#[ verse / ribbons of green and black ]

[clutchofmuses]

❝ i’ve never loved anyone the way i love you. ❞ for helaena from jace

Helaena hums from where she lays on the dark sand on the shore of Dragonstone. They're watching the dragons laze about in the sky. Dreamfyre keeps to the sky surrounded by the smaller dragons. Vermax keeps close to her up there and she wonders what it would be like to ride with Jace when his dragon is big enough for two riders. At least he does not mind that her dragon is bigger.

"Never?" she asks with a light smile, reaching up to tug on one of his curls and wrap it around her fingers. Not enough to truly hurt, but enough for him to feel it. "Not even with your dragon?" The sand sticks to her bare shoulders, the salt water drying along the bottom of her chemise. She'd forgone her dress for exploring the tidepools. Her mother would scream about indecency, but she doesn't care. Mother is not here. It is only her and Jace, and Jace has seen every part of her. "I suppose I could say the same." She tugs him down by his hair, lifts up to press a kiss to his nose.

[snek-panini]

This is the final book from the batch I started in April, and look how cute it is! This is London Calling by forthegreatergood, a Good Omens fic set around the end of the cold war. It's definitely a TV!verse fic, not a book fic, but it does a quite good job capturing the feel of the time when the book first came out. It's got pining, and spies, and politics, and actual real grown-up conversations about feelings, and an optimistic ending even if it isn't a happily-ever-after.

The cover up there is a printed lokta paper that I got from...probably Hollander's but it's been a while. It was a total impulse buy and for a long time I kept trying to find stories that would fit it but I kept failing until I settled on this one. The print is metallic, but it phases between gold and silver and copper, so I chose a subdues rose gold metallic htv on the spine, over green book cloth for reinforcement.

More photos under the cut!

I've only just noticed that the photo of the endpaper is blurry, but since it's a simple unadorned green I'm not too fussed about it. I love fancy endpapers but was afraid that whatever I chose would fight with the cover, and I really wanted the cover to be the star here. Machine-made black and white endbands, and a plain black ribbon for the bookmark. In this top view photo you can see one of the most annoying things I've dealt with in all the 50-ish books I've made. One of the center pages in this book wouldn't print correctly no matter what I did. I kept getting one sheet with a single printed half-side (one book page) and one sheet with one fully printed and one half printed side (three book pages), instead of the thing I was supposed to get, which is two fully printed sides (for book pages). I tried every formatting trick I could find and got the same result every time, and I still don't know why. Eventually I just cut off the single page and pasted it in place on the blank part of the three-page sheet, but it didn't turn out too well and the paper is wiggly. I cannot fix this. It is unfixable. So I've just rolled with it and accepted that things that are handmade are going to have quirks. This one's just got a more obvious quirk than most.

Title page and first page of the fic. I wanted to keep it fairly simple and un-ornamented because I don't think opulence suits this fic. So it's not exactly austere, but it shouldn't be ornate either. Some fics are ornate, some just aren't. The feather thing on the title page was originally a scene break divider for another fic I bound, and it was put together with free vectors from I think vecteezy. Like many Good Omens fics, there's a wing grooming scene in this one, so it felt appropriate. The graphic didn't get to shine too well last time I used it because scene break images have to be pretty small, and I think the larger size I was able to use here suits it better.

Overall, in spite of its challenges, I think this book came together really well and I'm proud of it. It's sweet and interesting and I think it suits the fic, and I couldn't really ask for better than that.

[clutchofmuses]

Helaena did not think it would be like this. She did not think it could be soft, and warm, and gentle, not when she'd known only the mercurial nature of her brothers. She did not think it could be light and teasing like this, like how Abby and Aegon furtively whispered beneath the bushes in the garden when she caught them once. She did not think she could have this, had mother gotten her way.

She sighs into his kiss and her body melts into him, a soft thing, like a wriggly something she's found in the tidepools with little Joffrey. Laughter escapes her in a breath and Jace swallows it whole, as he chases all of her sounds.

"You make me happy," she whispers against his mouth. "I don't need a dream to see that.

@clutchofmuses continued from here!

"never," he repeats, softly and almost shyly, as she tugs on his hair. sometimes, he still finds himself nervous to be with her like this, as if her favourite butterflies live in his stomach rather than the rare patches of flowers among the stoney shore of dragonstone. he can't help but feel silly for feeling nervous about it, all things considered, but he does anyway and will never admit it, or at least he does not plan to.

he shakes his head slightly at her question, pulling his curl from her fingers. "not even with vermax," he says softly. vermax has been with him since he was first placed into his cradle, growing alongside each other as the years pass, but his love for his dragon will always be much different from what he feels for helaena. there will never be anyone else he feels this way for, of this, he is sure. "you only suppose," he teases her softly as he leans into her touch as she pulls him down to press her lips to his nose. "i think you may have missed," he breathes out, his hand settling on her cheek as he leans further in to press his lips softly against hers.

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

A Fragment of My Soul

“Come on, Antoine! Cooperate! Help me with this!” The older woman raised her eyes at the sky, as if to ask God to grant her the patience that she was so sorely lacking. “No, Colette, no. I told you already, I am not convinced by all of…this.” Colette, ever stubborn, brought her hands on her hips, puffing her chest up. “And I told you that it will work! Trust me, sister: they have been dancing around the whole issue for MONTHS now! At this pace, they will never declare to one another! They just need a little push from us! Their Cupids in the flesh!” Colette’s golden eyes twinkled with benevolent mischief at those last words. Antoine gave her younger sister a long look, before turning to peak out of the window that faced the courtyard of the small house: emerald green fronds welcomed her inquisitive eyes, pomegranate trees and an entire orange and lemon orchard with their branches reaching toward the sky, bountiful with ripe fruits that just waited to be picked. There, almost hidden away from the view, she could see an easel and canvas standing beneath the pomegranate tree and just behind it, a solitary painter working on his artwork, his dark leonine hair tied with a black ribbon. She needn’t her eagle vision to know who that was.

Antoine draw a sigh as a profound crease appeared between her brows. “It’s too risky, Colette. We have no means to know if what you are concocting will go well. What if…what if she’ll break his heart? What if you are wrong, and she doesn’t reciprocate his feelings in the same manner he does? You have seen him: he is completely lost for her, worse than he has ever been for…for that salope that almost killed him. If she were to reject him or toy with his feelings-” She flexed her hand instinctively, allowing the hidden blade to slither out from under her wrist.

Colette’s eyes widened at that sudden display of aggressiveness, and gently grabbed her sister’s arm, making her retract the blade.

“Peace, Antoine! I beg of you! Dorlé would never hurt Mathias! She has a kind heart and a gentle soul.”

“So did Emmanuelle, and we were all fooled by her angel’s face and sweet duplicitous words,” Antoine growled through bare teeth. Mentioning that name alone made her want to spit in the ground. Even after so many years, Antoine’s rage still burned as hot as a vulcano, never relenting, only growing in strength.

Colette sighed, her eyes turning sad and took a peak out of the window, until she saw her brother as well.

“I can understand your reticence in showing trust to anyone that would get closer to Mathias, Antoine. I truly do. But let me ask you this: do you trust me? Do you trust my judgment?”

Antoine’s shoulders slumped.

“Of course, pollita. You know I trust you,” she whispered, wrapping an arm around Colette’s shoulders, in a sweet hug.

“Then trust me when I tell you that Dorothea is not Emmanuelle. Her feelings for Matis are sincere and of the most profound nature; she made me intend as much when I tried to ask her. And if this isn’t enough to convince you, I found an entire folder of poems that she had written, and while I am not one to snoop-“

Colette giggled at the face her sister’s made: they both knew she was lying and was never able to keep her nose out of others’ business.

“-Well, I do snoop around, but it’s ALWAYS for a good cause! Such as in this case! Antoine, I read those poems, and trust me when I tell you that even you would have versed a tear, and have no further doubt of the sincerity of her feelings for him! Dorlé wrote poems upon poems for Matis, and never showed them to anyone! What cause would she have to write them, if not because her soul is pining for him to love her in return?”

Antoine stood silent for a moment, her eyebrow raised as she pondered: if what Colette was saying was true - and she never had reason to believe her sister a liar, especially when Mathias was concerned- then that strange English woman that had come from another time altogether might truly be harboring sincere feelings for her brother.

Feelings that, she knew, Mathias needed like the soil needed water to in spring to bear fruit in summer, after his heart had been broken by Emmanuelle.

“Trust me, Antoine: Dorlé is utterly besotted with Mathias. She is just… an absolute disaster in showing him how she feels!”

Antoine could barely contain a muffled giggle, the one that only her sister’s harsh honesty could bring out of her.

“If that's the case, then, they are perfect for each other,” she conceded, thinking about how much Mathias himself, while proficient with his words when matters of the Brotherhood were concerned, was utterly clueless when it came to the words his own heart whispered to him.

When she turned to look at Colette, she saw her sister still staring at her, expectantly.

“Very well, gordita, we will do it your way.”Antoine raised her hands in defeat, letting out a throaty laughter. “What do you propose?”

Colette return the laughter, her face plastered with the intriguing smile she always had whenever she was up to some mischief.

“You know that Mathias has been working on a painting, recently?”

“Of course I do. I haven’t been able to access your part of the garden ever since he has started painting under your pomegranate tree.”

Colette nodded with understanding, before speaking.

“And do you know the subject?”

“No, Colette, I don’t. You know how private he is about his own creations. I never asked him to share anything he didn’t want to, and I’m surely not starting now.”

“Well, I just so happen to have snooped aroun-“

“COLETTE!”

“It’s for a good cause!”

Antoine sighed, raising her eyes to the sky and shaking her head.

“Lord give me patience with this one. Very well. What of the painting?”

“We need for Dorlé to see it. She needs to see it! If she sees it and Mathias finds her there, they will finally talk to each other about their feelings! I know it.”

Antoine’s lips thinned in a contrite frown.

“You want to put them in a corner.”

“You can call it this way. I prefer “they will finally face what everybody that is not blind can see!”"

The Master Assassin crossed her arms, shaking her head.

“It’s a gamble, Colette.”

“No, Toinette,” she smiled again. “It’s a leap of faith. And we’ll need Xavier to be our scapegoat,”

Antoine produced a sound halfway between a snort and a chuckle, but Colette knew, from the look she gave her, that she had finally managed to convince her sister.

“As if I needed any more incentive. Lead the way, baby sister: let’s make this happen.”

Mathias raised his face to the sky, his dark inquisitive eyes scouring through each soft cloud that swam against the darkening empyrean vault of that summer sunset.

From where he stood - hidden away in a small corner of the back courtyard, just underneath Colette’s favourite pomegranate tree- he could see the green valley and peaks that surrounded Granada, and, if he tended his ears a little more, he could hear the playful sound of the nearby brook as it bubbled down toward the valley, its cascading rhythm a lullaby for the soul.

Mathias closed his eyes, allowing himself to take a deep relaxed breath, feeling the fresh wind of the upcoming evening brush his dark locks and tickling the skins of his arms like the most gentle of caresses.

So rarely he allowed himself to roll up his sleeves, whenever he was out in the open; so rarely he allowed himself to bare the skin of his arms, a mangled spectacle of scar tissue that extended from his hands to his neck, encompassing the entirety of his back and stomach.

With an almost defeated chuckle, as he cleaned his brushes in a water-filled glass, he could almost hear Antoine scolding him for hiding them and then, as she usually would, starting a tirade about how those scars were the reason Colette was still alive, and that he deserved to be celebrated for what they represented, rather than being made to hide away as if he were some form of grotesque monster.

Mathias knew better than to argue with Antoine over that, remaining in silence until his twin sister was done with her tirade. But eventually, he would always resort to cloak his whole body from the rest of the world, much like he did with his heart. He couldn’t bear to have others to look at him with pity.

He stopped his thoughts in their track, his lips thinning in a sour grimace as the truth show itself to his face: he could bear the world’s piety upon him, if he had to.

It was the thoughts of her eyes looking at him in horror that made him want to cloak himself.

With a quick nervous gesture, he washed the brush one by one, trying to erase those doubts from his tormented mind. The familiar routine helped him calm down, if only for a few seconds, as he dried the brushes against a thick rag he had hanging from his breeches, completely unbothered by the stains of colours that were decorating his garments.

They were a small price to pay for what those pigments were contributing in creating.

e looked at the canvas in front of him, quickly examining once more, and held his breath as he looked straight into the eyes of the young woman portrayed on the canvas: such peculiar shade of blue that loved to play with the light, sometimes tending to the silver, like the reflection of the moon in a pond, sometimes tending to the warmer hue of the periwinkles that grew in the meadow around their home.

But there was more than that: mirth hidden in the small crease underneath the lower lid, wonderment in the shine of the light against the blue…the most profound of love in the entirety of her gaze.

With a long sigh, he wished he had the courage to ask her to sit still in front of him for just a moment, so that he could drink from her eyes and see within them all that his soul yearned for.

But he couldn’t.

And would never bare his feelings for her.

Not ever.

She was a woman of genteel disposition, it was evident in the way she moved, in the way she addressed others.

He had nothing to offer to her, but the love from his broken damaged heart.

And despite the verity of his feelings for her, he knew they were not enough.

He was not enough.

“MATHIAS!”

A loud, brash voice - Antoine’s - called for him, all the way from across the courtyard. He took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping: her tone of voice didn’t promise anything good. But he was somewhat grateful for his sister to have stopped his mind from spiraling. Nothing like Antoine’s own anger to distract him from his self-pitying. He raised his eyes, only to meet his twin’s, who was standing at the window of her room at the second floor.

“WHAT?” he shouted back.

“XAVIER HAS DONE ONE OF HIS MISCHIEF AGAIN AND I NEED YOU UPSTAIRS!”

It took all of Mathias’ willpower not to huff in exasperation.

“WHAT FOR, TOINETTE? AM I XAVIER’S GOVERNESS, REQUIRED TO LOOK AFTER HIM AS IF HE WERE A CHILD? I FAIL TO SEE HOW I CAN HELP.”

“IT’S FOR HIS OWN GOOD THAT I’M CALLING YOU HERE. LESS CHANCES OF ME SKEWING THIS PENDEJO AS HE PROPERLY DESERVES. DON’T MAKE ME COME DOWNSTAIRS AND TAKE YOU BY THE SCRUFF OF YOUR NECK. COME INSIDE. NOW.”

He rolled his eyes, snorting.

So much for peace and quiet.

If only Xavier didn’t have the penchant on getting on Antoine’s nerves doing precisely what she always asked him NOT to do.

He turned to look one last time at the painting in front of him, and smiled again with the sweetness that that particular work of his always brought out of him.

“What would I give to see this look on your face, instead of this canvas…” he thought, wishing to be able to find the courage to say those words out loud.

Then, squaring his shoulders as if to take courage, he took the dirt path that would take him back to the house, even if his heart was still anchored to the canvas and easel underneath the pomegranate tree.

“OH NON, NON, NON! PUTAIN DE BORDEL DE MERDE!”

Dorothea’s eyes widened like two saucer plates when she heard the string of profanities leaving Colette’s mouth, as she raised her eyes from the small cloth she was embroidering.

“C-Colette? Are you alright? In Heaven’s name, what is going on?”

The dark haired woman was onto her before she had the chance to even stand, offering a taste of a dark, dense mixture.

“Taste it, Dorlé!”

Doing as she was told to, Dorothea took a tiny sample of that mixture, as the sweet taste touched her tongue.

“It-it is delicious, Colette!”

“It is A DISASTER!” she babbled, taking away the spoon before Dorothea had the chance to taste it again. “I knew Xavier would mess this up! I KNEW IT!”

When Dorothea saw Colette throwing her arms up in the sky in an exasperated gesture, she furrowed her eyebrows, concerned.

Leaving the embroidery work on the soft wicker chair where she was sitting, she reached her, taking the taller woman by the shoulders- something easier said than done, considering how much taller Colette was compared to herself.

“Colette, deep breath. Deep breath, my darling,” she whispered, guiding the friend in the same was she usually guided herself. “What happened that sent you in a spell? Whatever concoction you gave me, it was as delicious as always?”

Colette took another deep breathe, shaking her head in silent disagreement.

“Dorothea, ma louloutte,” she started, her voice almost condescending.”I appreciate your reassurance, but not even your sweet words can actually hide the fact that the sauce was a complete disaster! Xavier has messed up because when I asked him SPECIFICALLY to bring me pomegranates from my own favourite tree and he didn’t. He lazied off -as always-“ she added, snorting with impatience. “And brought me the first pomegranates he found. Just wait until I have my hands on him…”

Dorothea let out a nervous chuckle.

“You could…tell the difference between pomegranates?”

Colette’s lips stretched in a proud smirk.

“Of course I can, Dorlé! It’s my job knowing and being able to discern the difference! The same way your ear can discern a note that doesn’t flow with the rhythm of the song, so my taste buds know when something is wrong with the dish!”

Dorothea smiled back, nodding in understanding.

“I can see what you mean. But what will you do now?”

Colette’s smile widened, her eyes now twinkling mischievously.

“Now, my darling Dorlé, I need your help to rectify this mistake, because otherwise my sauce will be inedible and I cannot stand for it! Mathias asked for his favourite dish tonight, and I cannot cook it WITHOUT the sauce from my pomegranate tree!”

Dorothea blinked and she felt her cheek flushing at Mathias’ name.

“I-that would be an immense shame indeed.” she fumbled between a whisper and another, as she always did whenever she thought about the gallant man. Mathias never asked for anything for himself, not even when it came to something as simple as food. But, every once in a while, when the mood stroke him, he would quietly request to his sister if she could cook for him his favourite savory dish, and Colette would never refuse.

Noticing that Colette was staring at her, with a knowing expression on her face, Dorothea blushed even more and tried to clear her throat.

“We cannot allow for this to happen, Colette.”

“Ahhh, the words I wanted to hear from you, ma cocotte! And that is why I need you - who I know would never fail now that you know what’s at stake - to bring me those godforsaken pomegranates!” But before Dorothea had the chance to even agree with her, Colette had already put a whisker basket in her hands and was gently pushing her toward the door in the back of the kitchen.

“Hurry, ma chére! Or tonight we won’t eat!”

Dorothea gave her a soft look and a smile, before she turned on her heels and trotted down the grassy meadow that brought to the back of the courtyard, barefoot as she always was ever since the summer had arrived in the Kingdom of Spain.

She smiled with herself, as she went through what just happened, a smile that only Colette always managed to get out of her, with her vibrant personality.

She actually admired how punctilious the young cook always was whenever she cooked.

Dorothea couldn’t feel any difference in quality in the sauce that Colette had her sample compared to what she usually cooked for them, but the young woman always sworn that the fruit her favourite pomegranate tree bore was the only one that would give the results she was looking for.

Dorothea hadn’t see fit to debate with that, for her knowledge in that regard was naught.

She has learned, in the couple of years spent with the De Beaumont, NEVER to discuss nor contradict Colette in matter of food. The young cook was imperative in the way she moved around the kitchen - an Empress in her own right - and Dorothea was always happy to play the obliging vassal to her every whim.

She was the best of friends, most loyal of them all, and they have grown as close to each other as if they had been born sisters from the same mother and father.

Chirping her low tune, a lullaby that Byron often sang to her when in Dover, she took a turn toward the corner of the garden that Colette had suggested.

Dorothea noticed that the hamper was not as heavy as it had been when they first arrived in Granada.

Before meeting the De Beaumonts - before falling down that fracture of time that had brought her to a different era altogether- Dorothea never had any reason to do menial work: her lady mother didn’t deemed it proper of a woman of her station, and her father never allowed her to, telling her to leave all the tasks to the staff of the house.

And now instead, it was an integral part of her every day routine.

Waking up early, when the sun was just about to cross the horizon, to wash the garments in the clean waters of the river; caring for the horses that belonged to Mathias and Antoine; picking the vegetables from the garden that Mathias tended, when his obligation with the Brotherhood weren’t imperative.

She looked at one of her palms, and saw the callouses that never went away, no matter how strong she scrubbed them with pumice or how long she soaked her hands in warm water and rose oil. Her hands had become rougher, not as soft as when she was still in 1868.

She thought about how her Lady mother would probably recoil at that sight, so improper, so unbecoming of her.

Her limbs as well had grown stronger, toned, and she has become more agile than she ever had any reason to be.

Tending to the chores in the morning, spending her afternoons riding with Mathias and Xavier in the glorious Andalusian countryside contributed to it, and Colette’s own nutritious cuisine helped as well and, she reckoned, not being constrict by her crinolines all day and being free to run around as much as she wanted had also a reason to it.

A simple life, far different from the one her parents had prospected for her: a life spent one gala to the other each evening of her young womanhood, twirling in the arms of strangers who were after her title and money; eventually married to one of the strangers her family deemed worthy of her, someone that would bring honour to the Order as well as wealth that would render them all richer; then, at last, Mistress of the House and mother to frolicking children that would, one day, follow in her footsteps and belong to the Order as well.

A much simpler life indeed, but one she had grown to love for all the joys it brought her, despite the everyday difficulties that it presented.

Dorothea smiled, with a tinge of melancholy: thinking about her previous life made her wonder how Phillip and Charles were faring…before she caught herself and remembered that they didn’t exist yet. It was such a strange feeling whenever she stopped to think about it, thinking of them as only distant in place, rather than separated by Father Time itself.

With trembling fingers and a chasm of pain opening in her breast, she touched the locket around her neck and brought it to her lips, giving it a long kiss, as she always did whenever she felt that treacherous sadness wrench her heart in a grip cold as ice against the skin.

It was the only memento she had that her family ever existed.

Despite having had two whole years to adjust to it, she knew she would never come to terms that all those smiling faces did not yet exist anywhere in the world.

Her mother and father and Byron would be born in more than 20 years from now.

Her cousins in almost 50 years.

Would she meet them again? And what about herself? Would she be born again?

What would happen in 1868, if by Gods will, she was still alive by then? Would two Dorotheas exist at the same time?

And who would be the real Dorothea? The one that had fallen in the past? Or the one that was yet to be born?

What would happen if she were to go back to London and meet herself?

Each time she tried to unravel all of that -all the ramification of her being dragged back in time- she felt a headache drilling in her brain and a rusted nail twisting without mercy into her heart.

“Stop it, Dorothea,” she thought, wiping away a small tears that was threatening to fall from her eyes. “Just stop it. Focus on the present. Focus on what you have now,”

And so she did, stopping in her track for a moment to catch a deep breath and cleanse her thoughts. And when she allowed her mind to ground itself to the present, she found her way through the dark moors of her mind, through the brambles that still scratched mercilessly against her skin, guided by the splendor of the full moon that set her life alight each night: Mathias’ sweet smile and his nose crinkling whenever he was bemused; his deep laughter whenever Colette jested with him… his dark profound eyes that always seemed to read into her soul whenever he glanced at her, as if he could truly see her heart.

Her lips parted, suddenly feeling without breath as his face appeared in front of her eyes with blazing clarity, clearer than anything else, as warmth spread from her stomach until it reached her cheeks, rendering them as red as ripe apples, as it always happened whenever the man’s gentle visage found his was to her mind.

His voice, melodious even while simply talking, resonated clear in her mind, and she couldn’t help a small shy chuckle from leaving her throat when she remembered the peculiar way he pronounced the “s”.

So immensely endearing.

So incredibly dear to her heart.

She would recognize his voice among thousands.

“Oh, Mathias...Sweet Mathias…my Mathias…” she whispered under her furtive breath, secretly, as she always did when she allowed herself to utter his name out loud with all the feelings she had to keep concealed each time she spoke to him.

Night after night ever since she realized that she had fallen for him, she had played with him - for him - every single romantic tune she knew in her repertoire, hoping that something -anything- would somewhat tip him in learning of her feelings for him, small sign that would reveal to her if he felt the same way she felt for him.

She knew he held her in the greatest of esteem, always courteous, sometimes almost deferential in the way he approached her.

But she knew that was the way he treated every person he respected and cared for.

Such was his nature.

But, she thought with herself, furrowing her brows, she always wondered if there was something more?

Could there be..something more, something just for her?

As she reached Colette’s pomegranate tree, her shoulders slumped a little.

There could not be a way of knowing, if not asking himself directly.

And that required an initiative and a courage that she wasn’t sure she possessed.

She had found a family again in the De Beaumont, who had opened their arms for her, welcoming her as if she had always belonged with them sharing with her without boundary, when they had so little to spare for themselves.

They had given her a family again, after her own was lost to her forever.

She could never risk destroying that harmony they had created altogether in the past two years for something as selfish as her own feelings, if she were to come forward to Mathias and reveal to him all that she felt.

She could not bear to be the one responsible to destroy it, just to follow the whims of her heart.

Oftentimes, when she found herself in the company of Antoine and Colette at night, she had often heard the stern woman discussing their history as a family, and something in their past that had left Mathias with the strongest desire to be celibate for the rest of his life.

She never went into details about what happened exactly, and she knew that the reason was her presence, so Dorothea always knew better than to ask any question. She always listened to them, as quietly as a bird hiding in its nest, never daring to intrude, but each time she felt her heart sitting on her stomach a little heavier than before.

“What is going on with me today?” she mumbled beneath her breath.

Her own mood was always somber - that was just the way she naturally was- but today she felt particularly prone to mulling things over in a way that was almost disconcerting.

Taking another deep breath, she allowed her lungs to fill with the intoxicating aroma of the orange and lemon trees, the frangipani in bloom whose flowers Colette often used to create oils for all of them to use. She knew because she recognized the very same perfume on Mathias’ shirt, whenever she went down the river to wash it.

She plucked one of the flowers hanging from the lowest branches, and after taking in that sweet scent, she nestled it behind her ear, a soft smile finally touching her lips. She finally turned around the old orange tree that was growing there - the welcoming sign that she reached Colette’s pomegranate tree, but when the small corner of garden came into view, she stopped in her tracks.

An easel and a canvas stood right beneath the pomegranate tree, sitting alone like two old ladies enjoying the pleasant air of the evening.

Mathias’ own work, no doubt, she thought with a sweet smile.

She looked around with curiosity, expecting to find him somewhere in the proximity: it wasn’t like him at all to abandon his work like that. “Mathias?” she called, just to make sure she was completely alone. And no answer came back to her. She focused her attention once more on the canvas: from where she stood, she couldn’t truly make out what the subject was, and curious like a cat, she tiptoed closer to get a better view of it.

Dorothea’s eyes widened as waves upon waves of mixing emotions-confusion, bewilderment, incredulity- all rippled through her whole body. It took all her control not to let the basket slip from her suddenly unsteady hands.

She wanted to take the canvas to observe it better, because she couldn’t believe what she was looking at, but she dared not: even to her untrained eye, she could see that the paint was still fresh.

Leaning toward it, Dorothea felt her heart racing in her chest. It was yet to be finished: the background merely sketched; the woman’s garments only a vague shape in different shades of pallid pink; even the pose was not definitive, although, from the way the subject was leaning, it suggested that she was caught in the middle of a performance, a fiddle in her hands. However, the subject was not crossed, despite the apparent interruption: the dimples caused by her wide smile were welcoming the observer to sit close by and listen to her playing her tune. Dorothea could almost hear the tune itself in her ears.

Her gaze now wandering again all over the canvas, she couldn’t stop admiring the details of the face: a round visage painted with delicate, meticulous strokes framed by golden white ringlet, each freckle- small as a dot- carefully painted all over her nose and cheek. But it was the woman’s eyes that gave her pause: clear as the water of a pond touched by the sun rays, with the softest expression painted within them as she looked straight in the eyes of the observer, an undisclosed tender request written in that gaze that she recognized all too well.

She felt for a moment as if someone had seen right through her.

“Dorlé? What are you doing here?”

The low gentle voice behind her made her jump in her spot. She turned just to meet Mathias’ dark eyes, now boring straight into hers, a deep crease appearing on his forehead, as he moved a wayward lock of hair away from his brow. Dorothea could have sworn he was almost scared to see her there. But why? “I am sorry, Mathias, I was-“ she babbled, tripping on her own words. “ I swear I did not touch the painting! I was just looking at it! I know I was not supposed to look at it, and I apologized for letting myself do something like this! I-Colette asked me to fetch some pomegranates from her tree for tonight’s dinner and-“ But she couldn’t bear to finish the sentence, as her attention again diverted toward the canvas. She took a tiny step toward it, to make sure that her eyes were not betraying her. And they were not. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Mathias, how-“ she murmured, turning to look toward the man standing just besides her, his shy eyes not daring to meet hers. “This is-” “You.”

His voice was barely a whisper when he raised his worn face, as a tense smile stretched underneath his dark moustache.

His heart was trembling, strong as timpani in his chest.

She wasn’t supposed to see the portrait until it was completely done.

Truth to be told, no one was supposed to see that painting. Ever.

There was nothing indecorous about it, nothing that would elicit a reaction of disdain or be reason of suspicion of impropriety on the artist’s part: no one would deign the portrait as anything less than the most respectful homage to the subject in front of him.

But Mathias so rarely paraded to others what he immortalized on canvas: through his paintings, he bared his soul in ways that couldn’t find purchase through words, and none but himself would be able to understand the yearning in each stroke of his brushes.

And now that the woman for whom his soul has been singing since the instant he had met her was looking upon one of his most intimate creation, he couldn’t do anything but stand terrified that she would read right through him.

As he looked upon her, he felt that his already broken heart quiver in his chest. It was not strong enough to withstand any possible rejection from her. Not from her.

Feeling the unrest grow more and more unbearable with each passing moment, he felt more than ever the need to unroll his sleeves and put his gloves back on, to hide the sight of his scars from her.

He knew she had already seen some of them, somewhat.

After two years of sharing the same house, it would have been impossible to avoid it completely, no matter how much he tried to.

But she had never witness the true extent of those scars, the way they run on his arms, branching through his back, enveloping his chest all the way up until his neck.

Not until that moment, where they were exposed for her eyes -those eyes he loved most in the world- to see. The weight on his chest was becoming too much to bear with each passing second, the lump in his throat impossible to swallow.

“Pardonnez-moi, Dorlé, I need to be alone,” he mumbled under his breath, turning to walk away as he started to unroll his sleeves.

Before he could move any further, Dorothea grabbed him by the arm, quick as a wink, with the gentlest yet firmest touch she could muster.

“Don’t, Mathias. Please.”

Her gaze run to his wide back, to the ink-black leonine curls that hang from his ponytail and barely covered his neck. She felt her heart swelling thrice its size for all she felt for him: she thought she would not be able to breathe anymore.

“Do not run away from me. Do not…” she swallowed hard, chest heaving. “Do not hide away from me. Please, Mathis…I beg of you.”

Her voice was pleading, a soft prayer.

Mathias’ breath caught in the lump in his throat when he felt her hands against the skin of his arm, a touch like a blazing fire for all it caused within his soul.

He stopped in his track, docile as a lamb, as he always was when she requested anything from him. She could ask him to bare his life for her, and he would do it without even thinking twice about it.

His chest tightened at the thought, as he comprehended how the immensity of the love he felt for her ran through from his heart to all his being.

He couldn’t stop a small sour smile from touching his lips: had Antoine known of his thoughts, she would be so immensely crossed with him, for he had learned nothing from Emmanuelle.

But how could he?

How could he love Dorothea less than she deserved because of what happened to him? Because of something another caused?

How could he let his past dictate his present like this, and ruin those feelings that actually made him feel alive again?

How could he deny what was in his heart, broken as it was, just because he had the misfortune of not meeting her first?

Dorothea. Dora. Dottie. Dorlé.

His Dorlé, he thought with quivering lip, if only he found the courage to breathe into existence what his eyes couldn’t conceal anymore any longer.

His out-of-time love, who had fallen into his life so suddenly and yet had fitted immediately as if she had belonged there with them.

With him.

The very tune of life that made his soul sing again.

He wanted to turn. To look at her and drink from that face he loved in the same way the moon loved the sun at each eclipse, in those few desperate moments where they shared the sky together, entangled in an embrace for one refulgent minute.

But he couldn’t find the courage.

Despite his absolute terror for fire, he thought it would be easier to run in a house put ablaze than turning to look at the woman he loved, for fear to see pity -or worse, disgust- in her eyes.

He took another deep breath, trying to calm himself.

Dorothea felt those breaths and her hands trembled, her whole being quivering when he still wouldn’t turn to face her.

She lost courage, but just for one moment, before she felt her natural determination surging from the deepest parts of her heart, tingling in her fingers like pure fire.

She hadn’t survived in 1790s France just out of dumb luck: she knew that she had to steel herself, if she was to ever find a way to get through that time that was so close to hers, and yet so vastly different.

She was her mother and father’s daughter: they had defied her own grandfathers’ will, Count Bielke and Robert Starrick, to marry each other and create the foundation of their family in England.

“Mother’s mirror, Father’s Pride”.

That’s how Byron would often refer to her, whenever she was in doubt.

She would not give up.

Not when her own heart was at stake. And stubborn she was, and so completely lost for him, she felt she couldn’t reason rationally any longer.

She finally found the courage in herself to do what needed to be done.

Gently, almost hesitantly as he was still turned away from her, she moved her own hand from his wrist to his own hand, brushing his palm with delicate touch before interlacing their fingers together.

All she could focus on was how warm his touch was. How gentle those hands always were whenever he pressed the keys of the piano, or patted the horses when he thanked them for carrying them around in the afternoon or when he took her hand and he led her in a round of minuet.

She looked at the scars on the forearms as well, following the course of their pattern with sad eyes.

How much did he suffer from them?

She remember getting burned once, as a child, while playing too close to the fireplace in Dover, and it had only been a small patch on her wrist where some cinder had landed; but it had been enough to make her feel unbearable pain and made her still want to cry whenever she thought about it.

She could scarcely imagine that pain multiplied tenfold and on so much of his body.

She could scarcely imagine withstanding against it, dueling with death’s grasp tight as a coil, and despite all odds, ending up victorious.

Dorothea smiled, understanding in full the pride Antoine always felt for Mathias whenever she talked about those scars.

Before she could let her own timidity stop her, she finally leaned against his back fully, gently pushing herself against his lean frame, and wrapped her arms around his waist, enveloping him in the sweetest embrace she could muster, with all the strength her body allowed.

Such strong heart, he had. Such strong, gentle heart that nothing -not even pain, not even death- could render of stone or insensible. And how she loved that heart with all that she was.

She laid her cheek against his shirt, completely flushed against him, determined as she was in not even letting the air they breathed to stand between them, just so that she could hear the strong thumping of that heart against her own skin.

Mathias’s lips parted, as he almost gasped for breath at that touch, feeling his soul tremble in his chest like one of the chords of Dorothea’s violin.

“How can you hide away your hands from me? Those hands that can create such beauty, even when there is none to be found?” she murmured, feeling a tear running down her cheek. “Those hands that are capable of giving so much comfort to those who are in pain, even when you have no comfort nor piety to spare for yourself?”

He had no words to give, no answer for her questions. His whole mind was abuzz, unable as he was to focus on anything but her closeness, his eyes trained on their fingers interlaced together. A violinist hands enveloping the grotesque hands of a gargoyle, he thought bitterly. He tried to regulate his breathing, to be as still as water in a pond on a tranquil day, almost terrified that, if he were to move, she would let go of him. Then, he heard her voice resonating all the way through his chest, as if reverberating from his own very soul.

“Mathias…how can you feel so much shame in front of me? I could never think any less of you for what you bear on your skin. How could I? You, who are the one most dear to me in the entire world?You have given to me from the heart from the first moment we met, without asking any question, without asking for anything in return. Even when the only explanation I had to give for what happened to me was impossible to comprehend and absurd at the very best, you believed me and helped me finding a sense amidst my own confusion. You made sure I was never to feel loneliness nor want, not even for one moment.”

She whispered, hiding her burning face against his shirt. “Can’t you understand what you mean to me? Can’t you understand how you make my heart sing? Can’t you understand that all my sorrows end with you? Can’t you feel how much I love you?”

It was done. Despite all her senses whispering to her to stay silent, she couldn’t any longer. Not when everything that made her soul was shouting at her his name over and over again.

Mathias wished he had a better control of his breathing or the butterflies he felt in his stomach at her words. Instead, he could only blink, to keep the tears of absolute bliss from falling from his eyes.

He felt as if paralyzed: How- HOW- could it be? How could fate finally have turned to his favour, and granted him the one desire he had found himself wanting more and more with each passing day spent beside her?

Dorothea let out a melancholic at the silence still lingering between them. Maybe she was wrong in opening her heart like that: she didn’t want to ruin the friendship between them, even if it meant loving him without being loved in return. She had never fallen in love before, so what did she really know about love, if not what she had read in her books? What did she know about love, if not about Isolde and Tristan? About Lancelot and Guineviere, whose love trascended time and space? She slightly released her grasp, ready to let him go: but Mathias' hands wrapped around her own, firm like she never experienced before despite his usual cautioun, silenty stopping her from leaving his side.

Mathias took a deep breath and calling upon all the courage he could find within himself, turned around, to finally face the woman that had just opened her heart to him.

Quivering under his dark moustache, his lips stretched in a soft, sweet smile that painted his face with a softness he so rarely showed to others.

His dark eyes shone with tears - tears of joy - that he could barely repress, as he looked at the woman in front of him and found in her eyes the same countenance that was in his.

He cupped her round face with trembling hands, tentatively, terrified she would retract from the touch of his maimed skin.

Instead, gentle as a lamb, he saw Dorothea nestling her cheek in his palm, nuzzling against it like a cat would, and his heart throbbed in his throat at that gesture.

She didn’t retract herself from his touch. She wanted to be touched by him. She sought to feel his skin against hers. She wanted him.

“Do I scare you so much, Mathias? I promise I do not bite.” She jested, smiling that crooked smile he adored so much. Mathias let out a nervous laughter, one finally born out of relief. “How could I ever be scared of you? You, the sweetness of every single one of my thoughts? The only dream I dare to dream while wide awake? My answer to the endless prayers I raised to a deaf God each night of my life since after the fire?”he murmured, feeling a tear rolling down his cheek ”Dorothea…tú eres mis alas para volar,”

Dorothea’s heart skipped at his words, her head spinning as if drunk just from the sound of his voice, filled as it was with heart-wrenching yearning.

“I-I am?” she breathed, incredulous.

He dared to lay his forehead against hers, cradling her face in his strong hands, finally daring to look straight into her eyes without having to hide anything anymore, without having to steal longing glances whenever her attention was diverted. He finally saw the colour of her irises, in that summer sunset that was their witness, in that garden that had nothing less than the garden of Eden.

“You are. You have turned all my tears into laughter. The solace I feel with when I sit besides you…the hope, the possibilities that my life is not just the cinder and embers left from that fire, but that it can also be rebuilt into something new. Something as beautiful as the breaking of dawn after a long night without a star twinkling in the sky…I thought I had lost it all a long time ago.”

He brought her face even closer to his, until they were just a breath away from each other’s lips. He felt tears rolling down his cheeks and, to his surprise, saw the same tears falling from Dorothea’s eyes. But there was no sadness in her gaze. Only unbridled joy. The same one he felt in every single bone of his body.

“But you, mi amor, mi vida, mi alma…You are the peace of my soul, and the light of my poor broken heart,” he murmured. “I see God in your smile and sanctuary in your eyes; I hear my soul reaching to your voice, resonating as if it finally found the answer to its call. I see my home in your heart… I see my everything in you.” He stopped just for one moment, leaning even closer to her. “In you, I see the reason for my every breath.”

Dorothea felt all air leaving her chest, mouth agape from those words that she never thought he would whisper to her ears. Allowing her heart to finally dictated his will, she covered the remaining distance between them, throwing her arms around his shoulder before pressing a sweet, innocent kiss against his lips, those same lips she had yearned to kiss for almost a year and a half. Mathias felt a chasm opening in his stomach at that kiss, so soft and giving, yet unmistakeably eager for more and more, a kiss that was as wanted as much as it was yearned and needed and desired. He returned each of her kisses with his own, his hands cradling the back of her head so that no distance would stand between them., in between those kisses. Among those trees, in that small corner of Eden that he never thought to find on Earth, Mathias felt the perennial storm that always raged within slowly losing strength, the winds of his pain that often howled at his memories finally quieting down until only a comforting silence remained, as if something, a shield of some sort, was wrapped around his heart and kept those wolves at bay. It is her, he thought. His Dorlé. All of sudden, Mathias felt a small giggle against his lips and opened his eyes, looking at Dorothea with curiosity. “It tickles,” she whispered under her breath, nuzzling the tip of her nose against his upper lip, just below his dark moustache, the instigator of her mirth. Mathias chuckled with her, his eyes crinkling as he kissed the tip of her nose. “I used to sport a clean-shaven look in my youth. Perhaps, you would prefer me without my moust-“ But she stopped in his track when she saw her furrowing her brows, in a look that, he knew, she mastered from observing Antoine herself. “Do not dare to touch your beard and moustache, Mathis, or I shall be immensely crossed with you,” she murmured with a perentory tone that admitted no contradiction, but that was soon betrayed by a smile that brightened her whole face." I love the way you are, Mathis. I do not wish for you to be any different than you are, in any aspect of life," “As Milady wishes,"Mathias laughed, planting another sweet kiss on her nose and forehead, before interlacing their fingers once more. "Far from me to make my love crossed with me.” Dorothea blushed at his word, and Mathias, feeling some of the cheekiness that was usually Colette’s, nuzzled his nose against hers. “Does it please you, when I call you that? My Love? Mon amour?...Mi Amor?" Dorothea wanted to maintain an air of decorum, collected as she always was, but the shivers of pleasure that ran along her spine hindered her effort, when she heard him whispering to her in his native Spanish. All she could muster was a shy nod, before hiding her flaming face against his shoulder, in a gesture that illicited the most profound sweetness in Mathias' heart.

He kissed the crown of her head, breathing in the soft perfume of the flower she weaved in her tresses, in a sigh of relief that weighted on his chest for far too many years.

"Mathis?" he heard her call him, raising her timid eyes once more.

"Yes, mi amor?" he said again, chuckling when he saw her blushing again: he would never call her anything else, if it meant seeing her cheeks turning as red as apples.

"Will you-" he heard her clearing her throat. "Will you look at the stars with me, tonight?"

Mathias tilted her face so that she could look at him once more, his gaze turning even softer as he counted all the freckles that graced her face.

His own stars on the sky that was her gentle visage.

"Every night of our life, if you wishes," he whispered, daring to brush his lips against hers one last time.

Dorothea's own happiness couldn't be contained at his words, as she allowed herself to get lost in his kisses once again.

"I do, my love. For every night of our life."

From Antoine´s room, Colette was smiling widely, as she sat on the windowsill, her leg hanging outside the window as she swing it with almost childish joy. She could not hear a single word her brother and Dorothea were saying. She could not see them, hidden as they were by the branches of the tall trees that surrounded that particular corner of the garden. But Antoine’s look -her face strangely at peace as she perused in the same direction she was watching- was more than enough to tell her that her plan succeeded. And no greater joy could fill her heart, for in knowing that her dearest companion and her adored brother had finally found one another, she felt her soul at peace. “See, Toinette?” she giggled as she poured some wine in two glasses, one for herself and one for her elder sister. “I might not be an Assassin and have your perception, but I might know a thing or two about Love and its whims,” Antoine chuckled, her lips stretching in a smile. “I’ll concede that, pollita: you know your stuff.” she took the glass of wine that her sister offered, and drank it all in one shot, “So you better start preparing a list for a nuptial banquet, because if I know Mathias- and trust me, I know him- it won’t be long before we are going to celebrate a wedding in our house, and even less long before we will be hearing the pitter patter of tiny feet running around the house…unless you and the that reprobate of Novice Dorian aren’t planning on beating them on time? “ Colette sputtered some of the wine she was drinking, turning as red as the ribbon she had tied around her neck. “How do you-“ Antoine let out a throaty laughter, filled with mirth. “Oh, pollita: you sure as hell are one expert of “Love and its whims”,” the Master Assassin took the bottle and again filled her glass with wine.”-but you have still a lot to learn about discretion,” She leaned toward her younger sister, and toasted to that evening summer. “To your health, Colette,” then she raised her glass in Mathias and Dorothea’s direction. “And to them. May the fate be kinder to both of them, this time around.” Colette giggled, joining her sister in her toast. “It will. Because this time, we will be there to make sure of that!” “How can you be so sure we will succeed, Colette”? The young woman laughed with mirth. “Because if there is something I learned, is that even Fate Itself is terrified of you, when it comes to Mathias!”

AND THERE YOU HAVE IT.

ALMOST 9K WORDS OF PURE FLUFF, INTROSPECTION AND WHATNOT.

But not going to lie, I love writing this.

It gave me the chance to finally give a voice to my Unity darlings, and by the Gods, this renders me incredibly happy.

Thank you, Susie, for suggesting me to write about Mathias and Dorothea <3

I hope you all will like this <3

--Nemo

[practically-an-x-man]

You get a professional animator to do one (1) animatic for each of your OCs. What song are you chosing, and what vibes are you going for with each OC?

Ooooooh thank you!!! I've thought about hypothetical animatics for some of my OCs before, but... not ALL of them, so this will be interesting!

Rae: Free by Mother Mother. I'm imagining every "Love let my love inside go... free" being a bloom of her abilities, all this bright silver light as she puts shields around what she loves, and all the other parts of the song being some gentler moments from her life.

Robin: I think it would be fun to play into her musical theatre/opera side - Let's Hear It for the Boy by Deniece Williams (from Footloose). The animatic would jump between her onstage, playing out the song as an actor in the musical, and some little soft scenes of her and Peter being all cute together.

Madison: I know when you recommended it first I said that Belladonna by Ava Max was more of a Nikoletta song (and it is, but I have a different animatic idea for her here), but it could work for Madison too I think. It would focus on her mutation, maybe a few fight scenes with her blinking in and out of sight with her glass knives. Then we see her knives get shattered, and the fins and spines breaking through her skin (sort of a stylized version of what happens in her story), and then the final chorus is her with her enhanced mutation (really driving home the "poison/venom" themes there)

Ophelia: Heartbreaker by Pat Benatar. I'd definitely go with a stylized fight scene for her, probably the fight against Charybdis since that's her biggest fight scene. I'm sure there are other songs that would fit her, but... idk man, Heartbreaker is just permanently linked to Ophelia in my mind, I really need a fight scene set to that for her.

Gia: Absolute Lithops Effect by the Mountain Goats. I'm imagining it starting with Gia fresh out of HYDRA, limping on an old and unfitting prosthetic and opening up this rundown and boarded-up shop in Hell's Kitchen. Gradually we see the green come into her life again: she cleans up her shop and paints it in bright colors, flowers bloom, her clover thrives across the back wall of her shop, she gets a new prosthetic and bright tattoos slowly gather on her skin as she rebuilds her life.

Jasper: Falling Away With You by Muse. I already used it for a Heartstrings chapter, but it could also work as this quieter, emotional piece for an animatic. With the lyrics, and the way it switches between these softer verses and a more intense chorus, I could see a series of flashbacks between the soft, lighthearted start to their relationship with Kyle, and then the angsty journey to recovery and readjustment after he dies and is brought back.

Kestrel: This is another one you recommended, but Daffodil by Florence + The Machine. I could see a lot of nature imagery, and a lot of Kestrel's transformations into various different animals. I don't have a particular story in mind, just a cool showcase of Kestrel as a character.

Katherine: The Lion's Roar by First Aid Kit! I can see Katherine wandering through the desert, with golden magic twining around her hands like ribbons, until this mirage appears ahead of her: at first it wavers, then solidifies into a silhouette of a lion, then splits again into two figures walking towards her - Bastet and Sekhmet. They greet her like family members, maybe pull her into a hug or something, then disappear back into the desert.

Quinn: Breakdown by Icon for Hire. I could see this as a past/present thing, where the first half of the video is her before the accident, running and parkouring with her first crew - and then the music cuts off, utter silence, black and white as she falls and hits the ground. The silence lingers for a few long moments.... and then we're back to the song, full color and vibrancy again, with her post-accident still slipping through the crowds and picking pockets.

Eris: Guillotine Dreams by KiNG MALA for sure!! I want to see Eris fighting like an animal, covered in blood but laughing through the whole way, just causing absolute havoc. I just... I want to see them being an utter riot!!

Nikoletta: I still love Whispers by Halsey for her (thanks again for the rec!) and I think that the tone of it really suits her. I think it would be a very stark animatic, a lot of Nikoletta sitting alone in these dark rooms, a lot of black and white with very few details around her (as an echo of her feeling isolated both internally and externally). Either it could just stay there and be an angst piece, or there could be the gradual addition of colors as she bonds with the Squad - yellow for Rick, red for Harley, eventually a whole myriad of colors for Abner.

Jimmy: Hemorrhage (in my Hands) by Fuel. I'm imagining it starting out pretty angsty... Jimmy's lost kiss, him getting shot in the chest and watching the blood spray out into his hands, him waking up as a ghost and wandering Coney Island, and then... right at the end of the song, while he's on his knees and trying desperately to catch the blood spilling out... we see a figure step in and offer him a hand up, and the blood flow begins to slow.

Prometheus: I know I don't usually include them in the lineup, but... I wrote a whole fic about their transformation from a nightmare into a dream, and it's based on The Calling by the Amazing Devil. I would kill to see that whole transformation sequence set to the song.

[starshower1215]

Levihan - Rewrite The Stars Conceptual Animation [Duty vs. Temptation]

I could absolutely draw this as a low quality animatic, but I do not have the digital means to draw it easily (I have a phone and fingers), so here's the concept for it. Indulge in my bad imagery writing and use your imagination.

Zac Effron's lyrics play the role of the temptation of love personified, whereas Zendaya's lines showcase Levi and Hange exerting their denial in the face of duty's call. In my imagination, the personification of temptation is a silhouette of the starry night sky in the form of Levi or Hange's body, it depends on the perspective of the character. Those stars represent not only a heaven, but the death that's beyond that, so ultimately, it is the personification of peace/temptation.

In terms of scenery, the first verse (taking place in a very hopeful atmosphere, based on Zac Effron's tone and lyrics) would occur in Levi's half-dreaming state in the forest. Picture an initial, distant voiceover of Hange's "Maybe we should just live here together. Right, Levi?" On the name Levi, the distorting audio follows (with the Rumbling stuff beginning) and the world warps, the screen going black and silent. Then:

"You know I want you/It's not a secret I try to hide." Notice how the reverberating echoey music comes in... ("I know you want me/so don't keep sayin' our hands are tied") The scene redraws itself, brightened by the stars, and a tiny flame in the air morphs into Hange's figure. Then, ("You claim it's not in the cards/And fate is pullin' you miles away...") Hange's wavering star silhouette offers their hand to Levi, and the camera zooms in on their hands, positioned like those in Michelangelo's legendary Creation of Adam. Levi's wrist is chained with a manacle. In the backdrop, a series of translucent memory images flicker, and at ("But you're here in my heart") it is, of course, a flash forward to their goodbye, Levi's fist on Hange's chest. The camera turns to Levi for the last two lines ("So who can... /you're my destiny?") to showcase his hopeful, yet hesitant expression as he reaches for them, stars in his stormy grey eyes, because it's too good to be true to him. Especially considering this is a dream.

Then comes the chorus, ("What if we rewrite the stars?") and Levi's hand grasps hers, and his manacle breaks off just as Zac Effron's voice raises on "re." In an otherworldly [delusional] moment, Hange pulls him up, and the chains and bandages drift to the floor like ribbons in this walking-on-air, no-gravity situation, because it's not so heavy to bear if he has them. Star Silhouette Hange takes him on an adventure Aladdin's Flying Carpet style, over flaming water, land made of ice, fields and fields of golden sand (Armin and Eren for real). They skim over the ocean's water, reflecting the stars above, and Star Hange is becoming more and more lifelike as Levi disrupts the sea with his fingers in the water, unearthing a bioluminescent wave in their wake. At "So why don't we rewrite the stars?/ Maybe the world could be ours," they have your stereotypical tension-filled romantic moment of near-kissing, and at the drop of "Tonight," the carpet thing (?) overturns and Levi and Star Hange plunge into ice cold water.

In the instrumental interlude, Levi is shown writhing in the starry water, which is wrapping itself around his body until it takes his shape, creating Star Silhouette Levi for Hange's verse two.

"You think it's easy/You think I don't wanna run to you" The atmosphere is more pensive in an office illuminated by the moon, with Hange at her desk's side when Star Levi's hand falls on her shoulder, like a way to coax her to go to sleep (he is Moblit's successor). "But there are mountains" He stands over them, takes the green coat off of their shoulders, removes her glasses... "And there are doors that we can't walk through" and his hands stall on Erwin's emerald bolo tie. "I know you're wondering why because we're able to be/Just you and me within these walls" His hands begin to slip it off in slow motion... "But when we go outside" Closing in on Levi's face... "You're gonna wake up and see" Possible profile perspective as he pulls them in by the tie... "That it was hopeless after all" Close in on Hange's profile, her shoulders and gaze falling on hopeless and their fingers stopping his hands from going any further as they turn their face away (melodramatic).

"No one can rewrite the stars" Star Levi explodes in a kaleidoscopic supernova (She overcame temptation!! Somewhat), and the luminescent supernova shards are caught in the breeze ("How can you say you'll be mine?/Everything keeps us apart/And I'm not the one you were meant to find"), encircling Hange in a glittering tornado as he raged and destroys everything like that time he "saw a cockroach." He kicks a table over and the contents scatter, a journal skidding to the ground at his feet.

"It's not up to you/It's not up to me" Hange slides to the floor in her despair... "When everyone tells us what we can be" as she studies the emerald amulet against a blurred background when the camera focuses on the journal, the one she and Levi had found (Ilse's journal), reminding her how it all began. "How can we rewrite the stars?" Hange's eyes tearing up. "Say that the world can be ours.../Tonight"

"All I want is to fly with you/All I want is to fall with you" A million flashbacks ensue, of Levi and Hange training and soaring through the trees together with their ODM gear, gazing at the stars on the rooftops, cleaning (ha). "It feels impossible/It's not impossible/Is it impossible?/Say that it's possible" Recreation of the actual The Greatest Showman characters on the ropes, because it has to be delusional like that, when Zendaya and Zac collide and the momentum sends them into a spin, but with ODM gear (not possible, I know, who cares?).

"How do we rewrite the stars?" But it's the memory of themselves... "Say you were made to be mine" just messing around as they always did... "It's up to you/And it's up to me" when Hange wore no amulet and Levi had no bandages "No one can say what we get to be" and they were lost in ignorance's bliss.

"And why don't we rewrite the stars?/Changing the world to be ours" We have a view of their boots landing on the soil with a thud, bringing us back to the forest to watch those memories of them be carried away by the breeze, leaving us with the bandaged Levi and bone-weary Hange. It is dark, and the world has gone quiet again.

"You know I want you/It's not a secret I try to hide/But I can't have you/We're bound to break and my hands are tied"

...Anyway. That was exciting. Thank you for reading if you came this far.

The ship is this: "I know you're wondering why because we're able to be/Just you and me within these walls/But when we go outside, you're gonna wake up and see/That it was hopeless after all"

The entire show is: "But when we go outside, you're gonna wake up and see/That it was hopeless after all"

I would also find an alternative for any kissing in the concept, because kissing is fine and okay, but I like the idea of characters, and people, expressing love in different methods (not sure how to elaborate on that).

[kofu-division]

"the bird who born caged think flying is a sickness"

Introduction

Kei Himeno also know by his moniker Briar Rose is a novelist and the second member of Kõfu's division team Diabolik Night

At first glance this serious and misterious novelist could be consider as the opposite of the joy and eccentric Reiji but under the surface he's equal or a bit more manipulative than him and is who Reiji trust to reseach his goals

But some knowed only for certain people is his past as a servant for the family Chōten where he suffered distint type of abuses that, luckily not affected him very much at least not in a physical sent so was a huge shock for the upper class to see him again on a gathering in Aoyama, this time as a famous novelist and member of the Enjouji family

Another hiding thing from others is that he's also looking for someone,neither Reiji or Ayame knows who because Kei deny to talk about it and only call that person "his light"

Kei is a fair skinned youngman of a height a bit shorter than Eichi with greyish green hair to the shoulders with some down locks held by a diamond hairpin and a single curl falling to his chest,his eyes has long eyelashes and a color unusual being segmentaries,with the low part of emerald green and the upper part of his eyes being gold yellow. he also use black glasses and red lipgloss but the most llamative is the scard on his left eye

His mainly outfit consist of a black shirt that shows his clavicle and a gray jacket with gold details and a pin with a broken heart,his lower body is covered by black dress pants and black heeled boots

Aliases

Briar Rose (Author name)

"Sleeping Beauty" (by Reiji,by himself)

"caged bird" (by himself)

Slave

Biographical info

Gender-male

Age-22

Birthday-february 4

Ethnicity-japanese

Hair color-greyish green

Eye color-emeral green/gold yellow

Height-174 cm/5'8

Star sign-aquarius

Piercings-a pearl earring on both of his ears

Markings-scratch scars on his left eye,tattoo of thorns around his legs

Family

Biológical father (alive)

Biológical mother (desceased)

Younger sister (desceased)

Voiced by- WOO/Seong Hyunwoo (rapping)

Fun facs

MC name:Briar Rose

Occupation:novelist

Division:Kõfu

Team:Diabolik Night

Position:2th member

Favorite food:oyakodon

Least favorite food:tomato

Likes: writing, naps,gardens,peace moments,his thorns, forests,chess,fire

Dislikes: Reiji's teases, Chōten family,Aoyama city,be called as "Chōten's servant/slave", his scar, feel cold

Hypnosis microphone

Kei's hypnosis microphone takes the form of a ribbon mic made of pink quartz,the microphone has thorns around with a red rose on the windscreen

Kei's speakers takes the form of a medieval castle that look alike the typical fairytale castle,made of grey stone and with conical towers but with thorn vines around it,the among the vines there are rose bushes and when Kei starts to rap "blooms" revealing circular speakers inside of the roses

Kei's rap themes are around his freedom,how happy he is with his current life and freedom,he also make references to birds and call himself a "caged bird" and also make references to fairytales (especially the sleeping beauty)

Kei's rap ability it's called "sweet dream", with his ability Kei rap some verses who make his opponents "sleep" although it's more a trance

His rap can be darker when Kei rap about his "war crimes" as "Reiji's right hand" and all his manipulations he do until today,his verses are also around his hates for the family that "made him a slave" and the abuse suffered by they hands and talk about a his special one as "a light who gived him hope" and how Kei will looking for "his light's love"

Personality

Kei well could be called Reiji's complete opposite,foccused,calm and earnest

Another opposite beetwen them is the fact that Kei thinks carefully on his actions and manipulations and he actually feel dislike for how Reiji often do and manipulate following a "easy path" that's almost always is the most cold-blooded (although Kei don't deny the entertaiment) and although he's also manipulative isn't completely indifferent to the aftermaths of his own actions

Although he will to deny it, Kei in the deep is quite romantic but after years of abuse and be treated as a servant (and even abused) he don't know how express that part of him talking so he do it writing, although his romantic novels are often "darkers" than normal saccharine books in reflect of his twisted point of view about love

About that, Kei knows about love but not exactly a good type,things like have a abusive biológical family who not minded his sister death, and they in a moment basically sell him to the Chōten family,to be used as a servant -practically a slave- left him with a distortioned and twisted point of view about love, so he have weakness with people who treat him in a nice and warmth way

That part of him also did Kei was protective of that people,if someone hurt them he don't have mercy,manipulating and even hurting all with the goal of ruin their lives with no regret

Trivia

Kei's novels are "dark romance" books that sometimes are supernatural but besides the part of "dark" his novels shows erotic plots and the love interest is often a type of yandere

Kei is considered as "Reiji's right hand"

Kei's Author/MC name and his speakers make references to the fairytale "the sleeping beauty"

Although the abuse he suffered by Chōten family he don't feel dislike for Tomi or Kunio Chōten and even now Kei still calling them "masters"

Beetwen his teammates Kei is the most reservate about his darling, neither Reiji or Ayame knows anything about them,not their name or if is man or woman

Although Kei deny it,he feel fascination for fire but not for pyromania, that fascination towards it his a coping mechanism to his sister who death freezed

Besides that,how Kei was freezing by her side, since the accident Kei always feel cold but is a more psychological sensation

Not, Kunio is not kei's darling, sorry if that if is dissapointing

[adarkrainbow]

Green in fairytales (a Pastoureau translation)

In France, Michel Pastoureau has earned himself a strong reputation as a "historian of colors" thanks to very thorough and well-researched books he published about the history, evolution, uses and cultural connotations of each color (blue, green, red, black...). I borrowed from my library a copy of his book about green (Vert, Histoire d'une couleur ; Green, History of a color) and what a surprise! There is a segment about fairytales in there!

The book is organized by chronology, with a first segment covering the origins of humanity up to the year 1000 (Green: An uncertain color) ; then a second part deals with the span between the leventh and the fourteenth centuries (A courtly color) ; a third the span between the 14th and 16th (A dangerous color)... But what interests us is the fourth part, "A secondary color: 16th-19th centuries".

This part is divided itself into several sub-sections. "Protestant morality" "The green of painters" "New knowledge, new classifications", "Alceste's ribbons and green in theater" ; "Green during the Enlightenment", etc... And one of those subsections is called "Superstitions and fairy tales".

I won't copy all of this sub-section, because the first part about superstitions covers theatrical superstitions and other beliefs - but here is a rough translation of the part about fairytales.

A same ambiguity is observed in fairy tales, a literary genre that the 17th century did not invent, but renewed and made very famous. Notations of color are rare but very significant and the green might be less recurring than black, white or red, but it is the color of supernatural beings, notably of fairies. In several European regions of the modern era, fairies are called "dames vertes" (French for "green ladies"), Die grünen Damen, or The green fairies. This is due to several reasons: either they appear with clothes or shoes of this color, either they have green eyes or hair (just like witches) - and sometimes they simply live in a green landscape that reminds how their origins are tied to the vegetation cycles, and the cult of waters, trees and forests. In Northern Europe, if fairies dress in green, they do not like when mere mortals do the same. If one wants to gain their favors, they better not wear this color, nor any of the plants from which they get a part of their magical powers: the hawthorn, rowan, hazel, and others. Green is the color of fairies. But the fairy is a capricious and volatile being, sometimes godmother, sometimes lover, sometimes guardian angel, sometimes wicked genie - and just like the color green, the fairy can quickly change her mood, her appearance or her role. She is to be feared, and to be respected. Occidental culture does not have the monopoly of green fairies or greenish genies. They are encountered under various forms in Oriental cultures. The Islamic tradition, for example, presents a weird character that belongs to the supernatural world and whose name evokes the color green: Al Khidr (or Khisr), the "green man". His identity is a difficult thing to clarify. Some claim he is a son of Adam, others that he is an angel or a saint, while a third group calls him a clairvoyant prophet or a guide sent by fate itself. But all see in him a benevolent, though mischievious, genie who protects sailors and travelers, sends away the storms, puts out fires, saves people when they drown, banish demons and snakes. The Coran only mentions him once (eighteenth Surat, verses 65-82), but numerous tales and legends were told about him. Let us return to European traditions and fairy tales of the modern era. Just like the chivalry novels of the Middle Ages, they like to play on the sonority or the ortograph of some words to create strange or marvelous atmospheres. In French the name "vert" (green) is a better material for wordplay than any other name of colors, thanks to its phonic relationships with words such as "vair" (a type of fur), "verre" (glass), "ver" (worm) and "vers" (verse). (T.n.: they're all pronounced the same in French]. This results in numerous semantic confusions and interpretation uncertainties that make the happiness of commentators.

[Note: for an unknown reason Tumblr doesn't let me write more, so I'll put the rest in a reblog]

[starsandauras]

Prompt 23: Suit

FFXIV 30 Day Writing Challenge Prompt 23: Suit

“And here I thought I left situations like this behind in Sharlayan,” Thancred complained lightly, doing up the buttons on his newly purchased justaucorps as he watched himself in the mirror. It was almost strange to see himself in such formal wear, he was certain the last time he’d worn something like this in sincerity was at one of the formal parties the Leveilleurs would sometimes hold.

He certainly hoped he would enjoy this more than he ever had those oppressive things. Not that Lady Ameliance set out to host such parties, but she was fighting against the shadow Fourchenault would always cast on such events.

Urianger came up behind him, and their eyes matched in the mirror as the Elezen straightened Thancred’s lapels, smoothing the fabric down before draping his arms over his shoulders. He too was in a justaucorps, and Brigid had managed to get him into a dark shade of green instead of the grays he had started to favor of late. It contrasted nicely with the storm blue of his own. “You’re certain you don’t wish to remain with the children?” Thancred asked, looking up at him as a hand settled on Urianger’s arm.

Cred was no longer the darling accessory, to be draped along Brigid’s chest and fawned over by Ishgardian ladies, and so he, alongside Ryne and Gaia, was relegated to the nursery of House Fortemps. The girls were able to beg off under pretense of watching over the five year old, and Ryne especially seemed relived to not have to spend an evening rubbing elbows with Ishgardian nobility.

Urianger shrugged, leaning down to nose at Thancred’s hair. “We need only remain long enough to satisfy standards of propriety,” he said. “I am well versed in timely exits, after so many years.”

Thancred hummed softly, thinking about it. As one of Louisoix’s primary students, Urianger would have been required to put in appearances at formal events held very early on. “Yes, of course.”

“Well now look at them, pretty thing,” came a drawl from the doorway, and the two men smiled as they looked over, Thancred making a point to lean even more into the taller man. “A cozy pair they are.” Hilda crossed her arms, her justaucorps in a soot black (second hand from the looks of it as well, barely visible patches and overdyed to escape the inevitable fading, only noticeable to someone who had personal experiences with such things), legs in the same dark trousers Thancred and Urianger were wearing. She was grinning widely, hair tied back with a scarlet ribbon, matching her eyes perfectly.

At her side stood Brigid, giggling behind a hand. She was corseted quite happily into one of the high house gowns, the Rhotano blue shade perfectly setting off her hair and eyes, while matching well with the blue and green Urianger wore. Peeking out from under her hem, which nearly brushed the ground, were her practical boots. They all knew there were quite the number of peticoats and slips hiding under that dress, as well as a couple of fire crystal shards sewn into the lining, in an attempt to keep Brigid toasty warm. “Aye, quite cozy,” she agreed, pecking a kiss to Hilda’s cheek before almost gliding over to her husbands, a faint rustle attending her.

“Hello, Spitfire,” Thancred greeted her warmly, reaching out for her hand and brushing his fingers over the rings settled on it.

“My desert rose,” Urianger said softly, reaching for her other and threading their fingers together. “Thou art as lovely as always.”

Hilda rolled her eyes fondly. “Honeymooners,” she teased. “Now c’mon, it’s the first ball of the season and that little wedding of yours is still the talk of the town.” Despite that it had been nearly six moons ago.

“Aye,” Thancred said on a sigh, putting an arm around Brigid’s waist, the trio walking over to Hilda. “Let’s go put in our first appearance in Ishgardian high society as properly married.” He wrapped his other arm around Hilda’s waist, tugging her close and earning another eye roll.

“And scandalize the lot of them, already with a mistress on your arm, and in front of your lady wife and lord husband at that,” she joked, but relaxed against him anyway.

Brigid laughed brightly, her hand still holding tightly to Urianger’s. “And ‘twill be such fun,” she agreed, winking in her girlfriend’s direction. “Cannae be waitin’ to be readin’ ‘bout it in the society papers!”

[clutchofmuses]

The children were asleep, piled onto the pillows in a patch of sun in the sitting room more like puppies than a clutch of dragons. The shafts of light had turn Alyssa and Aenar's silver heads a warm, strawberry gold, while Harwin's dark curls glimmered with hints of red. The young queen smiled at her children, and hoped that her belly would quicken once more now that the twins were nearing their second nameday.

"I should only ever tell the king what he ought to do, not what he could do," @withouthonor said from his chair. He had come to read to the children only to find them asleep but it was no matter. Tea and small finger foods sat on the table between them and Abrogail looked at her uncle with a raised brow.

"He is not his father," she reminded him, defensive of her Aegon even though her tone was easy. "And he sees far more than him as well. He should know what he can do, so that he may more optimally weigh the stakes."

Worry tugged low in her gut but she could not pinpoint the reason as to why. Not that it was difficult - not since Luke's death, not since Rhaenyra and Daemon moved into the Riverlands, and the fleet sought to blockade the Blackwater.

[clutchofmuses]

Lilac eyes are wet and full of fear, and Helaena's breath feels tight - a thready wheeze that she tries to swallow past. She is afraid and he is the only one there. She is afraid and all she has left is Jacaerys, her husband, the one that she will walk through this world beside. She does not know if they will rule. That is for their parents to decide, it seems.

Rhaenyra is sure of it. Rhaenyra is always sure. Rhaenyra teaches Jacaerys in the ways that she claims their father taught her, but she knows that the man who rots away, who sees into the world he wishes and not that in which he lives, has taught her nothing. The only teachings of a long dead mother, gone and suffered before her time.

Valonqar... the valonqar comes...

Her mother is sure, too. Her mother is sure the crown will sit upon Aegon's head, that his queen will have hair of flame, and the temperance of the Maiden and Mother. Her mother sends ravens once a week's turn, abbreviated words lest the missives are read, for now she is no longer trusted and yet completely trusted by her mother.

"My father only has a single child," Helaena rasps out, thinking of his cold hand on her elbow when he delivered her to the altar in the sept. He was kind, and he was dying, and his smiles were for the boy whom he called grandson. A hiccup escaped her and fat tears roll down her cheeks but she doesn't sob. She has cried all her sobs as a babe, her mother says. Endless sobs and dreams that she did not understand that frightened her.

A window and a sunset and a fall into someone's arms.

So Helaena cries but it is silent, as if she's not crying at all. "I am so alone and you are all I have, and I'm afraid, and I feel like I've jumped and haven't hit the ground yet." The confessions fall from her like her tears onto their joined hands. Her eyes meet his, unsure. "He won't stop... he will not stop trying but you will hold tight, won't you?" Her fingers tighten around his, her fingers reaching up to cup his cheek as if he is the one who cries, not her. "You will keep me as your wife? Because... because..." She shakes her head and trails off and presses her forehead against his, their noses brushing, her tears falling.

a faint flush spreads across jace's cheeks at her compliment. he does not mean to sound wise on purpose, and in truth, he is not sure he wants to be wise at all, but a good king is expected to be so all manners, is he not? though he cannot find it in himself to care what a good king might be when all he wants to make her smile, to show her things do not have to be cursed between them or otherwise, he wants them to be happy as his mother was ( and is ) in her marriages.

"no, i will not be," he answers softly, guilt seeping into his voice at her mention of his treatment towards his uncle. it had been a cruel children's game, one he had believed harmless as he followed aegon's lead blindly without a thought towards how it would make aemond feel and the trouble it would give them all years later. "it was cruel what we did to aemond, it never should have happened, and i will never let such a thing happen to our children." he would step in and prevent such a thing from happening to their children, as none of their parents had done for aemond. why did no one fight for aemond when what they were doing to him was wrong? "i know, i am lucky to call him mine."

his brows furrow at her words, struggling to hold back from pressing her for what she meant. "the valonqar, one of your brothers?" aemond or daeron? though jace finds it hard to picture the boy he once shared a wet nurse with after so many years of daeron being away in oldtown. could it be one of his little brothers she's talking about? blood worms and bone worms; her words are chilling though he does not quite understand their meaning or how to ask her what she means and has seen to speak such a thing.

"i'm here, helaena," he reassures her with a voice much stronger than he feels, "it's okay; nothing will happen while i am here beside you." his fingers tighten gently around her hand as he speaks, hoping that he could believe his own words too.

[adversitybloomed]

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE ?  For the majority of the time her scents are of; lotus flowers, cherry blossoms and or magnolia. Likes the scents & the majority of the time it’s mixed in with lotions / oils, while the petals are in her baths. However, if she has just been in battle, her scents are mostly of; blood, fire & ash. Though she quickly tries to bathe to get those smells off of her.

WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE ? Soft. Despite her intense training in both archery & swordsmanship, she regularly puts oils & lotions on. Which results in very smooth skin.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY ? Mulan is can eat everything & everything. She loves food & she loves eating with other people. She especially enjoys a variety of meats, vegetables but mostly desserts. It is important to note though two things, one she is allergic to eggplant ( she gets hives ) & two she does have an eating disorder which when triggered, she stops eating or skips meals. A lot of the time she has one meal a day because she tends to forget to eat when she is busy, unless reminded. But for the most part, if invited out for food, she can eat a lot as she is enjoying both the company & meal.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE ?  yes, she loves to sing & she has good range. However, she gets very shy about it when it comes to singing in public.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS? Yes, her eating disorder for one. Another is she tends to be headstrong, impulsive & will allow herself to get hurt if it meant that others are safe. She does have a bit of a temper, but she masks it’s well with what seems to be a calm surface. She has a hard time expressing when she gets depressed for upset. She barely gets three hours of sleep, if she sleeps alone, due to her nightmare disorder. She also falls asleep in random places, including tree branches, over her work desk, on stair cases, outside even if it’s beyond chilly. She also when upset gets extremely quiet ( almost completely shuts down ) as she’s trying to either keep her temper in check or keep herself from crying. Some nervous habits of hers is playing with the bottom of her hair. Poking her long nails somewhere in her skin to distract herself. Bitting her lower lip & hiding underneath her hands. I could really list on but I think this covers the majority of it.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE / WEAR ?  Mulan has extremely long hair no matter the verse. She tends to wear it both half up & half down. She likes very light aesthetics, such as she does not like heavy headpieces, but instead will use ribbons and or very simplistic but beautiful headpieces to decorate her hair. She loves hanfu & for mostly all verses chooses to wear it; whether it’s simplistic in design, or a battle hanfu, this is her preference for dress wear. Her colors are mostly: Reds, Blues, Light Greens, Pinks, Whites. However when she does wear armor, she prefers the silvers & or black armor with silver & or gold mixed in. Tbh just look at her fc for reference, legitimately exactly how I envision her. When it comes to modern verses she mostly wears her hair down. She also is prone to wear dresses, shorts & pants. She likes comfort clothing, but she always dresses appropriately for her culture & does not enjoy revealing a lot of skin in public, though once in a while it is okay, depending on who she is with.

IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE ? HOW SO ? She is very affectionate to those she trusts & cares for. Mostly she is kind. But when she trusts others, she is more willing to give hugs. When it comes to her SO, she gets clingy, where she prefers to sometimes sit in laps, or cuddle against them because they are her safe space.

WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN ? She sleeps on her stomach or sides. Very rarely it’s her back unless she is sick. But she kinda just curls into herself, as she tends to toss & turn due to her nightmares.

COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM ? No. Mulan walks very softly. She does not mean to but she tends to sneak up on people because she is so quiet & because she is short she 9/10 times kinda just appears

tagged by: @luckhissoul ( ty ! ) tagging:  @battleguqin + @incissam + @sparesovereign + @lcvelj + @caelestcs + @excaliborn + @the-rogue-dragon + @princessofmuses + @ka-go-me & or steal & tag me !

[gentlemancrow]

I posted 2,488 times in 2022

65 posts created (3%)

2,423 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@lucky-numberme

@beesabuzzin

@blasphemous-lies-and-deceit

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I tagged 1,746 of my posts in 2022

Only 30% of my posts had no tags

#the magnus archives - 684 posts

#tma - 682 posts

#jonmartin - 329 posts

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#martin blackwood - 103 posts

#spoilers - 53 posts

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Longest Tag: 139 characters

#also i am very enamored of the one you shared the other day fairytales such as these thank you for fixing that moment in canon so perfectly

I sent 1 gift in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I am on S4 of my TMA relisten and today as I was listening and baking and crying and this little detail just punched me right in the heart that escaped my notice the first time.

JON TRIES TO ASK HER FOR A CUP OF TEA BUT THEN HE FIZZLES AND GIVES IT UP AND HE SOUNDS SO ACHINGLY SAD. MARTIN ALWAYS BRINGS THE TEA BUT MARTIN ISN'T THERE. EVERYONE ELSE IS EITHER RESENTFUL OF HIM WAKING UP OR AT BEST WARY AND CAUTIOUS OF HIM AND THE FIRST THING HE WANTS IS TEA BUT REALLY MARTIN AND COMFORT BECAUSE TEA IS SYNONYMOUS WITH BOTH OF THOSE THINGS I'M CHEWING A HOLE IN THE FOUNDATION TO BURY MYSELF IN AND CRY FOREVER.

43 notes - Posted April 3, 2022

#4

Sometimes Saturday chillin results in Sunday yearnin and that's just how the cruel, cruel world works 😘

(ORIGINAL IDEA CREATED BY @lucky-numberme I JUST SLAPPED IT ON A MEME EHEHE)

74 notes - Posted May 15, 2022

#3

White Shores are Calling - A ghost story

White Shores are Calling (Read on AO3)

Once upon a time, high atop a lonely, misty cliffside beside the sea, sat a haunted house… The year is 1863 and ghosts are all the rage, but Head Butler Jonathan Sims of Magnus Manor does not believe in spiritualism, or ghost stories, or any of that trite hocus pocus. Until, that is, he finds himself inextricably tied up in the mysterious tale of Martin, the last lonely spirit remaining there. Though Jon, too, is facing the final curtain of mortal life, he will do whatever it takes to unravel the secrets of the house and free them both from its tethers before his own time runs out.

PRESENTING!! My work for the @podcastbigbang 2022! A Victorian Jmart ghost story with promo art and chapter illustrations by my dearest friends and absolutely incomparably talented artists @pocketsizedquasar and @grayscaleskies!! I could not have been more honored to work with this team and to cry about inconsequential mundane details about Victorian life and clothing with them! SO much love and heart went into this project and I truly hope you all enjoy! ; w ;

[ID: A drawing of Jon and Martin from the Magnus Archives. Jon is a thin Pakistani person with medium brown skin and long, curly, greying black hair pulled into a ponytail with a purple ribbon. He has a short beard, and heterochromia with one brown eye and one green. They are wearing a dark green tailcoat with gold eye buttons and are looking back over his shoulder with his back towards the viewer. They have white gloves and black pants, in one hand is a candle holder with a lit candle and the other holds a blood-stained handkerchief. They have a serious and stern expression looking back towards Martin. Martin is a fat Black and Filipino man with dark freckled skin and short, curly, reddish brown hair. He has small glitches on his skin, revealing the bones beneath his face. Fog flows off his skin, hair, and jacket. He is wearing a mauve waistcoat over a pale pink undershirt, a warm dark brown workman’s coat, and grey pants. He is looking over his shoulder back at Jon with a longing expression. Behind them both are stylized swirls of fog in shades of grey surrounded by grey mist and pale yellow light in the center of the image. Between the two is the text ‘White Shores are Calling’ in a swirly, handwriting font. Below, in bold, all capital letters font reads ‘By @ gentlemancrow with art by @ pocketsizedquasar and @grayscaleskies. End ID/]

84 notes - Posted May 4, 2022

#2

"Martin was only speaking out of trauma and self-worth issues and even in the most boring, utterly pedestrian of situations or universes, he and Jon still would have met, maybe disliked each other at first, quickly discovered it was only because of some kind of ridiculously silly misunderstanding or misinterpretation, fallen head over heels in love, and the blossom of their romance would have been unequivocally equally disgustingly sappy and beautiful blooming in adversity or mundanity" is a hill I will WILLINGLY BLISSFULLY INSISTENTLY die upon every single time FULL STOP.

971 notes - Posted March 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

WOW I can't believe it's been a whole year since Jon and Martin had the big climactic showdown with Elias, kissed, and pushed a button that just magically saved the world and made everything better INCREDIBLE.

1,768 notes - Posted March 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[insanisnavis]

STATS

  NAME    Jacqueline Arabella Rose Matlin. NICKNAME/ALIAS    jackie AGE    verse dependent - but frozen at 21 physically in main verse.   DATE OF BIRTH   april 1 GENDER & PRONOUNS    female, she/her   ORIENTATION    pansexual / biromantic   RACE/ETHNICITY    Ashkenazi Jewish / cuban   SPECIES   werewolf / hybrid.

PERSONAL

  POSITIVE TRAITS    affectionate, loyal (selectively), clever, witty, humorous, energetic, charming, playful   NEUTRAL TRAITS    emotionally reserved, observant, daring, opinionated, eccentric, intelligent, extroverted, ambitious, receptive   NEGATIVE TRAITS    petty, prone to anger outbursts. childish, manipulative. arrogant, audacious, capricious, untrusting, confrontational. paranoid/suspicious.

  NEURODIVERGENCES & DISORDERS    Histrionic personality disorder, borderline personality disorder, intermittent explosive disorder. Undiagnosed PTSD. Sociopathic tendencies.   PHYSICAL DISABILITIES / CHRONIC ILLNESSES    lycanthropy

PHYSICAL

  HEIGHT    5’7”   WEIGHT    140 lbs.   HAIR   strawberry blonde - cool toned   EYES    hazel   SCARS    thin knife scar that extends from beneath and over the left jaw. about 3.5 inches in length. pink/purple knife scar that is raised between the breast and right collar bone. about 2 inches long going down. missing nail on left ring finger.   PIERCINGS    regular earlobe piercing then two cartilage on each ear   TATTOOS    link here.   FACE CLAIM    halston sage

APPEARANCE NOTES

due to a heavily physically active upbringing from dance, skating fencing, and sparring she has a toned figure while not being too slim, having filled out curves since leaving her former life behind.

Her hair has soft curls that reach mid-back in length.

Style is mostly worn down or only partially pulled back in half-up ponytails, with a ribbon (always satin, silk, or velvet ribbons). Except for special occasions, she will wear more elegant styles.

She is almost always in heels, wedges, or boots with thick soles. that are at least 2 - 6 inches, bringing her standing height around 5'9 - 6'1ft

Her wardrobe often consists of either pants/jeans or skirts. rarely ever dresses or shorts - with exceptions for special occasions ( unless it's a sundress).

She often wears leather jackets of red, green, pink or black.

She has over a dozen tattoos in red ink.

Olive complexion

ABILITIES

inhanced strength werewolf-vampire hybrids are often stronger than werewolves, non-Original vampires

inhanced senses— As hybrids, their senses are superior to the individual species.

inhanced agility— werewolf-vampire hybrids possess much more superhuman agility

inhanced strength— werewolf-vampire hybrid's intensified quickness, agility, reflexes, and endurance.

healing factor— werewolf-vampire hybrids have superior healing capabilities and can recover from most injuries.

immortal— werewolf-vampire hybrids stop aging the moment they transition.

werewolf venom— their bite, even in human form is lethal to non-original vampires without Klaus' blood or Lucien's cure.

no longer bound to moon—hybrids are capable of shifting whenever they wish. even partially. such as extending their claws or hybrid fangs. in addition. they do not require daylight jewelry.

compulsion— self explanatory

combat.—due to growing up in the crime world, jackie was trained in many forms of combat for well over a decade. making her a very efficient fighter before ever activating her curse.

WEAKNESSES

invitation.— must be invited to enter homes.

broken neck— will be rendered unconscious if neck is broken.

lethal kills.— heart extraction and decapitation are lethal.

cure—will be rendered mortal again by the cure.

magic— they are not immune to magic

vervain and wolfsbane.— both of these are often effective in warding them off with pain or preventing compulsion.

desiccation.— will desiccate if they go too long without blood.

wood— depending on the location, such as the heart. wood will leave a hybrid incapacitated for a short amount of time.

poor emotion/mental health.—Though clever, and often callous Jackie is easily manipulated if one learns her enough, more so if it is by someone she loves or it involves them. Her trauma, paranoia, and disorders will often cloud her judgment, and decisions and thus can be used against her to trigger her mental vices against her.

[futurelibrariansstuff]

Bibliographic Data:

Jacqueline Woodson. 2016. BROWN GIRL DREAMING. Nancy Paulsen Books. ISBN 9780147515827.

Plot Summary:

Raised in South Carolina and New York, Woodson always felt halfway home in each place. In vivid poems, she shares what it was like to grow up as an African American in the 1960s and 1970s, living with the remnants of Jim Crow and her growing awareness of the Civil Rights movement.

Critical Analysis:

Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson is a wonderful memoir in verse that will give readers a view into the life of what black children endured during the Civil Rights Movement. Set in South Carolina, Ohio, and New York City during the tumultuous 1960s, the story is a coming of age story that all readers, not just children, will love! 

Woodson’s word choice and craft bring the settings, characters, and issues to life for readers. Her description of things such as her grandmother’s delicious food, the smell of her home in Greeneville, and a cold snow cone on a hot day really emphasize the character’s ability to notice and write beautifully about the small details in life. 

The plot of the story begins with the main character, Jacqueline, describing her life and family. As her home life begins to change (her parents separate), she and her siblings are moved to Greenville, South Carolina to live with her grandparents. Throughout her travels through the south and then eventually to New York City, Jacqueline begins to notice the injustices of the world around her. Not only that, she begins struggling in school and telling lies to compensate. Eventually, Jacqueline is given a composition notebook that changes everything and helps her realize who she really is- a writer. 

In this book, there are many cultural markers. First, the Woodsons appear to be of middle to upper class, and the family itself is full of very successful people like lawyers, doctors, teachers, and more. Jacqueline is expected to be well-spoken and put together at all times. At one point in the book, her brother, Hope, gets into trouble for using the word “ain’t.” Her mother chastises him and emphasizes that they are never to say “ain’t” or “y’all.” Her hair is expected to be straightened and neat. Her dresses are ironed and tidy. The ribbons in her hair are pristine and colorful. Her skin always looks shiny and healthy with oils. These expectations really highlight the amount of extra effort that many black people had to go through to be accepted in society as equals. Jacqueline’s family clearly wants the children of the family to behave this way so that their life might be easier and more opportunities could open for them, especially with everything going on historically at this time. Even more so, the Woodsons seem to have a reputation of success and intelligence, so they also want the children to uphold this reputation. 

The settings also act as cultural markers in the book. For example, when the children are living in Greenville, South Carolina, the author describes it as a warm place full of beautiful colors, delicious foods (fried chicken, collard greens, cornbread), and segregated stores which her family must avoid. Although the world is segregated, Jacqueline seems to have a large misunderstanding of what it means. Only as she grows older and begins to notice the injustices of the word do those issues become more apparent. For example, at one point in the story, she is about to walk into a restroom that has clearly been painted to hide a “Whites Only” sign. Although the sign is painted over, the words still peek out from under the paint, a harsh reminder of the world still around her.  Later in the book, her and her siblings move to New York City to finally be with their mother. There, they are faced with cold sidewalks, rainy days, and Jacqueline realizes how much she misses Greenville. Not only that, without her grandmother to do the cooking and hair straightening, Jacqueline doesn’t feel as welcome as she did in South Carolina. Though this feeling does fade, and she begins to enjoy living in New York City for its snow cones and fast-talking people, it takes her a while to assimilate from the slow-paced life in Greenville to her new life in New York City. In fact, when she visits Greenville after living in New York City, the kids there taunt her for how fast she is talking and call her one of those “city kids.” Overall, the settings in the book help paint a picture of what life was like for many black children during this time.

Familial ties also point to black culture in this story. Although her parents are no longer married, Jacqueline and her siblings have plenty of love from adults. Their mother, although away a lot at the beginning of the book to find them all a new home, wants the very best for her children. While their mother is away, Jacqueline and her siblings are raised by their grandparents. Jacqueline is also very close to her siblings throughout the story. This speaks to the strength and reliability of family in the African American culture, even if they aren’t immediate family members. This helps give Jacqueline a sense of self-worth and the ability to conquer difficult things.

Jacqueline and her family are Jehovah’s Witnesses, but she describes her relationship with religion as one that feels like “playing a role in a play” and that when no one is looking, she goes back to being “free and singing the National Anthem” despite her religion being against such things. This religious aspect adds another element of being different and “other” than those around her. She wants to be able to celebrate holidays, sing songs, and participate in classroom birthday activities. On the other hand, Jacqueline has a real concern for her classmates who do not follow Jehovah, as she fears they will not be saved. Throughout the book, Jacqueline struggles to find herself outside of her religion, race, and what her family expects of her.

Brown Girl Dreaming is a wonderfully moving book full of cultural markers. Not only will this book give readers insights into what the world was like for many black children of this time, but they will also get to enjoy the true story of how one little girl found her voice in a big world!

Review Excerpt(s):

“The writer’s passion for stories and storytelling permeates the memoir, explicitly addressed in her early attempts to write books and implicitly conveyed through her sharp images and poignant observations seen through the eyes of a child. Woodson’s ability to listen and glean meaning from what she hears lead to an astute understanding of her surroundings, friends, and family.”— Publishers Weekly

“Mesmerizing journey through [Woodson’s] early years. . . . Her perspective on the volatile era in which she grew up is thoughtfully expressed in powerfully effective verse. . . . With exquisite metaphorical verse Woodson weaves a patchwork of her life experience . . . that covers readers with a warmth and sensitivity no child should miss. This should be on every library shelf.”—School Library Journal

“Woodson cherishes her memories and shares them with a graceful lyricism; her lovingly wrought vignettes of country and city streets will linger long after the page is turned. For every dreaming girl (and boy) with a pencil in hand (or keyboard) and a story to share.”—Kirkus Reviews

“[Woodson’s] memoir in verse is a marvel, as it turns deeply felt remembrances of Woodson’s preadolescent life into art. . . . Her mother cautions her not to write about her family but, happily, many years later, she has and the result is both elegant and eloquent, a haunting book about memory that is itself altogether memorable."—Booklist

Connections:

Other books with similar themes:

Blended by Sharon Draper

Girls Like Me by Valerie Thompkins

Other Words for Home by Jasmine Warga

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Was that [LIZETH SELENE]? Oh no no, that was just [DIANA BARRY], a [CANON CHARACTER] from [ANNE WITH AN E]. They are [TWENTY-ONE] years old, use [THEY/HER], and [ARE] aware that they are not actually from Washington DC. Too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

Diana has only been in Washington D.C. for about two weeks.

Diana Barry is a friendly and sweet girl. Since she grew up in a good family, Diana is very polite and well versed in social etiquette. She is loyal and diplomatic, as can be seen when she keeps confronting her own friends and schoolmates whenever they're mean to Anne. Diana is more down to earth than Anne but has a great appreciation for her best friend's imagination, and never fail to compliment Anne on it. However, Mrs. Barry's dislike of Anne due to her origins caused Diana to not sit with her during the harvest picnic among other obstacles to their friendship.

Diana has long, black hair that she often leaves down and embellishes with ribbons. Diana has brown dark eyes, and a warm smile. She is also fluent in French.

Diana is first seen in Your Will Shall Decide Your Destiny, in which she meets Anne for the first time at her mother's tea party; which the Cuthberts were invited to. Anne is quiet at first, as she was instructed to be by Marilla, but she soon loosens up around Diana; whom is polite and accepting of Anne the orphan. Diana is impressed by Anne's large imagination and extensive vocabulary, having known words Diana hadn't known of before. They quickly become friends or as Anne calls it: kindred spirits, they frequently accompany each other to school.

Despite her and Anne's friendship, Eliza Barry; Diana's mother, is very strict about who she consorts with. When Anne and Diana mistakenly drink current wine and are inebriated, Eliza forbids them from seeing each other and declares Anne a 'bad influence' on her daughter.

One evening, Diana rushes to Green Gables calling for help. Diana's younger sister Minnie May had caught a case of croup, which was impeding on her ability to breathe. Luckily, Anne had experience in treating croup from the orphanage, so she headed to the Barry Estate with Diana to help Minnie May. When they arrive at the Barry's, Minnie May is in bad shape and nearly suffocates, but fortunately Anne saves her by rolling her on her belly, drooping her by her legs over the kitchen table, allowing her to expel the mucus obstructing her airway. When Eliza Barry hears about Anne's heroic deed, she permits Anne and Diana to see each other once more. They become best bosom friends again and resume walking to school together.