#ferrousfae

[beavforts]

𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓: The afternoon of October 11th 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊: Wonderland 𝖜𝖍𝖔: @ferrousfae  

After the fifth run through Cain loses interest in practicing. Not once has he ever considered himself a dancer - stripper, well... recently. Nevertheless there’s an important and clear distinction in his head between the two. This day in particular he feels that there are more difficulties than usual. So after a second to consider his options, he shut the music. “Mori, the only thing that’s sticking is my shoes to this floor.” Then shakes his head as if it to shake it from his memory, he adds, “and the god awful Grind on Me. Who names themselves Pretty Ricky anyway? Right, someone ugly.”

One look from Morrigan is all he needs to know not to push his luck. So with a sigh he doesn’t even attempt to conceal his slight annoyance - more to the song than choreography which he didn’t dare tell her wasn’t her best work. Once that run through finishes (with much sloppiness on his part), he looks at her as an idea comes to mind. “Sure this is fine, but do we want fine? No, we don’t. I hope you see where I’m going and would consider a song people still care about like Pony. What do you think?”

[cessairhuxley]

when: october 12th where: wonderland who: @ferrousfae / closed starter

she amuses him. all of that misdirected anger.  he remembers their last little conversation and her scathing outburst         -- ( and how - w r o n g - she was.  about the fairies - while it may well have been fun to pluck those wings, pin their greying bodies, devoid of light and magic and life to a pinboard like a stuck butterfly - he’d merely taken advantage of the -- corruption -- the pollution, the greed spewed by the humans and their machines... if she truly wants to spit her venom and vitriol at the -- culprit -- then she’s in the right place, this world is full of delightfully foul humans.  seething and pulsing in the mass of pollution that spilled from every available orifice... their cars, their machines, their factories, their plastics, their fuels, their greed -- in fact, he really didn’t have to do much here at all... the entire planet was so immersed in it’s own ultimate downfall ).

they seem to forget.         -- ( probably because they compare their own actions, histories, desires, whatever - to him.  they try to imply that he has motivation.  that what he does has rationale or reason.  because they do... they’re the bad guy ‘because’ ( insert tragic backstory here ) -- but that’s just not how it works with him ) --             he doesn’t hate.  he has no agenda of revenge or retribution.  he isn’t ‘good’ become ‘evil’.  he simply -- is.  no more to blame for ‘what’ he is than the sun or the wind.  he is the juxtaposition to creation.  without ‘nothing’, there can never be ‘something’.  he exists.  that’s all there is to it.  ( that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it ).

❝ either you’ve come to apologise... ❞

he looks up from the small leather bound notebook idling in front of him, black ink scratched across the pages in immaculate script.  perhaps it’s just a trick of the light, but for a moment they words look as though they seethe on the paper, twisting into something terrible before they settle.  and he speaks in the words of that ever impeccable host -- tone patient, droll, lacking emotion.

❝ ...or this is the part where you ‘rain the forces of hell down upon my head’. ❞

[fiire-bcrn]

𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗

@ferrousfae ~ with diaval ~

Recently back from a flight, Diaval transformed back into his charming human form with a rustle and settled into a nearby chair. He settled his face onto one of his hands as he fought back an inner wave of panic from flying again. But the shapeshifter had news, probably something Maleficent already knew since she cared much more about political things then he did. 

“ Have you been made aware of the happenings in Adora ? ”

[cursehqs]

here's morrigan's blog !

follow!

[ellabellamy-blog]

⊕

You can find it right here!

SEND ME A ⊕ FOR AN AESTHETIC GRAPHIC FOR OUR MUSES.

[flynn--rider]

starter for @ferrousfae

“Well,” flynn spoke to the woman without looking at her, his eyes preoccupied on the crowd dancing in the center of the ballroom. all around him were people dressed in very expensive clothing, people with pockets and purses full of expensive things he had his eyes on. the crowd, though, wasn’t what he was expecting the night to bring. He was expecting rich people and nobility, beautiful girls covered in jewels and beautiful boys in too nice of suits. He wasn’t expecting the group of baddies to walk in--wasn’t expecting everyone there to try so hard to act like it was okay. “You know how to make an entrance, don’t you? Dramatic, I like it.”

[advcnturings-blog]

𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓻 @ferrousfae

in short, this was imelda’s day to say the least. of course she would describe any day like that as long as there was at least one minor inconvenience. she did her best to control her temper, but even the sight of maleficent was enough to make her blood boil. now? to have to deal with the wicked in her place of work. “i’m not going to ask you again.” her tone is stern, but she’s not sure it made any difference. “if you’re not going to buy something, you need to leave. i know five year olds that can grasp that concept faster than you.”

[witchoffable-archive]

STATUS: closed for @ferrousfae​​ LOCATION: Morgan’s apartment TIME: October 11th, sometime in the middle of the night

The sound of knocking rings hollowly through Morgan’s cramped apartment. Despite the noise, the witch feels no urgency to move. The last thing she wants it so come across eager, or as though she had been both expecting and hoping for this. There are many things she won’t admit; the way she flinches every time she feels water against her skin, or how her body longs for the normalcy she had been denied lifetimes ago. Most of all, how she’d become fond of a certain fae. 

Yet, though she may never admit it, the signs sit in her apartment as glaring evidence to the truth. She’d bought a new couch, one better suited for sleeping. She’d taken to transitioning out of the use of iron---the witch figured Morrigan’s glamour probably nullified the old weakness but Morgan understands how it still might sting, and she doesn’t want to risk it anyway. Morgan kept a blanket stowed away in a closet, far from the reaches of animal fur and feathers---she was sure Morrigan won’t mind cat hair on it, but the witch kept it clean for her anyway. In her cabinet, just above the stove, she hides what she begrudgingly calls hangover cures; they’re more simple revitalization potions than a cure of anything---mixed with honey, simply so the bitter taste is more palatable. All small, barely noticeable changes, yet all of them for one woman. 

A younger Morgan would have hated herself for her this. Morgan now simply takes a moment to call out--”It’s open.” She’s sitting on her kitchen counter, a book in her lap---something about old magics and war treatise, she’s not entirely interested but it’s better than appearing as though she had nothing better to do with her time. “I’m beginning to think I should charge you for this. My apartment isn’t some motel,” she pauses, raising a brow, “you do have a home, don’t you?”

[beavforts]

"Huh wonder how that got there, but they’re right I should’ve been the headliner.”

𝖜𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖉 staff “appreciation” (1/?)

@cessairhuxley @ferrousfae @arabxlle-whitman @rvsethorned

[milo-james-thatch-blog1]

➜ - smack my muse upside the head

“…you said she asked you out for coffee?” Morrigan asked incredulously, eyebrows furrowed.

Across from her stood Milo, sipping nonchalantly at a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Licking the remnants of chocolate off his upper lip, he nodded.

“Yes, she did.” He responded, legs neatly crossed at the ankle underneath the table. 

“And you said what?”

Milo shied and smiled sheepishly, holding up his hands in a defensive manner. “Okay I may have tried to invite a friend - ”

“Melvin, you idiot.” Morrigan sighed her words, eyes shutting as she pressed two fingers to her temple. 

“Okay, listen!” Milo started, ignoring the mistake in his name, “In my defense, we had always gone for coffee with a group of friends before! How was I supposed to know it was a date?”

“Because she asked you alone for a reason, Milo.” She reached over and smacked the side of Milo’s head, resulting in a small laugh and Milo protectively reaching up to his head.

“Okay, okay! I get it. That was dumb of me. I’ll text her and make it right? Yeah?”

[ellabellamy-blog]

ELLA BELLAMY + AESTHETICS ( FT MORRIGAN FIRMIN )

ft @ferrousfae

[cursehqs]

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