Maybe the cake is poisoned!”

“Shut up, Belinda.” Miles contradicts her, purely on impulse. “It’s not poison.”

“How do you know that?” She questions him, in the most annoying tone she can muster, knowing he hates it.

“It just isn’t.” Miles responds, using an equally grating voice. “So shut up.”

“No, you shut up.”

“Both of you shut up!” Auggie reprimands them.

“Belinda might have a point, actually.” Charlie speaks up. Miles turns to his partner-in-crime with a look of utmost betrayal, while the youngest child in the kitchen offers his scientific insights “We don’t know where it was. The cake could be poisoned. It a plausible hippothis. We need to prove it though.”

“How do we do that?” asks Miles.

“I can do it!” Caroline, who believes she has superpowers, exclaims. “I have “tellycandysis”!” Without waiting for permission, she presses her face closer to the cake. “I’ll smell out the poison!”

Her big brother Auggie pulls her back by the collar when Caroline’s face is buried in the frosting.

“Ah! Let me go!” she flails. “I’m smelling it!”

“No, you’re not!” Miles accuses her, pointing at the creamy evidence all over her mouth. “You’re eating it.”

“No, I’m just smelling.” She denies. “I smell it with my mouth!”

“Look what you did!” Miles complains. “You ruined it.” He gestures at the Caroline-shaped indentation on the frosting.

“She didn’t mean to.” Loyally, Belinda comes to her sister’s defence. “Besides, she proved it, didn’t she? Now we know the cake is not poisoned, thanks to Caroline.”

Auggie comes to their aid.

“It doesn’t look so bad. Just move the other bits around to cover that spot she made and no one will notice it.”

“That’s true,” agrees Belinda.

“Right.” says Edmund.

“I guess.” Miles reluctantly concedes.

…

Nobody moves. All of their eyes are still trained on the delicious looking cake.

“What if–” Miles suggests conspiratorially. “What if the poison is inside the sponge?”

Belinda agrees immediately.

“Possibly. Assassins are sneaky.”

Charlie encourages him.

“Good hippothis, Miles.”

“But then–” Auggie questions. “How do we find that out? Without anyone noticing?”

For a few seconds there is silence. Then Charlie, ever living up to his name as the son of a scientist, speaks up.

“We can–” He starts hesitantly. “We can cut four pieces off the bottom and turn it into a square cake?”

“Yeah, that would work.”

“Good idea, Charlie.”

“Square cakes are better than round cakes anyway.”

“Cut it.”

Being the tallest and strongest of the bunch, Edmund proclaims himself the cake-cutter. Clutching the child-friendly cake knife with both hands, the boy tentatively approaches the giant pastry.

“Oh right, I’m doing it. Everybody stay back!” He warns the other children with the utmost seriousness of a specialised expert about to diffuse a bomb.

Four pieces are removed cleanly and divided among six children under Edmund’s careful incisions, explosion-free.

“Well, we know that the cake is not poisoned now.” muses Auggie, licking frosting off his fingers.

“Agree.” says Belinda absent-mindedly, taking a huge messy bite off the piece between her hands.

“That's because I smell out all the poison first.” exclaims Caroline with a mouthful.

“I guess I can put the cake away now.” says Edmund.

His suggestion is only met with dead silence, including his own. All six faces, smeared with frosting, are still directed at the cake, unspoken longing tangible in their eyes.

“It–” whispers Miles. “It doesn’t look as good as before, does it?”

“No. Now it looks all uneven.”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be the same shape all the way around.”

“So what do we do?”

“What if–” Edmund speaks up. He supposes, as the cake cutter, he ought to take charge in this matter, “what if I cut all the edges off and make it like a big round column?”

This decision is met with unanimous support.

In his peripheral vision, Miles notices Charlie carefully break off a piece of his second serving and put it away.

“Are you saving that for later?” Miles turns his gaze to the younger boy’s pant pocket, where the piece has just disappeared. Finding Charlie’s shirt has risen up over his belly, Miles pulls the hem back down for him. Don’t let your belly be cold , he remembers Amma said to him, whenever his shirt rolls up like Charlie’s has, before she kisses his belly and fixes his shirt so it covers him up again. Miles does not want to kiss Charlie’s belly. Belly kisses are for Mums and Dads only, he thinks. But the other thing Miles can do, unintentionally leaving a sticky handprint on the front of Charlie’s shirt while he is at it.

“No,” Charlie shakes his head. “This for Alex. He wants cake too I think.”

Miles considers it. Babies eat cake too?? He never thought about it like that. But if they do, won’t it be unfair for his Charlotte not to have cake, just because she cannot walk and ask for it like older children? Poor Charlotte, don’t be sad. I’ll bring you cake . He thinks this, then shoves a fistful of cake into his pocket as well, before finishing his share.

The second they take another sweet, spongy bite, both Miles and Charlie completely forget that they have cake in their pants.

“I’ll put the cake away now. Everybody get out.” Edmund shoos the rest of them out of the kitchen, and they comply happily. Their cherubic cheeks glisten with chocolate and cream, our children are content in a haze of sugary bliss, completely oblivious to the very visible evidence of their crime. For at least 30 minutes, the five get along swimmingly, synchronised in their energetic, glucose-fueled giddiness.

Until they start fighting again and realise that their usual, Edmund-sized mediator is nowhere around to mediate among them.

Without having to utter a word, all five rush back to the kitchen.

The cake that should have been returned to where it belongs in the fridge is still where they last saw it, Edmund has not yet moved it. In fact, he is still standing over it. The pastry now bears more resemblance toward an upside down bell than a column.

“Mun-Mun. What the heck?!” Miles yells, breaking his older brother out of his trance.

Realising what he has done, Edmund repacks and puts away the evidence in a flash of panicky blur. “Nobody tells my Dad!! Especially you , Miles!” he throws back a warning, before disappearing in a metaphorical, and even possibly literal, dust cloud, taking great advantage of the fact that none of the others can catch up with him.

Edmund’s original plan has been to excuse himself immediately after dinner, scurry off to his bed and pretend to be fast asleep. Unfortunately for him, however, their deeds are uncovered almost right away.

If the remnants of frosting and chocolate on the corners of their mouths have not already posed a line of questioning, the agonised cry of Charlie and Miles bursting into tears in discovering their thoughtful gifts melted into a mushy, sticky mess certainly would.

The ensuing chaos results in uproarious laughter among the adults. Even young Edmund’s and Miles’s Dad and Uncle Simon cannot hold back their chuckles. Grandma Violet doubles herself over in fits of giggles, her laugh lines crinkle. She sits the oldest four children down around her and recalls the story of how she meets Grandpa Edmund, a meeting that involves a blueberry pie heist.

Meanwhile, Kate and Benedict busy themselves with consoling their respective desolate child. Kate assures Miles that Charlotte is still too small for cake as she rocks him back and forth in her arms, as the boy grabs a fistful of her raven hair in his palm and sniffles into it.

Charlie needs a little bit more convincing.

“I– I really wanted to get Alex cake.” He manages to say between wet sobs into his Dad’s shoulder. “I really did!”

“I know, love.” Benedict strokes his hair and tucks the hem of his shirt back into his waistband. Another piece of clothing becomes too small. “That is so very kind of you. Alex knows that.”

“No he doesn’t!” Charlie shakes his head vehemently. “He a baby. He just knows if you give him things or not. He doesn’t know if you tried.” He clutches his Dad tighter. “He’ll think I hate him if everybody has cake and he doesn’t. And I don’t. I don’t hate him at all!”

What a smart, perceptive little thing his son is. Benedict wonders which one of them he gets that from.

“I assure you, mon petit loup , your brother knows you love him.” He wipes the tears off the boy’s face. They grow up so fast. Too fast . “He loves you too. And it’s not too late, you know? You can still give him cake now.”

Charlie pauses his sobbings to mull over that option. Oh right, he can do that. There is still cake left. The original piece he intended to reserve for Alex was better, or course, for obvious yet undecipherable reasons. But he supposes he can make up for it if his Dad helps him cut an even bigger slice.

Charlie gets to feed his some cake after all. Alex bounces giddily in Sophie’s lap, the taste of cake further strengthens Charlie’s idol position in his little heart.

As for Edmund, he never forgets the date of his birthday ever again.

And for all of them, their little group, the legend of The Cake on that fateful day would go on to feature in the toast at each of their subsequent weddings. It is implicitly agreed upon that none of them would let the others live it down.

#miles bridgerton #charles bridgerton #edmund bridgerton #alexander bridgerton #saphne #kathony #benophie #kanthony #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #violet bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #my writing

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everlastiingiimmortals · 8 months

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For Veturas (or to the mun if he can't answer smh), but other than your beloved wife: Are there any other gods/goddesses you consider friends? If not, then do you have a good opinion about them as an individual overall? Are there any you wouldn't mind making friends with?

THANK YOU!!! Unprompted. Always accepting!

The gyrfalcon stares unblinkingly at you from its perch on a branch. Moments pass. You shiver, waiting for an answer, but the silence stretches on. Your breath clouds in the frigid air. You feel stupid; maybe this animal is not the Winter God, but just an animal after all? What are you doing here, standing in the middle of a frozen forest talking to a bird in the hopes that it would respond to your naive questions? Asking a god about friends... The notion of its ridiculousness hits you suddenly and you huff, wiping the frost from your lashes and turning to leave. The snow crunches underneath your feet.

There's a flutter of feathers -- the falcon follows.

You've heard the stories. The abyssal gods are the cruel, unpredictable kind, and even the Cold One is not free of viciousness. Few dare to actually enter his domain, for fewer ever return alive. The raptor's gaze is sharp as it glides in lazy circles far above your head. You keep your eyes down, fixed on the trail of your own footsteps.

You are lucky the snowfall is not heavy, nor early. The prints have not filled in yet.

Just as you reach the edge of the forest, where the ice-covered altar of the Winter God quietly stands, the silver falcon swoops slow and wide, fluttering to a halt right beside the marble structure. Wings and tail become a cloak, feathers become skin and hair. He is tall, far taller than you anticipated. One hand seems chiseled out of Everice, matching the frozen pauldron on his shoulder. His hair is the same silver as the feathers that had adorned his body only moments prior, and the silverwood mask of a snow leopard obscures half his face. You find yourself wondering what color his eyes are -- people say many things: that he inherited the eyes of the Abyss like his brothers, that his eyes are the deepest blues of the most beautiful nymph to have ever lived, that his eyes are like ice crystals, and clear, that his eyes rival the Northern Lights themselves. Only when the head of Veturas, Father of the Auroras turns to you do you realize you are staring, and you quickly look towards the ground and grip your coat tighter, the blood roaring in your ears.

You are either very lucky, or about to die, standing just beyond the border of his domain.

There is silence once again.

Then the god sighs, and you feel it in your bones more than you hear it.

Friends... His voice is raspy and hoarse, as if unused for a long time. It reminds you of the shifting and echoing cracks of a lake that's been frozen solid. Only a mortal would ask that of a god. The words scrape around in your skull, bringing a headache. You feel as though you ate something cold, numbing the roof of your mouth. You steal a glance upwards; his lips do not move as he speaks.

When the gods laugh and celebrate, I slumber. When they bicker, I do not participate. When they call for me, I do not answer. I spurn the Sun with my wakefulness. The Wind lost parts of his domain to me. I have no interest in mingling with the arrogant and vengeful. Only to Spring do I yield; only Life do I greet.

The god steps forward soundlessly, and you feel the air chill further around you. You flinch and keep your gaze fixed to your feet as he brushes past like a frigid gust, heading into the forest. When you feel brave enough to look back, all that's left is the rattling of the trees in the wind. You still feel the throbbing pain of his voice in your head.

And only the Moon and Innocence do I love.

You remain rooted to the spot for a while before finding the will to move, stumbling forth on shaky legs back home. The sun is setting soon, but fortunately the wolves seem absent tonight.

Congratulations. You encountered Veturas, God of Winter, in a good mood. Next time you may not be so lucky.

#//everlasting; (IC)#//anima hiemalis; (VETURAS)#//an answer sought; (ASK)#Anonymous #((THANK YOU JADE UEUEUEUEUEUE))

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risustravelogue · 3 months

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Wriothesley is nothing, if not persistent.

Like a shark who smells a drop of blood in the water, he instantly locks onto any clue that could tell him where you are.

Even miles away in the land of Fontaine, the Duke of Meriopede has friends in unexpected places. There is nowhere you could hide. In the darkness or in the light, he can see it all.

When he's narrowed you down to the islands of Inazuma, he takes his time exploring.

His first stop? Jinren island.

Despite the Inazuma heat, Wriothesley is cold without you by his side. The icy look in his eyes is mirrored by the Cryo vision hanging on his clothes.

His patience wears thin as he's approached by vagrant Samurai. Wriothesley clenchs his fingers, triggering his gloves. His calm voice is at odds with the burning anger and frustration he feels in his chest. His eyes narrow down on the vagrant taunting him.

In an instant, Wriothesley seems to disappear, only to reappear a moment later, holding the vagrant by bunching the Yukata on his neck above the sand. The cryo vision in his gloves work overtime to keep the explosion of emotions he's feeling under control, but the ice begins to form a thin layer on his gloves.

"Tell me where she is."

Wriothesley, who's not afraid to make a deal with the devil, if it means he can protect what means the most to him.

(Haven't written like that in a while. Thanks for the inspiration there, Risu-mun. Anyway, I figure you'll be busy, so have this little drabble. I hope you enjoy it! Or not, because it's EBG season. Lol ;))

@i23kazu - here's my second submission. 340 words.

glad you like the inspiration, nonnie! and yes, I do enjoy this a lot. I await your next visit!!

also, I'm gonna call you ➖ (read: strikethrough) anon because I'm just so very creative with names- /silly

01. missing home

—here.

He’s a—. He won’t—danger—plans.

—Sleep tight.

A̷̞͎͗n̷̛̮͚̞͊̃d̶̤̈́͝ ̶̺̘̭͋̑̾I̷̜̟̯͗͆ ̶̳͕͂h̸̘̻͈͌̑́ỏ̴̡̗̪̑̕p̵̗̯̗͂e̶͚̰̅͐̕ ̵̡̨͚͇͚̈́̚y̸͇̳͙̏̊͗͝ͅŏ̸̞̓̊͐̒̋ủ̵͚̩̰̠̻̇̿͘͜'̵͖̎̈̃͆͒̆̿l̴̻̠̙̗͆̄̑l̴̟̖͙͙̗͂̽̈́ ̷̟̖̲̩̑r̶̨̖̘̂̆̕é̸̝͖͍̾͊m̴͈̱̈́̅e̸͕̕̕m̶̘͔͚̔͊b̸̜̳̬̰̮͋e̸̩̗͙̝̾̎̂͜͝r̵̜̍̚̚̚ş̷̨̭̭̯͉͙̱̱͔̥̍̂̈́̓̍̆o̶͈͙̜̦̜̳͊͠o̶̧̟̜͆̅̔̊ñ̶͍̰̳̙̉.̸̧̣̣̲̰̠̺̝̍͗̋̉̂͂͂̓̊̚

…̴͉̣͓̙̼͛ ̷̡̠̱̺̟̤̘̞͕̓̽̕-̵̡̫͇̥̥̱̅̉̒̂̎̎̒̽-̸̧̱̞͎̤͐̔̈́͋͒͠-̷̨͍̗́́͐͆͛̑́ ̸̢̹̻̺͈̬̲̔̈́̏̚-̶͖̰̗̺̳̥̠̂̔̀͑̕-̸̝̱͍̻͇̥͎̒̀͐̓̇̈́̕͠-̵̙̺̤̈́̓ ̴̢͕̩̗̪͎͙̮̪̒͆͂̿́-̵͕̤̗̭͊̃̅̀̃.̷̼̀̎̆̽̓͂͝͝

“Yo, imouto-ch—”

“Itto. Stop that.”

“Ei! So sassy,” Itto laughed. “Breakfast is ready. Let’s go eat! Granny Oni and Shinobu are already waiting for us.”

“Granny Oni? Huh… Is she an oni like you?”

He shook his head and grinned.

“Nah, she’s a regular human granny. She got that nickname when she adopted me,” he said. A tinge of sadness came into his crimson eyes.

“She must’ve endured lots and lots of hardships to raise me, and I’m forever grateful for that,” he mused.

The red-horned oni shook his head, as if shooing away the melancholy from his voice.

“Come on. Let’s go eat.”

She followed Itto to the dining area, where a young woman wearing a mask was preparing the utensils.

“Hello,” the young woman greeted, offering Kurisu her hand. “I’m Kuki Shinobu. You may not remember me, but I remember you.” Her eyes creased as she smiled. “Boss and I found you lying unconscious in the bushes nearby.”

Kurisu shook Shinobu’s hand as firmly as she could. “Thank you, Shinobu-san.”

Shinobu’s eyes widened. “Oh? You speak Inazuman? Are you from one of the other islands?”

Kurisu shook her head and blushed. “No, I’m actually from Sumeru. But I love reading light novels, so I know just a little of your language.”

“Ah,” Shinobu nodded. “They are indeed ambassadors of our culture.”

She took off her mask and put it in her waist bag, then gestured for Kurisu to sit down.

“Please, sit. And you can call me Kuki, miss…?”

“Call me Kurisu.”

The corner of Shinobu’s lips tweaked in amusement. “Spoken like a true fan of light novels,” she said.

After introducing herself to Granny Oni, Kurisu sat in one of the dining chairs. She observed the trio fondly as they chatted the morning away.

Itto saying nonsensical things.

Kuki sighing in exasperation at his ideas.

Granny Oni smiling, occasionally reprimanding her adopted son.

…

I miss Sumeru… I hope I can go home soon.

#kurisu plays ebg #genshinblr january ebg 2024 #ebg 2024/01 plot asks: ➖ anon #kurisu's ebg 2024/01 lore

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erictmason · 1 year

Photo

((Commission for @robotnik-mun featuring their “Deltarune” Original Character, his interpretation of the mysterious Knight. If you’d like a commission yourself, slots are open: https://gojira007.tumblr.com/post/168682813032/yup-finally-diving-into-this-wide-wacky-world ))

Everything is falling apart. Every wall, every sky, every moment. All things, time and space alike, are becoming broken within the great void that is only growing greater and stronger the more it pulls into itself.

And at its center, locked in combat, are two figures built in contrast. One small, the other large; one garbed in armor of glistening white, the other in mail of pitch black; one a Knight, the other a mere Child. Yet there was one link between them, a crimson light that burns in their eyes, and bursts out from the glistening Soul which floats above them, the one thing which pierced the storm of the void entirely.

“I know you can see it, but sight tells us so little!” The Knight bellows. “Can you hear it, O Vessel?” His question comes in a mocking tone as he brings his hardened fist down upon the child’s chest. “The sound of the glorious fire burning away all things at long last?”

The child’s only answer is to bounce back from the blow and slam their head right into the Knight’s, hard enough that the armor rings like an anvil struck by a hammer. “Yes, you can, can’t you?” the Knight retorts. “Or else you would not fight this fiercely.”

He grapples with the child, trying to pin their arms. “Fiercely, but in vain. This is not a battle to be won, O Vessel; this is not a scheme to be thwarted.” He takes the left arm in hand. “We are past that now.” He takes the right arm. “This is Truth, written in stone. Immutable.”

The child’s legs swing out and kick into the Knight’s plated sternum, forcing the Knight to release his grip and sending both combatants swirling along the spinning center of the void. The Soul crackles just a bit brighter. “Thrash about all you wish!” the Knight cackles as he balances himself. “It cannot be changed! The Fate to which we have both been bound from the moment our eyes first opened will be fulfilled!”

He leans forward, ready to lunge, but the child strikes first, a living shadow striking like a bolt of lighting. They strike again at the head, one hand grabbing onto the horn of the Knight’s helmet, and the other slamming into its faceplate. “Shut. UP!” the child speaks at last with a piercing voice. Again they strike the faceplate. “SHUT UP!” Again. “SHUT UP!” Again. “SHUT UUUUUUUUP!!!”

One last blow, and the plate dents, the helmet twists, and the head turns with it. “I don’t care!” the child spits out, using the horn to swing away from the Knight’s swiping hand. “I don’t care if it’s too late! I don’t care if you say it can’t be changed!” Their swing spins them back around, this time feet-first, right into the Knight’s neck. “Noelle’s out there, Susie’s out there, my family is out there!”

The Soul’s light grows brighter still.

“So I’ll fight!” A punch to the side of the head. “I’ll keep fighting!” A kick to the chin. “I’ll keep fighting like they can still be saved!”

The Knight pushes them back, lifting their hand to try and knock them away. And the child too readies another blow. “BECAUSE THAT IS THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS!”

And this time the Knight cannot stop a small tremble passing through his body. Because now he is the one who hears. He knows what that voice sounds like.

Not just a shout. A roar.

#undertale #deltarune #kris #kris dreemurr #original character #oc #fan art #Friend's OC #Robotnik-mun #ericthemason #my art

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the-expatriate · 1 year

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I'm sorry you're going through a loss, as a caregiver I cannot imagine how it must feel for you. Will you be okay, mun?

((Honestly, I don't know how I feel right now.

See, in my line of work, you do get attached to those in your care in a way. B was one of those ladies who when you supported her, it didn't feel like work at all. It felt like hanging out with a friend and given she'd been through so much, we'd built a connection.

For the first time, I'm not packing my bag to go to her place for my usual Monday shift and it doesn't feel right.

But the one thing I know above all else is that she's at peace now and I helped to make the almost nine years I was her caregiver to be as good as I could give.

She found her voice, learned to speak up for herself from me and that to me is what the best thing of all was.

So I'm not sure how I'll be. I know grief is messy and it isn't linear, so I guess it's a matter of carrying on. Which I plan to do.

Thanks for checking in, nonnie.))

#out of the blue: ooc post #tw bereavement #tw death mention #tw death #tw cancer mention #tw cancer #not safe for garek #tagging for triggers

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the-silver-peahen-residence · 2 years

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How about a Halloween drabble for Batman and Shdwkyz scaring some criminals ( the Jokerz or any supervillian ) by making them think they're in a horror movie? XD

((Hmmmm, that is a good idea for a drabble. Sure dear. I think i can think of something for these two. :3))

Silver butterfly mun/Peahen mom

"Shit, shit, shit, SHIT! Hurry up and run you idiots!" A few jokerz were running down some alleyway that was in a unknown hidden location. They was more of them to be honestly but it seems two of them got snatched by the darkness by something. A few of them had some injuries by something, blood dripping off of them to the ground as they ran by.

However, that's when some footsteps follows behind them with something above or swings by. They just kept running but hearing some deep scary chuckling within the dark. That's when one got tripped to hit the ground. He panicked trying to get up only to feel something grab his ankles to pull him back.

His screams was loud as he disappeared to only hear a chill silence within the dark. Another got trapped by something like sticky webs but was looking seeing the others running.

"Hey wait! Help me! I don't want to die! Help me-AHHHHH!!" he was taken next leaving just 3 more members. The laughter growing louder behind them.

"!?" They keep running before hurrying into a building of a warehouse to slam the door and lock it. The members were panting tired from running but they were looking down.

"What the hell happened? We lost two of the guys!" J said but sees the others too nervous to speak seeing them look down.

"We don't know! Something just grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him back! We couldn't see who it was!!!" A squeak was heard only for him to sigh looking around nervous.

"Damn it. I bet this is their doing but...it could be anything. But we should be safe in here." He said to the group that sighed in relief they got away safe. Oh they were so wrong. As they were relaxing, a loud hiss was heard in the dark making them tense up afraid. Did it follow them!!!

They look around keeping together but J glares. "Come on out! Were not scared of you!!!" he said but that's when he sees something move within the dark as the other Jokerz got more scared knowing something was here.

'Awwwww, what's wrong? Scared of the dark????'

'Were just having a little fun. Don't be afraid..yet.'

Two voices were speaking in the dark but they backed up seeing something to hand upside down. The glowing yellow eyes looks down at the group before they backed up to see it swinging left and right. The grey gloves clawing against the wall hissing at them. Their was even something behind them spreading it's wings screeching at them.

They got more scared to keep around one another before one slowly steps back into a trap that shows of a grey scarf. Seconds later, he got pulled up by the ankle into the dark screaming afraid. This made the two remaining Jokerz scream afraid.

"Run! Just run!!" the two ran in different directions screaming as the ones that started this little horror movie game was Shdwkyz with batman who saw them all run to chuckle and look at one another.

"Seems they seriously is buying this. Wanna keep messing around with them?" He saw Nightwing the bat on his shoulder but he saw Batman agree.

"Yeah, I'm up since it is a scary night. Lets get em good." he said seeing the two go off in different directions. In moments, the warehouse was full of terrified screaming and louder laughter.

#OOC #scattered silver rose petals #ask answered #mun answered #silver butterfly mun #peahen mom #the mansion owner #Batman and Shdwkyz #the bat and the snake #halloween drabble #short drabble #demon-blood-youths #the fractions of NYC #peahen writer

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cffidelityy · 5 months

Text

ooc.

So, as most of you know activity for me has been sporadic over the last few days. I'll admit there's been a lot of personal stuff going on lately that's kept me from being on, not to mention providing a general lack of muse. However, life has finally started to die down and I feel like I can be on semi-consistently again.

That being said, this blog is about to go under a lot of changes. I'm going to be changing up the tags, rules, theme, making a new interest tracker and some other things over the next couple of days so be on the lookout for all of that.

Also, while I love each and every one of you. I am going to be going on a small unfollowing/soft-blocking spree. Please know that unfollow does not mean unfriend. I just like to keep a tidy dash and make sure I am following people who actually want to interact with me.

So, if you want to stay around PLEASE INTERACT WITH THIS POST! Of course, there are exceptions ( you know who you are).

Remember I love you guys, this is just for my mental health. Tumblr is supposed to be a fun place!

#;out of fidelity {ooc}#;a voice from above {mun speaks}#;shout it from the rooftops {psa}

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musesofchaos · 8 months

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Okay but let’s all be real for a moment.

SP has to be the main reason why a lot of fans hate Sakura. They constantly demean her, make her rude and mean as fuck, take out moments where she does something important and even went so far as to change the original design Kishimoto had for her.

If they ACTUALLY followed the manga to a T, I’m pretty sure there wouldn’t be as many Sakura haters as there is today.

#voice from above (mun speaks)#ooc #anti studio pierrot #//don’t mind me #//just on another anti SP/Sakura deserved better speil

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goddessoffidelityy · 1 year

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ooc.

I’m highly considering moving blogs, so can you guys could do me a favor?

Please give this post a like if you would still continue to follow me if/when I move.

Thanks lovelies! <3

#;out of fidelity {ooc}#;a voice from above {mun speaks}

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littlebutternattie · 2 years

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Send a word or the name of a place, and the mun will write out a scene from their muse’s memories of that word or place.

𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐥 - @imnotsiho (@loveysick)

📁: 2021年

TW: mental instability (anxiety attacks, breakdown)

╔═════ ∘◦ ✾ ◦∘ ══════╗

just as the sun sets before night officially covers everyone in massive darkness; the scorching globe diving into the depths of the universe to create passage for the moon to revel in its mysterious and glowingly ephemeral spotlight, natsuki could feel herself slowly being engulfed by a shadowy veil.

she can feel it steadily taking over the light that used to settle above her head like a halo. like a lion on the low with movements that were smooth yet predatory, creeping inch by inch until her vision blurs.

inhaling deeply, the woman glanced at the clock by her bedside, the numbers on it blinking an inhumane 12:55 am. so much time has passed. there was no use sitting up at this point, her body refused to anyway, as if it had surrendered its power and capacity to her restless mind. a dangerous transformation befalling in it, and the gears worked overtime to feed her emotions with unwelcomed toxicity.

it was not anything new to her, and yet, every single time these attacks came, they felt like she kept drowning much further in them. all the progress she strived to make disappeared in a poof. whenever she would try to swim out of it, the harsh waves would cruelly extend their flow to every valley and crevice that could have been her safe haven. If only her fingers could merely scrape at them. the obscurity of the once unknown successfully pulling her back like an unhealthy attached cord wrapped around her ankles.

down, down, down, she went.

a choked sob resonated in the room, her chocolate brown eyes that once held life were now brimming with endless tears. her usual, composed stature now curled up like a newborn under the sheets, chest constricting in agony, and she had to try breathing or it will be the end of her.

that cannot happen. not yet.

the darkness began to speak, conjuring up voices she knows by heart. even the warmth that used to emanate from them was gone and replaced with taciturnity, all questioning her existence and self-worth.

of all people, why must you be my child? STOP.

what are you working so hard for? you do realize you can be easily replaced, right? NO. NO.

hands rose from the sheets, gentle fingers turning rough as they pulled at her hair.

you have been cursed. no one will love you. how could they when there is nothing about you that is worth loving? PLEASE.

they are much better off without you in their lives. stop chasing them! I AM BEGGING YOU.

just accept it. you are meant to be alone, natsuki. PLEASE STOP.

malevolent laughter followed suit, echoing in the air to announce their departure, fading into the background like they were never there, satisfied with the view of her vulnerable, shaking form that had lost all coherency.

with tear stricken cheeks and a heaving chest, natsuki willed her body to sit and scrambled for the top drawer of her bedside table. fishing out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter she meticulously hid under piles of documents.

after some puffs of smoke, the world has cleared out and her shoulders dropped in exhaustion.

tomorrow will be a new day.

╚═════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ══════╝

#{ .⋅ ☂ ⋅. 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. }#⚠️ 𝐭𝐰: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲.

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goddessoffidelityy-a · 4 years

Text

MOVED

(ooc.) WE HAVE FINALLY FINISHED MOVING!!

I know that moving this stupid blog took forever, but it’s finally done!

So you can now find me at @goddessoffidelityy, hope to see you guys there!

#;a voice from above {mun speaks}#;out of fidelity {ooc}#;throughout the realm {psa}

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ask-the-eu6 · 2 years

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So, can all of you sing the European Anthem? Or is it just the German-speaking countries who can get the words right? Also: who’s the best singer?

Germany: *Takes a deep breath*

“Alle Menschen werden Brüder, wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt… “

Germany: *Waits a bit before deciding to continue with a little smile*

Belgium: …

Luxembourg: …

Germany: Oh come on, say something… That wasn’t so bad now was it.

Belgium: Hey you free for dinner tonight? I need someone to serenade me to sleep :)

Luxembourg: Sister, please behave!

Luxembourg: But uh yes, Germany that was incredible! You have an amazing voice!

Germany: Thank you… *Flattered*

Netherlands: Alright, alright, prick. Let’s hear it.

France: But with pleasure, mon cher! *blows him a kiss*

Netherlands: Hmmmpf... *rolls his eyes*

France: I’m ready! (Link to the song)

Belgium: Awww, “Let's be united like brothers, with a kiss to the whole world.” That’s so sweet!

Germany: Impressive... If only he put that much work in things that actually matter... *sighs*

Luxembourg: But, Germany, Isn’t joy in Europe important?

Germany: Fine. Fine.

Romano: How typical that you had to make it gay again.

France: Try to do better then~

France: *coughs* SIMP! *coughs*

Romano: *Glares in France’s direction, before breathing in* (Link to the song)

Netherlands: *slow clap* That was actually pretty damn amazing!

Romano: *Blushing bright red* Shut up potato bastard number two!

Belgium: Damn, the second! But yes that was incredible! A lovely version! I also like the version in Latin though...

Italy: *takes Belgium’s hand* Want me to sing that for you, Bellissima?

Belgium: Oh, that would be lovely! *fans self*

Luxembourg: *sighs* female privilege.

Italy: *takes a deep breath* (Link to song)

Germany: Another beautiful version *wipes away a tear*

Italy: Thank you Germany! :D

Luxembourg: I think that except for my sister and brother, you all have beautiful singing voices that are hard to compare! Perhaps we should indicate the worst singer?

Belgium: Don’t you dare…

France: Oh no! the worst possible version I have ever heard was from dear Angleterre as seen here: X

Germany: Yes. uhm… That sure is something…

Luxembourg: Ahahaha yeah alright. You’re not the worst, sis!

Belgium: You little shit! Anyway thank you for your ask!

Some Mun Notes and extra stuff below the cut!

SO how did you like that european propaganda? ;)

Alright so the official English translation (although there are multiple English translations… ) is the following:

Oh friends, no more of these sounds! Let us sing more cheerful songs, More full of joy!

Joy, bright spark of divinity, Daughter of Elysium, Fire-inspired we tread Thy sanctuary! Thy magic power reunites All that custom has divided; All men become brothers Under the sway of thy gentle wings. Whoever has created An abiding friendship, Or has won A true and loving wife, All who can call at least one soul theirs, Join in our song of praise! But any who cannot must creep tearfully Away from our circle. All creatures drink of joy At nature’s breast. Just and unjust Alike taste of her gift; She gave us kisses and the fruit of the vine, A tried friend to the end. Even the worm can feel contentment, And the cherub stands before God! Gladly, like the heavenly bodies Which He set on their courses through the splendor of the firmament; Thus, brothers, you should run your race, As a hero going to conquest. You millions, I embrace you. This kiss is for all the world! Brothers, above the starry canopy There must dwell a loving Father. Do you fall in worship, you millions? World, do you know your Creator? Seek Him in the heavens! Above the stars must He dwell.

There’s also some interesting versions of the anthem out there, some weirder or more modern than others!

Belgian Mun’s absolute favourite, “never fails to make her cry”-version of the European anthem is the following Flashmob around the time of the Lisbon treaty: X DO LISTEN TO THIS ONE!!!!!

An honorable mention for this X multilingual version… However the French and German pronunciation leave to be desired. Luckily the singer apologises in the notes of the video, lol!

Regarding interesting linguistic versions, there is also a version in Esperanto here X, which is a made up language with a combination of rules and word forms from all the European languages.

Here’s an interesting version in English as well… X I believe it was sung by Albanians which is why the accent doesn’t sound native. Still it’s pretty cool because it is a rock version!

Another Rock version here X! With what I believe is Croatian at the end? Is the following:

Then some honourable mentions:

This one by André Rieu, because he’s a musical genius. X

This version with 10 000 Japanese people! X

Ode to Joy but it’s by the Muppets! X

This one but it is sung by cats :3 X

This X bastardisation by the Piano Guys who combined it with “Joy to the world”

And lastly this covid version by this Dutch orchestra who did it over zoom! X

Okay! You’d think I would have gotten tired of the melody after hearing it so often ;) And trust me it’s been stuck in my head for two whole days. YET I AM NOT TIRED OF IT! I adore the European anthem. :D

So yeah... Thank you for your ask dear!

#Hetalia eu #aph France #Aph Germany #APh Italy #APH Belgium #aph Luxembourg #Aph South Italy #Aph ROmano #Aph The Netherlands #Political hetalia #Historical hetalia #in a way.....

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