#all. levinia

[efficiiency]

Recently, Bernie bought herself some headphones. Big, gaudy, bright pink headphones that slid over her ears and pinned her black hair to her skull unattractively. They're perfect; just obnoxious enough to make Bernie feel like she's making some sort of statement without having to actually say anything. She likes wearing them on her walks around town, groceries stretching out the fabric of her Baggu reusable bag while Spotify slowly kills her phone battery.

There's only one stop left on her trip: Serenity. To her surprise, Lavi's standing outside, an enticing tray balanced in her hands. Bernie pushes her headphones with just enough force to knock them around her neck and she does a little skip to propel her closer faster.

" Please tell me these are free, " she says, excitable tone lifting her words. " I've been desperate to break out of my norms but I hate the idea of buying something and finding it gross. "

Bernie takes a cup with little care for what flavor it might be, pausing to smile warmly at Lavinia and her joke. They're not friends, but they could be; Bernie's in here often enough, gabbing her ears off. " It's so nice to see you! How have you been? "

for: @aurorabaystarter (0/5)

It was shaping up to be one of the slower days at Serenity Tea Room. Days like today were typically early days for most employees, if they felt like leaving early. Today was one of the days in which a majority of them had taken the offer, so it was just her and a skeleton crew by three pm. In order to keep herself preoccupied Lav brews up six different types of tea and separates them into little sample cups. She places the cups neatly on a tray, then creating labels for each little section to help identify which tea was what.

With a light, but cozy, winter jacket on Lavinia makes her way outside. This was her way to both promoting the tea shop but also to help keep the citizens of Aurora Bay warm while they were out and about. “Hello! Would you like to try one our teas today? Great way to keep yourself warm, and energized. Except Lavender, that one might make you a tad too relaxed.”

[skyheld]

“You insist that you know me”, Ameridan says, gazing into the chaos of Hakkon’s eyes, the glacial storm of whites and blues. “Yet if you did, you would know that before I was a commander I was a Fade-hunter, trained to withstand beings such as you, and you cannot hope to snare me. I will not be coerced. I will not be tempted. I will not be forced. I am very tired of this, Hakkon, but you cannot even wear me down—you do not have time. Let me sleep. It is pointless.” The shape changes again. The face narrows, the body shrinks, becomes lean and straight-backed, wiry underneath the notched old-fashioned armour. Red hair falls in tangled knots from a braid that's been caught under a helmet. Spidery lines trace the high cheekbones and the straight nose, fanning out across gaunt cheeks. Oh, I know you, Hakkon says with Ameridan’s voice. Wars fought with magic and mind are still my wars. I have your face. It would not be a stretch to have your body too.

i don't think suicidal ideation is the right tw for this, because accepting death when you're dying isn't suicidal, but it's something in that vein so under the cut it goes. the other tws are lighter, I think.

Keeper Levinia has stopped fretting. Maybe that is how he knows.

She used to come into his tent every now and then to ask if he’d eaten, and how much. He'd reply, truthfully, and she’d say, ‘sounds like a stretch to call that eating’ and produce something she just happened to be carrying around—a flatbread fresh from the cookfire outside, some blueberries the gatherers had found that day, cold jerky from the august ram the hunters felled earlier. He’d take it because he knew she worried, and maybe for a mouthful or two he’d enjoy eating it. But then it would taste like nothing and the weariness would come and he would lie down with his back to her and sleep. It was all he really wanted, to sleep.

But she has stopped asking. She has brought the herbal tea that dulls the ache in his bones and some roasted chestnuts on a plate which she places on his bedside but doesn’t ask him to eat. She sits on the edge of his cot, watching his hands around the clay cup as though she’s not sure his strength is enough to hold it.

Maybe that is how he knows, because she knows.

“I received a letter from Sura—from ‘Dalish’”, she says, smiling slightly at the nickname. “It was dated a month ago, but all was well with her then. I hope things have not changed.”

These are troubled times. He remembers hearing the others speak of it, that the spirits are restless and the people, too. They have not told him much; no use bothering him, he supposes, when there is nothing he can do. “Was Skinner with her?”

“Always is.”

“Good.” He brings the cup to his face, let’s the steam warm his lips. “Send her my regards when you write back.”

“Would you add a few lines yourself?”

“No—not this time.” His writing is shaky now. She would notice.

For a while Levinia sits with him in silence. Outside the children are playing and he thinks that maybe later, if he feels stronger, he’ll come out and sit by the fire and maybe they will want to hear a story. In his heart he knows he’ll never have that strength, but it’s a nice thing to think about.

When his tires the cup lowers and she takes it from him, sets it half-full on the bedside table, and smooths out her Keeper’s robe as she rises. If she says anything when she leaves, Ameridan does not hear her. He has lain down with his back to her and fallen asleep.

He knows. And he isn't afraid.

It still seems like a heavy thing, dying.

————————————————————————————————————

Even she has given up on you. Pitiful.

Except he does not sleep, really.

The location the god-spirit has plucked from his mind this time, or which his mind has plucked from itself, is an army camp somewhere on the frontline of the Blight. The tent is small and clearly shared with others; it isn’t the Inquisitor’s tent but a commander’s, or several of them, their bedrolls separated by canvas to create tiny rooms. Everything is stained in mud, torn and threadbare. Ameridan sits by the fireplace in the center of the tent, dressed as though he just got out of his armour.

Opposite the fire, Hakkon lounges as if the foldable chair is a throne. His shape is that of an Avvar warrior, but it’s constantly shifting—he’s a war mage in blue paint, then a scout in hunting gear, then a thane with a pelt across his shoulders. He’s old and scarred, then young and unmarred.

Ameridan considers ignoring him, but he’s not so tired in the dream; his mind is as quick as it used to be. “It is not pitiful to face the inevitability of death.”

It is if there is another option.

“But there is no option. Not for me.”

Hakkon snarls and shifts in his chair, growing in size as he leans forward. Now a mighty warlord, a berserker perhaps, his face grows hard as though chiselled from rock.

You choose to give up.

“You insist that you know me”, Ameridan says, gazing into the chaos of Hakkon’s eyes, the glacial storm of whites and blues. “Yet if you did, you would know that before I was a commander I was a Fade-hunter, trained to withstand beings such as you, and you cannot hope to snare me. I will not be coerced. I will not be tempted. I will not be forced. I am very tired of this, Hakkon, but you cannot even wear me down—you do not have time. Let me sleep. It is pointless.”

The shape changes again. The face narrows, the body shrinks, becomes lean and straight-backed, wiry underneath the notched old-fashioned armour. Red hair falls in tangled knots from a braid that's been caught under a helmet. Spidery lines trace the high cheekbones and the straight nose, fanning out across gaunt cheeks.

Oh, I know you, Hakkon says with Ameridan’s voice. Wars fought with magic and mind are still my wars. I have your face. It would not be a stretch to have your body too.

“Get out of my mind!” Ameridan snarls, but the younger, prouder version of himself smiles a smile he never would have worn, gleeful and triumphant, and leans back in the chair in a way that makes him want to snap at him to sit up straight.

You cannot deny that this was you, once! You stood at the forefront of battle, commanding armies—

“I had to.”

You attended war councils. You shouted down generals for their poor tactics—

“I have not forgottten.”

You fought me, Hakkon says and silver shoots into his grey hair, the stolen face falls in onto itself, dark circles dig deep underneath its eyes. You were old and tired even then, yet you fought me, alone in that cold ruin.

“I remained myself.”

Did you? Creators, he does have a piercing gaze in those pale eyes.

Ameridan closes his fist around the small scar on his palm. Hakkon wears his lyrium brand on his forehead; here, in the dream, it is a void, a black sun burnt into his skin.

He looks older now, but younger still than when Ameridan last looked at his reflection. He has aged a century in those ten years since the Inquisition found him in the Frostback Basin. Death sits at the back of his eyes now. Death as an embrace, as rest at last.

There will come a day soon when he closes his eyes to sleep and it isn’t Hakkon waiting for him across the fire. Long ago it was said it would be Falon’din. Now he does not know who will be waiting, but he will take their hand regardless. He is not afraid.

Ameridan, Hakkon says and his face changes again. This is my last offer. I will make no attempt to take control of your mind. Your body will be yours. You will be strong again, and no longer in pain. I will aid you. Against that which is coming, you and I will both be needed and I can do little from here. I cannot return to my people. I am bound to you as you are bound to me. I have no choice. I WILL AID YOU.

“Do not use her face against me!” Ameridan snarls, standing up, and a storm rips the tent to shreds as his fury takes hold of the Fade. “Not hers! I know how to fight you, even here—I will slay you if it is the last thing I do, if you take me with you!”

Telana looks at him passively, her face, warm and beloved, but wrong—wrong the way Hakkon twsists it, wrong in this time and place. She looks down—and then off to the side, as though listening. Her eyes widen.

Trouble, she says, her voice shifting as her face does, back to the Avvar warrior. You are under attack. There is no time—accept my offer! You have to—

But Ameridan is hearing it too. Screams of shock and terror. Weapons clashing. A spell rupturing earth. He focuses on that, and wrenches himself awake.

Fire.

There's fire outside, black smoke seeping past the cabin door, a sickly reddish light through its cracks. Shrill, frightened screams. Battle-cries—those of elves and those of humans. Bandits or mercenaries, they could be either. Bandits rarely dare attack a Dalish clan, but these are troubled times and people are desperate. For mercenaries, it is only a matter of payment, and there is always someone who pays.

Even with the strength of desperation standing takes precious seconds. The room spins. He can’t find his staff. It should be in here, all his belongings are, but he can’t find it. His hands, then; there is magic left in them. He stumbles towards the cabin door, legs stiff from days of unuse; when he reaches it he falls towards it, his hand on the door latch so it opens.

Darkness has fallen outside, but it has turned into an inferno, red sky and black smoke, black shapes running in front of the flames. They've been taken by surprise. There's no organized defense, only scattered groups fighting for their lives.

"Hahren—" There's someone standing just outside the aravel. Gawin, one of the better warriors, out of the immediate battle and waiting here. To protect him? No, not when others are dying, that cannot be— "Hahren, go back inside, it isn't safe—"The blade of a greataxe slices through his throat cleanly. Two thuds when he hits the deck of the aravel: body and head apart.

Ameridan clings to the doorframe as the warrior steps over Gawin's body and towards him. He's too well-armed for a bandit. A mercenary, then. There's always someone who pays. He has to fight; there's no choice. He slumps when he takes one hand from the doorframe and holds it out, pulling at the Fade.

The force magic rippling through the air towards should have sent the mercenary flying backwards, tumbling over the prow to crash on the burning grass behind. But it's too weak. Magic comes too slowly to Ameridan's fingers, and unravels before it's at full power. The bandit stumbles backwards, and rights himself. The only harm done is that he's bitting his tongue, so when he steps forward again, his smile is red.

"If that's all the magic you can do", he says, "it's time to pray to those heathen gods of yours, knife-ear."

Ameridan's hand is still in the air in front of him.

The clan isn't helpless. They are strong in numbers and in skill. But this attack has been sudden, and the mercenaries haven't struck in desperation; this has been planned, they know what they're doing and are certain of winning. He sees the halla-keeper slain by the cook-fire. They do not care who carry weapons. They may not spare the children, either, or if they do they'll leave them to starve.

"Hakkon Wintersbreath", he says, stretching his fingers fully, "I accept your offer."

————————————————————————————————

HE IS HERE HE IS HERE HE IS HERE

Hakkon laughs at the words and the will weaving their way to him in the Fade, laughs as he takes the hand held towards him, laughs as the hand becomes his, bones and blood and skin and sinew wrapping around his spirit-being, HE IS HERE HE IS HERE HE IS HERE! There are ribs around his lungs, lungs around his breath; he moves by way of muscle, pulling and bending limbs; a spine shoots from his bone-encased mind, snaking nerves through tissue; a heart beats blood through his body; skin stretches soft and supple around everything. It is him, he is it; he feels the thousand sensation of being alive, air on his skin and smoke in his throat and the planks of a deck underneath hardened soles. He feels the pain of old age and old wounds, the frailty of long illness, and he laughs; the pain is life, life is pain; it blooms through him like blood in water, he is here he is here he is here.

In front of him, the mercenary has stopped in his tracks, shocked by the sudden change in his adversary: the cold laugh bursting from his lips, the calm, casual straightening from the slump against the doorframe. Hakkon is in no hurry. Between them the elven warrior lies dead, sword still clutched in his hand. A good blade, if not his weapon of choice. The spine protests when Hakkon bends to pick it up; the fingers are weak with hunger around the hilt, the shoulders unwilling to move into the correct position, and still he's laughing.

It is glorious to live. It is glorious to hurt. It is glorious to kill. He is here.

The sword does its work, splitting the bandit from waist to throat, but the battle-axe that clatters to the aravel's deck as he lies squirming in his innards will serve even better. There isn't quite enough muscle to lift it, let alone swing it, but no matter, Hakkon lifts it with spirit-strength, swinging it casually as he steps down the landing from the aravel, his feet finding scorched grass. He is h—

Hurry. A voice, a will, momentarily lost in the shock of possession, makes itself known. Hakkon grits the teeth inside the mouth. Throughout the clearing the elves are being pushed back, dying one by one and there is a want that isn't his to leap in and save them, save all of them that can still be saved. You promised to aid me. Aid me!

Well, he did promise that, and he does want to slaughter, and so— he let's the will carry him forward, breaking into a sprint.

The nearest mercenary turns to face him. Hakkon laughs, spins, swings, and misses. Ah—his reach is limited, he is not very tall. Nor does he have enough weight to counter that of the greataxe continuing its arc. His spirit-strength holds fast the shaft before it flies out of his hands, and instead his shoulder cracks, shifting out of its socket. The pain blazes white-hot, blinding him. Hakkon laughs at its searing fire, spreading from shoulder and out into the arm, up towards the base of the skull; but at the back of his mind he feels Ameridan wince from it and remembers his promise: you will no longer be in pain. He cannot take it away entirely, but he can dull the pain for now, make it bearable.

He does so, and wrenches the shoulder back into place.

The rest is glory. It is revelry, it is life. He is here. Despite some difficulties with the new body, the bandits are no challenge, though they entertain. He wishes he could take his time, but to save as many of the elves as he can he must make quick work of most of the bandits, until they start running. Then they're fair game, then he can savour it. He is here.

He has run down one of the very last and killed her on the very edge of camp when he suddenly stumbles, the legs buckling underneath him. The body is trembling, little shivers all under the skin; the heart is beating frantically in an uneven rhythm. He puts a hand to his chest to calm it, but there is no doubt: if he goes on, he will do damage. The body cannot handle too much strain, even with his help. It will take time to build that strength again.

"Well", he says, "it was good for a first attempt."

Behind him, movement. One of the elves stand some twenty paces away from him, covered in blood and ashes, staff held in front of her not in fear but in preparation. Her face is set: angry, hurt, with an underlayer of fear.

"Ameridan", she says, "what have you done?"

The guilt that rushes into the chest isn't Hakkon's. Nor is the shame that follows after, or the grief, or the fear, or the self-hatred, or the regret. They aren't his, but he feels them all the same like a rising wave. They make him angry.

"What have I done?" he asks, forcing the legs to stand again, the back to straighten. "What have I done? I saved your pitiful clan, woman, I—"

He goes quiet. There is a will overpowering his, a will like a tidal wave, a will like the sun rising against night, and the body is no longer Hakkon's, the tongue no longer obeys. He is pushed and thrown down into the depth of their mind from where he cannot do anything.

Ameridan swallows, fists clenching and unclenching as he searches for words. A thousand apologies, a thousand pleas course through his mind and Hakkon's, but in the end, voice brittle yet calm, he says: "You know what I did, keeper."

She looks at him, and the shock, the disapproval, the fear in her gaze cuts deeper than any deathblow in Hakkon's memory. He wants to ask where is her gratitude, but Ameridan's will is a winter's worth of snow on the mountainside, keeping the mountain still, keeping him quiet. "You cannot stay."

He says, "I know."

There is more she wants to say, he can see it on her face, but her mouth tightens and her grip on her staff, and she turns away. Ameridan lets his body sink into the grass again. Hakkon isn't quick enough to catch it. They kneel, silent, in that storm of guilt and sorrow. Their body is still trembling.

We should eat, Hakkon says. We're hungry.

They lift the head together. "I suppose we are", Ameridan says.

[ultimatebabygirlsupremebattle]

Competitors and their art are below the keep reading!

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[omalahsocs]

And my second LaSombra, a definitely smaller intro this time but to be fair I'm still fleshing her out as I'm not sure of too much. She may need to be put through peer review (friends look at her and say she's too much of a sad sack, pls try again)

So she has no name at the moment, I was originally thinking something like Levinia, but I already have an unrelated character with that name so I'll likely pick something else that's old fashioned.

She's from modern day nights and the idea I had picking at me so far was that her Sire found her and she was one of a handful of missing students. Her Sire was playing with the idea that one would become his fledgling while the rest would just become blood dolls, but he couldn't decide which one would be the best fit.

So what better way to find out how resilient someone is than to torture them! They don't heal that quickly because they're still human, but there's something to be said about someone who stops crying after a certain point and gets that gleam in their eye like they'd kill you if they could just get loose.

While the other students broke in their own ways. Disassociation, crying, begging etc. She was the only one who went quiet in a way that enticed him. ...plus if he was wrong, he could just kill her and try again. Or send her off on a mission with a small pack that would likely see her dead. Just one more test right? With that in mind, he Embraced her and waited for all his brilliance to unfold!

...and then the pack priest told him that he had to stop making messes that he couldn't cover up. And when he refused he uh... He got ate. Part of his blood went to the pack and part of it went to the new fledgling to keep her from frenzying when she woke up dead.

And that's all I've got for her unfortunately, like I said she's still percolating but she's more than likely going to be a Sabbat fledgling under the wing of a brilliant Ventrue pack priest.

[dorkula-notfound]

Sooo… I may have tried my hand at what I personally think Frida (and the other sister I decided to name Levinia!) would look like.

I swear I’ll draw the sisters getting along with their brothers (someday)

Basics:

Basically I decided that in my take of how the mission of finding the sisters go, Levinia is in a forest-like dimension. Probably some wacky part of the Hidden City, idk honestly but thought it would be a cool setup. Her smarts and kookiness comes from survival instincts and being isolated from society (that’s why she’s on all fours hehe)

Growing up in a dog-eat-dog side of the Yokai realm… she probably wouldn’t take kindly to other “turtle Yokai” at first ;-; (Poor Leo)

And for Frida:

Frida was under the care of Big Mama as her assistant and daughter. Being raised by Big Mama and training to fight in the Battle Nexus, and henceforth being rather scared of the outside world and threats… Frida is jumpy at first. Poor Raph came out for a snack while she was meditating… big mistake, oops.

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Please could I request a Tommy Shelby x daughter fic where she sneaks out to a party and he has to go and get her?

I LOVED writing this request. As you can see it got out of hand like everything I write. <3 Thanks for sending this in and I hope you enjoy it!!!!

Summary: Ruby is persuaded by her cousin Levinia to go to a club while the family is out at the races. The night doesn't go to plan.

Rating Teen: Just violence in this fic.

Warnings: Slight graphic violence, a man tried to attack the reader. It doesn't end well for him. Quality dad time, so many feelings. Bodies get buried.

Please could I request a Tommy Shelby x daughter fic where she sneaks out to a party and he has to go and get her?

“Come on Ruby! It will be fun. I promise no one is going to find out. They’ll be busy at the races.” Your cousin said moving around in your closet trying to pick a dress suitable for the kind of party she was dragging you to.

You flopped back on to your bed staring up at the ceiling, if you got caught your dad would kill you, then Aunt Polly would resurrect you only for your mum to kill you again. You never went to the sorts of parties Lavinia went to. She was five years older than you, something that used to make her seem impossibly wise and cool, but recently you noticed the gap between you closing. Must have something to do with growing up. You let out a huff.

“Fine i'll go but we have to be back at least a half hour before they get home okay? A half hour.” Your dad ran things precisely like that, everyone was supposed to be back by 11:30pm, Fin was in charge till then. But while the younger kids played outside and Charlie was out riding in the fields, Fin was very busy with a girl he’d been seeing.

Levinia squealed and threw a black dress at you from your closet. You pulled it on and looked at yourself in the mirror, you were almost certain your parents didn't know you owned this dress. It was relatively covering except for the dangerous neckline.

Levinia looked you over, making you laugh with her mock sexy facial expressions. She pulled you over to sit at your vanity and took her own makeup out of her bag. You noticed that she did your make up the same way Aunty Esme did, you thought back to times when she used to let you sit and watch.

You looked yourself over and couldn't help but smile. You looked good.

You both got out the front door, scarves draped around your shoulders and made your way down the long driveway. Once shutting the gate you walked a little further down the road then stopped by a large tree. She stopped and lit a cigarette.

“My friend Bill should be here in a moment. Here” She handed you a cigarette and you took it, taking a long drag.

“Wow Ruby, that's definitely not your first one eh?” She winked at you making you feel infinitely cool. You were known for dealing cigarettes in the girls bathroom at school and smoking the occasional one when feeling stressed. A business you’d have to sell off at the end of next year when you graduated. You frowned, a part of you was desperate for a life different from what you knew here, hence the reckless behavior. But the other side of you had seen enough danger to last a lifetime, and you took a lot of comfort in your large family. Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud honking sound that made you jump. A beat up car pulled over and you followed Levinia into the back seat.

“Bill this is Ruby, Ruby this is Bill.” You saw him look you over in the rear-view mirror and smile.

“It's nice to meet you.” You both said at the same time. The drive passed while they gossiped about some University prof that was rumored to be sleeping around with students. Eventually you parked and walked into the busier part of town. It was dark now and Levina took you through a back alley stopping at a red door.

“Just relax okay. No one should recognize you here, heck I hardly recognize you with all the makeup. But just try to enjoy yourself and don't leave with anyone and only take drinks from me. Got it?” You gave her a curt nod as the red door swung open revealing Bill and a tidal wave of loud music. She gave you a wicked smile and pulled you inside. Before you knew it you’d had a couple sweet tasting drinks and were dancing with lots of university boys.

Sure they were handsome in a way that boys your age weren't, but you found it laughable how arrogant they all seemed. You had to bite your cheek multiple times to keep yourself in check as they tried to explain something to you incorrectly, or tried to be impressive about politics. You were on your best behavior. After another drink and dance you’d excused yourself to run to the bathroom. You were hoping it was a large powder room like the clubs your dad owned, but instead it was more of a broom cupboard near the back entrance.

After finishing up and checking your makeup one last time you stepped out only to feel a tight grip on your arm. A large man pulled you out the back door, your shouts were useless over the loud music. Once in the alley way you saw a shitty looking car parked at the end of it. You gripped your small purse in your hands. Much to your mother’s displeasure you were your fathers daughter. Once you started getting cat called, you’d taken it upon yourself to sew razors into the seam on the bottom of your purses.

Gripping it tightly you jerked your arm back causing the man to turn towards you. You wasted no time going for his eyes. He screamed out but unfortunately for him no one could hear his screams over the loud music spilling into the alley way. Bastard had the audacity to prey on young women, and ruin your first real night out. You felt yourself lean into the situation more than you thought yourself capable. You heard a man climb out of the car at the other end of the alley way. So you let the bloody man hit the floor turning on your heel and you ran the other way. You made it out the alley way and into the yard, you ran until you saw Curly and Charlie sitting around their usual spot by the fire.

“Ruby!?” Charlie looked at you in disbelief.

“Charlie I fucked up. I need you to call dad.” He quickly pulled you inside and dialed the phone to the private booth you prayed they were still in. Curly came over and handed you a damp cloth and a glass of whiskey. You gave him a confused look till he motioned for you to pat your face. You whipped your face, then started to shake when you saw the white cloth stained with blood. You quickly wiped at your skin and the rest of your neck line. You grabbed a cigarette off the desk and lit it leaning against your hand.

“What happened?” You looked at Charlie waiting for the call to go though.

“I went to a club with Levinia, some guy dragged me back into the ally way and I fucking cut him. But she's still there and I shouldn't have left. But I panicked.”

“But your alright miss Ruby?” Curly asked, draping a small blanket around you allowing you to cover up a bit.

“Yeah, I'm alright Curly.” You downed the whiskey he’d brought you and you hated and welcomed the burning feeling as it slid down your throat. The phone patched through and you heard yelling on the other end.

“It’s alright Tommy, I've got her here.”

“No, she's not harmed. Just a little shaken.”

“Of course I won't let her out of my site.”

“See you then”

He hung up the phone.

“Levinia noticed you were missing and phoned them from the club. He was just about to call me to get the boys ready to come find ya.”

You let out a groan.

“I'm so fucked.”

“That you are love, but they aren't here yet. Go get cleaned up and come sit by the fire.” You used his small bathroom to get most of the blood and make up off and wrapped yourself in Curly’s lap blanket like a shawl, keeping your chest covered.

You sat down on the stool next to him and he handed you another hearty helping of whiskey. Despite knowing better, you drank it down.

“Curly’s gone to get Levinia and assess the damage.”

You let out a hum staring into the fire.

“It's not like you to get into trouble like this?” Charlie said, looking into the fire.

“No it’s not” You were wondering if he would lecture you, Charlie had always been like a grandpa to you.

“Or do we just not find out about it?” He gave you a knowing look. You thought about the statement, other than the cigarette trade and the occasional beating doled out to a boy who didn't know the word no, you were top of the class.

Okay, maybe a few other beatings helping out some of the girls in your class. But other than the violence and business, you were a shining star of innocence.

“I don't know what you mean.” But there was a smile in your voice that couldn't be hidden

“You're just like him ya know? Especially before the war.” the words sank into your chest.

You heard tires pull up and you already knew it was your dad. You took a deep breath as his footsteps approached in the dark. Charlie gave you a sympathetic look.

“In the car now!” He shouted, you flinched knowing it would be a long ride home.

“Thanks Charlie.” You said in a small voice standing up.

“You’ll be alright, love.” He stood up and gave you a hug. You passed your dad without a word and got into the car. You watched him stand by the fire with Charlie for a moment. He looked out of breath, hand running through his hair.

You saw Charlie give him a pat on the back. He climbed into the car and drove you out of Small Heath without a word. You weren’t going in the direction of the house but you didn't have faith that you wouldn't sound tipsy if you tried to talk. Instead you just rested against the door and closed your eyes. When you opened them you were in the middle of nowhere.

“Get out the car and take your shoes off.”

You stretched and did as you were told. Slight panic welled up inside you. You saw a truck’s lights flash as they turned around on the dirt road. Did the man who tried to take you have business with your father? Suddenly you felt the need to throw up. You held yourself together and followed after your father down the street to where the truck had been.

“Grab an end.” There was a man-shaped bundle on the ground. You turned away and tossed up the contents of your stomach. After the heaving stopped you grabbed an end and you carried half of the man you murdered. The soft grass under feet was a welcome feeling you tried to focus on instead of breaking down. After much effort you reached a hole in the ground. Your dad dropped him there and you rolled the man into the hole.

“Now. This man was a bad man. Sold girls and kids to other bad men, shipping them off to who knows where. You killed him. The boys caught the car before it could make it out of Birmingham. His accomplice is down there under him.” You looked at your dad's face and resisted the urge to puke again. “You're not to leave the house without me knowing. If you want more freedom it can be arranged, but don't you ever do something like that again.” The tone of his voice broke your heart and he pulled you into a hug. You couldn't help the tears falling down your face.

“It's alright, lamb. You're okay now. Ive got ya.” His voice made you feel like a little kid all the times you’d run to him when you were scared or didn't know what to do.

“Dad I’m sorry” You said through sobs.

“Don't apologize, you're a Shelby.” And with that you both piled the dirt over the two men, and walked back to the car. You brushed your cold feet off before putting your shoes back on and climbing into the passenger seat. He got back in and handed you a handful of mint leaves.

“It’ll help.”

“Thanks.” You munched on them happy to get the horrible taste out of your mouth. You slid closer to him on the seat and rested your head against his arm.

“I think what you did was punishment enough. I know you well enough to know you didn't go looking for any trouble tonight. As far as your mother is concerned, tell her I really gave it to you on the way home. Might save you from the lecture.”

“Alright. Did Levinia make it home okay?”

“Yes John came and picked her up. She knows about what happened to the scum bag.”

“Great.”

“What did you use on him anyway?” He gave you a curious look. And you pulled open the seam at the bottom of your beaded purse. You thought you saw a small smile creep onto his face.

“Started stitching them in when I was ‘bout 13 or so?” he only nodded in reply. You pulled up to the house and groaned when you saw all the cars out front.

“Fuck.” he ran a hand through his hair. “Look I’m just going to scream at ya, you just run up to your room and I’ll deal with everyone else. You’ve dealt with enough tonight. If you can’t sleep, come down to my study later alright?”

You paused for a moment not sure how to get the words out.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“Never again right?”

“Promise.” He kissed your forehead and you both climbed out of the car.

“THE ABSOLUTE RECKLESSNESS. I HAVE HALF A MID TO LET YOUR MOTHER DEAL WITH YOU FROM NOW ON.”

You threw the front door open and made a run for the stairs.

“I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO DISAPPOINTED IN MY LIFE. MY OWN DAUGHTER OUT ACTING LIKE A FUCKING WHORE. GO TO YOUR ROOM AND STAY THERE - ”

You closed your bedroom door and fell onto your bedroom floor. The night's events took a toll on you. Eventually you went into your washroom and cleaned yourself up enjoying the hot water. After changing into your PJ’s you had half a mind to go down to the landing and try to listen in. Instead you curled up on your bed, but it wasn't long before you started shaking, the man's face unavoidable in your mind. The tears just wouldn't stop. Eventually you heard the house settle, some of the cars leaving. A quick glance out the window showed you that Polly’s car was still here. Once your mum had shut her bedroom door you waited a few minutes and then set off down the stairs. You slid into your father’s study, closing the door softly and you turned around to see Polly sitting at his desk.

“Oh I'm sorry, I can come down later.”

“It's alright love, come here.” You came over and sat down next to Polly. She quickly grabbed your hand and held it tightly. They continued talking about business, something about Michael in America. You were happy for the distraction leaning into the big chair.

“He didn’t hurt you did he?” Polly looked at you and brought the conversation back to you.

“No. I hurt him before he got the chance.” Your eyes focused on the desk and you tried not to cry in front of her. Crying in front of your dad was one thing, but you’d have to be on death’s door before you cried in front of anyone else.

“Good girl. I'll go fix you something to get you to sleep.”

“Polly.” Your dad said pointedly giving her a stern look.

“Just tea Tommy.” She announced as she floated out of the room.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't be like this.” you whipped the tears out from under your eyes.

“Don't apologize.” He said sternly. He got up and pulled you over to the couch in front of the fire. You sat on his lap resting your face against his shoulder. His arms wrapped around you and you tucked your feet in the cushions to keep them warm. Despite everything, you took a moment to enjoy his embrace, you knew deep down you’d be out in the world soon enough. Moments like this were rare since you were tiny, they’d only get more rare as time passed.

“Why do I get like this? I've seen you do it and walk away like it's nothing.” You whispered into his chest. He winced slightly at your words, after a long pause he broke the silence.

“I guess that part of me broke in the war. But I did all of this so you and Charlie would never have to be like this.”

“I -” You stopped yourself from apologizing again. He pressed a kiss on the top of your head.

“I know love.”

Polly came back with a cup of hot tea that you gratefully accepted.

“Your mum will want to talk to you in the morning. And John’s lot will be around after breakfast to talk to you too.” Polly said sitting down, she tucked your toes under her thigh to warm them up.

“Is Levinia in trouble?”

Polly snorted.

“Really it was my idea.” You felt the need to protect your cousin and instantly felt worse about leaving her at the club then again when you came home. You should have gone in there and owned up to everything. Polly let out a laugh.

“We all know that’s not true love.” Your dad replied. Your face fell.

“Goodness, you look like we're going to throw her into the cut. If you had any idea what these boys used to get up to at your age, let me tell you - “

“Polly” Your dad said as a warning. You looked up at her and she mouthed “Later” you smiled knowing you had something good to look forward to. You drank your tea while they continued talking and eventually you felt your eyes fall and you let sleep take you. You had a foggy memory of being moved up to your room and your dad tucking into your bed next to you. You tried to thank him for staying with you, but your mouth couldn't create the words.

----

You woke up the next morning with a headache the size of England. You stumbled out of bed and went right to the kitchen for water. You grabbed a glass from the sink and downed a glass then poured another one. Everything was bright and horrible, you sat down at the table and put your head in your hands.

“There she is! Regular Peaky girl you are!” Arthur's loud voice boomed and he patted your shoulder.

“Come of it Arthur” Polly moved into the space and was handing you something to chew on before you could respond. “That should help with your head love.”

“Breakfast is out in the dining room. But I'll bring yours through. Sit up at the grown up table now.” He announced leaving the room. Polly gave you an empathetic look.

“Just a hangover it’ll pass”

You answered with a nod and then a plate of food was placed on the table in front of you.

“Thanks” you mumbled. Then your mum floated in, hugging you tightly.

“Don't you ever do that again.” you hugged her back.

“I won't.” You started in on your breakfast and the rest of the family floated through. You hated the dining room, and they all did too; they were just too proud to admit it, except for Arthur. After the seriousness was spoken of, Levinia apologized and you waved it off. Then the jokes started about you having more peaky blood in you then the rest of the kids put together. You couldn't tell if that was something to be proud of, but laughed along anyway.

_______

AH! this was so much fun to write!!!!!!

Thank you again for writing in a request! <3

[shespureheartblood]

Blood and Vanilla (Alcina Dimitrescu)

The Lady perfumed her skin with blood and vanilla.

Levinia always knew when the countess was looming nearby because there was no mistaking the two scents coiled together. Even now, as they both sat in the study, Alcina applying a fresh coat of lipstick to her already rouged lips, Levinia felt her senses heighten.

It was the smell of a threat. The scent of a predator. The mark of a woman unhinged.

And, yet, when she moved, her gown fell around her frame like the smooth marble of a statue. Her hourglass body swayed to the tune of Fantasia, a living Venus among all womankind.

Alcina was a masterpiece painted in gesso with touches of chiaroscuro.

It would have been an insult to touch her.

“Darling, why are you so silent?” That honey-sweet accent tingled Levinia’s ears, sending a shiver of paranoia through her body. She had encountered bad people in her past. Long before the village. But now, Levinia realized, those men and women were only pretending, putting on an act in some miserable play.

This woman, this goddess whose skin caught the sharp edges of moonlight wavering through the library curtains, was a beast by another name.

So, why then, did Levinia only see sunrise when she dared to stare for a moment too long?

“Because I want to understand what makes this place work.” What makes you work. Levinia was startled by the hoarse texture of her own voice in juxtaposition with the Lady’s smooth syllables.

Alcina dipped down low and cupped Levinia's chin in her hand, “Honey, there is no written language known to man that would describe the secrets this castle holds.”.

Then she let her hand fall away, and chuckled.

Warm, deep, predatory.

The feeling of cobwebs lingered as an afterthought on Levinia’s face where Alcina’s hand had been. She reached up to brush off what didn’t exist and when the countess spoke again, “You know, you don’t owe me an explanation. Do what you want, read the whole damn library for all I care. But you really need to stop explaining yourself.”

“So, what should I have said then?”

Alcina looked over her shoulder, taking drag from her cigarette, and thought for a moment before answering, “I don’t know? Maybe something like ‘Fuck off, Big Bitch. I’m reading?’”

And, with a wink, Alcina Dimitrescu sauntered from the room muttering something about dinner and her daughters..

Levinia let a smile tug the edge of her lips upward as she turned back to her book. Yeah, like she could ever talk like that to the Countess.

“You were wrong though,” She muttered into the empty space. “There is one passage here I understand.”

Levinia ran her fingers over some pen inked scrawl beneath a passage. It was messy, distressed, barely legible. Like clockwork, when her fingers touched the ink, a small shadow appeared, slipping onto the floorboards. It took the shape of a person, his hands held up, some invisible force piercing his chest, shaking him like a ragdoll until he fell limp. When there was no more death to show, the shadow picked itself up, and returned to its resting place within the jittery ink that read:

Irruunt stulti quo pedem inferre timeant angeli.

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

Levinia nodded, casting her gaze to where the shadow had given away another secret, another meal for the Lady. But instead of feeling frightened, Levinia merely wanted to find a new book. She was surprised at the comfort she felt in a castle that wavered between Renaissance and Baroque, stuck between eras, stuck in time. Full of women brutally broken, who ask the moonlight questions about love when they think no one is listening through the walls.

Levinia shut the book, and pondered what new shadows her touch could bring to life in Castle Dimitrescu. What new mysteries might she uncover?

To anyone else, falling upon the village in such uncertain times would have meant a grisly end. But all Levinia could do at that moment was smile in anticipation.

“A fool, indeed.”

[freifraufischer]

A Gymnastics Mystery: Was the 1981 World Championship Stolen?  Part 2 - A Nearly Perfect Year

In our last episode I introduced one of the greatest mysteries in gymnastics history.  Did the East German government ask Maxi Gnauck to fake an injury thus taking herself out of the 1981 All Around World Championship which was held in Moscow and won in a podium sweep by the Soviet Union.  To understand why this is even a question we first have to examine the 1981 elite season (and some of the insanity that happened during it).

The previous year the 1980 Olympics was an unseemly mess where the Romanian vice president of the Women’s Technical Committee held up the All Around for almost half an half an hour trying to get Nadia Comăneci beam score raised so that she could win her second Olympic AA.  When she couldn’t convince the judges and technical officials to raise the score she simply refused to the score into the computer.  Meanwhile on the sidelines Bela Karolyi was screaming about corruption and unfair scoring against his gymnasts including Emilia Eberle in the uneven bars final.  The winner of that final was 16 year old East German Maxi Gnauck and she also had to share the AA silver with Nadia.

If the drama and ill spirited corruption was at unprecedented levels during the 1980 Olympics, things just got worse (and stranger) at the beginning of 1981.  In January 1981 the Romanian gymnastics team, coached by Bela Karolyi, visited the United States to attend an invitational competition where their headliner was to be Ekaterina Szabo, the reigning junior European Champion.  Except the girl carrying Szabo’s passport wasn’t Ekaterina Szabo but Levinia Agache (another future Olympic gold medalist).

We’ll never know why the Romanians did this.  Some people have suggested the meet organizers were aware of the deception though Kathy Johnson on twitter strongly denied that, saying the only reason anyone knew something was wrong was because an American gymnast in the crowd had seen Szabo at a previous meet and alerted officials.  But as the passport was issued by the Romanian government and they had no more proof of the impersonation the matter was dropped for the time.  Two months later the Romanians would return to the United States this time with the real Ekaterina Szabo and Levinia Agache carrying her own passport.  Because.... why... anyway it was on this trip that Bela Karolyi and his wife Marta would defect.

A few months later the first major gymnastics meet of the year the European Championships was held in velodrome in Madrid.  [As an aside, for some reason velodromes were very popular for hosting gymnastics meets in the 1980s, not only the 1981 Euros, but the 1985 and 1987 World championships and I seem to recall at least one other Euros that decade were held in velodromes.]  At this meet the USSR did not send Olympic AA gold medalist Elena Davydova, but instead 3 rising talents Alla Misnik, Natalia Ilienko, and a “new senior” age falsified Olga Bicherova.  It’s important to remember that in an age when the sport was dominated by European gymnasts the European championships was a bellwether for the winners of world and olympic competitions.  Nadia Comăneci announced herself to the world, not at the American Cup as the American gymnastics federation liked to say, but rather at the European Championships before the Montreal Olympic Games.  It can be assumed that the Soviets wanted to use the event to introduce their new stars to the world.

The only problem with that plan was Maxi Gnauck turned that Spanish velodrome into her personal stage to demonstrate her dominance.  She won the AA by .3 over Romanian Cristina Grigoras, with Misnik and Ilienko come in 3rd and 4th.  Bicherova had a disaster of a meet and came in 23rd.  Gnauck also took 3 of the 4 event gold medals, having to settle for “only” a silver on vault.  Now one of the great things about 1981 Euros is that we have incredibly high quality film of the event (without commentary so you can hear how incredibly loud it was whenever anyone landed a vault or a beam dismount).  it’s worth looking at those event finals to see what kind of shape Gnauck was in.

Let’s start with vault, the only gold medal that Gnauck did not win...

Skip to 13.37 for Gnauck’s vaults, if you want to watch the entire final I suggest you skip ahead in the video as it includes both the beginning sound test and the full warm up period.  The things I want you to see here are just how much power she had coming down the runway and how good her form was.  Remember this was an age before Yurchenko entries where gymnasts had to get all their power from a handspring block. Gnauck would tie for silver with her countrywoman the amazingly named Birgit Senff.  

It’s as good as any time to talk a little bit about ties in 1970s and 1980s gymnastics because they can be an indication of corruption in that a rightful winner wouldn’t be denied outright but would have to share their win with the favored gymnast.  But generally I think modern viewers just don’t realize how easy it was to tie when scores could only be given in increments of .1 and there were only 4 judges two of whose scores were dropped.  There were only so many possible scores and so you were simply mathematically more likely to tie before the judging panel was expanded and deductions could be given in increments of .05.  It also helped that no one seemed particularly interested in breaking ties.

After that “disappointing” silver we move onto Gnauck’s stroll through dominating the entire European field.  Skip to 20.08 for her bars routine.  As with her 1980 bars I’d like you to look at how good her form is, and let me repeat again this bars set was so consistent that you could essentially pick any competition between 1979 and 1984 and see the same thing from her.

Next came the balance beam.  Start at 19.21 for Gnauck.  Now Maxi is not the kind of beamer that you will want to write poetry about, and she has two significant balance checks here.  She barely won this title by .1, a margin she carried over from the AA (a routine you can see here at timestamp 2.01.31).  I urge you to look at the AA beam performance without the balance checks to understand just the high level of beam tumbling difficulty Gnauck had in 1981.

At this point you may be wondering about the socks/ankle taping, since the question of the injury at worlds was her ankle.  But this kind of extreme ankle taping was not just common but basically universal among East German gymnasts.  It’s not evidence of an injury.  There is a reason I will sometimes describe a heavy ankle tape job as “being taped like an East German”.  But hey if you are doing that level of beam difficulty and landing on those cardboard mats I think you might proactively tape your ankles too...

And then we come to the floor final which she wins by .2, not entirely by her carry over score (she did better in the final relative to the silver medalist and lost ground relative to the bronze medalist).  The European Championships was an optionals only competition (the AA acted as qualification for EF and the scores carried over) so you couldn’t hide score fixing in compulsories like you could at the World Championship.  You can find Gnauck’s routine at 7.00 minutes into the video (the floor silver medalist Alla Minsk of the USSR is at 10.40, and the floor bronze medalist Cristina Grigoras of Romania is at 31.39).  I think you can understand the placing simply based on landings and tumbling difficulty.

Normally this is the point when I talk about East Germans that I have to try and make an excuse for their weird floor music and chorographical choices.  Gnauck has her share of them and I wouldn’t call her balletic.  But she is performing, clearly has dance training, and I think if you look at her and think about any “power gymnast” of the modern era you can understand her.  As it happens at this competition I don’t feel the need to defend her choreography given that the Soviets were in their disco period and the Romanians were still using Geza Pozsar choreography (he had defected only weeks before).

I think there are arguments to be had about Eastern Bloc leotard bonuses at Worlds (and I think in particular Ma Yanhong had legitimate grievances over it), but the thing I want to emphasize here is that the people Gnauck was beating here weren’t the Chinese or the western Europeans or the Americans.  She was beating the Soviets and the Romanians.  Even if the East Germans were overscored they weren’t being overscored over the Soviets or the Romanians.

Gnauck came out of the 1981 European Championships with 4 gold medals, and 1 silver medal.  She had come away from the 1980 Olympics with 4 medals as well as a 4th in the Balance Beam final that Nadia won IMO on reputation (only .1 of a point covered 1-4 in the 1980 Olympic Balance Beam final).

Coming into Moscow there would have been no question that she was the prohibitive favorite to win the World All Around.

Next time:  The world’s most comically corrupt elite gymnastics meet and the strange events of the 1981 World Championships.

[itssowholsomicoulddie]

Anybody else been kept up at night thinking about a BBC Merlin JATD crossover? No? Too bad! If I must suffer so shall you!

I can’t decide if it should be before of after the magic reveal.

They have a wizard! But he makes fireworks and has never been said to do any actual magic, so I’m thinking he’s more of an alchemist.

Merlin would be so conflicted when he hears the knights talking about a wizard, because on one hand, he’s so lonely. He perks up like a sleep deprived little puppy because, friend? Magic friend who gets it?! But also suspicious because poor boy is traumatized.

Arthur is doing his best to be chill with the wizard because this isn’t his kingdom, they don’t have any treaties yet, he can’t just execute him.

Then the wizard is just a person.

Theodore voices his surprise that more experienced knights didn’t accompany the king. Leon explains that he IS the most experienced knight. Theodore has now adopted Arthur’s round table.

King Carodoc feels for Arthur, he knows what it’s like to suddenly be thrust into the role of a young king.

Arthur did not blink twice when he met Jane. He grew up with Morgana and is married to Gwen and I’m giving him realistic character development. That makes Theodore like him more.

Gwen likes to hide in the kitchen with Pepper. Pepper is super scared/uncomfortable at first, but then they swap recipes.

Arthur sees so much of his younger self in Gunther and so he offers him a lot of advice. Most of it unhelpful.

Merlin sees so much of Arthur in Gunther and it makes him want to punch his dad.

DRAGON!!!!!

Everybody freaks out. Arthur wants to kill him and just like that he gets on everybody’s kick list.

Merlin is so happy he starts to cry. Arthur just thinks he’s scared and remembering the trauma of before.

Merlin has to tell Dragon that there are only two others out there. He introduces him to Athusela.

Athusela loves him and he’s working on teaching her to talk like humans.

Levinia plays with the baby dragon, still the size of a pony, and declares them best friends, like Jane and Dragon.

Maybe Merlin would give Dragon a name.

Dragon loves messing with the knights. Gwaine especially has a similar sense of humor.

Speaking of humor, Jester brings the group to tears nearly every night from either laughter or moving songs/poems.

Smithy(Jethro) talks shop with Elyan and Gwen. They are super impressed by all his innovations.

Rake and Merlin talk about medicinal plants and where they grow best. Rake plans to send Merlin home with some little herbs that will grow in close, indoor environments.

Percival knows a lot about flowers and their meanings, he and Rake talk about them all the time. Percy gives Rake the courage to give Pepper a red tulip, symbolizing romantic love and royalty, because he just loves her that much.

Gwen gets in on the matchmaking and suggests to Pepper that Rake was in fact flirting when he compared her to shrubbery.

Arthur gets dragged in and thus is redeemed from the whole, trying to stab dragon thing.

Jester totally catches Merlin doing magic on accident and just nopes himself right out of the room.

[selkiewitchtips]

Using witchcraft to get pregnant in movies

The baby is probably satanic

If not Lilith is trying to eat it

Mother faces massive complications

A cult is around her at all times

Using witchcraft to get pregnant in real life

Hehoo the baby is named Levinia

Can't eat nutmeg

[ultimatebabygirlsupremebattle]

Left is by @sweetheartwannabe - art here!

Right is by @chaoswithcausation - art here!

Please give all art appreciating notes to the original posts!

[beachytablecloth]

prompt fill for @ghalind, who requested a fluff piece about Toph and their OC Levinia! it was so fun to write for a new character; I hope I did her justice! 

Toph Beifong was many things, but a coward was not one of them.

She was an earthbender (the best earthbender in the world, and don’t you forget it) and always preferred to tackle situations head-on.

Well. She usually did.

That kind of changed when she met Levinia.

One of the most unexpected things about the end of the Hundred Year War was the disappearance of this constant fear that had kept many people in hiding for years. And over the course of the past year, Toph and her friends had met people from around the world—Fire Nation citizens who had fled because they disagreed with the war, families in the colonies that had both Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom ancestors, and even, incredibly, another waterbender from the Southern Tribe.

Levinia had suffered greatly at the hands of the Fire Nation. She’d lived in a village separate from Katara’s and Sokka’s—one they hadn’t even known existed. The Fire Nation had raided them, burning it to the ground, leaving Levinia, miraculously, as the sole survivor.

(She had hidden for days, behind a snowbank, waiting in complete terror for the soldiers to find her. They hadn’t.)

When Toph met her, it was on one of their many trips to provide aid to refugees in remote Earth Kingdom villages.

They had hit it off immediately, Toph’s brashness mixing well with Levinia’s awkward shyness.

(Not that she would ever admit it, but Toph had found it endearing how Levinia had been so nervous, at first, to be with people her own age, to make friends.)

After spending a few weeks in that village, it had been hard to part with Levinia, but their group was needed around the world, and they had moved on.

Toph had forced Katara to help her write letters to Levinia each week.

So when Zuko and Aang had the idea to revive a long forgotten festival in the Fire Nation, Toph had written to Levinia, and invited her to come.

(The week that it had taken Levinia to respond had been one of the longest of Toph’s life, and if she hadn’t been able to stop smiling when Katara had read her Levinia’s “yes”, well then, that was nobody’s business but her own.)

The festival took place over the course of three days; it was held in the heart of Caldera City, and there was music and dancing and food. Hundreds of people had come, some even from the other Nations, which had been a source of great pride and happiness for Zuko and Aang.

On the final night, Toph found herself sitting with Levinia on the outskirts of the main town square. It was getting late, but people were still dancing, and it seemed like no one had plans to leave any time soon.

“I’ve never been to the Fire Nation before,” Levinia remarked. “I—this really wasn’t what I was expecting at all.”

Toph laughed.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t like this before.”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. They could hear the faint sounds of music and laughter carrying over from the square. The air was balmy, and Toph found the heat comforting, rather than oppressive as she had initially thought. She could smell the scent of fire flakes and fried Komodo-chicken wafting over from the vendors.

“I wasn’t sure at first. The Fire Nation has taken so much from me, and I thought it would be impossible for me to ever be okay coming here,” Levinia paused, taking a shaky breath. “But I’m glad I came.” Toph could hear the smile in her voice as she said those last words.

Toph was really glad, too. She had not been able to stop thinking about Levinia since they’d met; there was something about her that drew Toph to her in a way she had never experienced before.

And that scared Toph, but she was no coward.

So when Toph replied with a nervous, “me too,” and Levinia had reached her hand over to hold Toph’s, she took it, despite the way her heart raced and her stomach filled with unease.

She would tell Levinia how she felt, soon; but not here, not tonight. Tonight she was content to sit with her, listening to the fading sounds of the festival as people celebrated in a way they hadn’t been able to for one hundred years.

[tulipgardens1]

Tagg17 questions!

YAY! I was tagged by @davidoodles Thank you so much u lovely bean <3333 

1. Name: Mars! 

2. Nickname: Mars :D Ooodlesofnooodles, ooodlynooodly, (other lesser known nicknames include: blinky, me-mars, marmalade, marlos, marmie, marlene, marzie, mars in charge, little dove, honey and szechuan)

3. Zodiac: Libra

4. Height: 5′4 

5. Last thing I googled: A Court of Silver Flames. Sarah J Mass is coming out with a new ACOTAR book and i’m excited to read it even though i didn’t finish reading the 3rd book yet, it’s collecting dust on my book shelf >.< 

6. Song stuck in my head: omg i have been having so many songs stuck in my head lately, but now i can’t remember any!! One song is ‘Did I Make The Most of Loving You?’ which is the opening of Downton Abbey, which I”M NOW ADDICTED TOO, AHHHH I LOVE IT, MOVE OVER MARY, MATTHEW IS MINE-- i just finished season 2 and i felt so so bad for Levinia, she didn’t deserve her fate *cries* ;a; my fav ship from the show is probably anna and mr. bates!

7. Number of followers: 100! Thank you to all the peeps who follow me, i don’t do much but thanks *bows* ;a; 

8. Amount of sleep: My sleep schedule has been mangled dfgdfg I used to wake up early, but now i wake up at 10 or 11 O.o initially, i thought i would feel more refreshed, but sleeping in actually makes me more tired kfsgdjhfsgdfg 

9. Lucky number: 3, but 4 is nice too 

10. Dream job: Ideally, i would like to be a hermit witch in the woods undisturbed with my crows and making potions underneath the moonlight and flying on broomsticks--BUT realistically, a published writer! LOL Hopefully, one day that will come true. (the writing and/or the witch thing HAHAHA)

11. Wearing: Tinker bell themed T-shirt and a pair of black shorts

12. Fave song: idk there are so many! I listen to ALOT of anime OSTs tho XD I love everything by shawn mendes :3

13. Fave instrument: piano. I like playing the tin whistle :3 (it makes me feel like a fairy in the woods)

14. Aesthetic: i like cottagecore and fairycore! Tho my irl style doesn’t reflect that bc i just wear PJs, comfy shirts, leggings, and sports stuff XD 

15. Fave author: Soman Chainani, Margaret Rogerson and Kiera Cass. 

16. Fave animal noise: The noise baby harp seals make! (they’re so cute, i want a baby harp seal so badly ahhh ;a;)

17. Random: I keep a dream journal to write down all my dreams XD

tagging: (only if you want to!) @subdee  @your-jellyfish-senpai  @that-fangirl-can-destroy-you @hxhhasmysoul @artxhunter <3

[ghalind]

OC/Persona asks please. Ones I would like asks on:

Levinia

The Shattered

Dialith

Danor

Monica

Assistant

Takes One

All Personas

[tillman]

streaming high noon over Camelot and i just gotta say. thank you. this is incredible. is there anything else i should know abt the album besides it's sheer existence

THERES SO MUCH. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW!! Fun deets r merlin (or. Brian) is a reference to the guy who sings him, drumbot brian. The mechs r fans of inserting their characters into their albums. I love brian hes nice.

If u wanna know any specific references (the previous captian joseph being the fisher king, levinia stone, The X-caliber rail gun, ect) LEMME KNOW I LOVE TALKING ABOUT IT. themeatically its my fave album I think its so good but PLEASE listen to all of the mechs qork.

Oh little detail listen to “lost in the cosmos” on their tales to be told album before hnoc. It flows into it, being the backstory of brian :-)

[shespureheartblood]

After The Factory... (Heisenberg x OC) Vignette

Levinia ran her fingers through the pile of ash, letting it fall in silky ribbons through her fingers back down to the frost-hardened earth. It was late in the day, the time where the Eastern European sun hid behind the clouds and turned the wheat fields a rich sepia.

No wind blew, nothing to stir the remains in front of her. Nothing to remind her that the world existed outside of her and the humming of the factory in the distance.

Winter had come on like so many other harsh realities. Cold, hard, and fast.

And, like all things broken and wild, she decided to blame everything external from the situation. Because it got out of hand.

Because she couldn't stop it.

Because Levinia couldn’t pretend she didn’t come face to face with horrors, vain and grotesque, and act like she didn't fall in love with every one of them.

And because she didn’t want to blame herself for taking the place of his cigar so many nights in a row.

So, she decided to blame the weather. And whenever winter blanketed broken cobblestones, she would hide away in her apartment, wrap herself in a peacoat that would never shake the smell of blood and oil and metal, and curse the time of year where all that she had loved calcified into crystal.

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Hi hi! Okay, but just imagine immediately following the battle at the factory Heisenberg's lover coming to terms with the fact that he's gone :(

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Just so everyone knows this and some of my future pieces will feature my OC, Levinia Albarne. Just in case you are wondering who Levinia is haha