#( –––– her name was engraved in the skies; headcanon. )

[genyathefirebird]

I posted 2,487 times in 2022

53 posts created (2%)

2,434 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@aquitainequeen

@wastelandbebe

@laviejaguardia

@spacegirlsgang

@monroesimons

I tagged 2,232 of my posts in 2022

Only 10% of my posts had no tags

#art - 189 posts

#doctor who - 129 posts

#words words words - 107 posts

#black sails - 97 posts

#hdm - 93 posts

#the old guard - 75 posts

#the old guard fanart - 74 posts

#derry girls - 56 posts

#andromache the scythian - 50 posts

#cicu - 48 posts

Longest Tag: 118 characters

#💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

got any old guard headcanons you'd like to share?

Kayla! 😊💜🌼 Thanks for asking! I had to have a think but how about these...

#1 Betting! I think they have to wipe the slate clean at least once a decade because otherwise these would spiral right out of control because they're all going to want to one-up each other right? 

But that makes any year-9 bets both stupid AND for a stupid amount because you've got to get it in time, so… 

Nicky at some point: bet 3000 I beat you at the 2 week long horseback mountain orienteering in winter. 

Booker: yeah sure. 

Andy: might as well pay me now. 

Joe: I'll put in an order for a custom made trophy and get them to engrave my name on it so you can give it to me when I win. 

Nile: (absolutely not missing out on her first major winnings) make it 5000!

#2 Quynh - once she's fully recovered and has put her underwater time in the past, I think her mischievous side would come out more as she deals with the lost time and memories. 

So when they do strategy chats and are like 'what about Paris '35, no it's like Melbourne '61' she'll say, 'no it's like '98' and confuse them all for a moment into trying to remember that far back… '98 like when I had to wrestle that giant squid.' 

Also any complaining about food rations or options for a remote mission get the standard: back in my day we walked uphill both ways in the snow tone 'No worse than the amount of salt water and fish I had for 500 years.' and then claims a snack tax for it.

33 notes - Posted January 10, 2022

#4

you're telling me I have to wait until tomorrow

46 notes - Posted May 17, 2022

#3

Joe/Nicky | T | 5.7k Tags: Canon Compliant, historical snippets, seat-switching both physically and relationship-wise, where the lines blur, in the eye of my beloved i saw..., Immortal Husbands

Joe twists his neck from side to side, loosening up his shoulders before letting himself sag back into the chair again. Turning slightly further, he looks past the shutters and sees how the navy-tinged skies have darkened. It was late and their quarry would either show up soon, or have already made camp for the night somewhere in the wilds.

He nudges Nicky’s boot with his own. ��Swap seats with me.”

Nicky keeps his eyes on the door, but in his peripheral vision Joe’s easy smile spreads wider. “Why?”

“Indulge me.”

This is a mix of immortal husband soft moments across time, and a little centred around swapping places and being intertwined. A two card monte Joe/Nicky fic for the lovely @polarcell <3

61 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

#2

no one:

Joe: if Seamus has killed a fly then he's innocent. if Seamus has killed two pigeons then he's innocent. if Seamus has killed a shrew, three mice, and a rabbit then he's innocent and I love him. if Seamus has only one friend then that is me. if Seamus has no friend, that means i am no more on the earth . if the world is against Seamus, i am against the world

273 notes - Posted April 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

so I'm hearing that the continent wants the UK to pay for the next eurovision and tbh that's valid

316 notes - Posted May 14, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[audreadeguinness]

––––– TAG DUMP

threads: ( –––– chat: last name; first name. )

paragraph: ( –––– last name; first name: title. )

featuring your character: ( –––– featured: last name; first name. )

connection tag: ( –––– otp / brotp tag; audrea de guinness + first name last name. )

specific journal entry: ( –––– journal: title. )

specific self paragraph: ( –––– self paragraph: title. )

audrea genevière cordelia de guinness (photos, etc.): ( –––– she was embroidered by the stars in the sky; audrea genevière cordelia de guinness. )

headcanon: ( –––– her name was engraved in the skies; headcanon. )

musings: ( –––– she resembled the diamond rays of the stars; musings. )

aesthetics: ( –––– the moonbeams envy how she shines in the dark; aesthetics. )

journal: ( –––– you could craft constellations out of her stories; journal. )

self paragraph / writing: ( –––– you could craft constellations out of her stories; self paragraph / writing. )

[astoriakensington]

–––– tag dump

threads: ( –––– chat: last name; first name. )

paragraph: ( –––– last name; first name: title. )

featuring your character: ( –––– featured: last name; first name. )

connection tag: ( –––– otp / brotp tag; astoria swarovski + first name last name. )

specific journal entry: ( –––– journal: title. )

specific self paragraph: ( –––– self paragraph: title. )

astoria swarovski (photos, etc.): ( –––– she was embroidered by the stars in the sky; astoria nastassja valeria swarovski. )

headcanon: ( –––– her name was engraved in the skies; headcanon. )

musings: ( –––– she resembled the diamond rays of the stars; musings. )

aesthetics: ( –––– the moonbeams envy how she shines in the dark; aesthetics. )

journal: ( –––– you could craft constellations out of her stories; journal. )

self paragraph: ( –––– you could craft constellations out of her stories; self paragraph. )

[yuiheng-a]

    the  significance  of  keqing's  name.  misc.  headcanon;  (  01  /  ??  )

    the  two  chinese  characters  which  make  up  the  yuheng's  name  are  刻  and  晴  with  both  characters  having  different  meanings  which  then  combine  into  a  few  different  interpretations  on  how  one  may  understand  it.

    the  character  kè  means  to  engrave  or  to  cut,  such  as  雕刻 (  diāokè  )  meaning  a  sculpture  or  a  carving.  this  ties  into  my  interpretation  of  keqing  being  a  trailblazer  in  her  own  right,  defining  a  path  for  liyue  as  a  member  of  the  qixing  ——  but  also  as  a  'sculpture'  herself.  she  is  both  the  artist  and  the  artwork.  what  i  mean  by  that  is  her  status  as  a  powerful  individual  as  well  as  her  relentless  drive  verses  her  upbringing  within  an  oppressive  household  and  how  that  affected  her  self  image.  it  also  brings  the  idea  of  her  sharpness  in  wit  and  in  tongue,  not  to  mention  her  swordsmanship.

    this  character  as  a  noun  holds  a  different  definition  as  it  now  means  a  moment  in  time;  时刻 (  shíkè  )  is  exactly  this.  i  find  this  fascinating  because  keqing  is  very  much  a  long-term  planner,  but  she  does  as  much  as  she  possibly  can  in  the  now  and  uses  so  much  of  her  time  on  her  work.

    the  second  half  of  her  name  is  qíng,  meaning  to  clarify  or  to  refine;  and  it  also  means  fine  /  clear  weather,  such  as  晴朗 (  qínglǎng  )  meaning  sunny  and  cloudless.  i  view  this  to  mean  her  direct,  no  nonsense  personality.  it  also  relates  to  her  authority  as  yuheng  of  the  liyue  qixing,  how  she  clears  a  path  for  the  future  of  her  nation  like  sunlight  piercing  through  an  overcast  sky.  keqing  sees  liyue  as  a  gem  that  is  cut  and  polished  by  the  qixing  and  the  other  influential  forces  such  as  the  adepti  and  the  former  rex  lapis.

    it's  easy  to  see  how  rich  in  symbolism  her  name  is  when  considering  the  above  as  well  as  how  the  two  characters  can  come  together.  i  enjoy  the  interpretation  of  this  reddit  post  which  says  her  name  means  'one  who  brings  clear  skies'  as  it  does  fit  her  well  as  somebody  who  will  do  anything  for  the  protection  of  liyue  and  her  people.  it  can  also  be  taken  as  her  desire  to  engrave  a  clear  sky,  to  leave  a  bright  mark  upon  the  annals  of  liyue's  history.

    some  other  interpretations  are  a  sunny  moment ,   a  time  of  clarity,  a  blunt  and  straight  forward  person,  and  one   who  sculpts  and  refines.

[xpuriity]

drabble... or headcanon? post-war, when she finally starts speaking again, the first time she musters the courage to sing, even a little - this uplifts the shattered crew, evoking tears to hear the hummingbird's soulful song once more.

drabble: playing the piano / singing for the first time vs playing for the crew for the first time? comparing how it feels performing for a deck full of pirates rather than an empty room

           DANCING  HUES  OF  RED  AND  YELLOW  SPARKS,  merged  in  a  blend  of  flaming  orange  engulfing  keys  of  black  and  white  while  a  petite  figure  of  a  heart  broken  musician  could  only  watch  as  her  beloved  piano  burnt  to  ashes  along  with  the  ship  she  called  H O M E;  a  trivial  loss  perhaps  when  compared  to  the  tragedy  of  other  losses  suffered  that  day.  

           However,  the  scene  remained  engraved  in  memory,  playing  on  repeat  and  indigo  hues  lost  in  a  trance  would  be  captivated  by  the  dance  of  embers  until  it  took  over  her  entirely,  prompting  an  attempt  to  recreate  the  scene  amidst  her  mourning  daze  —  a  match  struck,  the  piano  catching  flames,  not  her  original  one,  no  that  one  had  long  been  lost,  but  the  spare  the  family  had  brought  out  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  lift  her  spirits.

           She  had  almost  burnt  herself  along  with  it  had  she  not  been  pulled  out  of  the  fire  —  not  a  single  word  uttered,  not  even  as  frantic  family  members  questioned  her  actions;  it  is  only  once  she  watches  the  fire  completely  extinguish,  leaving  naught  but  smoke  behind,  when  her  voice  is  finally  heard  in  the  form  of  a  sob,  before  hurried  steps  retreat  to  her  chamber  again.  

                                                       ──── ♫ ────

           It  is  not  until  days  later,  or  had  it  been  weeks  when  she  would  finally  voice  coherent  words  other  than  the  names  of  her  lost  loved  ones  —  long  waves  of  strawberry  blonde  now  chopped  in  a  disheveled  mess  framing  round  cheeks  which  had  lost  their  rosy  color;  she  would  turn  to  her  elder  sister  for  support,  voice  weak  and  cracking  from  all  the  crying  and  having  not  spoken  in  so  long.  

           ❝Momo..  can  you…  H E L P  me?❞  she  would  request,  a  query  both  girls  understood  held  a  weight  much  heavier  and  deeper  than  a  mere  haircut.  

           Since  then,  she  would  slowly  begin  to  speak  again,  quietly  and  in  short  sentences,  but  she  would  finally  acknowledge  her  surroundings  and  the  people  still  around  her  than  merely  the  ghosts  haunting  her.  

                                                       ──── ♫ ────

           However,  it  would  take  much  longer  for  her  to  actually  sing  again.  Long  months  would  pass,  sometimes  she  would  take  a  seat  before  her  piano  to  attempt  to  play,  drawing  concerned  gazes  of  family  members  as  they  recall  her  trial  with  flames  before  —  a  memory  which  had  been  but  a  vague  blur  to  the  hummingbird  herself  —  but  never,  would  she  truly  muster  the  strength  to  play.  

           She  would  sit  quietly  for  hours,  gazing  upon  the  black  and  white  keys  taunting  her,  begging  to  be  played  —  digits  would  hover  above  them  then  retreat  to  her  lap  again  as  her  mind  flashes  back  to  the  first  time  she  played  before  the  same  family  now  eyeing  her  in  anticipation.  

                                                      ──── ♫ ────

           Hands  trembling  as  they  tugged  at  her  own  mini  skirt,  glossed  lips  bitten  into  shyly  while  indigo  hues  refused  to  meet  the  crowd  who  had  just  become  her  new  family  —  she  needed  to  make  them  proud,  to  show  she  belonged  among  them  but  never  before  had  she  played  to  such  a  large  crowd.  Shyness  and  anxiety  had  been  about  to  win  this  battle  until  indigo  met  silver  irises  —  among  the  hundreds  of  pirates,  there  H E  stood,  an  encouraging  smile  upon  freckled  features  and  subconsciously,  she  would  smile  back,  softly  awestruck.

           A  single  glance  and  yet  it  would  grant  her  the  courage  to  play,  fear  shifting  into  passion  as  she  lost  herself  in  the  music,  performing  like  never  before  —  the  tune  comes  to  an  end,  and  she’s  snapped  to  reality  with  the  heavy  applaud  and  cheering  of  her  family,  pumping  adrenaline  through  her  veins  to  finally  share  her  music  with  someone  other  than  her  bedroom  walls  —  previous  nerves  now  shifting  to  thrill  and  ecstasy,  never  could  her  bedroom  walls  ever  grant  her.  

                                                       ──── ♫ ────

           But  when  indigo  hues  now  watch  the  crowd,  her  source  of  strength  is  nowhere  to  be  found  and  when  she  presses  her  lips  together,  he’s  not  around  to  replace  it  with  a  smile  —  she  leans  her  head  back  glancing  up  at  the  sky,  digits  touch  the  nape  of  her  neck  where  his  name  had  now  been  etched,  marking  her  forever.  

           ❝This  one’s  for  you..  Ace…❞  she  speaks  quietly  before  lids  come  to  a  close,  lashes  fluttering  above  rosy  cheeks  as  she  finally  plays  —  the  sound  of  a  dusty  piano  fills  the  air,  followed  by  the  gentle  mellifluous  voice  of  a  broken  bird;  the  first  song  she  ever  plays  would  be  dedicated  to  none  other  than  her  late  commander  and  when  she  finishes  this  time,  there’s  no  applaud,  merely  silence  and  tears  for  a  few  moments.

           She  waits,  wondering  if  she  had  done  more  harm  than  good  by  playing  again  —  if  now  that  she  had  been  broken,  her  music  could  only  broken  too  —  until  a  moment  later,  when  loud  cheers  replace  silence;  they  would  smile  through  tears  in  their  eyes,  they  would  laugh  and  cry  and  she  would  elicit  a  sound  that  is  a  mixture  of  a  sob  and  a  giggle.  

           Through  her  song,  a  wall  would  shatter  and  the  pain  which  had  long  been  unspoken  by  so  many  of  them  would  finally  be  out,  a  bird  set  free  from  its  cage,  just  like  herself.

           Sobbing  family  members  would  embrace  their  musician  —  their  little  sister,  providing  comfort  and  praise.  Her  gaze  would  lift  to  the  skies  one  more  time,  this  time  with  a  wide  smile  as  she  mouthed  a  ‘Thank  You’  to  the  one  she  deemed  responsible  of  bringing  them  all  back  together  again,  even  in  his  absence.  

[tattooed-merwin]

Tattooed Merlin Headcanon

He was always a rebellious creature, even as a child. His love of country, bred into him just like every young boy from Scotland before him, was not strong enough to overcome his desperation to despise his father’s music collection, including the bagpipes. So when he was sent off to boarding school and a mate introduced him to country music, he fell instantly in love. He discovered many firsts with this mate; her name was Yvaine and she rebelled against her mother, who loved fantasy stories so much she’d named her daughter after the Lady Of The Lake. She smiled in such an openly joyful fashion; there was no curve of the corner of her lip, no shy batting of the eyelashes. She was always completely unashamedly happy to see him. In addition to country music, Yvaine taught him about many things; she taught him to ski. She taught him to read tarot cards. She taught him how to grieve when his brother died in a car crash that almost took his baby sister from him too, and when they were done getting smashed on the cheapest whisky they could find, she took him to a tattoo parlour and started a new obsession that would remain with him just like the country music.

His first was small, not very ambitious. It was a small sail boat on his upper arm with his brother’s birthday written in the sail. It was that night that he learned that the deepest pain can be made better with that buzzing discomfort, and the only cure for death was watching a needle carve beauty in to his skin so he could feel alive. A week later, Yvaine taught him about sex. The whole affair was messy and awkward and wonderful, and he was halfway to what he thought falling in love felt like when he went on vacation with her family and met her brother, James. By the time he had made up his mind to let Yvaine down easy, she had been the one to catch him panting on top of James with kiss swollen lips and eyes brimming with tears of pleasure and pain. The rest of the trip was tense and they barely spoke after that, and when he found himself in the chair again, this time for 6 hours on line work alone, the artist carved the wings of the dragons she absolutely did not believe in, in to the breadth of his shoulders. When his grandfather died, his family crest was added to the inside of the arm that held the sailboat, and when he became an uncle for the first time, a wild mare with the colours of a Scottish sunset in her mane made her mark on the right arm.

This continued until Merlin was 25 and playing music in any place that would have him, hoping against hope to have enough money to go a performing arts school. The night he realised that dream wouldn’t come true, he emptied his savings adding “Don’t dream its over” to the last remaining free space on his arms. The result of this was that his arms were completely covered by the time he was asked if a middle class farm boy from Scotland wanted a job as a spy. He glanced down at his arms, and thought of a Yvaine, and decided he’d try anything once.

He made it through the training alright, and after coming in first but being less of an adrenaline junkie and more of a pyromaniac than they’d like in an agent, he is offered a job shadowing Merlin, the quartermaster and gadget creator of Kingsman. He takes it, and doesn’t think about the itch bubbling undetected in his veins until Merlin retires and Hamish ceases to exist as the title becomes his. He is warned about the rules, about the isolated lives Kingsmen lead, and he signs on the dotted line, calm as can be. The second he is out of the shop, he bolts on foot to the nearest shop. He doesn’t even pause to consider he’s breaking an unspoken contract he has accidentally made with himself to only tattoo his arms and shoulders. He walks out an hour later, “Take Me Home, Country Road” adorning his very tender ribs. The words are a promise that one day he will see the rolling green hills, and roaring waves, at least once more.

He dedicates his life to what it means to be Merlin so completely that when he meets a young man named Harry, who has a sweet smile and deadly eyes, asks what his name is, he has almost forgotten. “Hamish McClaen,” he says, and Harry smiles like Christmas has arrived in July. Shortly after they meet, Harry’s Uncle Gregory, who was Arthur, is taken out in a failed attempt on Harry’s life. Chester King becomes Arthur and immediately demands that Merlin conceal his tattoos beneath appropriate attire. He refuses to wear the suits, but sweaters prove to be comfortable, and enough of a rebellion that he is satisfied with himself. The next morning, Harry holds his hand while a beautiful lion standing proud and victorious is added over Merlin’s right hip. He realises very quickly that he can’t get ink every time Harry faces danger or he’ll run out of skin and money, even on his rather large salary from Kingsman, but for years to come, Merlin has a love/hate relationship with his “the first time I almost lost Harry” tattoo. The urges to get more ink come and go, and he gives in when he sees fit. Sometimes it’s when they lose an agent, sometimes he waits until after the training process.

Just once, it’s both.

The wheels touch down and the sun sets on Merlin’s time being alive at the same time as Harry Hart, and he walks back in to Kingsman with the boy who saved the world, but not before they stop at the shop down the street first. The pain and the adrenaline are still coursing through Merlin’s veins when he sits in the chair and has “It is my duty as a Knight to sample as much peril as I can” added to the space beneath his left pectoral muscle. Eggsy doesn’t ask; he’s seen Monty Python, and he looks at Merlin as they both wonder silently if the name Galahad was always worn like a middle finger to death.

But then Merlin gets another; months later when Eggsy is finally added to the table as the new Galahad, and the second person to occupy Merlin’s heart as comfortably as he occupies the space to the right of Arthur, Merlin walks back in to the shop for a second Galahad tattoo. A line work tree on his spine, beneath the wings; the foundation of his existence, decorated at the roots (in that patch of skin that just barely shows when he stretches and his sweater lifts, that Eggsy can’t get enough of) with the hopeful words, “O just and faithful knight, Ride on! the prize is near.“ Knowing full well he left out the part about God, he shows his young knight his tattoo and knows that this young Galahad is not a knight belonging to God, but to Kingsmen. To Merlin. It’s in the gasp Eggsy lets out at seeing his favourite patch of Merlin’s skin dedicated just for him, that Eggsy’s whole life is engraved with words of praise for the older man just the same.

Eventually, when they have a day off, Merlin takes off his shirt and stops Eggsy before the lad can enthusiastically entice him to bed. He asks him to sit, keep his hands to himself, and he tells him the stories behind each piece. He shows Eggsy his life in the pictures he wears, and Eggsy watches, stunned and enthralled, and Merlin feels for the first time, like his tattoos had a purpose beyond Yvaine (wherever she may be now), and rebellion.

Like maybe somehow he had known that he wouldn’t find his love until later, and he wanted to be able to help his attentive darling understand him a bit more, and the tattoos were a reminder of all the bumps and joys that had brought him to the day they looked at each other and said “yes”.

Or maybe he was just grateful in way he couldn’t possibly express that Eggsy loved him, and had a bit of an ink kink, to boot.

[laraldaine]

––––– TAG DUMP

threads: ( –––– chat: last name; first name. )

paragraph: ( –––– last name; first name: title. )

featuring your character: ( –––– featured: last name; first name. )

connection tag: ( –––– otp / brotp tag; lara aldaine rowe + first name last name. )

specific journal entry: ( –––– journal: title. )

specific self paragraph: ( –––– self paragraph: title. )

lara solene aldaine-rowe (photos, etc.): ( –––– she was embroidered by the stars; lara solene aldaine rowe. )

headcanon: ( –––– her name was engraved in the skies; headcanon. )

musings: ( –––– she resembled the diamond rays of the stars; musings. )

aesthetics: ( –––– the moonbeams envy how she shines in the dark; aesthetics. )

journal: ( –––– you could craft constellations out of her stories; journal. )

self paragraph / writing: ( –––– you could craft constellations out of her stories; self paragraph / writing. )