#Will-o-Whisp ship

[lapetitechatonne]

dp/dc ship week 2023 ideas

so, with ship week coming up i'm sure a lot of us are stumped on what ships we want to write. i know for me, i wanted to use it as an excuse to write ships i haven't gotten around to yet, or that have taken me by the throat. as the Batpham Server's Patron Saint of w|w and poly ships, i bring to you some rare pairs and ideas for ship week. these can be platonic or romantic!!!

First/Last

Jazz Fenton/Dick Grayson (Nightbirds) - you could play off how they're the first sibling, and if you want to make it angsty, how they're the last ones in their family to die.

Arranged Marriage AU

Danny Fenton/Duke Thomas (Will-o-Whisps) - Duke reads off of an artifact he found in the unused part of the manor and accidentally gives himself in marriage to the ghost king. after they figure it out, Danny decides he's pretty cute and asks him to coffee.

Holding Hands/Kiss

Dani Phantom/Lian Harper (Trick Shot) - it's hard to hold your girlfriend's hand when she makes you so nervous you turn into goo.

Soulmate AU

Valerie Gray/Kara Zor-El (Valkyrie) - for so long, when Valerie would write on her arm, no one would respond. when she decides that soulmates are a scam and she had bigger things to worry about, like keeping a roof over their heads, she finally gets a message in an unknown language.

Family/Friends

Dan Phantom/Tim Drake (Bad Ending) - with all their friends and family dead, a young Dan and Tim find themselves drawn together. with Dan's power and Tim's brain, nothing can stand in the way of this Bonnie and Clyde retelling.

Coffee Shop AU

Dani Phantom/Tim Drake (Travel Photos) - Tim didn't expect to find a girl on top of his favorite coffee shop when he snuck up to take photos of Batman and Robin. he gets her to trust him enough to go downstairs for a late-night hot chocolate and muffin.

Promise/Conflict

Jazz Fenton/Cassandra Cain (Speech Therapy) - Jazz promised Danny she would keep living after his death but she doesn't know how. Cass promised herself she'd never kill again, but if she isn't a killer what else is she? broken and conflicted, they meet each other.

Wings AU

Paulina Sanchez/Kara Zor-El (Star Struck) - Dragon!Paulina (whether she just kept some of the powers or was given the necklace by Dorathea) is flying around the midwest when she's spotted by another flying girl. naturally, they hit it off.

Secret Identity/Danger

Danny Fenton/Sam Manson/Tucker Foley/Tim Drake (Everlasting Insomniacs) - Tim is visited by a time god and given a mission to stop the catalyst of the end of the world. it starts with tutoring.

Friends to Lovers AU

Dani Phantom/Irey West (Short Circuit) - it's not abnormal to see a speedster in the Zone, in fact, you could even call it a normal occurrence. Dani's favorite visits are from a cute, sassy, redhead.

Fight/Heal

Sam Manson/Zatanna Zatara (Black Rabbit) - Zatanna didn't mess with necromancy. there were just some things magic shouldn't meddle in, and she knew that, so when the Justice League called her to interrogate a known necromancer, she's weary. Sam is at the same time exactly what Zatanna expected, and nothing like she thought. (fills the prompt because necromancy is the opposite of healing, which insinuates necromancy can heal too.)

Enemies to Lovers AU

Tucker Foley/Tim Drake (Techno Geek) - Tim is constantly trying to stop Hacktavist TooFine from breaking into the Wayne servers. it becomes something of a game, and Tim finds himself enthralled in the puzzle.

Royalty/Servitude

Jazz Fenton/Jason Todd/Roy Harper (Street Smarts) - Jason and Roy find themselves getting sacrificed by a cult to the Ghost King as his eternal servants. they weren't expecting Queen Regent Jazz to decline their offer.

No Capes AU

Danny Fenton/Clark Kent (Last Suns) - Danny always believed in aliens. it was part of the reason he became an astronaut. he never expected to actually meet one. he also never expected them to be a farmer.

this post has been such fun to make, i love a good rare pair and these prompts are killer. i won't be doing any of these, i have mine planned out already, but let me know if you'd like a sneak peek ;) or if you'd like more variations on the prompts. happy creating!!!

[mothfinite]

lesbian mothfinite canon 🥳

(another panel edit lol og panel below!!)

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

~~ Maul Week 2024 Day 3: Dathomir & Nightbrothers + Alt Prompt: Dolby 1998~~

Contrary to expectation, Maul has always had a complex relationship with light.

Green light, when he was young, was something forbidden. Nightsisters could use the gift, making magick at their whim, exploring the world around them with ever stronger, more creative abilities. Maul was a boy. Nightmagick was not for boys. The green mist that could heal or harm was denied him, and so like any stubborn child scorned, he decided he did not want it anyway.

When Sidious took him away to the gloom of Mustafar, that was not so bad, but then came visits to Naboo, where his master was an important political figure. Naboo had a bright yellow sun that hurt his eyes, and gave him headaches. Unfortunately, stars came in lots of colors, but most of them were just as terrible. White? Blue? Yellow? He squinted everywhere he went for years, wishing for something more like the soft red light of his homeland.

Years on Orsis, with its bright sun, were spent trying to find shady, quiet places to do his homework. It was no surprise that one of the few other students who preferred low light -usually of the deep ocean- was his most frequent companion. There were no other nightbrothers or dathomirians on Orsis. Kilindi was as close as he came to someone who understood.

His relationship with light only became more complex with time.

As a teenager, he grew to love nothing more than running through the forms of juyo, his lightsaber in hand. When everything else was difficult, swordforms were always there to lose himself in, his burning red blade a luminous blur around him. Nightbrothers trained, every day. They enjoyed it. This was normal for his kind. It felt nice to be very good at something. Maul thrived with a blade of light in his hand.

As an adult, he was also maimed by a lightsaber, though even that could not steal what juyo meant to him.

Then came the darkest days, ironically on a planet with a sky so dulled by pollution that he did not have to squint. The sunlight of Lotho Minor was a weak orangey color, every hour of every day. The closest thing he'd seen to Domir's red hue. He lived with that as some small comfort, until his brother came with a glowing amulet to take him home. He hid on Savage's ship even after they landed, convinced they had only gone in a circle and he was still trapped on the trash world... until the Nightmother lured him out with a will 'o whisp spell.

Returned to Dathomir, the green light of nightmagick was used to heal him. Put back the broken pieces of his psyche, into something a little more like stained glass than a single frame, but still a good deal functional than it was before.

The story doesn't end there, it doesn't even end when he dies the first time, but you get the picture. Darth Maul, despite his darkness, had just as much -if not more- of a relationship with light than anyone else in the galaxy.

[roseyjustice]

Selfshiptember Day 1 - First Meeting

Slowly trying to catch up on selfshiptember !

Here's whisper's and guzma's first meeting, guzma was walking around the roads to blow off steam when whisper crawled out of the nearby bushes carrying a wurmple. Guzma was understandably confused and struck up conversation and they bonded over their love of bug pokemon !

Just something silly that I thought would be really funny and cute as a first encounter lol

[firewolf-pyro]

TORCHWOOD’S DALEK EPISODE MASTER POST

Episode 1

https://firewolf-pyro.tumblr.com/post/680896271780921344/episode-1-whisps-scene-opens-camera-moves-up

Episode 2

https://firewolf-pyro.tumblr.com/post/681708790923591680/scene-opens-in-space-our-solar-system-watching

Episode 3

https://firewolf-pyro.tumblr.com/post/682187039386501120/episode-three-map-of-a-star-ships-voyage-scene

Episode 4

https://firewolf-pyro.tumblr.com/post/682647569962287104/episode-four-the-cash-pot-that-was-a-pond-enter

Episode 5

https://firewolf-pyro.tumblr.com/post/682987709528195072/episode-five-the-dalek-in-pond-scene-freeze

Episode 6

https://firewolf-pyro.tumblr.com/post/685522698759176193/episode-six-ailments-of-the-superior

Episode 7

https://firewolf-pyro.tumblr.com/post/686144414648827904/episode-seven-following-lights-scene-begins

Episode 8

https://firewolf-pyro.tumblr.com/post/692383815847542784/episode-eight-too-deep-to-dive-scene-enter

Episode 9

https://firewolf-pyro.tumblr.com/post/692473490831474688/episode-nine-trusting-the-exterminator-scene

Episode 10

https://firewolf-pyro.tumblr.com/post/692565101134348288/episode-ten-the-exterminator-scene-opens-to-an

[mixtvpes]

— BREEZY LOCKERS ARENT FOR HIDING

info;

- words: 1371 words or something like that

- description: the newest survivor has just been summoned to face their first trial in Ormond, a cold snowy place often with snow storms and high winds. Ormond is home to the killers The Legion. their leader shall appear in efforts to get close to the newest survivor. however, none of them knew how turning the situation would become.

- ship: frank morrison x reader (gender neutral)

ع˖⁺ ☁⋆ ୭ 🕊.⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⊹

you took a big inhale of the cold winded air and tried calming yourself down. being it your first trial you were scared out of your mind. what happens if you die? is that it forever? will marks be left on your body? do you even have the skills to make it out alive? so many thoughts in such a short amount of time. thankfully, you were next to your teammate David King. the tall brute like man was for the most part calm and silent but kept a very protective feeling close to him. he signaled you over to a generator he was working on, though you were very hesitant on joining him on it, he assured you that you’d do fine and all you needed to do was really focus. you trusted him and started working on the generator. over time it started getting easier to repair. David finished it and quickly told you to get out of the area. he split off from you and ran the opposite way. you didn’t understand why he left but figured this is your time to really get an idea of how these trials are. now you were completely alone and in a windy snow storm.

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

the winds really started to pick up after the first generator was fixed. the air became very crisp and cold from the snow, the ground becoming crunchier the more you walk on it. however you had spotted a wooden cottage that looked like a good place to possibly hide in and at least it will get you out of the snow storm. you wrapped your sweater around your body and mouth as the weather declined in warmth quicker and quicker. you decided to start running to help boost the warmth back in your body and allow yourself to get to the cottage faster. when you got to the cottage, you suddenly felt a presence behind you and heard rapid breathing. “ We need to get in here come on!” the unfamiliar voice said before shoving you into the cottage. “h-hey!” you said back to the mysterious person as they continued to shove you. “the killers coming this way we need to hide in this locker! let’s go or we both die” he said in an assertive tone. you really didn’t have a choice here, you could either stay out in the cottage and get murdered or you could get in this locker with this random person. you figured it must’ve been another survivor you just missed meeting before hand. you got into the locker after the other survivor entered. “so what exactly are we doi-“ “shhhh shh shh” you were quickly cut off with a shush and a finger to your lips. “do you hear that?” instead of hearing the whisping wind blowing all you could hear was an enormously loud heartbeat. you got closer to the survivor incredibly fearful, hoping the rumors of killers being able to smell your fear weren’t true. you closed your eyes and just hoped the heartbeat would soon leave. in quick time it surely faded away and you let out a sigh. “is it gone?” you asked, looking towards the survivor, unable to see the whole survivors face. “yeah i think so.” through the lined of the locker, little light peaked in only visible enough to paint a picture of the mouth of this other survivor. “so, what’s your name? you look new” “oh um my name is (x), i am very new to all of this. i actually thought you may be new as well since i don’t think we’ve been properly introduced yet.” you saw a smile creep onto the survivors face. “you know i dont think we have been properly introduced, the names Frank.” you couldn’t tell if the breeze was actually getting chillier or if it was this dudes creepy grin. “(x), do us a favor and peak out the locker to see if the killers really gone” he was still smiling when he requested this which struck you as very odd but maybe he was just a weird guy. you faced the locker and peaked out and saw nothing. “i don’t see it, i’m gonna open the door” “good idea” as you were slightly opening the door you were once again pushed, this time landing on the floor. “what the hell!” you slowly turn your back to face the locker once more only now the survivor who was previously not visable now had a bloody smiling mask on. that’s when the heartbeat came back.

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

“o-oh my god...” you whispered as you tried crawling backwards away from the killer. “well now we’ve been properly introduced! time to decide, do you wanna reeeeaaallly piss me off and make me kill you for fighting back or do you wanna make this easy peasy and let me just kill you without the pissed off part?” he turned his head looking at you, bloodied smile still cheerful as ever. in panic you turned back around to try and get yourself up quickly since there was a pallet behind you. as you attempted to getup however, frank decided to grab your leg, tripping you as a result of you staying down. he started walking towards you saying all kinds of wicked things. it was his way of riling himself up as well as provoking your fear so his high would last. as you attempted for your second time to get up he once again tripped you. bending down to you and getting ready to stick his knife in your back. “jesus christ do you not learn? so fucking stupid” he said to you. “get the fuck off me!” you kicked his stomach pushing him off you but in the process skinning your leg across his knife.”heh” he scuffed, getting back up and seeing your blood on his knife. the blood does things to killers and puts them in a fury, or better for frank’s case, a frenzy. as you got up you started running away trying your best to make it over to the pallet fast, frank was already in frenzy mode. his speed increased and he was out for more blood. he caught up so close to you and when he went to go swing his knife, you smacked him out of frenzy by a pallet. “fucking BITCH” frank called out. he destroyed the pallet as you ran away, losing track of your blood. to your fortune there was a survivor close by that was able to heal you up. she said her name was Claudette and how she was a studious botanist and was trained to help heal. when you asked her how much more the team has to do in order to escape she gave you a brief puzzled face. “we’ve already completed mostly everything, i think the last two are finishing the last generator up. how did you not notice, were you being chased or just not doing anything?” you coughed up at the direct question and said “yeah i guess you could say it was a chase, i didn’t realize it had lasted for that long though.” all of a sudden the last generator was popped and a loud noise ran across through the whole map. “come on let’s go open an exit gate and get out, this place is too cold” she says. you follower her along to go and find the exit gate.

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

there was one last attempt made by frank to try and get more of (x’s) blood. it seemed far richer and more exciting than anyone else’s blood, the fear you also held close to him was mesmerizing. never had he met a survivor to drive him this crazy. however all the survivors had left before frank could stick his knife into any. from that day forward though frank made it his new goal that if he ever saw (x) in another trial, he would really commit to the chase and not let you go. you became the thing he thought of most and he was perfectly fine with that. however next time, he’ll find every opportunity to get you alone into a trap again. you have become his prey, and shall the predator hunt once more.

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

AN:/ hi hi so this is my first writing piece 👉👈 i’m kinda proud of it but i hope you all like it and if you have any requests feel free to send some :)

[sontailsweek]

DIA 2: SONIC COLORS ULTIMATE! Admin Inari nos comparte esta preciosidad espacial Con vosotros, el segundo día del evento #Sontailsweek2021 Día dos (22/11) : Sonic Colors Ultimate. Los he querido hacer con los whisps de Rise of the whisps como tributo a la animación de Tyson Hesse, ya que admiro todos sus proyectos para Sonic. Y además rendir homenaje a Jade, el nuevo Whisp del remaster. Espero que os guste, si habéis jugado a Sonic Colors Ultimate, espero que lo hayáis disfrutado! #SonTailsweek -Vuestro arte lo tendréis que enviar a esta página ( en nuestra bandeja de entrada vía mensaje, o en una nueva publicación), y tenéis además otras nuevas vías para participar y hacer llegar más lejos vuestro arte y conocer a más fans de la ship: Twitter: https://twitter.com/sontailsweek?s=20 Tumblr: https://sontailsweek.tumblr.com Instagram: usando la etiqueta "#SonTailsWeek". -Si tenéis dudas sobre los días temáticos o dinámicas concretas, o AU (Universos Alternativos) ¡podéis consultarnos sin problema! -We can also answer questions in English, we are bilingual ¡Nos vemos muy pronto, esperamos con muchas ganas vuestras obras maestras! CrimsonInari  MiceMaus y Bane

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

White Knight Syndrome: One

A/N: I know I said I wasn’t posting this weekend. I am a dirty fucking liar. I had a Biker!Bucky story kicking around in my head so... Merry Halloween?

In the cool fall morning, Bucky Barnes woke to two things. A splitting headache and the cacophony of move-in day. He gave up on sleep when the clatter of feet on a metal ramp echoed in his head. “Fucking fuck.” he groused through the haze of the hangover. In his head, he cursed Sam up one side and down the other. Him and that fucking mason jar of Moonshine he had brought back from his last trip to Virginia. He couldn’t think of anything other than coffee. 

So that’s what he did. He made coffee and watched the show across the street. Big burly movers hefting boxes and a girl in the middle of it all directing traffic and keeping it all organized. Her hair is in a messy bun and she’s wearing jeans and a men’s flannel over a t-shirt.  She’s cute. Petite. Even from across the street she looks like a hippie. She just has an air that says “I shop at farmers markets and burn incense.” He snorts to himself and takes a sip of coffee. He half wonders if your coffee table is made of crystals. Just a giant slab of quartz. 

The coffee starts to kick in and he supposes he should go be neighborly. Introduce himself. But a knock on the door keeps him from examining that thought further. The knock is perfunctory. More the last vestige of a formality than a knock and is followed by Sam and Steve half stumbling through his door. 

The blonde muscular asshole he’d known since they were kids on the same block. Steve hadn’t always been built like a brick shit house. He’d been a sickly little kid with asthma and a big mouth. It had taken joining the track team and then the Army to bulk him up like that. Steve might be able to take care of himself now but in the back of Bucky’s mind, he was still a scrawny little punk. The other asshole, the African American man with a cocky smile and an eye for a girl with black and grey tats was Sam. He’d been friends with Steve and Bucky since they all met at a support group for vets. That had been the origin of their little motorcycle shop. Working on Customs and doing charity rides for whatever legitimate cause they got hit up for. 

“Hey,” he said over his coffee cup. Steve and Sam both had hangovers of their own to nurse. There wasn’t much more than grunts and nods as they helped themselves to coffee and raised the fridge for breakfast before they got to work on the new bike they were about to have to ship out. 

Coffee and breakfast in their stomachs, the other two men were eager to get to work. It was Afternoon and the chaos across the street was a dull roar now that the moving van had left. A van pulled in behind the little Jeep in the drive and a woman and her kids got out. You were greeted with hugs and giggles as you swung kids up off their feet one at a time. It was a good time, looks like. 90′s alternative music played, bumping through speakers and on towards evening, pizza was ordered. The men worked on the bike, mostly ignoring the chaos across the street but, Bucky was a little glad to know you weren’t on your own. This wasn’t a rough neighborhood or anything but moving sucked. A lot. Even with Sam and Steve it had been a fucking miserable experience. 

As the sunset and the guys celebrated another job done with a round of beers, you helped your unpacking party into the van with leftover pizza and hugs. You wave them off and blow kisses, waiting until the van has rounded the corner before turning and walking up the steps rubbing the back of your neck. Steve jerks his head your direction and smirks, “She’s cute, Buck. You gonna go say hi?” Bucky snorted, “Nah,” he said, “Not really into crystals and patchouli.” Sam rolled his eyes, “Mother fucker,” he said, “You’re not exactly drowning in pussy over here. Pretty sure Barton gets more ass than you do and he’s married with four kids. Shit. Natasha gets more pussy than you.” Bucky opened another beer and laughed, “Nat gets more girls than all of us combined. Don’t use that as a metric. Even girls can’t turn down a redhead. Even girls that don’t like girls.” Steve smirked, “He’s got a point, Sam.” 

Sam rolled his eyes but let the matter drop. Bucky was grateful. The two of them meant well. Blind dates, Tinder, getting Natasha to introduce him to pretty girls she knew but wasn’t fucking. The works. Hell. Once they’d even sent a dating resume around the bar to try and get him a girl. Bucky hated it. He was happy working. Happy adjusting to this life where there were no bullets flying. Lonely, but happy anyway. It wasn’t just that you probably weren’t his type personality-wise. He didn’t think he could take having a girl in his bed when the nightmares came out of nowhere and woke him up screaming. He didn’t want the pity and the trying to make it work for a hot minute before giving him the let's be friends speech. It was just better to leave you be. 

__________________________

He watches you for a few weeks. Not in a creepy way, he tells himself. Just. Nosy. He’s curious. You stay to yourself, you don’t really have a ton of people in or out. And from what you leave the house in sometimes, you seem to work long shifts in some kind of medical thing. Maybe a paramedic or a nurse in a trauma ward or something. You wear dark scrubs. Maybe it helps hide blood. And prevent stains. It made sense he guessed. You only went to work three or four days a week and seemed to be off the rest of the week. You tinker on furniture and stuff in your garage and he isn’t sure what you’re doing but, as often as you bring stuff in, you load it up completely redone and take it somewhere. He figures you sell it to boutiques in the tourist trap stores downtown. 

Nothing is really amiss. You potter around doing some groundwork for what’s probably going to be raised garden beds. You start a compost pile. It confirms his assessment of “Hippie” but at the very least you seem like a socially conscious hippie. One that actually walks the walk. It isn’t until a strange car pulls up in your driveway when you aren’t home that anything looks out of the ordinary. The man that gets out of the car sets Bucky on edge. He looks pissed. The guy bangs on your door and looks through windows. He yells for you, making Steve jerk his head up. He and Bucky trade looks, silently agreeing that they should probably tell you about this as the guy gets in his car and drives away. 

By the time you get home, in the wee small hours of the morning, Bucky is waiting for you. He’s tinkering in the garage, killing time. He’d thought about waiting for you on your porch but figured coming home to a random man waiting for you in the dark would probably not be a good first impression to make. He doesn’t, contrary to what the realtor says, make a habit of scaring off neighbors. You get out of your jeep and stop for a moment, staring up at the sky like you’re looking for answers. Bucky crosses the street slowly, hands in his pockets to try and make himself smaller. He doesn’t know why. You’re half his size. But you look like your nerves are frayed. The careful efficient bun you had put your hair in the morning is a rats nest. Snarled and chaotic. You move slowly, like your joints ache or your balance is off and as he creeps closer, you smell of disinfectant. A sharp, sterile, hospital smell that doesn’t fit with you’re will o the whisp features and big eyes. “Hey,” he says, stopping a good distance away to avoid startling you. “Hey,” you say guardedly, turning slowly. Bucky clears his throat, “Bucky, I’m the big scary biker the realtor warned you about,” he says offering a hand. You smile a little, looking tired “Y/N,” you say, offering him a hand in return. 

Your hands are clean. Your nails are short and pristine. The skin is dry and cracked from constant washing and sanitizing. The difference between your hands and his own startle him for a minute. Your hands don’t fit you either.

He half smiled, “Look. I don’t wanna be nosy of anything but there was a guy nosing around earlier. He seemed pretty pissed.” Bucky watches several emotions flit across your face until finally your head falls forward and your pinch the bridge of your nose. Feeling defeated. “Thanks for the heads up,” you tell him, standing up straight again. “I’ll get it taken care of,” you tell him, “I’m sorry if it disturbed you. Have a good night.” You turn to go and Bucky catches your arm gently, “Y/N?” he said, “Is there anything I can do? I mean... I’ll scare the hell out of a guy for some beer and a pizza.” You snort but shake your head, “It’s my ex-husband,” you tell him, “I guess moving halfway across the country wasn’t far enough.” Bucky lets go of your arm, nodding, “That’s rough. I’m sorry.” You sigh, “It’s fine. I knew he’d find me eventually... He never did like the idea of someone else playing with his toys. I’ll go talk to the cops tomorrow. Get them to do some drive-bys and take them a copy of all the court orders. You won’t have to listen to that again. I’m sorry.” 

You turn and go back into the house and Bucky watches you go feeling about 3 feet tall. You had clearly had a bad day. There was blood on your shoes and you looked wrecked. He watched you take your shoes off in the garage and then turned to go into the house. He turned and to go back across the street. He could see the defeated look on your face even as he sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark. It bothered him. You were obviously sweet but he hadn’t realized you were brave. He figured you kept to yourself because of your work hours. Not because you were hiding. Or feeling vulnerable on your own without much of a support network. He wondered about your family. If they knew where you were or if you had anyone to care that you were gone. That worried him. It wouldn’t take long for this guy to get violent. Bucky was willing to bet that he’d put his hands on you before and that made his stomach turn. No one deserved that. 

Bucky didn’t doubt that the cops were good guys. That they’d do their best. But, he wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. He’d talk to his crew tomorrow and have them keep tabs on you. Keep an eye on things and not so gently discourage him from coming around. He didn’t know why it was so important to him, but it was. There was something about the defeat on your face that broke his heart. He knew that look. He saw it in the mirror all the time. 

________

“I’m telling you, Nat,” he said handing the redhead a beer, “He’s been here every day this week. Y/N doesn’t even come home. She’s been picking up shifts at the hospital left, right, and center. Just to avoid her own house.” The woman quirked an eyebrow, “And how exactly, James Buchanan Barnes, do you know that?” Bucky blushed and looked away, “I might check on her a couple nights a week when she gets home.” Nat smiled a little and swallowed the sip of her beer, “And what did you find out?”

Bucky shrugs, “It’s a story we’ve all heard. Sweet girl with a shit home life married the first scumball that was nice to her. She got pregnant, he didn’t want her to be and put her in ICU. After that he fucked around on her and took potshots at her from time to time. Once he started bringing girls to their house, she had enough and took a job over here. Left in the middle of the night and until she moved in here she was living out of hotels.” Nat shook her head, “Christ,” she said, “Poor kid.” Bucky snorted, “She’s not that much younger than us. She’s in her mid 20′s. She’s just baby faced.” Nat nodded, “So what does she do exactly?” Bucky stretched, “She’s a nurse in a level one ER... Explains all the scrubs. I figured it was something like that.” Nat sighed, “So pretty, smart, sweet girl, married an asshole and now you have white knight syndrome. Got it.” Bucky frowned, “I do not,” he said. “Yes you do,” Sam said strolling into the garage from the house. “ Bucky turned and mimed throwing a wrench at his friend, “Do you even know what we’re talking about?”

“No,” Sam snorted, “I just know Nat is probably right about whatever she said.” Nat snorted, “Bucky has white Knight syndrome. He loves him a damsel in distress.”  Sam laughs, “Oh christ. Yeah, he does.” Bucky blushed and coughed, “I fucking don’t,” he said. He can’t look at either of them as you lope up the drive with a six-pack in your hand. You’re dressed in a hoodie, trying to stay warm in the chill outside. “Hey,” you say, hovering awkwardly just outside, “Saw this at the store. You didn’t seem like pumpkin spice flavored beer kinda guy but... I’ve heard this is pretty popular locally.” You hold out the six-pack with a wry smile. Bucky takes it and smiles a little, “Thanks,” he said, “Is this a bribe?” 

You snort, “More of a thank you. I appreciate the help getting that dresser out of the back of my jeep.” Bucky chuckled at the memory, “If it hadn’t been twice your size you would have had it.” You’d been pretty close but Bucky had been a little afraid that you were about to drop it on yourself.

“Girl,” Sam said, “I know your house isn’t that big. What do you do with all the furniture you buy?” You grin, “I sell it to bitchy wine moms after I make it look bougie and expensive. The dresser I made into a changing table and I’ve got a piece of shit changing table that I’m making into a bar cart.”  Sam whistled, “That’s a nice little racket.” You nod, “Works better out here than it does at home.” You yawn, “I better get back, I got super on the stove and I think the insurance company would get suspicious if my house burned down.” You turn and go, leaving Bucky to face the teasing from his friends alone. He can’t help it. He watches you go wishing he would have been a little smoother. Wishing he would have offered you a drink and asked you to stay for a minute. 

“Damn,” Sam murmured to Natasha, “She’s got him fucked up.” The redhead nodded, “Yup... Wanna put money on it?”

Tags: @lancsnerd​ @stevieang​ @golddaggers​ @blameitonthecauseway @qxeen-of-hearts​ @process-pending​ @xmarveled​ @beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess, @mschellehitt, @mistressoftorture @thorfanficwriter, @ctinadiva, @innerpaperexpertcloud @amalthea9

[frankloongbottom]

Savannah Whisp

How I feel about this character: simplesmente poderosa demais vcs ja viram a cara dela? nao me surpreende pace adorar apanha de mulher bonita viu. sav vai atras do que quer mesmo que o que ela queira em questão seja muito abestado pra notar. te amo sav

All the people I ship romantically with this character: o pacinho q gosta de apanhar de mulher bonita

My non-romantic OTP for this character: o raf!!! fofos demais, mas especialmente a tomikinha e a winnie, simplesmente a amizade mais desastrosa e perfeita desse rp todinho

My unpopular opinion about this character: sav por favor bata no seu irmão pra ver se ele vira gente e volta pra zeldinha

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: num sei qualquer coisa dela com o pace eu apoio MENOS TERMINAR DE NOVO se ela quiser bater nele eu curto

[flowerflamestars]

Awakening and Reunion

PART ONE  PART TWO PART THREE  PART FOUR  PART FIVE

It was the most vibrant, beautiful autumn the land along the Wall had ever seen.   Never before had the end of summer fruit stretched so ripely into the colder season. The trees changed as they always did, but what had once been paintbox color now gleamed like jewels over the hills. Brightest of all- the Archeron apple orchard, bursting with sunset colors, bushels of apples that never seemed to grow less crisp, whose white and pink tinged flesh could cure a cold or heal a weary heart, not that anyone but Lucien and the sisters noticed.   Elain had sidestepped the questions of guests in their gardens, was that bonfire smoke? But after the third or so comment about the just slightly otherworldly state of their lands, Elain had smiled.   “We’re blessed to have such a good year for it,” She said, real grin slipping onto her face, “Spring flowers are one thing, but autumn is my favorite season.” The urge to smile back had been overpowering.  “ You’re doing it again,” Nesta said, pulling Lucien from remembrance back to their late night meeting.   Posture perfect despite sitting crosslegged atop her desk, she raised one cool brow at him.   Lucien growled back- a sound he wouldn’t have dared make in their presence months ago- but made himself relax the predatory tilt of his head. “You do it all the time too.”   She did. Despite their many careful plans and schemes: making sure he passed for human, filling their roles perfectly and jumping through a half dozen legal loopholes to keep the trade running- Elain and Nesta both failed often to follow the patterns of the other mortals around him.   Perched sideways in Nesta’s desk chair, Elain laughed.

  She’d come in her night things, a silken slip and robe so gauzy Lucien had been warming the room by degrees the second he’d seen her.   It was only like this- after the house was quiet and still, that they spoke of important things. He’d warded the room against being overheard, but that wouldn’t stop a concerned ladies maid from finding her charges out of bed and talking.   The pale robe slipped down Elain’s arm as she picked up a mug. Lucien absolutely did not count the freckles he could see, even in the faint light. Paler than copper, lighter than his own skin, they glowed on her. “I thought you were going to tell us more about the Courts,” She said to him, grinning over the rim of thick earthenware they used when the maids didn’t do the tea making. “And you,” Elain craned up at Nesta, “Have letters from Hesperia.”   Against one window golden faelight battered, a will-o-whisp attracted, as they seemed unerringly to be, to wherever Nesta was.   All that Autumn on their ancestral land, magic bled straight from Lucien’s veins. It had been a hard conversation- one he’d feared would make this trust and easy company between them now impossible- explaining what he’d done.   That even Lucien himself wasn’t wholly sure what, beyond claiming their lands and bending them toward protection, he had started. Blood magic wasn’t just risky, or difficult, it called on the oldest forces of power- and so often like wild fae places, followed its own rules.   Faeries couldn’t cross the borders without Lucien- and now Nesta, who’d refused to let Elain take any of the burden, who’d slit her own wrists to be bound as a protector- feeling it. It would be impossible, almost completely, to hurt anyone of Acheron blood within their acres.   They’d slowly added wardings, Lucien’s magic, but keyed to the sisters: to avoid detection, for further protection, to the house, to Nesta’s library that became their gathering space, to the orphanage and the village school.   Every protect they could think of, for their precarious position along the Wall Lucien had blazed through like a forest fire. It was impossible not to notice when close- for as fas as Lucien knew, for the first time in six thousand years, the Spring Court border remained broken.   It felt like a warning.   And the warnings had only kept coming.   Nesta scowled at the will-o-whisp, before shrugging an elegant shoulder. “It’s all more of the same; the Great Desert united for the first time in two thousand years, the wyrms will rise with them. And this.” She passed a sky blue paper to Elain, whose own mouth set, glancing over it, before she passed it on to Lucien.   It was a sparse, single sentence, sparkling black on vivid blue. “‘The ships have stopped coming. The High Lord is closing the borders of the Night Court’?” Lucien quoted. How exactly Nesta Archeron, a human who’d never been over the Wall had a direct, if not always helpful line on the Night Court, was not an answer Lucien had ever gotten.   Elain set her robe to rights. “Half the continent rallies for war, and Rhysand closes his borders? Does that mean neutrality, or is it possible all that effort is really to go after one court?”   Lucien was sure of very few things about that High Lord, but one was that he wasn’t a coward. “If the aim is to take Prythian whole, the Night Court would have to be eliminated first. It is possible.” Lucien sat back, trying to carefully phrase the ambiguity of that male they were hoping- praying- was keeping their younger sister safe. “Rhysand is the most powerful High Lord in our history. He’s as much like the other rulers as high fae gentry might be to a normal human.”   “I can’t imagine the other Courts want to ally with him."   Elain was, of course, correct. “Not after Amarantha,” Lucien agreed, passing back the paper as Nesta reached for it. “Beron will see any conflict as an opportunity to expand his borders. But after the last fifty years, peace is going to the most popular option unless the High Lords hands are forced.”    Calmly, Nesta dropped the missive in a thickly cast bowl he’d hitherto assumed was decorative, and touched a candle to the urge. Pale fire burst forth, incinerating it- not sparkling ink, incendiary ink.   “Where did you say that came from?”   “One of the trading capitals,” She answered with that viper smile, aggression and secrets. How stupid, Lucien reflected for not the first time, human men must be not to feel the danger of both these women. “What I want to know, is why aren’t there any High Ladies?”   Elain raised her eyebrows in silent, echoing query. Different from her determined, furious older sister who researched like she’d use it to fight the world, Elain had been subtly pumping him for every shade and flavor of information about faery life.   Not that he wouldn’t answer any question she had.   But Elain was smart enough, in those early days, to not actually ask. Lucien admired the skill nearly as much as he valued the trust and actual friendship that had followed.   Still, he winced. “Amarantha killed outright the High Lady of Dawn immediately, and spent the next decades steadily culling out potential females heirs to powerful bloodlines. She assumed, correctly, that Prythians wild magic was stronger in female hands.”   It was the same thing Hybern had done during the War. How his mother had lost all three of her sisters- and would have died herself, if not for the intervention of the High Lord of Day. Lucien owned the fact of his existence to Helion Spell-Cleaver, and he’d been raised to know it.   After all, Vanserra always remembers.   Long after the will-o-whisps faded and Nesta retired to bed, Elain and Lucien remained in the golden quiet of the library. It no longer shocked him in quite the same way, her lack of fear, her trust that he knew only appeared to be an easy thing. But they’d gotten so used to each others company- the small touches to continue the public love story, the attentive behavior as instinctive as breathing for Lucien, the honesty, as they lied to everyone else- that it no longer had a hard stop.    It was natural, and Lucien could have cut his teeth on how badly he wanted it be wholly real.   One of the great clocks of the house chimed two in the morning before they grew quiet, curls escaping Elain’s long braid as she played with the end. Three seasons passed, and Lucien still hadn’t satisfied all of her curiosity.   He hoped it never ended.   “Seasonal I understand, there’s a feel to that,” Elain was saying now, “But why times of day?”   Tired and foolishly brave, Lucien moved faery quick to catch the red ribbon holding her braid as it finally gave to slip free. He plucked it from the air so fast that, as he knew now, with these months that made him stronger and madder and more, her beautiful human eyes couldn’t follow.   Elain didn’t even flinch.   What existed at all of his filters for this one human girl- who’d he’d never lied to, would never lie to, this blooming, dangerous woman- disappeared. “I might be one of the only faeries who can tell you that, actually.”   She took the ribbon from his nerveless grasp, fingertips branding like she were the one with incendiary skin. “Will you tell me?”   Smiling wide enough she probably saw his sharp teeth, Lucien stole it back. “Autumn was, is, the oldest court. Still, I only know pieces. The forest and the wild fae came first. Beron was a warlord then, and bound the first territory in his blood. They say he bled out his own brothers to expand the border by each mile- it was under the light of the harvest moon, the dying of the year, and as they bled under the bone trees whose white trunks have long whispers the secrets of our dead, the red of their leaves spread and spread, Autumn, willy and old, arcane and bloody, grew a soul.”   Elain’s head was half-cocked, her lips curved in a smile that he’d learned meant she had a dozen, a hundred questions. “If Beron made Autumn, Autumn, does that mean that when the title passes, the territory could change?”   He was shaking his head before she was done. “The problem is that there’s magic,”  With half a thought, and more than a little smugness at her delighted laugh, Lucien filled the air with tiny butterflies, teardrop wings flickering between gold and blue flame as they flew, “And then there’s the magic of Prythian itself. What started as the whims of powerful, warring gentry took root and grew into something they couldn’t control. It created quirks, anomalies- Night Court has some innate providence over the magic of mind and soul. Day Court possesses immunity, there’s never been an enchantment spoken the Spell Cleaver couldn’t break. Autumn keeps the ways of blood and bone.”   “Blood and bone,” Elain quoted back, taking the ribbon from his intertwined fingers. “In all your stories, you left out a vital lesson.”   He was frozen as she slid a hand over his wrist, so near tenderness he could taste it in the air. “And what’s that?” Lucien rasped   She looped the ribbon once, twice, before looking up to meet his gaze. In the candle light, her eyes were unfathomably dark, pupil less pools like dryads. “High fae,” Elain whispered, tying a perfect bow tight against Lucien’s now racing pulse. “Are all drama queens.”   He had to make himself laugh back, heart thudding in his ears at double time. When she finally retired back to bed, the sky bleeding black into blue, Lucien stayed where he was. One by one, the butterflies extinguished, until all he was left with was the scent of honeysuckle and fire, a red ribbon winking from his wrist. There were a thousand shades of red is his long lost home: to call enchantment down, to love, to bind, to hunt, to possess.   A bounty, he could never, ever have.   It didn’t occur to Lucien then, or for such a long time it seemed dreamed, that she’d placed it to match the mark of his teeth that lay silver against her own pulse. Elain Archeron, after all, learned fast and learned well. — It took three more weeks, the harvest brought in and the estate-consuming activity of making cider that Lucien had more fun than he’d admit overseeing to pass, before the day they’d discussed and discussed came. Nesta woke at dawn, jaw set tight when she found him on the rise of the now dormant orchards, looking down over the house grounds and beyond to the freshly plowed land, blanketed in white. “You feel them coming too?”   There’d been incursions in the past- curious Spring fae wandering and returning, others, flying overhead whose providence Lucien could guess. This was something new, the feel of magic, but also that pulse- like the land reaching out to Elain barefoot in her garden, like the wards shuddering when Nesta bled.   It was the first snowfall of the year, and Feyre Archeron was coming home. — He felt it when they arrived, hours later.   Feyre, not as strong of an imprint as her sisters but gleaming with magic. The black, monstrous ocean on the edge of vision that told him Rhysand had accompanied her personally. Two more, not High fae, that Lucien had to guess were members of Rhysand’s court.   Not that he could see anything for sure, since he was halfway up a frozen cypress tree.   That was Lucien’s job in this plan: wait, hide without magic to avoid detection.   Long enough for Elain and Nesta to explain to their sister the life they’d built from the ashes of their fathers idiocy, the precautions and plans in place for their dangerous, tenuous life on Spring’s edge.   They deserved privacy for that long awaited reunion.   And some selfish part of Lucien was glad not to have to see the pain on their faces when they saw Feyre as fae. It was one thing to be fascinated with faery power- as they both were in different ways. Merchants daughters, they’d grown with eyes on the horizon, fed impossible stories.   Another, to have become the three-headed monster they all were together.   But faeries were still the horrors of endless nightmares along the Wall. Even knowing Feyre had been transformed, seeing it could be something very different.   He really wasn’t ease-dropping, ignoring the familiar pitch of female voices as they rose and rose in volume. From a distance, Nesta and Feyre sounded alarmingly alike, yelling.   Idly, he tied and retied the red ribbon twisted at the end of a small braid. The old, wild gentry of the Alder hills named their knots- Lucien wished he’d learned them all. This day was certain to go to hell, but at least Feyre wouldn’t see an ounce of Spring when she looked at him.   Several things happened at once.   From the empty nowhere of the shadows from leaves in this dim interior of branches, a winged warrior appeared, and shoved Lucien from the tree.   Suddenly, Elain’s voice joined the shouting. Feyre yelled right back- but Nesta, the slam of doors and rushing booted feet, Nesta was running.   And then, mid winnow to the safety of the ground- Lucien’s last thought as the shadow of wings shrouded him, fucking Illyrians- the dark reached out and swallowed him whole.   He lost track, he lost time- it was close to drowning, seeing the world from the bottom of an ocean. But Lucien could swim, could see underwater.   Through the haze of shadow- shadows that burned, no familiar fire, but ice so cold Lucien knew he was losing skin- he could hear the crunch of bone and Nesta’s indignant- not really indignant, he knew that, terrified, she was terrified and furious- voice.   Who the hell was so stupid as to grab Nesta? She’d make them pay- Elain would make them pay- he’d make them pay.   But none of it was real, nothing truly penetrated the world of shadow that bound him until Lucien heard that light gait he knew by heart, running. Snow flying from beneath fleet feet, her pounding heart loud in his ears. Barely real, until Elain’s furious voice cut through the dark.     A second, patient voice- a too calm voice- that told Lucien his attacker was exactly who he’d expected, was speaking to her. If Lucien had been wrapped in anything but shadow, it would have combusted instantly. They’d agreed- they’d all agreed, uncomfortable with the verdict in very different ways- that if Rhysand’s people attacked and went for Lucien as would be the only smart move, he wouldn’t hurt anyone badly.   They didn’t know he was here for himself. The honorable Spring Court vassal had died by fire.   This wasn’t a real fight. But he wanted to kill that male for even standing near Elain.   The gods and Lucien didn’t care about his pain- he could get free of burning shadow, vicious darkness. But if the High Lord of the Night Courts pet shadowsinger even breathed wrong in Elain’s direction, this fight would become much more real.   He’s seen the burn scars on his hands, once, from a distance. Lucien would turn him into a pillar of ash, burn him past recognition of even those iron immortal bones. They’d all be ash, if whoever was holding Nesta didn’t back off.   Lucien would kill anyone who touched his family.   This was the truth of High Fae instincts, hidden beneath court ritual and ageless years. Humans had told tales about it: the love of an immortal heart can never, ever die. It was a romantic story of a faery knight, a quest past the moon and stars to save a mortal love who was doomed to perish with the suns rise.   Humans put too much stock in romance.   What they didn’t understand was that the ties of High Fae were a savage thing, uncontrollable and unyielding. You had to find your brethren. It wasn’t just mate bonds that made the upper echelons of their society dangerous. Faeries like Lucien were made for that fairytale quest- not for a maiden- but to find belonging, the very thing that pumped in his blood with every step across the Acheron lands.   He’d always been alone before.   And Lucien would be damned if he let the Night Court threaten what he’d found.   That deep water voice was still talking- saying that Rhys was coming, that they were safe, that he was a Spring Court spy, that nothing would touch Elain.   And Elain- oh Elain- Lucien could smell her rage. It burned the honeysuckle and sun right out of her scent, until she was awash with fire. He might have been delirious with pain, but how she ravaged him.   It was one thing for humans to underestimate her, Elain usually wanted them to. But that any faery could look at her and fail to see the depth of the cleverness in those eyes, the absolute control and charm: markers of dangerous high fae, was beyond him.   “You will let him go.” Lucien had never heard her voice like that. In response, that burning ice bit harder. Blackness- deeper than shadow, darker than any sky. Light had never lived in these spaces.   Lucien groaned.   And Elain- Elain snarled. “These are Archeron lands. And you will let him go.”   Lucien couldn’t see, couldn’t hear anymore suddenly, couldn’t breathe. Was Azriel trying to suffocate him? He’d expected them to try to kill him- pain wasn’t an issue- but Lucien wasn’t about to lay down and die.   That was when the scent of blood reached him.   And so Lucien clenched his teeth and remembered. His mother’s voice saying, my little star. The Wild Hunt, no high fae among them,  pulling him straight into the sky. Sorcha, teaching him magic far away from the High Lord of Autumn, telling him to remember.  Little star, we are Vanserra, and your fire is like the sun.  Lucien burned, and like the sun’s rise, the dark and cold couldn’t win.   The first thing he saw was red. Elain’s muddy, icy skirts, in front of his face as she stood between him and an Illyrian warrior. Who was in process of drawing a knife whose reputation was nearly as long as that of the male holding it. Winnowing hurt. But Lucien didn’t care. He slammed into the ground on the other side of her. “Don’t touch her.”   Fire so white it put the snow to shame ringed them with the words, but Elain grabbed Lucien’s side anyway. “You’re bleeding,” She hissed, but Lucien was more interested in the blood already on one of her hands.   Staggered upright, he tried not to list too heavily into her. “Only from my pores.”   Elain made a noise that went right past sympathy into fury. She moved her hands higher, clutching tunic and coat in fists like she was going to hold him upright with will alone. It took the smear, her shaking rage, to note that blood was too red, too thick.   Nothing he said now wouldn’t be heard by Azriel but Lucien spied it- the gleam of emerald inlay.  An impossibly small Spring Court dagger, buried in the Illyrian’s shoulder.   He found the hand on his back and covered it for just a moment, squeezing. Outwardly, Elain didn’t react at all, glaring out the fire like she wanted to rip the male in front of them apart. But Lucien knew she knew, felt the very slightest tension drain from her body.   Azriel had gone stone cold, silent. That was all the warning Lucien got the half second before Rhysand winnowed before them, bringing Feyre along.   It hurt- a good hurt, to see how well Feyre looked. Healthy, strong, like remaking hadn’t left her delicate at all. Glowing in Night Court clothes, comfortable armed and wearing a crown. Feyre wasn’t just okay, she was finally thriving.   She looked good, that split second before she spit Luciens name like a curse. “Let my sister go." Rhysand and Azriel were exchanging hard eyed looks. The melted snow around Lucien’s wall of fire began to form ice.   Elain didn’t even flinch. Knowing they were too close, she was smart enough to muffle the words against his coat. “I lost Nesta on the way out. Can you?-“   Lucien whispered back, because frankly, he didn’t give a damn what Rhysand thought was going on. “I can hear her. She found an Illyrian of her own to make bleed.” Over Elain’s shoulder, Lucien bared his teeth at Azriel’s fathomless face.   Feyre paced even closer. “Bleed?”   It was the same tone of voice he’d heard every single time she’d done something impulsive as a human.   She held out one hand, like passing through water, and tried touch the wall. The sizzle was horrible enough- but Feyre’s clenched jaw as she called her own droplet of Autumn power was audible. Fire against fire? No. Trying to spool his back toward herself. Had she really learned that? To turn the drop of each High Lords gift back against their source? But the flames didn’t mix- Lucien bore down on the star in his chest. With a low boom that turned Rhysand’s scowl murderous, Feyre was thrown backward.   Skidding through mud and snow, she flung herself back upright with a noise of complete anger.  “I will kill you if you try to take her to Spring, Lucien. I swear on the Cauldron.”   Elain’s grip tightened until the fabric tried to give. The only reason she wasn’t yelling back, Lucien was sure, was that Nesta wasn’t safe with them in the circle.   But her shouting had become audible to everyone.   “PUT ME DOWN- YOU WORTHLESS- REVOLTING SAVAGE- PUT ME DOWN NOW”-   The most feared General in Prythian’s history had a broken nose. Blood tricked steadily from the off center feature, unflinching as Nesta kicked and screamed. He was using that superior strength to carry her away from his body- arms out. Gods and immortal honey.   In a kind, calm voice that belied his wince as one of Nesta’s feet managed to connect, The Lord of Bloodshed spoke. “Here, see. I’m not going to hurt you. I just wanted to stop you from running into the fight- it’s okay.” He repeated it over and over those last few steps to join them, like a low chant. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”   Nesta was terrified.   Feyre swore. “Nesta, this is Cassian. He’s my friend. We’re going to get Elain out and-“   Nesta slammed her head back into Cassian’s face again, and this time he dropped her. Like they’d all practiced, Nesta ducked around Feyre to dive right into the fire and land at Elain’s other side, chest heaving.   Everyone stopped.   In the growing mud puddle made by the heat, Elain slid half in front of Lucien before taking Nesta’s hand. Together again, they stood tall. Lucien wanted nothing more than to hide them both behind his body. To burn Azriel to nothing for scaring Elain, to rip the wings from Cassian for thinking he could touch Nesta.   But they wanted to make Feyre understand, and he wouldn’t interrupt that.   Already breathing more normally, Nesta tilted her face to completely ignore the tableau of dangerous fae before them. “Whose idea was the hideout plan Vanserra? There’s blood in my hair.”   She was really asking if either of them had gotten hurt, and he heard it.   Like he didn’t have a care in the damn world, Lucien bared his teeth in a red-tinged smile. “I’ll show you what magic to get up to with it.”   Still glaring forward, Elain blindly held her free hand up to his face. It was an effort not to catch her waving fingertips and hold on. “I got some too.”   “You know each other.” Feyre was vibrating with tension. “How do you even know each other?!”   “Perhaps,” Elain said in that utterly steady, silk voice no one should want to be on the wrong side of, “You should have asked that before you attacked.”   The most powerful High Lord in Prythian turned huge, otherwordly eyes on her. Lucien could feel the power in the air, that tinge of darkness, electric and consuming,- and fought back the urge to get between Elain and Rhysand’s deadly focus. Feyre opened her mouth, to protest, judging by that stubborn face, but he stopped her with hand brushed over her shoulder. “I think we’re all missing some details. We should talk. Peacefully.”   “Yes,” Nesta ground out, “Let’s talk about how you left assassins in our garden."   Rhysand raised his hand in an utterly false surrender, tattoos flashing from both wrists. Had he really marked himself to match Feyre? A crown on her head and a living vow between them. She didn’t smell like him yet, but Rhysand wasn’t just branding her as his. He was placing her as a ruler.   With a crack of resetting cartilage and bone, the fellest Illyrian warlord their tribes had ever produced stopped in step next to Feyre. “I’m not an assassin.” He wasn’t looking at anyone but Nesta. “We’re here to keep Feyre safe from human discovery, to make sure nothing happens to you or your sisters because of this visit.”   Nesta’s only reply was to toss her hair from her face.   Marking the moment as much as he was, Elain leaned a little harder against his side. “Let’s talk then.”   And there was the catch, on Rhysand’s smug face. Bastard. “Of course we will not hold peace talks of any kind with a member of the Spring Court.”   Lucien had the words, but Elain beat him to it.   “Luckily,” She purred, “You’ll find no such being here.” She gestured with one graceful hand, Illyrian blood drying a purple red on her palm. “If you’re looking for Spring proceed a few miles that way. There’s a hole big enough in the Wall for a small army, and the boundary wards are down.”   Rhysand didn’t even twitch, but Feyre stopped cold. “You left Tamlin?”   There was no room for what Lucien was feeling. “The same night you did.” The look that passed between them was understanding- more understanding than Lucien had been able to hope for. Feyre was his friend, and he’d failed her.     Feyre marked him as a survivor, and there was no blame there.   But the last thing in the world Lucien wanted was sympathy from gods damned Rhysand, so he kept going. “I don’t make a habit of keeping vows to madmen.”   Elain’s cheek brushed his chest for half a second, the bloody fabric trying to stick. The tightness in his ribs uncoiled, his wounds healed. Faery grace- did she know she had it? At least where he was concerned? Elain refilled his lungs without even trying.   In the pause while Rhysand stared at Lucien, and Lucien stared back- fucking prick, he thought Lucien could be leveled by a gaze? Rolled by that superior power? Lucien was oak, Vanserra. He’d grown up under the hateful eyes of the oldest High Lord, the first and only ruler of Autumn- Azriel pulled the knife from his shoulder and cleaned it, stone-faced.   The aggression in the air was a blades edge.   Elain, brave Elain, pulled on the hilt. “If that’s settled, we’ll adjourn to the house for a real meeting.”   Like it was automatic, showing for perhaps the first time how much younger than the others she was, Feyre crossed her arms, scowling. “I still don’t understand”-   Nesta’s hand tightened visibly in Elain’s. Lucien thought he was the only one to see that silent signal, but the Illyrian general’s wings flared. Had he looked away from her, even once?   There was no response for Elain to make- already, her hands had drifted to clutch Lucien’s waist in a death-grip that was leagues away from how she’d usually take his hand in this moment. Because of the danger, he reminded himself, because you were hurt.   She smiled at her younger sister. “We’ll tell you everything, but let’s get out of the snow, Fey.”   Goodbye enough, Lucien winnowed them away. — The High Lord of the Night Court was not having a good day.   In the deafening silence after Lucien Vanserra disappeared with Feyre’s older sisters, Azriel’s voice, more rueful than his icy face, tapped at the back of Rhysand’s mind. Rhys let him in, and the memory played back in color: Elain Archeron, more fleet of feet in that highborn ladies dress than anyone would have guessed, running through the snow.   The ridiculous jeweled knife in Azriel’s arm, because there was no world under the sky or stars he’d fight back against a tiny human woman in distress.   Vanserra, going off like a supernova, and escaping shadows that should have dragged him from this world to the next. It wasn’t fire, Az rumbled, but it burned. Rhys didn’t let it show on his face. He himself could have escaped those shadows whose scope and providence couldn’t be fully learned- but not without hurting Azriel in the process. And not by consuming them.   It was leagues from a traditional Autumn gift. Stay high, Rhysand requested, but check the border. I want to know if Vanserra really broke the boundary.. With a nod, Az shot into the sky.   Rhys didn’t know Lucien personally. Only in Feyre’s stories: a friend, an ass, a comrade, whose fate in Spring had left her with a sick worry. He could be glad the male was alive just for that, but the facts beyond it were slim.   Born after the war, but no one knew when. The obvious and only heir to his fathers court, despite the mess of brothers and carrying his mother’s name in constant defiance. It was common knowledge Beron hated his youngest, seventh son. For power, maybe- but it wouldn’t have taken much to outstrip the brutes born before him.   But Lucien’s bright fire had been driven out of Autumn centuries ago.   As Tamlin’s emissary he had a good reputation in other courts, close ties to both Dawn and Winter. Charming, clever- he’d been the fox in the Spring Court menagerie the night Amarantha took the land.   Raw, unchecked power had never been part of the picture.   Power beholden to no one; Lucien Vanserra was a time bomb. No High Lord to answer to, diplomatic ties to nearly every Court, and a long enough troubled past to bear grudges.   And Hybern’s soldiers were coming for them all. — The blood on her hands wasn’t all drying red.   Elain hadn’t thought to compare it before, the ruby of Luciens and near purple of the winged warriors smeared on her palm was tangibly inhuman. In the pale austerity of the sitting room they’d decided to ward in preparation for this very day, it was all so impossible she found herself smiling.   This was their home and they would defend it. Lucien, so close their sides brushed, returned the expression savagely. She’d made herself let go the second they landed, but by some mutual agreement neither had moved as Nesta stomped to the velvet-hung window.   Friendship, comfort. Elain wouldn’t let herself think it was more- think about the way he’d looked, covered in blood and burning like a star, barely able to stand and still protecting her.   “Those weren’t just guards,” She said, shaking back damp hair.   With a flick on his fingers, her hair and dress both dried, mud and blood vanishing. Elain didn’t have to look to know he’d extended the same courtesy to Nesta as well. “Member’s of Rhysands inner Court. The Shadowsinger and the High Command of the Illyrian legions.”   Elain nodded, only to be cut off by Nesta dropping the hangings with a huff. “Those are the Illyrians?”   Through the scathing voice, Elain knew what Nesta was probably thinking. Those are the creatures of our childhood faerytales? Warriors of impossible skill, impossible courage. As beautiful as they were deadly, who defined their lives by solemn honor. Once upon a time, the guardians of royal children; a single, forsworn Illyrian was worth more than an army.   Nesta had always loved stories of the fierce at heart.   A faint tremor echoed through the walls, silken wallpaper of almond blossoms shimmering. Lucien could winnow in and out- but no one else. At least not while a drop of Archeron blood remained under their roof.   Softly, fingertips even now in the dead of winter darker than gold ghosted a caress over the back of Elain’s hand. “Are you ready?” It was a whisper, just for her.   Elain let her smile twist, let the happiness and triumph and real anxiety show in her face. “Let’s find out what they really want.” They’d seen the truth of them already, Elain didn’t imagine she could gain back the ground of being the sweet sister it was safe to talk to after stabbing someone.   At the warning of the wards as someone- Rhysand, Elain would guess- trying to winnow directly to where they were, Nesta had crossed the room. Shaking herself from the savage light in Lucien’s golden eyes, Elain followed to sink down on a plush lavender couch.   Casually, Lucien followed, to lean in that elegant slump against a pillar between them and the door.   Just in time for Feyre to crash through it. “Nice wards,” She snapped in a tone that made Nesta freeze tighter and Elain wince. Not Rhysand bouncing off the boundaries, then.   Lucien smiled that grin that showed fang. “You learned to winnow then? Good for you, little Fey.”   Knowing they’d had a friendship and seeing it were too very different things as Feyre clicked her teeth back, but smiled. “Could take you now in a fight, Lucien.”   Beyond the threshold, Rhysand and the bigger of the two warriors appeared from whisps of darkness. “Let’s see if we can agree to not fight more today,” He said mildly, tucking both hands in pockets.   With a familiarity that made Nesta’s brows go sharp, Feyre rolled her eyes, and danced though the doorway to seize them both. Tucking on arm through Rhysand’s amenably crooked elbow and grabbing the other male by the wrist, both let themselves be tugged into the room before Nesta and Elain.   Feyre had said she’d found friends, that she’d found a home. Velvet sliding over silk in the silent tension, Elain rose to her feet and held out a hand. A heartbeat later, Nesta joined her. A grateful smile flickered over Feyre’s face, not noticing neither of them had bothered to curtsey.   Elain was not bowing to the second man who’d spirited away her baby sister, no matter how damned powerful he was.   “These are my older sisters, Nesta and Elain Archeron,” Feyre said, “Meet Cassian, and Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court.”   Cassian took Elain’s hand with a gentleness that bordered on ridiculous, and Rhysand bowed over his own grip, “Please, call me Rhys.”   Nesta sat before Rhysand could offer her his hand, leaving Elain with so deep a desire to catch Lucien’s eyes and smirk and that she had to sit herself and focus on Feyre to hide it.   Before the youngest Archeron could open her mouth, the sitting room door swung open, silent, to reveal a ladies maid carrying a silver tray. Followed, Elain knew, by the footman who would have come up with her from the ground floor to open the door.   Smiling briskly, looking only at Elain and Nesta, she neatly set the tray on the low table before them. “Shall I pour, m’lady?”   The extra cups sat neatly grouped, the easy excuse that they were trying new extra varieties of tea from their father’s shipments manifest in the multiple small copper pots. More of an indulgence than either of them would have ordered normally- for all that their cook downstairs had harrumphed in her usually grouchy cheer and grumbled it was damn time those girls did something for themselves.   Nesta nodded, returned a small smile. She was pointedly not looking directly forward at their sister’s furrowed brow, or Rhysand, who’d dropped down in his own chair to lean back next to Feyre and watch.   “No, I can do it. Thank you, Eileen.”   She bobbed a half curtsey, none of them had been able to get her to stop carrying out, and looked over Elain’s shoulder. “My Lord, I didn’t see you there. If I may, while you’re all together, I’d like to thank you again for letting my Jaime help with the horses so young.”   “Nonsense,” Lucien said in his human voice- a little less deep, a little more jovial than his normal tone. It made Elain miss the sharp edges. “He’s a good lad. It’s no hardship for us to get the next generations farrier and him a horse to get down to school.”   “He’s very clever,” Nesta cut in, before Eileen could thank them again. “Please don’t hesitate to ask if he has need of anything else.”   Eileen’s second curtsey was deeper- she knew what Elain did, that in spare time she somehow found between secretly running the family business and handling any legal matters of the estate, not a single child on their lands had failed to benefit from Nesta’s generosity in some way.   She expected the warm hand on her shoulder, but it was an effort not to lean into. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Feyre stiffening. “You’ll find,” Lucien promised, thumb stroking over Elain’s velvet covered shoulder in visible affection, “That so long as you continue to take care of my Lady so well, you may ask whatever you want of me and this house.”   The second the door snicked shut, Feyre was back on her feet. “We’re not glamoured, what the hell was that?”   Nesta, already pouring cups of tea, held one out. “A curse,” She said flatly, “Sugar?”   Rhysand spoke over the noise of disbelief Feyre made, voice blank. “Your household servants are under a spell?” He took the cup she’d held out to Feyre.   With an equal level of dangerous impassiveness that tightened Luciens hand, still on Elain’s shoulder, Nesta stared back. “We keep all the people on our lands safe from faery intervention.”   Feyre didn’t let the staring contest go on long. “And you,” She rounded her attention on Lucien, standing behind Elain. That familiar anger on her face, even in those utterly fae lines, was exactly the same as it had always been. “You set yourself up as a Lord, Lucien? Get your Cauldron damned hands off my sister.”   Unhelpfully, Lucien laughed.   Unable to stop herself any longer, Elain exchanged a glance with Nesta, found her stony sister rolling her eyes in amusement. She bit into her own smile and tried to explain. “You know titled women can’t live alone, Fey. We needed a head of house.”   That Nesta, protective to the bone wasn’t saying anything was probably the only reason Feyre sat down, based on her scowl. “Father is head of house, Flaith Archeron. Where is he? I know ships in our name began sailing again.”   Nesta slammed down her cup. “That was me, actually.”   And she was doing a better job that their father or grandfather ever had, but that wasn’t what mattered to Feyre. “I don’t understand. Where is father?”   “Damned if we know,” Elain muttered, bitter enough that Lucien vaulted over the couch to land beside her, the sort of behavior that usually made her laugh. She didn’t miss that the High Lord tracked the motion. “Feyre, the second Tamlin delivered your payment-   “Blood money,” Nesta interrupted.   “Father left. He took enough gold to get to the continent, but no one has seen or heard from him since. We had to forge this decades re-swearing of vows to the crown, it wasn’t easy.” A small lie- her and Nesta both had been able to forge their fathers signature since they were children. They’d been reasonably sure that as the oldest of the next generation, Nesta’s blood would adhere to the seals just as well.   It was the same reason their main export and import business managed to continue. Acheron trade contracts were bound to the name, passing from father to son, twelve generations down. Faeries didn’t give a damn if Nesta was too female to inherit. Their father’s debts were paid, business could continue.   “We had word of a Lord Archeron, here,” Rhysand cut in smoothly.   Nesta rolled her eyes again, and pointed to Lucien beside her, “Lord Lysander Archeron.”   That her older sister had not- and would not- refer to it as a ruse was a boon that Elain hadn’t expected. Then again, Nesta was and had always been, her best friend. She wouldn’t admit the romantic line between Elain and Lucien was a lie, not while it was something Elain wished were true.   No matter how insane it was.   Feyre’s mouth was stuck in the shape of Archeron, disbelieving.   Rather than follow that string all the way down into Feyre’s disbelief that Elain could make any choice for herself, she turned her best hostess smile on the Illyrian warrior standing against the window. “Tea, Sir?”   His face was already healed. No apparent sign of pain or bruising, which made Elain wonder what exactly, had made that scar that draped a half moon through one brow.   Cassian sat, wings askew in a way that couldn’t have been comfortable, in the remaining chair. “Thank you, the oolong smells amazing.” The cup she passed him with a small smile was absurdly delicate in his hands. “Sir?”   “High ranking human soldiers are Sirs or Lords,” Elain told him, ignoring Nesta’s roiling frustration and the way Feyre was reacting to Lucien’s sharp edged grin.   To her utter surprise, Cassian laughed, the sound like honey. “Oh, I don’t have a title. Just Cassian is fine.” General doesn’t count as title? Elain thought. The head of Rhysand’s armies, it seemed, wasn’t high born.   Meanwhile, Rhysand had evidently had enough of the silent combativeness that could only exist between sisters. “It might be helpful if we started at the beginning.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees in a gesture of human relaxation that looked unnatural in his faery body. Was he faking it? Or was Lucien so keenly comfortable being other that Elain expected it of all fae? “Vanserra, you really think Tamlin has gone mad?”   From Feyre’s non-reaction, this was a possibility that had already been discussed.   Lucien made a low noise. “There’d been a touch of it since the War, but killing Amarantha destroyed him.”   Personally, Elain didn’t care about madness- she wanted the High Lord dead in the ground for nearly killing Lucien, for hurting Feyre.   Rhysand raised an eyebrow. “Since the War? Tamlin was a child then, he didn’t fight.”   But Lucien was already shaking his head. “He was grown when it ended, had met Amarantha in the days before Clythia was killed.”  The hand on her shoulder had slipped away, but Elain felt the weight of his gaze on her face. He’d told her this story before.   Elain looked up to find Feyre watching her. “Amarantha- she cursed him. Of course he wanted her dead.”   It was obviously hard for them even to speak her name: Amarantha. Elain only knew it from a story book, the tales of a faraway kingdom. Amarantha, the ever blooming flower. Red in the rainbow of her sisters. Sometimes, ever was translated instead as madly.   Not for the first time, she wondered if they could be one in the same.   Lucien’s full mouth- Elain chided herself from even looking at his lips- had twisted at Feyre’s words. “I hate Tamlin even more than you do, but he shouldn’t have been the one to kill her.”    Such acts were unfathomable to Lucien, and Elain knew it. Not killing, not fighting, but what Tamlin had done was a different atrocity altogether.   Rhysand frowned. “I wanted to rip out her spine myself, but stopping her was what mattered.”   Feyre didn’t know, Elain realized suddenly, watching the confused tension racket up. If Feyre didn’t know, there was no way Rhysand did.  She had no way to tell Lucien, rigid and closer to her than he’d been a second before. “I wouldn’t ask such a a thing of my worst enemy, but I can't say I’m surprised you would Rhysand.”   The falsely human repose evaporated as the High Lord sat up.   “What exactly are you accusing me of?” Like the stories whispered about him across the ocean, calling him the Nightmare Lord, Rhysand’s voice became soft before it was dangerous.   And just like that, Lucien's disgust melted into a rueful horror. Elain's hands ached. “You really don’t know. Not at all.” He looked at Feyre, something like an apology on his face.   “Tamlin and Amarantha were mates.” @breath-of-sindragosa @flxwer-petals @ladyvanserra @illyrianinterrasen @missanniewhimsy@tntwme@ourbooksuniverse @pitterpatterpot @thestarwhowishes @abillionlittlepieces @my-fan-side @the-eightofswords  @wonderland--memories @ourbooksuniverse @cohen-theeleven @

[13xwishes]

Geminiblackout!

SEND A URL AND I WILL ANSWER THE FOLLOWING;

@geminiblackout​ ||  { Accepting }

Do I Follow Them?: Yes

Why Did I Follow Them?: Whoa! A Jackson/Holt blog? Always nice to see another MH and they seem pretty cool!

Do We Role Play?: Yes and I love it so far! #alteregosFTW

Do I Want To Role Play With Them: Duh!

An AU Idea For Our Muses: So far we ARE doing somewhat an AU, but for some reason Suicide Squad comes to mind. Don’t ask, it just does.

A Song For Our Muses: “Humility” By Gorillaz

Do I Ship Our Muses?: Not gonna lie, yes. Well at least Gigi and Jackson. I can see them getting along, though I wonder how Holt and Whisp would interest first. You know one can’t be without the other. Overall, it’s an interesting concept!

What I Think About The Mun: A sweetheart so far and patient with me. I enjoy them and hope to get to know them more.

Overall Opinion: I love how we’re working with so far. Awesome blog and the mun is sweet! F O L L O W!

Blog Rate: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

[hexyz09]

The Magic Within

Disclaimer: Yeah! This is…well…mine, I guess? I mean, the Chapter and Character’s are mine, obviously, but it’s more of a gift for a friend that really likes my writing, since he set the general theme…at least, I think it was the theme…or was it setting? Hmm, what a conundrum this is, but I’m pretty sure I gut my point across. That aside! Here!

   Beta Chapter 1: The Breakfast Crusade

  It was a beautiful day outside. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming, and on days like this…he really wished his friends would stop turning his kitchen into hell. Feeling something prodding at toes, rustic eyes stared down at a small marshmallow unicorn, stabbing him with its horn made of chocolate.

He splattered it under his heel, taking a sadistic sense of satisfaction as it’s whinnied cries of blood were snuffed from existence. He’d have to wipe the remains off his foot later, but for now, he cast a quick glance around. Gingerbread Men were waging war in his sink, using bowls as ships while they took a stab at each other with sharpened candy canes.

More of those Marshmallow Unicorns were dashing about the floor, trying to skewer each other with their horns…or at the very least, try very hard at accidentally turning the Gummy Bears riding them into pincushions.

He didn’t bother to comment on the Dragons made of vanilla frosting and sprinkles perched on his ceiling fan. Or the fact that they somehow hiccupped fire…for now.  He cared more for the familiar scent of melted cheese and hot sauce hidden under the sickening number of sugar-coated layers.

“Don! Mind helping?!”.He ignored the cry of help mixed with chomping teeth. Breakfast comes first. “O-oi! Where are you going?!”

To the sink.

Briskly walking through his kitchen, he kicked through whatever sweet abomination dared to try and obstruct his path. That, or crushed under the balls of his feet, if they were lucky. For now though, he stopped by shelves and propped one open.

Don was greeted with a screeching monkey leaping towards him, banana in hand.

He swatted it aside with the back of his hand, tearing right through the monkey and revealing it’s cakey insides. The screams of “George” and sadistic cackles of “Yeeeesssss~~”  did little to gather his attention, even if it draw out an amused chuckle or two. The third would be denied though, as his amusement died with his ability to find his plate.

Closing the cabinet, he took a careful whiff in the air, before scrunching up his face in distaste. The sugary aroma that poisoned the room was stronger near the sink than by the doorway, and he couldn’t pick up the trail of gouda anywhere. ‘…I’m too tired to even get angry right now.’

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he turned towards the obstacle blocking his sight of the living room. “Rei, do you know what happened to my plate?”

She didn’t even turn to his voice, preferring to continue with her current activity. Grinning in sadistic amusement as her brother tried chomping at his opposition in excited fervor. ‘Though if pointed out, he’d probably deny it.’ She did, however, return his gaze after something was crunched on behind him. Considering  the bemusement in Rei’s brown eyes, and Ko’s muffled giggles, her brother didn’t need to try and devour his opposition anymore. However, she didn’t respond, and only continued petting the grey kitten purring lazily on her lap. Her smile widening, just a tad as a look of expectation crossed her eyes.

Don couldn’t help but let a smile touch his lips. “…So, I see you won again.”

Her expression turned dismissive in almost an instant, as if what he said was as natural as breathing. Though, of course, with her lips twitching like that, he could tell she was trying to quash down the urge to brag.

“It was only natural after all,” She waved him off, voice light and airy, with a ting of budding joy. “He honestly thought he could best me in the kitchen.” Huffing in mock indignation, Rei finally let a small grin slip. “And…well, I suppose the result of his challenge is as you see.” Yes, he could clearly see the surgery pastries destroying his kitchen.

“I let you win!!” Ko was quick to rebate her claim though, as always.

Rei dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “Keep telling yourself that brother. Maybe one day, I’ll grant you enough pity to allow you a modicum of a chance to defeat me in your dreams.”

“I will!”

…Rei’s response to that was to look at Ko as if he was a very special kind of idiot. And for a moment, Don was inclined to agree, since said idiot was strapped to the fridge with blue licorice being poked and prodded by gingerbread men. Only for a moment though, as he quickly splattered another Unicorn under his heel.

“Mind telling me how my kitchen ended up War of the Sweets?” And for the first time since he woke up, Rei flushed, red dusting her cheeks in either embarrassment, or shame. Probably both, considering she let Ko rile her up to this point.

Luckily, or Unluckily enough, considering the stink eye Rei’s growing, her brother chimed in his two cents. “It all started with a Breakfast Burrito!”

Yeah. Nope. Not dealing with that. How they went from that to…wait…

Brows furrowing, Don turned to face the instigator of this little war, and was matched with a smug, almost mocking grin if he didn’t know the runt well enough. Unfortunately, he did…and, well, Don didn’t really know what to think at the moment. “I thought you hated spicy dishes.” Granted, Siracha wasn’t really spicy, but apparently Ko’s tongue was much too sensitive for it.

His grin vanished as fast as it came, shrinking into a nervous frown. “I still don’t…but…well, today might as well be an exception.” Feeling his gaze grow, Ko turned to the side with a huff, preferring to try and chew his way to freedom instead of explaining, so Don turned to someone who would.

Rei simply wriggled her fingers, and pointed right back at Ko, a soft grin touching her lips, instead of her usual mocking or teasing smile. A majority of Ko’s body was blocked by pastries waging war on the cabinets, so he went around, eyes passing over the trash can on the way, littered with eggshells and burnt onions slices.

Ko seemed to try and stretch his neck harder in order to reach the licorice binding him so. He failed miserably,  and Don kicked away the gingerbread men crowding around him. He made quick note of Ko’s fingers…and, well, couldn’t figure out what to think, but, seeing the expression on the boy’s face, he patted Ko’s head, causing him to stiffen up from the touch.

Though Don made sure to make known that he didn’t like the kitty bandages littering his hand. “Please just leave the cooking to Rei and I.”

Ko’s response was to try and kick him. Try, being the keyword, since it was more of a pouting nudge then a kick. It made him laugh inside none the less, though none of it was mocking. He patted Ko’s head again just for the added reaction, and caught Rei nudging her nose while tilted her chin up.

He followed her gaze, and stared at the Frosting Dragons belching small streams of fire, which in itself was odd, but…nose twitching, he caught the faint aroma of Siracha sauce, and blinked, putting the odd abomination together. ‘…really Ko? Must you be so dramatic?’ He really wanted to laugh right now, cause it was nowhere near spicy enough to warrant that sort of reaction.

Rei felt no such restraint though, giggling up a storm much to his amusement, and her brother’s flushed mortification.  With a wave of his hand, Don mumbled something under his breath, wisps of black seeping from his fingertips as they curled in the air.

With a flick of his wrist, the wisps shot forward, phasing into the Frosting Dragons before they could even react. It took a couple seconds, but their white coating soon faded to an ominous purple, traces of black smoke whisping from their nozzles as their previous rainbow sprinkled eyes gleamed a deep ruby.

The action seemed to freeze the other living sweets in their tracks, as if entranced with what Don had just done. They ran for cover soon after, when with another flick of his wrist, as if pulled down by gravity, the dragons rocketed against ceramic, splattering bits of black and red all over the counter.

Ko rolled his eyes at what he’d deem “needlessly dramatic” while Rei was no doubt pouting that he didn’t try playing with the Dragons first. But…here’s the thing.

Don didn’t play with his food, and he showed this by swiping away the frosting and sprinkles to grab the foiled burritos hidden within, still warm and ready to eat all things considered. “…It’s a light snack. For you to eat before your Exam starts, I mean.” Ko muttered under his breath. “You were up late last night…and, well, since its spicy and all, it’ll give you both the kick to stay up, and the energy to…continue?”

Don honestly wondered why Ko phrased that as a question, but first, a misconception to correct. “Siracha isn’t Spicy!”

“It’s Spicy!” And as if it was an ingrained response, Ko rebutted his words.

“Or maybe you just have a week tongue,” Rei snickered, wanting to chime in her two cents.

Before an argument could commence…again, Don bopped Ko’s head silencing him. He looked up at him with indignation. “Rei’s too far right now,” He stated bluntly, quieting Ko’s irritation. After all, the key words are “right now”.

No need to leave one of the two unpunished for destroying his kitchen…but first, he slipped two of the three burritos into his coat with a smile. Whether it tasted good or not didn’t…well, it definitely mattered, but the fact that Ko, dramatic lazy ass extraordinaire, forced himself out of bed to make Don one of his own special recipes, despite his apparent hatred for anything spicy…was…well, touching. Annoying, since he wasted a lot of eggs doing it, and who knows what else, but touching none the less.

He didn’t even need to bother wondering if Rei made anything for him either, considering how she failed to hide that glint of silver behind her pet.

If he believed in Luck, would these count as Charms? Probably…but with this type of exam, Luck was not a factor.

Eyes drifting flickering towards Rei’s neck, a familiar band of white made him all too aware of the same coiled around his own and Ko’s. Trial Order’s, they were called, made to be placed on a child upon birth, and to assess their growth and magical potential up to the age of 18, where a decision will be made.

He wasn’t worried for Rei. She was a bright child, one always ready to lend a helping hand, no matter who it was. Even if she has a mischievous streak due to her brother, she’ll have a bright future set ahead, there’s no doubt about it.

Ko…ko…he…wouldn’t follow after his sister, as much as Don would have liked him too. Ko understands that much as well, and he couldn’t help but hate that the kid does.

These things assess more than a person’s magical potential, but the very boundary they’ll stand on in the future, where it’d be good or bad. It marks a person’s place in the world, based on their view of it, and judges possible routes he or she would take.

A Scrying Ball to tell someone’s future, basically, made from probabilities and magical analytics. He already knew where his future would go, so these gifts would be useless in changing that…but, they were nice all the same. They reminded him, that even if things went south, there would still be people who cared for him, and would stick by him...even if he wasn’t sure doing the same would be the best for them.

Because, even if hope was dead in this world, he would do so all the same, not for himself…but for the two runts who still have their futures going for them.

[reordering-the-planets]

MBTI personality types as otherworldly/supernatural creatures

ISTP: werewolf (or lycanthrope): Often referred to as children of the moon, werewolves are humans who, due to a curse or magic affliction, have obtained the ability to transform themselves into (fullform) wolves during a full moon.

ISTJ: vampire: A human-like creature with pale skin known to feast on human blood. Usually capable of taking the form of a bat. Afraid of the sunlight or sometimes of crossing over water.

ISFJ: brownie (or house elf): Household creatures that aid in tasks around the house in exchange for some milk, honey, biscuits or cream. They don’t like to be seen by humans so they work at night and spend daytime in the attic, in a warm corner or in hole in the wall.

ESTP: goblin: Mischievous and temperamental, small creatures gifted with magical powers and a greedy nature. They shall steal your jewelry and gold.

INTJ: Lilin (or succubus/incubus): Demonic, night spirits who appear in dreams taking the form of a woman or man and seduce their victims in order to engage into sexual activity with them. Repeated intercourse with a Lilin can cause serious health weakness or even death.

ESFP: poltergeist: Malevolent spirits responsible for haunting humans through physical disturbances like levitating and destroying objects, making loud noises and even harm humans. In their worst, poltergeists pinch, bite, trip or even hit humans.

ESFJ: Watcher (or Grigori): A fallen angel that according to the Books of Enoch fell for Heavens and dispatched to Earth in order to watch over humans. The offspring of a human and a Watcher is called Nephilim.

INTP: jinn (or genie): Sapient spirits with either a kind or benevolent nature. Usually invisible or in shadow form but also able to take many forms and possess human bodies. They travel ceaselessly and instantaneously from one place to another.

ENFP: fairy (or fae, fairie and fair folk): Small structured creatures that inhabit forests, lakes, mountains, rivers and springs. They fly with insect or butterfly wings or even on birds. They use magic to preserve and protect the nature and they sometimes swap human children with their own for unknown reasons.

ENTJ: dragon: Legendary, reptile creatures with many legs and strong wings. Most of them breath fire and live on the mountains, while other are rain and storm bringers.

ESTJ: Leviathan: A giant sea monster which lives in the depths of the ocean and attacks ships to feast on human flesh. Either reptile formed with horns or possesses many octopus legs (like the Kraken) or even giant crab claws.

INFJ: elf: Elves are intelligent supernatural human-shaped beings that possess great magical power, ethereal beauty and ancient wisdom. They either help, endanger or ignore humans. They inhabit forests, hills and mountains and on a misty morning or a starry night they can be seen from afar dancing in circles. Most believe that elves are immortal or live thousands of years, but one can never be sure.

INFP: ghost (or spirit, phantom and spectre): A ghost is usually a spirit of a dead person unable or unwilling to pass into the afterlife. They mostly choose to stay invisible and haunt humans and places they have been when alive. This meets the idea of the “unfinished business” of a ghost on Earth. Children are most likely to feel the presence of such spirits.

ISFP: wil-o’-the-whisp (or ignis fatus or Jack-o’-latern): It is described as an atmospheric ghost light (probably faerie related) which tricks travellers at night into following it and ending up deep into the woods, stuck in a swamp or even dead. 

ENFJ: unicorn: A legendary and rare creature with the shape of a horse and an origin of a magic land. Their most characteristic feature is a horn on the top of their head which possess the power to heal any sickness and render any poisoned liquid potable again. Even seeing a creature as such is said to be eternal luck.

ENTP: alien or extraterrestrial being: Space-originated life forms that inhabit planets other than ours. Gifted with great intelligence and a variety of other potential, are often accused of abducting human beings.

[ielmoe]

OC Profile

I was tagged by @ryanglitter & @goblin-deity, thanks guys!!

I’m gonna tag: @underthedreadwolfsgaze, @rhunae, @water-whisp, @ironbullsmissingeye, @fuckyeahmagesrights, @keeperscompanionsdai, @heraldofwho, @inconspicuous-cupcake, and anyone else who wants to do this! Go for it!

Ma’Lenna | Inquisitor

B A S I C S

full name: Ma’Lenna Lavellan

gender: Female

sexuality: Hetrosexual

pronouns: she/her

O T H E R S

family: Ellana Lavellan (mother), Mahanon Lavellan (father)

birthplace: Near the Antivan City, Rialto

job: Dalish Hunter/ Keepers Second (her mother is first) / Inquisitor

phobias: Agoraphobia

guilty pleasures: She enjoys swords and shields like Cassandra

hobbies: reading, exploring, making wooden sculptures with Blackwall

M O R A L S

morality alignment? Neutral good

sins: Desire / Despair / Envy / Fear / Hunger / Pride / Rage / Sloth

virtues: Charity / Chastity / Diligence / Humility / Justice / Kindness / Patience

T H I S - O R - T H A T

introvert/extrovert: introvert

organized/disorganized: disorganized

close minded/open-minded: open-minded

calm/anxious: anxious

disagreeable/agreeable: agreeable

cautious/reckless: reckless

patient/impatient: impatient

outspoken/reserved: reserved

leader/follower: follower

empathetic/unempathic: empathetic

optimistic/pessimistic: optimistic

traditional/modern: modern

hard-working/lazy: hard-working

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

otp: Solas

acceptable ships: Cullen or Blackwall

ot3: none

brotp: Cole, Varric & Dorian

notp: nothing? XD

[roseyjustice]

Guzma is being a good bf and trying to help,,,,whisp appreciates it but also doesn't want his boyfriend to get sick too lol

[lacetrekmusings]

TNG liveblog S2 Episode 1: The Child

Oh a pretty ship

WORF HAS HIS CORRECT BANDOLIER!!!

aww Wes’s sweater is so tame

OMG Right FUCK This is the Pulaski Season. DAMMIT, I miss Beverly already

CHIEF ENGINEER GEORDI LA FORGE AS IT SHOULD BE

whisp of energy... where are you going wisp?

Did.... did that wisp just... DID THE WISP JUST KNOCK UP DEANNA? Like it ignored all the dudes and just straight up violated Deanna... NO THANKS

GUINAN!

AHHH THE RIKER BEARD IS HERE HE FINALLY LOOKS NORMAL

Don’t worry Picard I never cared for Pulaski either... I recall her being mean to data... and that’s plenty to dislike.

whoop It’s time for Picard to be SUPER AWKWARD WITH WESLEY

‘this isn’t *any* ship’ awww. You know I wonder if that’s true. Do other star ships genuinely have routine missions and don’t nearly die, every single time?

Ahhhhh there’s Guinan. I love her.

Pulaski you know... I get that there’s a situation going down with Deanna but You’re still being pretty rude.

POOR DEANNA GETTING KNOCKED UP BY A FUCKING WIL-O-WISP

Deanna is uncomfortable and PISSED and I am with her.

Well I appreciate that as soon as Deanna made up her mind on what to do Picard immediately shut the conversation down. thought deanna’s decision still puzzles me... this episode was written by cis-dudes wasn’t it

aren’t you guys suspicious that Deanna feels great about this pregnancy?

“not the cold hands of technology” EX-FUCKING-SCUSE ME PULASKI. You fucking tell her Deanna. Data will be very comforting. and you can squeeze his hand as much as you like without hurting him.

I appreciate at least that she’s somewhat upright not just in stirrups. let gravity help you out.

hey look riker turned up.

it’s gonna keep growing super fast isn’t it...

“Thank you for allowing me to participate, it was remarkable” DATA. IS. THE. BEST.

Aww for once Riker said something nice without fucking it up.

I do appreciate Pulaski’s Skant over Pants combo. It’s a good look.

YUP he’s a kid now... Deanna did you not think to call the doctor when he your kid went through accelerated aging?

Pulaski if someone pronounced *your* name wrong it would annoy you and you would correct them so why would you assume Data wouldn’t?

THems some deadly viruses they’re working with.

PUPPIES! are they real or holographic puppies?

Ian is cute it’s a shame things are going to go to hell

AHHHH O’BRIEN HAD HIS FIRST LINE!

Picard has never played with puppies... this explains so much.

pulaski just has a dermal regenerator on her lol

It’s nice to have Ten-Forward around

I love Guinan.

oh shit the deadly deadly viruses are leaving containment.

Ian.. are you emitting the radiation that is causing the deadly deadly virus to grow?

Put the kid on a shuttle guys, get him away from the ship.

Man poor Deanna... they give her this 24 hour kid and he expired

Welp now he’s a Wisp too. IS THIS HOW YOUR SPECIES REPRODUCES BECAUSE IT”S MORE FUCKED UP THAT THE SPECIES THAT USES DEAD BODIES IN VOYAGER.

He wanted to experience life as a human. HE COULD HAVE AT LEAST ASKED BEFORE IMPREGNATING YOU WHAT THE FUCK

Aw Wes is asking to stay. Picard let him stay. He saved the day in like 8/25 episodes in the first season. you need him around.

aww haha Worf is playing along with their little joke on wesley.

Well. that whole situation was like... really uncomfortable... and I just feel bad for Deanna all around.