#but these are otherwise unedited

[the-moon-loves-the-sea]

!!!!!!

[sergeant-sassy]

Awkward Erend

[otrtbs]

hello trying smth. a bit. different under the cut?

Druella

Bellatrix is born on Halloween. On October 31st 1951, she becomes the eldest daughter of Druella and Cygnus Black, and she doesn’t cry. She just peers up at Druella with wide-round eyes and a calm, unaffected disposition. It’s eerie. It’s haunting. That’s something that always worried Druella– the Halloween birth, Bellatrix’s refusal to come into the world kicking and screaming and fighting for air like a normal child would. Druella worries that Bellatrix is cursed, born on the day of skeletons, death, evil spirits, and darkness. She tried to hold out a few more hours, she begged the mediwitches at St. Mungo’s to delay the birth somehow through grunts of pain and the sweat forming on her brow. She attempted to not push through her contractions, but it was pointless. 

“They say babies born on Halloween are immune to evil spirits,” the mediwitch whispers to Druella as Cygnus sleeps in a chair in the corner of the room, arms crossed and shoulders slumped. “The veil between the living and the dead is thinnest tonight. So she’ll probably have a strong connection with the spirit world. She might even be given the gift of second sight,” she adds sagely, attempting to calm Druella’s fears. “A blessing.”

Druella holds Bellatrix in her arms, she’s sleeping and swaddled in a soft blanket, a peaceful expression on her face, but Druella can’t escape the feeling of hesitant fear bubbling beneath the surface. A bomb waiting to explode. “She didn’t even cry,” she lets out an exhausted sigh. 

The mediwitch gives her a soft smile. “It happens. Her heart rate is stable and she is breathing normally. She’s perfectly healthy.” The witch finishes cleaning up a few things around the room and removes her gloves. “Be sure to let me know if you need anything. Someone will be here to check on you shortly.” As she turns to leave, she pauses for a moment with her hand on the handle, debating something. Then, with a quick look back and a sharp breath she says, “It’s going to be okay.” 

Druella wishes she could believe her. 

Bellatrix grows a little every day. She’s healthy, she never cries, her bones aren’t weak, her limbs aren’t mangled, her cheeks are pink and fat and not sallow. She looks nothing like a cursed child, acts nothing like a cursed child, except for the small birthmark just below her left cheek. A bad witch’s mark. 

Walburga and Orion come to the house to see the new baby. A cruel, satisfied smile overtakes Walburga’s features when she sees it’s a girl, confirming with her own eyes that the chance to have the next heir is still within her grasp, but Druella takes her own pleasure in Walburga’s still slender frame.

At least Bellatrix proves that Druella isn’t barren. She can have children, healthy children. She could provide an heir. It was only a matter of time. Walburga and Orion had been married nearly three years before Druella married Cygnus and yet their house remained empty. 

Walburga always hated Druella. Hated that Druella and Cygnus got to live in 12 Grimmauld Place with the family heirlooms the libraries, the portraits, and the tapestry detailing their lineage. She always believed it should belong to her and Orion. Druella was a Rosier by birth. It was only right that true Blacks lived in Grimmauld. She had married Orion earlier. It was only right that she reside there. The next heir to the Black family name got to reside in Grimmauld. So it wasn't just a race to bare a male child, but also a claim to the family residence.

Because Druella can't help herself, she takes Walburga to the drawing room with the tapestry for tea and revels in the looks Walburga casts at the family tree.

Druella was barely healed from her first pregnancy when Cygnus demands that they try again. One child was only enough if it was a boy. She counts the cracks in the ceiling and does her best not to shout in pain in those early days after Bellatrix’s birth. She washes too many bloody sheets before anyone else can see them. 

She tries to spend time in the nursery, but baby Bella, as the house elves had taken to calling her, hardly interests her. Cygnus never goes to the nursery to see Bellatrix, he couldn’t be bothered. Rather, he immerses himself in his work. Druella knows it is her job. It's her job to dress Bellatrix and feed her and bathe her and sing to her, but she leaves most of those tasks to the house elves. 

Bellatrix feels like a stranger in her home. A thing rather than a person. Something haunted and hard to bond with, even if she looks just like a normal child. However, there was still a sense of pride, even if Bellatrix wasn’t a boy. Druella had given birth to a child. She could be a mother. She could do what was expected of her. She just needed a boy.

More days pass. 

Druella busies herself with planning Christmas parties and elaborate dinners and pruning her winter garden of Christmas roses and Goose Grass. She attends charity meetings and plans galas for the Museum of Modernism and Moda. The mediwitches assure her that Bellatrix’s witch mark will fade as she grows older. 

Days turn into months, and just after Bellatrix is ten months old, Druella finds herself pregnant once more. Cygnus’ once stormy mood had shifted to one of gentle ease. He comes home earlier, he speaks softer, and he scowls less. All of the ladies drop by to place their hands on Druella’s growing stomach, to offer their well wishes, to bring gifts. 

This time, it was going to be a boy. Druella can feel it in her bones. All of the divination midwives say as much. She dreams about it. 

“Of course, we’ll name him Sirius. Something strong and commanding. The brightest star in our sky,” Druella was saying over tea as Walburga pursed her lips tightly. 

“I think that’s a wonderful choice,” Irma nods in approval. “Lots of Sirius’ in our family history. He’ll fit right in. Splendid.” 

Druella catches Walburga’s eye and grins wickedly. This house is hers, this life is hers, the family favour is hers. 

They decorate the nursery blue and paint constellations on the ceiling that glimmer in the dark. By the time April comes, Druella doesn’t even mind that it’s raining when she goes into labour. Torrential, thunderous skies and rolling black clouds. Another bad sign, but one she ignores happily.

Cygnus meets her at St. Mungos. He stands by her side and holds her clammy hand through the hours of painful birth. She hears the mediwitches buzz around her and whisper nervously as she screams in her potion-dulled pain. She worries about all the blood staining the sheets and feels her head heavy with Merlin knows what. 

She struggles to keep her eyes open as hospital staff swarm around her and wheel her to another room with bright, artificial lights. She tries to listen to what they’re telling her, but their voices sound gargled and warped like they’re talking underwater. It’s too hard to keep her eyes open anymore. She lets herself drift off and she dreams of her son. 

When she wakes, she’s in a new room. A quieter room. A mediwitch rushes in and places a swaddled baby in her arms. She talks in slow deliberate sentences. 

Druella barely hears her. 

Complications with the birth. Postpartum haemorrhage. Beautiful baby girl. So lucky. 

Through chapped lips and a dry throat, she asks to see her husband. 

The mediwitch informs her that he left shortly after the baby’s birth. She hands Druella some water. 

Alone in a private room at St. Mungos, she decides to name the baby Andromeda. She holds the small infant to her chest, only hours old, and she weeps. 

Cygnus barely looks at her. The days pass and Druella watches over the girls in the nursery and tiptoes around her husband as she tries to ignore the walls of the house closing in on her. She tells herself there is still time, though the doctors at St. Mungos disagree. They all tell her another pregnancy is risky. Fatal. Nearly impossibly in her state. 

Druella doesn’t breathe a word of this to Cygnus or to anyone else. She shuts herself up in Grimmauld Place and avoids everyone’s prying eyes, their disappointed looks, and Walburga’s triumphant sneers. 

As days turn into weeks that turn into months, Druella grows more and more desperate. She finds herself under the guise of heavy glamour charms, back in Knockturn Alley, begging the shopkeeper for more fertility potions. Pills that will ensure a male child. She swallows down glowing green vials of bitter liquid that smelled faintly of baby’s breath. She crushes up black beetle eyes and crunches into the red bulbs of Witch’s Ganglion with wild abandon on the smooth tiles of her bathroom floor, and she waits. 

She leaves the family Christmas dinner early as she feels the familiar trickle of warm blood run down her leg. She stays in bed for days at a time. She leaves her two daughters to the house elf. 

Her third pregnancy nearly kills her as all the doctors had promised. She tries to hide it from everyone as best as she can. Cygnus doesn’t bother showing up to the hospital with her. 

On a cold and bleak day in early January, Druella gives birth to her third daughter. The chill from outside worms its way around her heart and solidifies in a sickly, icy, frost. Narcissa takes what little Druella had left with her that day and keeps it for herself. 

Three daughters. Their little lives just beginning. Girls who will have hopes and dreams and ambitions. Druella feels all of hers dwindle as she hands her third child to the house elf once more. Their stories begin as hers ends. Druella thinks that it’s unfair, having girls. She married Cygnus to give him sons. Not to love him or to look after him in his old age. She was made to produce heirs. What use would she be to him now? 

He’ll want to keep trying, even if it kills her. Without a boy in the family, Druella was better off dead to him anyway. She was plagued by awful visions of her own mother, shut up in a room all alone after the death of her brother. Too old to produce any more male heirs, her father left her mother to claw at the walls and floorboards of her bedroom. Allowed her to be shut out and ignored by every family member who was once so warm towards her. He locked her away in a dark, stale room somewhere for failing him, and acted as if she never existed. 

She felt the frost seep in. Her daughters, her own children had damned her to the same fate. Even if they didn’t know it. How could she hold them and be happy? How could she wipe the tears from their face and act as if everything was fine? 

She’d like to swim in the ocean, or work at the ministry, or travel the world by herself. She’d like to go out at night and not worry about a home she’s obligated to come back to. She closes her eyes and lets herself dream these dreams for a while until Narcissa’s shrill cries wake her up and she feels her fate close in on her all at once.

[gamzees-bignaturals]

i get bored

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Out in the Cold Field, pt. ii

Hello Travelers. Terrible Waste hurt us all... Surly this won't hurt you more?

@ananxiousgenz @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @demonic-panini @waters-and-the-wilde @the-private-eye

The woman’s expression went from smug to slack in mere moments. She said her name was Aurora. Aurora’s expression went from smug to slack in mere moments. 

She recovered swiftly and chose her words carefully, “I have no clue what you’re talking about Darling.” 

“If you have intention to lie to me, then my Associate and I will be less inclined to help you.” 

“Like I said, I didn’t ask to be saved. And in any case, you’re running away from yourselves, you and your Associate, correct? I can’t begin to conceive why you would stop to pick a stranger off the side of the tracks. I have nothing to give or offer you.”

“My Associate and I do not want anything from you–”

Aurora’s laughter is sharp. Like nails gliding against a chalkboard, she cackles with an amount of carefree nature that Jet hasn’t heard since spring disappeared. 

“Oh Jet Darling– you really are a comedian! There is no such thing as free in this world. Everything has a price. I didn’t have the best relationship with my father, but he made it a point that I understand that nothing I wanted would ever be handed to me.”

Aurora loved to talk. Or maybe she just liked the sound of her own voice. She would be in for a rude awakening tomorrow when her voice would be gone. Already raw as it is, if she kept this pace up it would be gone within two hours. Four at most. It makes the corner of Jet’s mouth twitch with delight. 

Aurora pauses her yammering. “Something I said tickle your fancy?”

“I was just thinking you had a lovely voice.” Jet leans away from her and turns back for his stool. He pauses. “You never answered my question.”

“What question? I don’t recall you ever asking me anything.”

Ah, the talking was a distraction. Whoever Aurora really is she’s quite the character. 

“I asked: what happened to make you want to die?” He’s met with silence. Jet nods and crosses the room. He resumes his seat next to the fire and pot of stew. They had but three shriveled carrots and a quarter head of cabbage left to split three ways. It needed a protein, but regardless it’s come together rather nicely…

Another twenty minutes creeps by. Jet looks up to check on Aurora and finds her eyes closed. Whether she’s actually asleep or pretending to be is not his concern. Watching her chest rise and fall is. 

She looks so small lying on the cot. With such a big mouth she must be quite the showrunner at parties. She just about talked circles around Jet, and he has the sneaking suspicion she would if he let her. 

Her bright and bold red hair is what allowed Jet to spot her in the blizzard. He had been walking back to the small Hanataba Cabin carrying a frail rabbit for the stew when he saw what he first thought was a dahlia. Dahlia’s growing along the tracks were not uncommon, but they tended to sprout sporadically and wither quickly. Upon further investigation seeing that it was in fact, a person not a flower, he dropped the rabbit and scooped the woman into his arms. He hadn’t tried to sprint through the snow in years. Once he got her settled in the cot and addressed her frostbite as best they could, he sent his Associate away to forge for roots. They always had better luck at it than he did. 

And now here they are. Aurora shivers. She clenches her teeth revealing a smile missing a few teeth and the rest filed to dull points. Perhaps they were razor-sharp some years ago. 

The door to the cabin creeks open and a gust of billows in. It nearly sweeps his Associate off balance but they hold their ground. Aurora jerks and tilts her head as much as she can to peer at them as they throw their body against the door to jam it closed. 

“Goddess! It’s colder than Pluto out there!” They remove their bag and toss it towards Jet. He catches it mid-air and rummages through it to pull out whatever goods they managed to find. Mostly roots. A single rogue mushroom… and acorns. Lots and lots of acorns. 

“I told you to stop scavenging for acorns.” Jet looks up at their Associate.

They hum, unwrapping their layered scarves. White hair spills down around their shoulders in long dreads. “Did you?”

“Yes. Last year when we met up at this cabin, I told you the cabbage tasted bad with the acorns.”

“And I seem to recall telling you the acorns tasted bad with the cabbage. I like acorn stew.” They approach Aurora’s cot and quickly pull off their goggles to wink at her. “My my, look who’s alive! How do you feel?”

“Never been better,” she rasps. “I feel like I can run a marathon. Sign me up for the next triathlon.” 

They laugh heartily while Jet sets about adding their forged goods to the stew. 

“A pretty face and a sense of humor. You’ve earned two points in my book. Do you have a name by chance?”

“Nobody that matters anymore.” At this, Jet does allow himself to smile. With his back turned at least neither of them can see his expression. 

“Ah, that got you to smile now, didn’t it Big Guy?” Well, at least Aurora couldn’t have known. He’s worked with his Associate for too long now. They know each other like two sides of the same coin. A loud thunk and Jet is reminded that they stashed their instrument under Aurora’s cot in a haste to address her injuries. “Well then Ms-Nobody-That-Matters, can’t you tell me who you were when you did?”

“Depends on who you are I suppose. Your Associate over there said you stole something very important from Hades. And based off those bandages on your hands, he was telling the truth.” Aurora hums setting off a chain reaction of humming around the room. Jet turns to face the both of them. Their Associate has made themself plenty comfortable on the ground in front of Aurora.

“What else did he tell you? Because my Associate was telling the truth. I did steal something important. I stole fire from the King.” 

“Why in Goddess name would you do that? You must either be incredibly smart to do such a dumb thing, have a death wish, or love to play stupid games.” 

They smile and Jet’s stomach drops. He never liked that smile. “Silver-tongued... I like you. Pleased to make your acquaintance Ms-Nobody, call me M’tendere. And you’d be right– about everything. Work for the Crown for as long as I have and you’ll do just about anything to push some buttons.”

“What, no title like your Associate the Unnatural Disaster?” 

They shake their head and reach out to brush a hand through Aurora’s hair. “‘Fraid not. Why’d you tell her that anyway, Jet? You haven’t gone by that in years.”

“Not within the last century yes. I needed to build trust with Aurora. Showing her my hand was the easiest thing to do.”

“Oh darling– it’s Buddy actually.” Aurora– or rather, Buddy– blinks sympathetically towards Jet. “I’m sorry for deceiving you.” 

“Don’t apologize to the Big Guy. Ever.” M’tendere strums the strings on their instrument. “Big Guy doesn’t think he’s worth apologies.” If it came from anyone else Jet might have been slightly hurt. Coming from M’tendere though it's just the truth. They pluck a few notes absent-mindedly humming the same tune they always do.

“M’tendere doesn’t apologize to me. Whether you do or not is your decision to make, Buddy.” Buddy… Buddy with the red hair… Jet’s eyes widen as a confounding puzzle from four months ago slots together. “Buddy… Buddy Aurinko? You're Palomine's daughter." It’s not a question. It’s a fact. A fact just like how Jet doesn’t accept apologies from M’tendere. 

Buddy opens her mouth to speak and without looking up M’tendere cuts in, "He's dead."

She scoffs, "No that can't be. I just saw him last year. I got a letter from him four months ago–"

"And now four months later,” Jet reigns the conversation away from M’tendere before they can run it. Having one person around to do all the talking was headache enough. He enjoyed Buddy’s chatter though, M’tendere’s less so. “We’re telling you he's dead. Trust me. He would not stop begging for his life. He even bargained for it with yours."

The warm atmosphere falls cold. The small fire that Jet has continued to tend to crackles and pops. M'tendere gets up and leaves their guitar on the ground. They get up to rummage through a cupboard, busying themself with a set of metal tools and glass bottles on a shelf. Buddy rubs the thin sheet covering her between two fingers.

"How do you know all this?"

"It's our job," M'tendere turns to face her. "The Big Guy and I lead lost souls down to Hades. We've been at this for a while now."

An abrupt laugh erupts from the cot. It breaches Buddy's mouth and sounds more like a wheeze then a laugh. More like a strangled sob then a breath. Jet glances at M'tendere. They share a long look and exchange a loose shrug. By the time Buddy gathers herself she closes her eyes and presses her lips together in a thin line. Her shoulders begin to shake.

"You should've let me take his place. You should've led me to Hadestown..."

[courtlessjester]

henderson bay, washington - 5.10.2024 ✨🌙

[vshamru]

A touch cloudy last night, but not a bad second showing. We also got some shooting stars. It was pretty amazing.

[loquaciousquark]

from the dusty annals of yesteryear

Jade - Sep 7, 2015, 9:09 PM how's the fic?

Quark - Sep 7, 2015, 9:09 PM i'm halfway through the letters he's just called her a pet name and gone dark i think malcolm is going to die while he's away and also danarius

Jade - Sep 7, 2015, 9:09 PM OH NO why

Quark - Sep 7, 2015, 9:09 PM it's going to be a busy three months well because hawke is not hawke if she comes out of dragon age 2 with all her family members and leandra doesn't die if malcolm is still alive

Jade - Sep 7, 2015, 9:10 PM is leandra going to die?

Quark - Sep 7, 2015, 9:10 PM well i know bethany and carver don't die and i think having all five survive is a bit pat but bethany and carver become templar & circle mage and…i think leandra still dies and that means malcolm needs to die

Jade - Sep 7, 2015, 9:11 PM :( :( :( :( :( :( :(((((((((((((((((

Quark - Sep 7, 2015, 9:12 PM and i like the parallelism of them both losing someone important to them in the same time period and having such different reactions do you think it's a bad call?

Jade - Sep 7, 2015, 9:12 PM who does he lose?

Quark - Sep 7, 2015, 9:12 PM danarius

Jade - Sep 7, 2015, 9:12 PM oh ah

Quark - Sep 7, 2015, 9:13 PM i suppose i also feel like there has been enough success in this fic there needs to be a loss

Jade - Sep 7, 2015, 9:13 PM yes absolutely no i mean so long as leandra and carver and bethany all survive the fic and then you still have carver and bethany surviving da2 in your head

Quark - Sep 7, 2015, 9:13 PM hahahahhahaha yes

Jade - Sep 7, 2015, 9:13 PM i think you are right

[messofcontradictions01]

[sydney-carton-of-sour-milk]

this is from the official trailer for the 1958 AToTC adaptation i'm??? HGHJKLJHGFGHJKK???????????

[VD: Two shots from the aforementioned trailer. First: the storming of the Bastille. Second: a slow-zoom close-up on Sydney Carton looking down pensively. The narrator says quote "This is A Tale of Two Cities – and of Sydney Carton, who is surely the best-loved character ever created" unquote. End VD]

[probablymoons]

i was trying to find a place to stream Monkey Man last night and came across this beautiful blurb:

"From heartfelt songs to buoyant humor, this genre-bending work explores the power of friendship to uplift Monkey Man communities during troubling times. Directed with nuanced color and vivacious animation, lighter moments are blended seamlessly with touching introspection. Cinephiles and casual fans alike will find their spirits Monkey Maned by this inspirational story of diverse characters joining in solidarity. Why not spend an evening immersed in the vibrant world of Monkey Man?"

[rivaiin]

have you seen my son? well now you have :^)

[ccsaga]

this is a public service announcement for everyone to go get @rheallsim's robin skinblend default if you want your townies looking good

[samanthamulder]

pro tip: if you didn't edit it it's not an edit.

[lastmurianwarrior]

((Looking back, Burai's personality is something that I don't feel has been terribly consistent on this blog. I can laugh about it now, but I've possibly been overthinking it - a lot. Especially recently, with so much of last month being spent going through old RP files and reading Tribe's manga iteration "Tribe Shooting Star Rockman Battle Side Story" all the way through- finally. [It's in Japanese, but like 30+hrs went into translation and transcription this Jan.] Yeah... I dug scans out of my ancient hard drive. Yes. You can DM me if you want to know more. I'll prob post about it again sometime. However, the dialogue isn't in the bubbles rn, just in a large labeled sheet w/ Japanese + English.]

Also years ago I translated the ever-elusive 8pg promo where Burai eats fried cabbage. It could use a couple touch ups now. Only version I ever found was in Spanish... You bet - that means it went from Japanese to Spanish to English. Annnd mic drop.

Anyway,

I've been weaving more headcanons in and out of my muse here from elements in the anime, game, and manga verse. A big part of the character is his ties to Mu, so I've gone on a hunt to piece the lost continent's history and culture together. This blog is an AU pulled from the anime, but I keep having ideas for potentially introducing a backstory for Laplace [potentially... I just love him too much and can't not think about it.] Also ideas about Burai's friends from before Mu was sealed.

[To iterate, I'm not selective about what verse I RP with, it's just that I don't feel confident enough to RP game-verse Solo all that well yetttt, and just find certain elements from the anime version easier/more inspiring personally for me to write.]

I like that flair RPers give their muses. People have dif perspectives and experiences that influence how they write even the "same" character someone else may write. That's something I look up to in my mutuals with OCs or canon characters.

Hope ya'll have a nice day ^v^ ))

[ofmusicandmagic]

((Finally putting my icons in the blockquote border.))