#* emrys / 001.

[fadiingstarliights]

There weren't many things which could distract Stefan when he had his fangs on someone's neck but seeing Emrys after what was half a century was definitely one of them. It was safe to say Stefan had never expected to see the man ever again in his life. But it was a long life after all, and he was at a place where far too many supernatural beings lived. The odds of them running into each other was not impossible -- but boy, did he wish it was. He pulled back from the human girl he had been feeding on, all interest lost as his eyes followed the man who was walking around the room, catching his eye only to see the same shock be reflected in his as he walked by him. He heard the girl huff and leave when she saw clearly how Stefan's attention was elsewhere now. Stefan struggled to keep his composure, the look on his face changing to one of mild confusion as he wiped off the blood on his lips with a napkin. "Do I know you?" he said in a tone void of emotion, there was no need to pretend like he gave a crap about the man who had abandoned him when he had been at one of the lowest points in his life. @ghcstlyhearts

[menxorxmonsters]

"That's... a big statement," he said quietly. It should scare him off a bit, that wasn't a casual proclamation. What spooked him more? It was mutual. He let himself get lost in the kisses and considered Emrys question for a bit. If anyone else after the dream he just had he would say top, he would want to feel in control. With Emrys though? Aakil wanted to feel taken care of, to feel safe enough to give up control. He... trusted Emrys to do that. "Bottom," he said simply pulling Emrys into a deep kiss.

Emrys frowned, rubbing up and down Aakil's back. "If I wake up from a nightmare, yours are the only arms I want to be in." He pressed the man back into the bed, kissing him over and over. "Do you want to top or bottom tonight?"

[calle-dnd]

Iturs anteckningar (recap #001)

Det började som vilken dag som helst. Strax efter soluppgången var det min tur att hålla i morgonbön och ritual för templets präster, paladins och religösa trollkarlar från det intilligande gillet. Denna dag pratade jag om någon flesta av oss känner: att få möjlighet att ge oss ut och hjälpa andra och knyta dem närmare Helm och Lathander.

Jag har på senare tid känt hur tristessen börjar hugga tag i mig. Träning i all ära men när får vi praktisera det vi lärt oss? Dhorrin verkar känna likadant men Mott verkar väldigt nöjd med att stanna i tornet och studera eller på sin höjd hänga med ned till byn för att träffa Emrys och Levin. Vad jag avundas de båda.Emrys ger sig ut på långa turer som varar i dagar och detsamma gäller Levin som reser med sin pappa längs handelsvägarna och får se vad som händer bortanför Pinewoods gränser.

Idag var inte vilken dag som helst. Efter frukost började det viskas om en främling som anlänt. Jag och Dhorrin släppte allt och tog oss iväg för att se vem det var. Vi fick bara en glimt av mannenn inna han försvann in i templet. Det tog inte lång tid innan både jag och Dhorrin blev inkallade till översteprästen som förklarade att mannen rapporterat att man sett orcher och jättar i området runt Nightstone, en by ett par dagars färd härifrån. Det förklarades att vi var redo för större utmaningar och att vi skulle bege oss till Nightstone och "ta hand om det hela".

Det tog inte lång tid att packa börja bege mig mot samlingsplatsen. Döm om min förvåning då jag såg att Mott skulle med. Något var på tok för han verkade inte lika inspirerad som jag och Dhorrin, men hans intellekt och kunskaper kommer vara ovärdeliga så jag beslutade mig för att inte gräva och bara vara nöjd med att han beslutat sig för att följa med. Lathander var på gott humör denna dag för då vi kom ned till karavanen var både Emrys och Levin där och väntade och det var glada miner då vi gav oss av.

Efter två händelselösa dagar började vi närma oss Nightstone och Emrys och Dhorrin såg till att vi rastade längre och längre från vägen för att inte avslöja oss. Nattlägret hamnade onödigt långt inne i skogen och vi hade knappt bestämt lägerplats innan Emrys gav sig iväg för att "kolla läget i omgivningen" och vi andra fick ordna med mat och sovplats. Men jag hittade snabbt en bekväm plats och satte mig för att be men blev ofta avbruten av Mott som obekvämt irrade runt, konstant missnöjd med bekvämligheten. Han skulle behövt komma på morgonbönen och fått lite av Lathanders välsignelse. Resan har hittills varit väldigt bekväm mest på grund av Levins alla kontakter med värdshusvärdar och andra personer som tipsade oss om plaster att stanna på, men ute i skogen är det Emrys som har bäst koll och bekvämlighetskraven dem emellan är...mycket stora. Kvällsmaten var nästan klar då Emrys kom tillbaka med andan i halsen och berättade att han stött på ett stort antal orcher i skogen inte långt härifrån. Det blev full fart på planerandet, maten glömdes bort och efter att vi stoppat Dhorrin från att "ta hand" om orcherna på egen hand bestämde vi oss för att varna invånarna i Nightstone och satte iväg i mörkret.

Då vi anlände hörde vi tempelklockorna ringa. Något kändes mycket fel och vi hastade fram och över den  nedfällda bron och in i staden med dragna vapen. Flera av husen var raserade och på marken var stora stenblock nedborrade som om de vore inkastade. Jättar var det första som vi tänkte men vi såg inga. Vad som däremot dök upp var tre stycken Wargs som de andra snabbt attackerade, till och med Mott. Han är en väldigt försiktig person och försöker få oss att inte ge oss in i dumheter, men jag har fortfarande inte sett honom backa om vi behöver honom.

Det desperata klockklämtandet gjorde att jag ville se om det fanns folk inne i templet som var av behov av hjälp så jag rusade in. Altarsalen var en enda röra men inga spår av människor. Ett snabbt avancemang in i klocktornet visade på två goblins som hängde och slängde i klockrepet. Så fort de såg mig drog de kniv. En försökte sig på att kasta sig ned från repet med kniven mellan tänderna. Han hann inte nudda marken innan min stridsklubba skickade in honom i väggen och iväg till vad nu goblins tror på. Den andra tvekade lite och skulle precis hugga mig då jag planterade min stövel i bröstet på honom. Efter det var han mycket medgörlig.

Då jag kom ut hade de andra redan tagit hand om wargsen och jag kastade fram goblinen, som tydligen heter Yek, till Dhorrin som kan tala deras språk. Efter lite övertalning så fick vi veta att de tagit byborna som fångar. Yek var mer än villig att visa oss var de håller till. Att vi måste skynda oss att försöka befria byborna det var vi alla överrens om. Levin trollade fram en flaska whisky som skickades laget runt. Med bestämda kliv och fyllda med flytande mod puttade vi Yek framför oss mot vad som förmodligen är ett enormt bakhåll...

[frecklenog]

i Need to know more about the scary twink orderly. right now. i love him

[copiesofme-archive]

A POV DRABBLE, OF THE FIRST TIME LELIANA ENCOUNTERS LAVELLAN. FOR @sicsemper​​

       There was a time when Leliana had looked upon Haven for the first time. When the life of the Arl of Redcliffe had hung in the balance of a plea made to search for a temple that had been lost for a millennia. It was a fight no matter where their party had landed, what with the blades of the Crown at their heels, the darkspawn in front of their shields, and bandits around every corner. Finding the Sacred Temple once had felt like they were firing at the moon with both eyes closed in the dead of morning, and landing upon Haven’s entry way was the first step of a miracle. Short of running head first into the cult that had taken spawn here, Leliana can remember her own intrigue piquing at her thoughts with every new find that they had. 

        Nothing had prepared her to come face to face with the Guardian. Yes, she still recalls the echo of his voice that seemed to reflect into their very souls. When your brothers and sisters of the cloister criticized you for what you professed. You were hurt, but you also reveled in it. She remembers the pang in her chest even now, as he spoke. It made you special, you enjoyed the attention, even if it was negative. And then there was the anger, the humbleness and fear soon replaced with a flame of rage when her own heals dug into the snow. And the rebuttal was on Leliana’s tongue faster than she could even think of trying to catch her own words: You’re saying that I made it up for... for the attention? I did not! I know what I believe! And before she could get anything else out, his eye turns away from her leaving her with nothing but unfinished apprehension on her lips.

          There is a different sort of pain in her chest now, a hurt that tasted like vile poison on her tongue. A part of grief that she hadn’t felt in such a long time - a whole age when her beloved was taken away from her for the sake saving a world that would damn her very existence. For being born with a gift given by the Maker himself, and thus a curse it was being a mere mage thrown into the Circle of Magi. Such an atrocious malevolent world it was, and now it would only seem that the Maker himself would act no better. That he would see his children suffer, would see the Divine - the best of them all, struck down in the one place that should have been the pinnacle of safety for a devout such as she. That he would allow such an atrocity to befall them and plunge their world into absolute chaos. Was that what he wanted of them? To die? Was that his ultimate wish to meet their end at his hand?

         Was Death his only true blessing? 

        And it was in such heavy silence, passing the guard after guard, that a Left Hand walked side by side by the Right Hand - a true escort to the one awaiting them. Both true to the given titles by the Divine, who acted as the head of their dynamic - she who once had struck so precisely with her left hand and shield with her right. Leliana, the dagger in the shadows, and Cassandra who would be her shield through the flame. Titles bestowed upon them by Justinia, in a service to her Divine word. Only now she was gone, decimated within the Ancient Temple of Sacred Ashes along with so many others who would have in turn, found a way for peace for the world of Mages. She should have known that something would go wrong, curse it all. She was her eyes in the shadows after all, the ear pressed to the door, blade under a cloak, Leliana should have been the first to see it coming. And yet here she was, answering the report given by Cassandra’s men when they had heard of a survivor. An elvhen man who’s guilt is immeasurable, a soul who would have information on what he’s done - or what he’s seen.

          A soul with an anchor on his arm, sparking to life like the child of both lightning and green flame in tandem with the pulse of the tear in the sky. He would answer for his crime soon, if he is as guilty as they say, but if the word of the men were folly .. There were still so many questions, where some had him damned, reports also mentioned that there was holy intervention by Andraste herself. But how could this be? They would have to deduce more in time, but first- they must get this one back to the other - Solas.

         It would be Cassandra who threw the door open first, and Leliana who would follow in after to closely observe every nuance in his face visible in the dim light. Following the clatter of sure steps with quiet strides as the guards around the Dalish elf sheathed their swords. They would not need protection here, not from him. Not from the one who might have killed their Divine Justinia. Leliana sees the confusion register in his features as the other slows her pace in favor of circling around him, making her own approach through the shadows. The seething anger stewing in her chest closing her fists tightly as she allows herself to come into the light to show the stranger that she were here too. Cassandra would not be the only one he would have to deal with should his guilt be proven here. And after a brief meeting of their eye, between the Left Hand and the Right, does Cassandra lean down to speak.

        “Tell me, why we shouldn’t kill you now.” The Seeker straightens with a step to circle around him with an arm outstretch in a gesture toward him. “The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead.” Her hand settles on the hilt of her sword as she settles in front of him, “Except for you.”

         It takes a moment before the almost horror flickers across his face, the very notion inspiring his brows to twitch. “You think I’m responsible?”

         “Explain this-!” She is quick to rebuttal reaching down to lift up his arm, and just in time for another surge of the bright green to flicker to lift in a violent shock that illuminated the entire room. And just as it fades away she shoves it back down and turns on her heel, and this time Leliana follows her path in circling him from the other angle. Observing still with the pinch of her own thoughtful brow.

         “I-..I can’t.” He starts.

         “What do you mean you can’t!?” Her voice booms outward just as Leliana’s own stride settles at his back. Mulling the known details over, judging him with her blade to his throat in every sense of the word save for physical. Yet there wasn’t enough yet to deduce just fully of his worth, his innocence, or guilt. Not yet anyhow.

          “I don’t know what that is or- how it got there.” The elf stammered, almost tripping over his own words. There wasn’t any hesitation in his words, or any indication that he might be lying. He was either telling the truth, or too practiced at a game that only the finest of Orlesians have mastered. And there wasn’t a soul who could best Leliana herself. There is still too much unanswered questions..

          “You’re lying!” Cassandra snaps, the roar of her voice reflected in the very advance she made with the grab of his shoulders. She is mere seconds away from lifting him up to his feet, mere seconds away from drawing her sword. And it’s now that Leliana must step in.

           And step in she does, with the quick side step to grasp into Cassandra’s shoulder. Lifting her up, forcing her to up and then backward with her own advancing step. it would do them no good to kill him, not with so much at stake and so many unknown variables. If it wasn’t for that, she might let her have him for Justinia’s honor alone. “We need him Cassandra.” She states, further walking up against her to force retreating steps out of the Seeker. And with the assuring press of her lips she turns her chin to give her a look, a gesture beckoning patience before the Spymaster turns back to the Elf. Leliana remains reserved with the settle of her step back to him.

             “I can’t believe it... " And it was there as he spoke, it was there as horror seemed to reflect in violet eyes that she wondered if he just might be telling the truth. “All those people... dead.”

            Alright. She will give him the favor of doubt, a voice to say his side of the story for her to weigh on.  “Do you remember what happened? How this began?” She asks feeling Cassandra advance behind her yet again.

           “I remember..” He answers, seeming to search his own memory. Search.. or fabricate a lie. They would have to see with his response. “..Running. Things were chasing me. And a woman.” His eyes lit up with the memory, putting words the recollection.

           “A woman?!” Leliana parrots, taken aback by the confirmation in all of the reports that were given about what was seen when he had appeared at the ruins of the Conclave. Of what was standing at his back, of who was standing behind him just as the Fade closed seconds before he collapsed. Could it really have been her? Andraste herself?

           “She- reached out to me.. but then..” His brow pinched, and she could see that he was searching his memory for an answer - and it was an answer that she is fully intending to hear. But then his shoulders only deflate with a short exasperation. And she was almost pressed to push it, pressed to find out who it was that he saw - to get a name, or confirmation? Until Cassandra was in turn stepping in between them to try and break her line of sight.

            “Go to the forward camp, Leliana.” She spoke, stepping toward her - forcing her own steps to retreat back toward the door. Yes, she was right. Someone had to be there, someone had to make sure that their forces were just as they were left them. But there was still too many questions, still too many things left unanswered - and a name left unspoken. And a reasoning as to why she would show himself to someone like him. To someone who wasn’t of the faith, to someone who likely did not even believe in the Maker. Looking to him now, she knows that this is not his way.. so why.. She felt her own brow pinch, frustration, anger, grief, what else could there be now but confusion? “I will take him to the rift.” Cassandra finishes with one last final prompt.

              And there is only a moment that passes before she gives her a nod, a silent approval of the command before she turns on her heel. This is clearly a matter for another time...

[annelouiseoosterhuis]

if it was a weekend, especially during the school year, anne-louise was at o’shea’s. it was actually kind of depressing. fifteen years doing the same job; slinging beers to the same crowd nightly, sidestepping any comments on her body or face by drunken college students, and catching up with the regulars. except for some random weekends here or there, she was going to be at o’shea’s. it had started out as sort of an experiment, thought up by her therapist and encouraged by her moms, to help salve her severe social anxiety. a trial by fire, perhaps. she couldn’t retreat into herself when people were counting on her to serve them, and how was she going to control a room of twenty-something kids if she was too afraid to talk to a stranger? it had been a trial by fire that she had survived, but it wasn’t meant to last for fifteen years. somehow, it had, and annie was afraid that maybe she’d never be able to leave o’shea’s. most of the time, she didn’t want to—without meaning to, it had become a home for her. it helped that the previous owner, david, let her get away with ruling the roost. the new owner, leon, wasn’t as acquiescent.

so, another weekend, another shift. what was a rare occurrence was that anne-louise was actually late. her daily nap after getting home from the school had accidentally ran long, as she somehow forgot to set her alarm. very out of the ordinary for her, which of course set her anxiety off, but she forced herself to take it slow and let her coworker know she’d be there in an hour. once she was finally ready, she took the short walk from her apartment to the bar, and then headed up to the bar at the back to tell her coworker all about her crazy nap situation before she’d head into the office and put her personal items away. giving a quick glance to the person next to her, they spoke to her before she was able to call over her coworker. turning her attention fully to him, a hesitant smile flashed on her face. she didn’t recognize them, which probably meant he was just passing through. their opening statement was further proof that they weren’t local.

well, insulting o’shea’s was a fast way to make an enemy out of anne-louise oosterhuis. though what they said was quite benign, she took any perceived slight against the bar personally. she hadn’t wanted to, trying hard every day to think of herself as a teacher first and bartender second, but it was impossible not to be a little fond of the place she worked at for fifteen years. “there are, actually.” quite a few, but she didn’t like to mention the competition to customers if she could avoid it. out of loyalty, of course. “i guess no one warned you that you’re in the bad part of town.” she laughed defensively. “i don’t think it’s that terrible, there are just some people here in blue harbor that really hate poor people.” the class divide was stark in blue harbor; oak gardens and weaver ridge were like two different worlds. “you must be new here—i don’t mean that in a bitchy way, i just don’t recognize you. that’s all.”

who: emrys & anyone! (0/3)

when: early september 2024 — early evening

where: o’shea’s irish pub

Since his arrival to Blue Harbor a couple of days ago (excluding the occasional sporadic visits he took over the summer to figure out the town), Emmy was feeling out of place—maybe it was the school year starting, maybe otherwise, but he felt out of place regardless. Thankfully, it was the weekend, and that meant some time to collect their thoughts before Monday. A curious glance to the right led his eyes to meet seemingly a pub, and piquing his interest, he parked his car and stepped out towards the establishment.

They never drank, never once thinking to try alcohol in their newly twenty-five years of life—so a pub was the last place they’d expect themself to be in. Yet part of this whole new-to-town thing was, well, just that, actually. He figured he should explore Blue Harbor as much as he could to get used to things. The interior looked nice, and it wasn’t particularly packed, either. Perhaps there were other bars in town, that’d be for another day, they supposed. He walked over to the actual bar, sat down on a stool, and tapped his fingers on the surface for a moment before waving over the bartender and ordering buffalo wings. Was it weird to eat at a bar without actually consuming alcohol? Emmy didn’t think so. He looked over, noticing a person beside him, and regarded them with a nod. “Are there more bars in this town? You’d think for the weekend it’d be packed.”

[nobilitylost]

@mvxnn​ | changmin & emrys | starter call 

     “We have a construction crew coming next week to knock out this wall.” Changmin’s hand slid along the interior wall, one that (once gone) would open up space considerably. It would give the twins more room in their personal living space, making it easier to move about when they weren’t working downstairs in the herbal shop. “But my sister is insisting that we redo the entire apartment. She wants modern and sleek.” His tone indicated that he wasn’t a fan of the idea, but he wasn’t going to argue with her.

She was, after all, a whole four minutes older.

As they walked through the apartment, he straightened up behind them, picking up spell books and the makings of potions from where they’d been rushed earlier. “Forgive the mess. We had a few rush orders to work on this morning before the store downstairs opened for the day. It’s been…hectic.” The holiday season usually was; it seemed everyone wanted a love potion or to murder a family member during the holidays. The extremes of their requests were enough to make Changmin’s head spin. “If you think you can help, we’d be honored to have you re-do the apartment. I’ve heard others speak highly of your work, and my sister specifically requested you. Would you be interested in the job?”

[vcseojoon]

he dragged up the steps like a dog with a limp, panting out of breath and a with keen sense of smell. @emrysvc  so close─ seojoon can smell him, soft and warm, sage and thyme. and time, it was; time to pack on the defenses over his raw emotions.  just do it, sometimes he thinks. give in faster, why keep putting it off, but then he sneers at himself, eyes of tired hate as he looks himself in the mirror. he’s never, ever going to give up on himself and what he wants or stands for. it’s everyone elses’ job to give the fuck up on him. he can’t do it to himself, too. all he wants is to be normal, and if that means he stands his ground until he can’t anymore, over and over, he’ll never give up on this one thing. he doesn’t rap knuckles on the door, just drops his forehead against wood with a loud thwack that resounds through his skull, eyes closed and palm pressed against it. “em? you in there baby?” yes, is the answer. he can smell the life wafting through cracks in the door frame, a warm body that he aches to take upon his own. “i’d really like to come in. can i?” he mumbles, pushes himself to a stand and gathers himself as usual. it’s become easy over the years, fake it til you make it─ spine cranked straighter and lips curled into a smirk, he shoves hands into pockets and his resting expression is tired but clear enough. he’s not as close to the edge as he usually in when he drags himself like a ghost through em’s door. so it’s easier, but not by much.

[mallorybordeaux]

Mallory had grabbed a plate of food to keep up appearances. She wasn’t really in the mood to consume well done burgers. She preferred her food a on the rarer side. Turning to head back outside, the Original moved her plate out of the way of her white blouse before it could be stained with barbecue sauce. “Haven’t I taught you better than to sneak up on me?” She griped, fondness coloring her tone. @emrys-bordeaux

[stellarhistoria]

"I'm sure they're around somewhere yes... at least the moon mice. Haven't seen a lunar moth in ages now. I kind of miss them, hah." there's a bit of a quiet laugh at the memory of the lunar moth flitting about the ship. such old times, when he was a little bit... well, maybe happier wasn't the term he should use, when he doesn't really feel happy or sad or even angry. ( feeling is a strange term, with a heart frostbitten. )

eyes snap to the shadow as its described as a guardian, of sorts, the hesitation does not make him feel good about the situation, but then again, this version of himself seems... stronger. which is fine, he doesn't mind.

"A pleasure, Lord Darkside." the words are forced out through grit teeth. "And, for the record, I could be taller. I choose not to be. There would really be no point, seeing as I rarely get contact from people.. aside maybe the usual three. Oh, that makes me think actually- do you have kids? Or a significant other?" it was mostly curiosity as he waits for the water to boil on the kettle. "I myself have a daughter and a ..."

he pauses.

"... I never asked. We sure are something." chiyoko would have to forgive him on that one, or maybe she'd just... laugh. probably laugh.

"Perhaps it is best to focus on other things. Are you alright here? You are not lonely-- are you? I mean-- you have the denizens of the moon here, right? The moon mice? Moonbots. Lunar moths?" He really wasn't certain what sort of Clipper he'd found himself on. Aesthetically it was vastly different from what he was used to.

Once more his shadow moved, this time to tug on his hair. Mani let out an agitated huff that resembled the sound a small dog would make at an inconvenience.

"I should preface-- I did not come alone. My-- guardian is with me." He explained, nodding to the shadow.

From the spot on the floor the shadow rose-- it shifted before consolidating into a dark haired male, about the same height as Mani himself.

"Tsar Lunar. I am Lord Darkside." The male was clad in a black suit-- looking very much like the sort of person who'd commit white collar crime. He did a small bow before smirking up at Manny.

"And you-- are short as shit."

[lockwords]

It was lucky perhaps that Morgause had left Morgana behind after undoing the curse, and even luckier that Gaius recovered fast enough to get her the antidote on time. Every time he thought about how he had managed to poison her, he shuddered. It had been an impossible situation and he had been left with no choice, but now that it was over the curse didn’t seem as perilous as it had been. But his actions seemed unforgivable. When had he become this? When had killing become an option for him? He knew something was changing in Morgana, she wasn’t the same person she used to be. Fear was changing her, making her irrational -- but that was not an excuse enough for him wanting her dead. Despite knowing that he had done what had to be done to save Camelot, he didn't know if he would have ever forgiven himself had Morgana really died. It was a few days since she had woken up, and Merlin had systematically avoided her as best as he could. Even when Gaius asked him to deliver her medicines, he sent it to her through Gwen instead of going into her chambers himself. It was one of those visits did he find himself waiting before her door, but there was no sign of Gwen nearby, and he began to pace up and down the corridor for her to show up because there was no way he was going in there himself. @tashaonebyone​ 

[moonflowers-and-sunrays]

original writing ♡

series :

my main story (currently untitled) - Emrys and Olivia met on the street, and instantly had eyes only for the other. But when Emrys gets kidnapped and finds Olivia working for the kidnapper, he’ll find friends, enemies, love, danger, and hopefully a way to escape. (i like never work on this one my b gang 😬)

001

snippets :

001 - hero shows up at villains door, injured. hero’s pov

part 2!!!

002 - hero broke in blehhh :P

part 2!!

continuations :

001 - villain shows up at hero’s house wearing a shock collar. (i thought this was kinda fire but it didnt get any likes 🤬🤬 yall fake)

002 - villain finds hero exactly where they left them. (very short)

003 - hero is villains therapist. (very short)

004 - random continuation, idk what to call it. (very short)

005 - bro's under a spell 😓😓

006 - "go away" (im gonna be real w u this one's like 7 sentences its like not even worth the read tbh)

007 - dude this ones literally so good- hero has to kill villain and tjeres like a masquerade ball or whatever the shit

008 - ANOTHER continuation from one of ginger's prompts. sorta intense sorry. Hero js gets like beaten up rlly bad LMFAOO

picrews :

001

[moorliit]

tiernan nursed the amber filled glass in front of them, trying to think of something comforting or reassuring to say to emrys - but nothing was coming to mind. "careful, you'll inflate my ego. i've never had to pay for a drink and you're just adding fuel to the fire," they laughed before taking a sip from his glass. "but honestly, you're not really going to give up are you? you're too pretty to be throwing in the towel."

closed starter for @moorliit ( emrys & tiernan ! )

"Honestly, at this point I'm about to give up men, y'know? They're just so frustrating," Emrys groaned, taking a sip of his own drink, before realising the other needed a refill. "Oh, your next drinks are on me. Have as many as you want. You've let me ramble for ages."

[grimmauldyn]

( POV:001 ) 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝘽𝙇𝘼𝘾𝙆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝙒𝙃𝙄𝙏𝙀 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆.

grimm’s second power rises. 

Pesadelos nunca foram um problema para Grimmauld. Nem sequer eram uma possibilidade para o filho de Merlin, afinal como um autoproclamado mestre de sonhos ele tinha completo poder sobre o que iria sonhar ou deixar de sonhar, e a verdade é que graças a essa sua habilidade, ele sequer sabia o que eram pesadelos até finalmente invadir seu primeiro sonho ruim, e ter que usar seus poderes para afastar as sombras oníricas que atormentavam o sonhador. Porém, mesmo nessa situação — e tantas outras em que fez a mesma coisa, ele nunca experienciou a sensação de ter um sonho ruim, e por isso nunca soube como era estar naquela posição de vulnerabilidade, até mesmo achando estranho quando pessoas ao seu redor lhe falavam que tinham medo de adormecer. Como alguém poderia ter medo de ir para o melhor lugar do mundo? O reino dos sonhos? 

Ah, mas como o mundo dava voltas…

Não apenas o Emrys havia finalmente vivenciado seu primeiro pesadelo, como quase morreu durante essa nova experiência. Graças a um demônio besouro ele ficou preso em um sono infernal, em uma terra cheia de sombras onde foi forçado a encarar seus piores pensamentos e medos, que inclusive nem sabia que tinha. E enquanto tentava sair ou sobreviver naquela terra de assombrações pessoais, o besouro estava preso em sua mão, absorvendo todo o seu mana, e se não fosse por sua realização (e ajuda de um espírito místico da natureza) poderia ter tido toda sua energia vital sugada pelo demônio. Foi a pior experiência de sua vida, nunca havia sentido tanto medo, mesmo que houvesse se distraído pelo alívio de finalmente ter percebido que tudo aquilo era um sonho. 

Entretanto, desde então o mago não têm conseguido usar de suas habilidades mágicas da mesma forma, não tinha mais a capacidade de adormecer e visitar sonhos alheios, e pior ainda, também não conseguia mais manipular aquele plano. Seus últimos sonhos estavam sendo estranhos, com ele se encontrando em um local totalmente deserto, com apenas sombras e terra morta, uma vez ou outra aparecendo criaturas aterrorizantes, mas que por algum motivo não lhe importunava. Mesmo com essa aparente invulnerabilidade aos monstros, aquele lugar ainda  era ruim, sua sensação em geral era ruim, fosse pelos gritos de dor que escutava ou pelos espíritos que lhe imploravam por ajuda vez ou outra, ele simplesmente não conseguia ter paz ao dormir, e nem muito menos fugir daquilo, com sua magia sendo totalmente inútil.

A primeira teoria sobre o porquê de seus poderes estarem falhando foi que ele não tinha conseguido recuperar totalmente seu mana, mas logo se provou incorreta uma vez que ele ainda podia conjurar feitiços normalmente enquanto estava lúcido. A segunda teoria era um pouco mais arriscada, pensando que talvez os demônios do sonho continuavam indo lhe assombrar durante seu sono, bloqueando seu domínio a terra dos sonhos, mas também foi invalidada quando Grimm começou a usar amuletos protetores e conjurar feitiços antes de adormecer e ainda assim continuar passando pela mesma coisa. 

Ele não sabia mais o que fazer para solucionar seu problema, já havia tentado de tudo, desde passar horas no laboratório de poções fabricando todos os tipos de elixires que sua mente conseguia imaginar até ler os livros mais poderosos de seu pai, afinal havia herdado os poderes do mais velho e se tinha alguém que podia lhe explicar o que estava acontecendo era o maior mago de Mitica. E bem, talvez ele pudesse mesmo, mas seus livros não foram lá de grande ajuda. Pensou em ir pedir conselho diretamente ao diretor, mas sabia que Merlin tinha coisas mais importantes para se preocupar do que com a perda repentina de poderes do seu filho. 

Estava aliviado todo aquele problema, porém, com a melhor forma que encontrava. Cigarros e álcool. Infelizmente o efeito era temporário, mas era melhor do que sentir sua cabeça latejar o tempo inteiro, tanto por falta de sono quanto por motivos que o feiticeiro sequer entendia, mas claramente eram interligados a sua falta de magia onírica. 

O relógio do seu quarto apitou, lhe informando de que era exatamente meia-noite, o horário perfeito para se tentar conjurar um feitiço poderoso. Grimm se encontrava em sua cama, diversos grimórios e livros das sombras espalhados pela mesma, sem mencionar todas as suas anotações e junção de feitiços, tudo parte de sua elaborada pesquisa para conseguir seus poderes de volta. Respirou fundo, olhando pela janela para a lua e tentando canalizar sua energia para o que estava prestes a fazer. Não aguentava mais ficar daquela forma, aqueles sonhos estavam lhe infernizando demais e precisava ter um momento de alívio. Conseguia passar dias sem dormir, mas já havia passado tempo demais, não queria ser controlado pelo seu medo de ter outro pesadelo, de ter seus poderes incapacitados novamente, medo de que a terra mais linda e perfeita, o seu domínio, se tornasse o lugar que mais lhe trazia agonia. 

“— Okay, vamos lá.” o garoto falou para si mesmo, se preparando e motivando para seu feitiço. Era um dos mais poderosos, que nunca havia precisado ou mesmo ousado tentar antes. Fechou seus olhos, levando sua mão para cima dos dois livros mágicos para poder canalizar as letras mágicas dos mesmos, respirando fundo e levantando sua cabeça para sentir a energia da lua e canalizar toda a sua luz.  “— Duwies fawr breuddwydion, bendithia fi â…” começou a conjurar, apenas para ser interrompido da forma mais brusca possível. 

“— BRUXO!” alguém gritou, fazendo com que Grimmauld praticamente caísse para trás de sua cama, sua cabeça batendo com força na parede. “— BRUXO, ME AJUDE!” com o segundo grito o feiticeiro abriu seus olhos, se deparando com uma mulher totalmente sem cor em sua frente. Sua expressão era de desespero, e devido a luz que emanava, apesar de ser transparente, Grimm nem ao menos conseguia focar seu olhar na mesma.

Mas que merd… pensou. O que estava acontecendo ali? Havia caído em um sonho vívido novamente? Seus olhos foram diretamente para sua mão, procurando por qualquer indício de que um demônio poderia estar novamente lhe prendendo em um sonho ruim para absorver sua energia.  

“— É totalmente imperdoável ignorar uma dama, sabia?” a moça reclamou, chamando a atenção do mago mais uma vez. Agora ela estava menos radiante, porém ainda incolor. Usava um vestido que para o futuro herdeiro da Grã-Bretanha só podia ser de alguém da nobreza, e também tinha uma tiara em sua cabeça. Era uma princesa? “— Não sou princesa, sou uma duquesa.”

“— Você consegue ler minha mente?” perguntou a moça cinza, se ajeitando onde estava para lhe encarar melhor — e também porque estava começando a ficar bem incômodo. “— É uma telepata?” 

A mulher riu. 

“— Claro que não, meu jovem.” se moveu para frente, fazendo com que Grimm finalmente percebesse que a mesma estava flutuando. “— Sou um fantasma” respondeu como se fosse a coisa mais óbvia do mundo. “— E não li sua mente, você apenas me parece ser bem óbvio mesmo.”

Grimm novamente levou seus olhos para sua mão, dessa vez para checar que estava em um sonho. Nunca precisou usar métodos mundanos para aquilo, sua magia lhe permitia simplesmente sentir quando estava acordado e quando estava em seu domínio, mas se essa sua habilidade havia falhado da última vez, poderia falhar novamente. Procurou por indícios de mutação em sua mão e seus dedos, mas nada, estavam totalmente normais. 

“— Garoto, você vai me ajudar ou não?” perguntou a duquesa preto e branco, que sem mais nem menos possuía um leque em sua mão agora e estava se abanando com o mesmo. “— Você é um bruxo de espíritos, certo? Um médium, ou mediador, já que consegue me ver.” 

“— Eu….” não sabia responder aquela pergunta. Nenhuma das duas. Não sabia o que estava acontecendo, e aquilo lhe irritava profundamente, por mais que não estivesse deixando mostrar para a mulher. “— Acho que sim?”

A duquesa suspirou fundo, como se estivesse decepcionada. 

“— Acha que sim?” sua voz parecia indignada, e sua expressão mostrava o mesmo. Se não fosse transparente, Grimm imaginou que ela poderia estar ficando vermelha naquele momento. “My goodness, eu fui atraída por sua energia acreditando ser um feiticeiro poderoso que poderia finalmente me libertar, mas pelo visto….” 

“— Eu sou um feiticeiro poderoso! ” se defendeu, talvez um pouco rápido demais. Percebeu que o semblante da outra mudou completamente ao ouvir aquilo. Ainda parecia desapontada, mas agora um pouco mais investida no que Grimm poderia lhe falar. 

O filho de Merlin não entendi nada do que estava acontecendo, e não ajudou a sua cabeça ao perceber que agora não estava apenas a duquesa preto e branco no seu quarto, mas também outras duas pessoas, também sem cor, ali na sua janela observando tudo. 

Levou outro susto. Dessa vez caindo da cama diretamente no chão, mas não demorou muito para se levantar, começando a ficar realmente amedrontado com tudo aquilo. 

“— Quem são vocês?” perguntou, agora preparando suas mãos como se estivesse prestes a lançar feitiços.

“— Não posso falar meu nome, meu querido.” a duquesa respondeu, seu tom de voz ainda indiferente como desde o princípio. Bom, depois dos gritos. “— E aqueles ali nem merecem sua atenção, são dois fantasmas burros que me seguiram até aqui. Eu cheguei primeiro.”

Fechou seus olhos, andando de um lado para o outro no quarto. Havia colocado um feitiço em seus colegas de quarto antes de tudo aquilo para que não acordassem durante toda sua tentativa de conseguir seus poderes de volta, e aparentemente havia funcionado muito bem. Ou ele apenas estava imaginando tudo aquilo, de novo. 

“— Como não pode falar seu nome?” perguntou, abrindo seus olhos e então percebendo que a Duquesa havia se movido de onde estava antes bem para sua frente, o que fez se mover para trás assustado mais uma vez. 

“— Nomes têm poder, não posso falar o meu, porque você quem tem que falar para que eu possa voltar para a terra dos vivos.” explicou, como se estivesse totalmente entediada com aquela conversa. “— Será que pode fazer isso logo?” 

Se moveu novamente para sua cama, como se procurasse por um refugio, um lugar onde poderia fazer tudo aquilo sumir. Não estava entendendo porque aquela mulher estava ali, nem muito menos os outros dois do lado de fora do seu quarto lhe encarando pela janela, não sabia o que ela queria dizer sobre ele lhe trazer de volta para terra dos vivos, ele não conseguia fazer aquilo. Era necromancia, um tipo de magia negra, Grimm não faz magia negra. 

“— Vamos logo com isso.” a nobre continuou a falar, sua voz se tornando distorcida aos poucos. “— Bruxo, Feiticeiro, me ajude. Diga meu nome, você só precisa falar o meu nome e eu to livre… Vamos com isso!” estava ficando demoníaca, e enquanto mais falava, mais se aproximava de si, flutuando em seu vestido longo. 

Grimm segurou um amuleto de proteção e apontou para a mulher, algo que pareceu a irritar, fazendo com que a mesma começasse a se contorcer no lugar onde estava, da mesma forma que pesadelos se contorcem quando o feiticeiro lhes expulsa do mundo dos sonhos. Mas ela não era um pesadelo.

“— BRUXO, MÉDIUM, ME AJUDE!” agora gritou, voz estava tão infernal que Grimm ao menos conseguiu entender, escutando apenas um barulho horrível e fechando seus olhos por puro medo. “— ME AJUDE, ME AJUDE, FALE MEU NOME!” ela se moveu rapidamente, ficando cara a cara com o filho de Merlin. Seu rosto agora também estava tão distorcido quanto sua voz, e seus olhos tão vermelhos que pareciam que iam explodir a qualquer segundo. 

“— VAI EMBORA!” o feiticeiro gritou de volta, sentindo seu coração batendo tão rápido, todas as memórias de quando havia sido encurralado pelo seu outro eu em seu primeiro pesadelo voltando. A diferença é que aquilo ali realmente estava acontecendo. “—  EWCH YN RHWYDD”

Ficou uns bons segundos daquela forma, sentado em sua cama, com seus olhos fechados, sentindo como se precisasse chamar alguém, pedir ajuda de alguém, mesmo com sua voz sem força de fazer aquilo. Porém, após perceber que não havia sido atacado, o feiticeiro abriu seus olhos e percebeu que estava sozinho ali. 

Bem, “sozinho”, seus colegas de quarto ainda dormiam pacificamente. 

Soltou a respiração que nem sabia que estava segurando. Não tinha mais nenhum fantasma ali, nem a duquesa, nem fantasmas na janela. Ele estava livre daquilo. Pelo menos fisicamente, pois sua mente estava a mil sobre todas as informações que havia recebido. 

O que a fantasma quis dizer com ela foi atraída por ele? Ele era um médium? Nunca havia conseguido ver fantasmas antes, não queria ver fantasmas. Parecia que os espíritos das pessoas mortas não eram exatamente simpáticos, e ele não tinha mais emocional para levar sustos daquela maneira. 

“— Pelos espíritos da natu…” começou a falar enquanto se deitava em sua cama aliviado, então percebendo o que estava saindo de sua boca e a tampando quase que instantaneamente. Última coisa que o menino queria era invocar espíritos novamente. 

Pois é, parecia que Grimmauld iria passar mais uma noite sem sono. 

[actordomryan-blog]

Scene 001 Ryan/ Emrys

Ryan smiled as he threw a hoodie on after setting up his bedroom for an impact play scene. He made sure that aftercare stuff was set up and he headed out the door.  He went over to the submissive dorm building and went inside. “ Hi. “ He said as he saw Emrys. 

[nottinmorte]

{ emrys }‌:

“You’re even more cute when you’re nervous,” He teased her with a grin before it faded slightly at her words. “Yeah. So I’ve heard.”

“I-I-I...” She shook her head, feeling the heat rising on her cheeks from both the embarrassment for what she said and his teasing. Elodie took a deep breath, trying to calm herself enough to speak. “I just meant...Everyone knew who-who you were before...” She bit her lip as she looked up at him again. “It was hard not to hear stories about you. I-I guess a ‘legend’ would be a better word tha-than a ‘ghost.’“