#i still don’t know if his name is really alasdair

[heartfullofleeches]

ITS MY BIRTHDAY TODAY🎉🎉🎉🎉 I was wondering how my favorites would wish me a happy birthday, Tobi, the cafe, host, static, the supernatural harem and the fast food, if that’s too many you can shorten it but I really wanted to have some of my favorite characters from my favorite writer congratulate me on my special day! BTW I’m the one who sent the Prince leash ask, I don’t know if you got it but I accidentally did it anonymously

(The Cafe was a bit too much for me to get this out to you the same day, but I hope you like this regardless! On the bright side, I did get your Prince ask and am working on that too. Happy birthday, chief!)

Tobi:

Has never had a birthday himself, but they know what they are and their significance to humans other regular people. Tobi's the kind of guy to surprise you with presents year round, but as your birthday rolls around they keep items you've had your eye on in their back pocket to gift you on your big day.

Its too embarrassing for them to give you in person, but Tobi creates a collage of all their favorite pictures of you to put up somewhere in your bedroom. Tobi loves baking and cooking so a homemade breakfast, dinner, and your treat of choice would be on the top of their list of surprises for you.

Host:

"Looks like it's a special someone's birthday- Those only come around once a year, you know? If - that's how you want it, anyway."

That time already? Time is a tricky thing for Host to wrap his head around. He could've sworn the last one was just yesterday. It hardly matters. Everyday could be your birthday- Contenstants come and go, but you'll always be his star.

That would, of course, wear the novelty of it all thin. Host is more than happy saving the pinnacle of his gratitude for you as his co-host for that one day. That day's contestants better be too if they want to leave with all the parts they came with intact.

Which is his funny way of saying they won't get any cake.

Static:

"Happy birthday to you.... Happy birthday to you...."

Hunts for every variety of birthday song they can find to serenade you with the second daylight bleeds into your room. Static's disappears predating your birthday can swiftly be explained by the trinkets they bring you, majority centered around the shows and movies you've watched together it knows you adore most.

They'd attempt to rope you into another movie night with you in full control of the remote since it's their favorite way to bond with you - and it's optimal cuddle time.

Supernatural Harem:

"Baron, must you make everything a challenge?"

"Piss off! I left enough room for you two to put your names on the cake.... Maddox more importantly than you, but still."

"We appreciate the consideration, but... Where are we supposed to write "happy birthday"?"

Nothing like waking up on your big day to your Demon husband roommate swearing today will be the day he slaughters your Angel husband roommate. Luckily, your Grim Reaper spouse roommate has the expertise to ķeep you soothed until things cool over long enough for all of them to prepare breakfast for you.

Baron stalks you around to shower you with mandatory birthday kisses- only to get pouty when he's done before noon and continues well past the age you're turning. You'll be older than all three of them by the time he's through.

Maddox, as usual, fills their journal with sketches of you to unveil at the end of the day. Their art skills is the only thing they're proud of in themselves and monetary possessions don't hit quite the mark they're trying to reach when it comes to presents they like to give. If you're a gamer/a fan of stuffed animals they'll pick up a couple so they can use them when you're away and they miss you.

The first birthday you celebrate with Alasdair has to be one to remember. He's watched you from the sidelines for years and now it's finally his chance to do what he's always wanted. It may be a tad selfish of him in hindsight, but he'll pull you aside the day before or after to enjoy a relaxing evening with just the two of you.

Fast Food:

"Code C! I repeat, Coqde C - The clown is loose!"

Birthday? Well you can't expect to have a celebration without the designated party planner, can you? As everyone closes up the restaurant early to commemorate your big day, Twister hoovers over the crew to insure everything goes swimming. The Janitor follows behind it with their trusty spray bottle to keep the clown in check - its the only excuse they have not to give their present to you by hand because they're too embarrassed.

The bathroom Succubus would insist on you opening her gifts to you first - if a certain goat wouldn't pout over it all day as a result. The ballpit hands shower you with all the shiny items lost in their depths. The Storyteller reads you the tale of someone who's birthday happens to fall on the same day - where nothing bad occurs and the universe smiles kindly in their favor.

The ice cream machine ghost whispers in the ears of customers they'd better wish you a happy birthday or be prepared to have dairy filled nightmares

[olympeline]

You know, I like the idea that one of the first real bonding moments Alasdair and Arthur ever had was in the wreckage of 1776. That widely held headcanon that Arthur hit the bottle reeeally hard and was a rum soaked mess for a good few years after Alfred left. And of course Alasdair would have been around to witness it since their joining in 1707

And it’s quite the uncomfortable surprise, too. Arthur was always such a ferocious little shit - such a thorn in Scottie’s side - that in the end he had to propose a union before they tore each other to bits and sunk Britain’s bright future with their endless wars. Much as he hated to admit it, Arthur was tough. Arthur was strong. But now Arthur’s first born son first colony has up and left, and Arthur isn’t the fire breathing vengeance machine Alasdair expected. Instead of coming up with plots to use their growing empire’s might to beat Alfred to a pulp and drag him back kicking and screaming, Arthur has spiralled into a depressive funk, is going through three bottles a day, and would have already killed himself with alcohol poisoning if he were human. Or maybe he did a few times and just regenerated, idk. Either way it seems Alasdair didn’t know Arthur half so well as he thought he did. He never predicted a reaction like this

Alasdair watches Arthur’s collapse with confusion, followed by disbelief, then open disgust. He tries to ignore it, not wanting to deal with his sibling’s antics. Even when the king and officials beg Alasdair to step in and do something, he brusquely brushes them off. He’s not Arthur’s fucking nursemaid for God’s sake! Until one day they’re due to sail together on the kingdom’s flagship and his little brother holds them up. Alasdair gets the message that the former terror of the waves is once again too shitfaced to stand up, let alone captain a ship. Now the important voyage will have to be delayed

And Scot has just hAD ENOUGH of Arthur embarrassing and inconveniencing them all like this. He swears his brother was less trouble as a mortal enemy! Alasdair storms into Arthur’s room to drag the addlepated sot out of bed and talk some sense into him. With his fists if necessary. Not that it comes to that with Arthur as drunk as he is. Alasdair has to drag him up then hold him up to yell at him. And when Arthur tries to punch him, he would have gone down like a sack of spuds without big bro’s bruising grip. It’s awkward for all involved when Arthur’s pathetic attempts at a scuffle and Alasdair shaking and yelling at him, end with Arthur suddenly crumbling and sobbing on his shoulder. Shocking Alasdair again. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just holds Arthur and haltingly rubs his back, muttering soothing nonsense. Most mortifying moment of Alasdair’s millenia+ life.

He doesn’t push Arthur away as he clings to him, though. As much as Arthur drives him insane like no one else, he’s still Scot’s little brother. So he let’s him cry and just keeps supporting him. Listening in silence as Arthur rants and sobs about Alfred: alternating between professing deepest loathing for the “traitor,” and weeping about how much he misses him and how there’s still time to fix everything and they have to try and get him back, etc. etc. It’s a fool’s hope, but Alasdair always knew Arthur was a fool

But what can he say? A smug, confrontational, fiery, normal Arthur makes Alasdair long for their old days of striking swords and border wars. A pathetic, drunk, weeping, vulnerable Arthur brings out Alasdair’s long dormant brotherly instinct. A feeling usually reserved for Wales and the Ireland twins. But, for the first time since he was a wee bairn, the instinct comes out for Arthur. It’s been so long since he saw him cry, he’d almost forgotten Arthur was capable of it

Alasdair lets Arthur cry himself to exhaustion, then helps him back into bed. Takes off Arthur’s coat, pulls off his boots, drags the blankets up over him. Arthur catches his arm, hands trembling, when Alasdair goes to straighten up and begs him not to leave him too. Alasdair rolls his eyes, cuffs Arthur - gently - and tells him to sleep it off. Then promises gruffly to be there when he wakes up, so stop being a drunk fool and go to sleep

Arthur obeys and Alasdair he keeps his word. Wales and Ireland fill in sailing duty and Alasdair stays with Arthur: king and parliament’s ranting be damned. Planning to help his little brother get himself back on track once he wakes up, starting with getting him off the booze. Or at least getting it back down to royal navy functional alcoholic levels. They can worry about everything else later

Thankfully for both their sanities, Arthur remembers very little of this when he wakes up lol. Alasdair makes sure to thank God extra hard that week at church for big mercies

[astrobravo]

Old Fools Senior Husbands Sanctuary

Scoteng Week, Day 2: Punch drunk / “I think of you. Sometimes.”

Is this how hospitals contacting families and managing discharges work? Let's pretend it is, because it's how I writ it.

It's around 2k, so click the read more or see the full fic on ao3 here.

Again, I'm so sorry for attempting Alasdair's accent.

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“And I’m telling you, it’s a mistake. I shouldn’t have been on his Emergency Contact list. We’ve been divorced– well, separated, for almost five years.”

“Be that as it may, sir, if you are still legally married you are his next of kin. There’s no one else on the list. And he really shouldn't be left alone for at least 48 hours.”

Arthur bit his lips, looking at the scuffed surface of the hospital counter. “Can’t you keep him here? If you just feed and water him I’m sure he’ll be fine in a couple days…”

“This is a hospital sir, not a kennel.”

–🩹–

“Arthur!” his technically husband called from the bed, goofy smile smeared across his bruised face. “Sweetheart! Come to help me make my great escape?”

“Alasdair,” said Arthur, helplessly. For a moment he was frozen in the doorway, pinned straight through like a moth in a display case. Alasdair’s voice was so full of light and love, it flung him back in time a decade, held him under the flood of memories until he felt like he was drowning.

Alasdair's face was different though – eyes blackened, nose splinted and taped, gauze mostly covering a line of stitches across his forehead. There were more wrinkles around his eyes, and the patches of grey at his temples had grown. He was missing one of his front teeth, the little one next to the canine. Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off it, the empty space. He wished, absurdly, he could remember the name of that tooth.

“Why are you lookin like you’ve been stabbed, love? Ach, I can tell I haven’t been kissing on you enough. Come over here, I’ll fix it.” 

He closed his eyes, his throat tight. Would it be so bad to pretend? Just for a moment?

“They tell me you can’t remember much,” he said, instead. He walked over to stand at the foot of the bed, eyes on the plastic footboard. Alasdair’s chart hung over the edge. He picked it up and leafed through it, giving his helpless hands something to do. Phrases like traumatic brain injury and temporary neurological amnesia stared up at him. He quickly hung it back where it had been.

“Aye,” Alasdair said, unbothered. “And I'm still outta it. But I’ll either remember or I won’t, and that’s how it is. I’ll try not to be too much of a burden on ye, in the meantime.” He held up his still insultingly muscled arms and did grabby hands in his direction. “No kiss for me?” he asked, eyes pleading. 

“Not right now,” Arthur said, flushing despite himself. He made his way to the chair next to the bedside and sat down, tucking his legs in primly. He tried to ignore Alasdair’s kicked puppy gaze, dismissing the instinctive swell of guilt – it was for his own good. He clearly didn’t remember anything about the last time they had talked.

If he did, he would know better than to ask for a kiss. 

Alasdair watched him for a moment, furrow etched between his brows, then seemingly decided to table the kiss discussion for later. “Did they tell ye what happened to me?”

“They said they don’t know– someone just found you lying in the street, unresponsive. Probably a hit and run. They called for an ambulance, and the ambulance brought you here. Then the hospital called me.”

“Oh no– did that Bastard Johnson say anything about ye clocking out?”

Arthur had left that job at Mr. Bastard Johnson’s firm six months after Alasdair left. He'd started work at his new firm not long after. If they had anything to say about him taking off for the hospital in the middle of the day, he hadn’t heard it. He had barely even stopped to grab his coat and scarf on his way out the door.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Arthur asked, avoiding the question.

“Well. The nurses have asked me that about twenty times now, so I think I’ve got it down by now. This morning… I planted a kiss on yer sleepy forehead before I left. Ye grumbled and smacked me and called me a ‘curse laid upon ye by God for your sins’ so I had to go back and give ye an extra kiss, to ease yer suffering. Then I went out… to work? To… the shops? I don’t…” He trembled for a moment, passing a hand over his pursed mouth. “Then I woke up here.”

Arthur wished he could remember that specific morning, the feeling of Alasdai's lips, the warmth of their bed. That memory had long ago blended into the dozens and dozens of other mornings just like it, a well-worn path, each footprint indistinguishable from the others.

Alasdair had always risen with the dawn, usually leaving Arthur tucked warm under their pile of quilts. He'd go out for a smoke from the pack that he thought Arthur didn't know about, or fix something broken in the house, or get started on breakfast. Then he'd get too lonely or bored or hungry and would bully Arthur into waking up and eating something.

Arthur made himself focus. “What year do you think it is?”

“...I think whatever I say I’ll be wrong," Alasdair said with a helpless shrug.

“Well,” Arthur sighed, willing his tone flat. Reasonable. Calm. “The last time that morning could have happened would have been at least… six years ago? It’s 2024. You moved out in winter of 2017, and we haven’t talked since.”

“Wh… what?” Alasdair went paler than he had been, voice shaky. “Why?”

You'd know better than me, Arthur wanted to snap, but he held it in. Alasdair didn’t know, not right now. 

“Well. I think we just must have…grew apart. Gave up on each other."

"I… I can't remember."

Arthur remembered it all. Especially the night he'd come home late to a dark and empty house, envelope on the counter. He'd got roaring drunk that night to try and block it out, but all he got out of that was the worst hangover of his life and an inability to even look at whisky without gagging for months after.

He swallowed hard.

"I was busy a lot with work. Late nights, early mornings, overtime. You were working too, but just odd jobs. You'd been laid off, and were looking. Taking care of the house. Always trying to fix things. The place was a shithole."

"Aye, that it was," Alasdair said quietly.

"We fought sometimes. A lot. But we would always make up. Then we’d fight again. Then, I don’t know. I came home one night and you were sitting at the kitchen table, in the dark. And you said you wanted to talk. And that you were tired of fighting.”

Arthur paused for a moment, staring at the hospital linoleum. It was a hideous yellow green. Why would they have flooring that color in a hospital? It made him feel sick just to look at it.

“And so we talked. And fought, again. And, I don’t know. Yelled. There was a lot of yelling. And finally I said, I wished we had never married. And you said, fine, you fixed everything else around here, you’d fix that too. And that was it.”

Alasdair’s face had grown paler and paler as Arthur spoke, his expression closing off. He pulled his arms tight to himself, wincing a bit at the pull in his bandaged shoulder. 

"I thought you'd come back the next day, and we'd talk about it. But then you didn't. Or the next day. The day after that Sean called, said not to worry and you were staying with him. A couple weeks later, I came home and your stuff was gone. You'd moved out while I was at work. You left an envelope on the counter, with your ring in it. And that was that."

He looked up from the floor and their eyes met. Alasdair looked away first.

“Well,” Alasdair said at last, “I must have really fucked up, if that's what happened.”

“No. It was on both of us. We were too young.”

“...Yer over 40 now, if my math holds.”

“We were BOTH too young,” Arthur snapped, glaring daggers at Alasdair's answering ghost of a smirk. “And foolish.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’ve gotten any wiser since then. In fact, I bet I'm even more foolish, what with the thump I took.” He sighed. "I guess we're divorced then. I'm sorry, they shouldnae called ye–"

"N-no," Arthur said quietly. "We're. Still married."

"Wha'?" Alasdair stared frozen at him, a glimmer of light coming back into his eyes.

"Never sent you the paperwork. Never printed it off, or even went to a solicitor, I guess." Arthur looked away, suddenly shy. "I just kept waiting for you to come back home. And then you didn't. But… I couldn't. I put your ring away and got on with things. But. I still think about you. Sometimes." 

He closed his eyes, a humorless laugh slipping from his chest. "I guess even if I got older, I never grew out of being foolish either."

Alasdair looked at him for a long moment, grin slowly making a reappearance – still charming even with the missing tooth. "We could still have a chance to be two old fools together then. If ye wanted."

"We could," Arthur said quietly, tiny smile unfurling across his face like a new spring leaf. "If you wanted."

"Do ye think I could get that kiss then?" Alasdair said hopefully, holding out grabby hands again.

Arthur got to his feet and stood by the edge of the bed. Still, he couldn't bring himself to lean in. "What if," he started, then stopped.

"Yeah?"

"What if you remember why you left. And then leave again."

"Then we'll just have to rent a car for you to hit me with, and I'll come back to you again."

Arthur gave an ugly snort, caught off guard. 

"No but, sweetheart. I may not know what year it is–"

"I just told you, it's 2024–"

"Or my own address, but I know this. I missed ye. So much. Bone deep. And I wouldn't leave ye again if it killed me."

Arthur clenched his fists, then leaned in at last, pressing a kiss to the least bruised part of Alasdair's cheek. He inhaled, and under the scents of hospital and betadine and blood, Alasdair still smelled like himself. He smelled like home.

After too long a pause, Arthur made himself pull back.

"Let's get you discharged then," he said, straightening back up. "The nurses say you shouldn't be alone for at least 48 hours. You're going to have to stay at mine."

–🩹–

"Oh FUCK," Alasdair yelled, sitting bolt upright in bed.

"WAUGH," yelled Arthur, kicking and scrabbling at his quilt cocoon, knowing in his heart they were under attack and this was where he would meet his end.

"No– no, it's okay. Sorry. I just remembered everything," said Alasdair, shaking. "My brain came back online like someone turned the lights on in a dark room. Fuck me, I've been a fucken IDIOT."

"Always," Arthur said, willing his heart rate back down to a reasonable level. "But go on."

"Arthur. After I moved out, I kept waiting for YOUR call. I've been pining for ye daily. I've got an album of pictures I took of ye that I sometimes have a sad wank over."

"I'm honored," said Arthur, who definitely did not have a very similar album hastily hidden away in his hall closet.

"Also I remembered I owe Sean two hundred and thirty four quid."

"Hmm. Let's just pretend you didn't remember that part."

"Agreed."

And they went back to sleep.

♡ The End ♡

[bottomseareef]

Get To Know Your Tav

Saw the template used by @thetavolution but the template was made by @sporeservant

Sean Shanahan | Human | Rogue/Fighter | Urchin | He/Him | 19

What is your Tav’s…

Favorite Weapon: A Bow

Style of Combat: Sneaky of course but also quickly. His target is preferably dead before they know he’s there and feeling no pain. If his target suffers then it was probably on purpose.

Most Prized Possession: His human mother’s red feather that she wore on her cap. Also his red scarf that his tiefling mother made for him when he first went off with his human mother.

Deepest Desire: To be a father. His time with the tiefling kids made him realize that. He wants to adopt someday, maybe Yenna.

Guilty Pleasure: Honestly he likes killing way more than he’d admit he can get pretty sadistic. Granted he only does it to people who truly deserve it but he can still get carried away at times depending on who the person is.

Best-Kept Secret: His middle name. Not because it’s embarrassing but because it’s the name that was given to him by his tiefling mother when she found him as a baby before she knew there was a note with his birth given name in the basket he was abandoned in. Since it was given to him by the woman he considers his true mother he only lets people incredibly close to him call him Alasdair.

Greatest Strength: Charity I’d say. Anything of value he’s ever stolen rarely ever stayed in his hands for long before being given to an urchin, a beggar, or so forth.

Fatal Flaw: No self preservation. He’d gladly die for a good cause.

Favorite Smell: Campfires, Sulfur

Favorite Spell or Cantrip: Speak with Animals. Not that he can do it naturally.

Pet Peeve: Crossbows. Just say you’re bad with a bow.

Bad Habit: Finds it really hard to sleep alone. Grew up always around others so he hates trying to fall asleep in a secluded tent away from people. Don’t know if it counts as a bad habit but whatever.

Hidden Talent: Knows surface level knowledge of playing a lute from his tiefling mother because she’s a bard.

Leisure Activity: Climbing. Mostly buildings from back home. Doesn’t like climbing natural things like mountains or trees.

Favorite Drink: His tiefling mother’s tea specifically.

Comfort Food: Bex’s cookies specifically.

Favorite Person: A lot. His tiefling mother, his human mother, his human “aunts”, his human “cousins”, Karlach as a lover but all the other companions, all the tiefling refugees.

Favored Display of Affection (platonic and/or romantic): Touch and words of affirmation. He didn’t get much affection after going off with his human mother and rarely seeing his tiefling mother so any sort of close touch or affirming word will shock him and he will be replaying the moment in his head over and over. Not that his human mother wasn’t loving or affectionate she just had different ways of affection.

Fondest Childhood Memory: His tiefling mother consoling him as a small child after she helped get some makeshift horns he glued on his head off because he was trying to look like everyone else in the community of tieflings he grew up with.

Edit: I forgot I was gonna tag people so @gith-zeri and @sorcerous-caress if y’all want to

[sailorgreywolf-legacy]

First Meetings

My entry for the second day of @historical-hetalia-week . This one is aimed more at giving the sweet backstory to one of my favorite ships.

Plot: Scotland accompanies his mother to Francia to negotiate trade. He is expecting to prove his maturity, but ends up distracted by a handsome stranger.

Characters: Scotland, Britannia (Albion), Francia (Gaul), France

Ships: ScotFra (The Auld Alliance)

Word Count: 2K

No Content Warnings

-----------------------------------

Scotland was overjoyed to be at sea on the way to somewhere new and exciting. It was the first time that his mother had decided that he was old enough to leave their islands. Albion had told him that if he was a good boy this might even be a usual occurrence, since he was the heir and needed to learn the ways of trade and alliances.

He was determined to be good and make his mother proud. He knew that one day she would trust him with more responsibility and trust him to look after his brothers.

It was even more important than ever now that he had an infant brother who would need him. Arthur, Little Wessex, was so young and he would need protection and guidance from his eldest brother. 

At the age of fifteen Scotland knew that he needed to prove himself to her as a boy on the verge of adulthood. During the voyage, she explained the whole reason for this visit. She had trade ties with the Franks on the Northern coast of the continent, and made these trips to keep the bonds strong. It was easier to go herself than to trust a messenger to carry her words, and she wanted her son to see the process.

The only reservation that Scotland had was about the Danes. There was a possibility that their sails could emerge from the fog at any moment, as they often had in recent years.

The short passage from the Anglo-Saxon land to the kingdom of the Franks was not completely safe. He had asked his mother what they would do about the Danes, but she had given him a mysterious smile and said that she had found a way to deal with them. Scotland wouldn’t dare ask what she meant, but he took comfort in her certainty.

The first sight he had of the continent was the white sand of the beeches. Behind it there were impressive cliffs that seemed to be lush and green. How beautiful it was.

Scotland was certain from the first look that he would quite like this new place. Albion turned to him and asked, “What do you think of it?" He responded in a hushed voice, like he was afraid he would scare away the beauty, “It’s lovely.”

Scotland followed dutifully as his mother walked into the courtyard, where a tall blonde woman was waiting for them. There was a scar on her cheek that spoke of battles fought long ago. It was easy to guess who had given her that scar, since the stories of Cesar in Gaul were legendary.

He knew that she had once been called Gaul, and was now known as Francia. It was not so strange that one would cast off the name that Rome had called them, as his own mother had by refusing to be known as Britannia.

The two greeted each other warmly while Scotland tried to decide if he was supposed to introduce himself or not. His mother and Francia were old friends and it explained their familiar greeting.

Scotland mulled over what he was supposed to do. In his father’s absence, he was the man of the family. But he also knew that he was there on his mother’s permission, and he would never speak over her.

To his relief, she solved the conundrum by saying, “This is my eldest, Alasdair.”

Scotland took this as a cue for him to bow, to show due respect. Francia gave him a smile and said, “You are such a strapping boy. I think you’re almost a man.”

He felt a glow of pride at that, and nodded enthusiastically. He so wanted to be the kind of man who his mother would be proud of. Albion responded, putting her hand on his shoulder, “I’m very proud of him. I hope he won’t have to be a man too soon.”

Francia said, “I have also brought my eldest. Francois, greet our guests.”

A young man forward, and Scotland realized that he had not noticed him behind Francia’s cloak. He had been too busy thinking about how to impress his mother’s friend and it had not even occurred to him to look.

He drew in a breath as he realized how beautiful the young man was. There was sunlight glinting off of his golden waves, and it made him look ethereal.

Scotland felt his own cheeks growing hot, and he hoped that it was only the warmth of the sun on his face.

The boy said, “I am very glad to meet you.”  He smiled, and it felt like he was radiating warmth and light.

Scotland could feel his heart beating quickly, like he was nervous. But he could not think of a reason, since he had not felt this way before. His mother said, “Shall we go inside and talk?” Francia nodded.

Scotland could not focus at all; his mind was fixed on the blonde boy across the table from him. The more he looked, the more he was convinced that he had never seen a person so beautiful and so elegant.

He was trying not to stare, since he was sure that it was rude. He kept glancing at his mother, hoping that reminding himself of his duty would get his mind back on the reason he was present.

However, it was not working. He was watching the other boy’s slender hands as they fidgeted with the corner of a piece of parchment. It seemed like he was bored of the discussion. Even in his boredom he looked incredibly elegant.

Scotland glanced back up at his face, hoping to steal another look. To his surprise, he met the other’s blue eyes directly. It had not crossed his mind that France might be looking at him too. The eye contact made him feel like something fluttering in his stomach.

He quickly glanced away, and tried to calm his heart. It was such a strange and disconcerting feeling, but was not at all unpleasant. He had never felt this with anyone before, and he could not put a word to what the feeling was.

Francia noticed that her son was fidgeting, and threatening to tear the edge of whatever the document was. She said, “Francois, you should take Alasdair for a tour of the grounds. You’ll be less bored that way.”

Scotland looked up at his mother, trying to make it clear that he wasn’t bored. He said, “I can stay if you want me to.” Albion shook her head and said, “Go make a friend. I don’t mind.”

He glanced back at France, and couldn’t think of another good excuse to avoid time together He wanted to spend time with the boy, but he was also not certain what they would do once they were alone.

The very thought made him feel flustered and hot. His heart felt like it was pounding against his rib cage as he stood up to follow the blonde outside.

France pointed to one of the towers and said, “And that is the tallest one. It’s where my mother built the nursery.”

Scotland hardly heard a word he said, and he hardly looked up at the castle. He was too busy looking at the delicate curve of the other’s neck. He was not certain what was wrong with him, and he was sure that he had never felt that way before. He supposed he should pretend at interest, but it was hard to drag his attention away.

France stopped and said with a charming smile, “But you don’t really care, do you?”

Scotland was taken aback by the bluntness and the smile that it was delivered with. He scrambled to find an answer, but only managed to say, “Why do you say that.”

France turned completely to face him, his golden hair swinging around his face as he turned. He answered, “You’ve been looking at me since you got here.”

He stepped closer, and Scotland could see all the shades of blue in his eyes. They were like a mountain lake, clear and very expressive. He responded, “You’ve been looking too.”

He didn’t know what he expected, but the other responded without the slightest bit of guilt. He said, “You’re handsome, and I enjoy looking at you.”

He leaned in and Scotland thought for a fleeting moment that he was trying to make him blush. If he was, it was a success. But then France clarified his intention by saying, “I was thinking about what you would look like with a beard. You’d be so handsome.”

He paused and looked at Scotland with the most unfathomable expression, like he was measuring how far he would go. Then, he tilted his head to the side and said, “Can you grow one yet?”

Scotland was certain that he did not want to back away or tell France to stop looking at him. He felt strangely comfortable once his nerves started to fade. He chuckled and answered, “Only a little bit. My father says to give it a year.”

The blonde said proudly, “I can already grow some.” Scotland said, without thinking to hold his tongue, “Really? I don’t see anything.”

He squinted to see if there was light stubble on the boy’s cheek. Blonde hair could be so difficult to see in this kind of sunlight. He still wasn’t sure if there was anything there. France said, “Do you want to feel it?”

Without thinking about his response, Scotland said, “Yes, I do.”

He put his palm to the other’s cheek, and was amazed to feel that there was light stubble against his hand. The position that they were standing in didn’t occur to him until France leaned into his hand and nuzzled it slightly.

He knew that if he was not blushing at first, he was certainly blushing scarlet after that little gesture. His heart was pounding so hard that he could hear it in his ears.

He said, sounding slightly panicked, “What are you doing?”

France leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. Then he said, “I like you.”

Scotland’s mind felt like it was free falling as he stared into the other’s deep blue eyes. He was thinking of all sorts of things that he was not supposed to know about. Things his mother told him he did not need to know about until he was old enough to have children. Things that people did at Beltane.

It was just a kiss, and it could still be chaste, but his mind was running several steps ahead. He followed his instinct and put his hands on the blonde’s waist.

He didn’t realize how rich the fabric that France was wearing was until he touched it. Then he felt distinctly that he was holding something beautiful and delicate.

He replied, trying to keep a distance that he had already conceded with his actions, “We’ve just met.” The blonde nodded and replied, “And yet I like you. I feel like we are meant to be.”

Scotland was not going to disagree with him, because he also felt certain that he was attracted to the young man. He said, “I like you too.”

France smiled in a way that looked almost shy. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Scotland’s very softly. It felt like he was hesitant, even scared.

Scotland felt like he had to reciprocate to tell him that it was acceptable. He deepened the kiss, and pulled France against him. It all felt clumsy, and he was not certain if he was doing anything right.

He had never kissed anyone before, and he felt so flushed and hot. He was not even certain that he was kissing well, but it felt good.

France broke the kiss and laid his head against Scotland’s shoulder. He couldn’t see it, but Scotland had a feeling that the blonde was smiling.

France hugged him and said, “You smell like a rainstorm. It’s nice.” He nuzzled into the Scot’s neck, and said, “I’ve never done that before with anyone.”

Scotland asked, genuinely shocked because the other seemed to be so confident in himself. He replied, “Am I really your first?” France said, his voice slightly muffled as he spoke into his shoulder, “I told you. You feel right to me, like we’re meant to be.”

Scotland found the sentiment incredibly touching and he said, “You’re so sweet. I want to get to know you better.”

France took took one of Scotland’s hands in his own and entwined their fingers. It felt like their hands fit together well.

France asked, “How long are you staying here? I can come to your room.” Scotland pet his blonde hair and said, “A week at least.”

He planted one more soft kiss on the other’s forehead. He had a feeling that his mother would be very surprised when she found out about this.

[cursebreaker-lilith]

I said I was gonna do this like a month ago and I’m late as usual lolol Anyways, have Fiona~

BASICS

Name: Fiona Fraser

Nicknames: TBD

Name Meaning: Anglicization of the Gaelic word meaning white or fair.

Gender: Cis Female

Pronouns: She/her

Age: 15

Birthday: August 20, 1875 (? Year depending on when the game is set)

Zodiac: Leo

Blood Status: Half-blood

Ethnicity/Nationality: Brazilian-Scottish

Sexuality: TBD

Appearance

Body:

Height: 158cm / 5′2

Build: Lean with light muscles

Eyes: Dark brown

Hair: Dark brown, slightly curly. Long and usually held back in a messy braid.

Skin: Light brown with freckles

Misc: Several small and mostly unnoticeable scars across her hands and ankles from dealing with animals

Material Items:

Clothing: Generally wears clothing meant for sports or plain trousers. Uncaring of most conventions for women’s clothing, considers them more guidelines than rules. Really only wears them because she’ll get in trouble with the school or because her sister wants her to.

Accessories: Not fond of wearing anything that could be easily yanked off of her body.

In their school bag: Wand, journal, animal treats, encyclopedia of common Scottish plants, another journal, textbooks, medical book, some rocks that she thinks are cool, at least have a dozen quills (she loses them frequently)

Reference:

Face Claim: TBD

Voice Claim: TBD

Personality

Traits:

+  friendly, observant, quick learner, athletic, extroverted, courteous

+/— independent, curious, quirky, blunt, impulsive, idealistic

— selfish, withdrawn, thoughtless, unreliable, flighty, forgetful

Description:

Fiona has always wanted to do things her way, and clashed with her grandfather because of this. Loves to go off on her own.

Loves learning. Mainly of the natural world, but she loves any fun trivia. Not great at learning in the usual classroom setting however.

She may not be the best at making friends, but she definitely puts her all into being cheerful and courteous.

Other:

Likes: Animals, nature, exploring, puzzles and logic, cool rocks or leaves or bugs

Dislikes: Being told what to do, sitting still, being inside, not receiving an explanation for why she can or can’t do something

MBTI: ENTP

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Hogwarts

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

OWL Classes:

Astronomy: 4/10 (A)

Charms: 7/10 (E)

DADA: 5/10 (A)

Flying: 5/10 (A)

Herbology: 8/10 (O)

History of Magic: 2/10 (P)

Potions: 6/10 (P)

Transfiguration: 6/10 (E)

OWL Electives:

Care of Magical Creatures: 10/10 (O)

Divination: 2/10 (P)

NEWT Classes:

Care of Magical Creatures: 10/10 (O)

Charms: 8/10 (E)

Herbology: 9/10 (O)

Extracurriculars:

Clubs: TBD

Quidditch: Doesn’t play Quidditch, but thinks it looks fun

Prefect or Head Boy/Girl: TBD

Best Classes:

Care of Magical Creatures Fiona has always had a fascination for the natural world and a gift in dealing with it, so it’s no surprise she immediately takes to the class.

Herbology See above. She also would frequently help her sister with gardening.

Worst Classes:

History of Magic Anything with book learning is hard for her.

Astronomy See above. She thinks it’s much more interesting than History of Magic though and at least tries to do well.

Divination She thought it would be fun but turned out to be about as poor of a Seer as possible.

Favorite Professors:

TBD

Least Favorite Professors:

TBD

Magic

1st Wand: Chestnut, Phoenix feather, 11 ½ in, springy

This is a most curious, multi-faceted wood, which varies greatly in its character depending on the wand core, and takes a great deal of colour from the personality that possesses it. The wand of chestnut is attracted to witches and wizards who are skilled tamers of magical beasts, those who possess great gifts in Herbology, and those who are natural fliers. However, when paired with dragon heartstring, it may find its best match among those who are overfond of luxury and material things, and less scrupulous than they should be about how they are obtained. Conversely, three successive heads of the Wizengamot have possessed chestnut and unicorn wands, for this combination shows a predilection for those concerned with all manner of justice.

Special Abilities: Able to see Ancient Magic

Boggart

Form: Herself, stuck to the floor and unable to move (representing being stuck in one place and unable to explore)

Riddikulus: Her plain gown turns into something ridiculous and she unsticks a foot only to fall on her butt

Amortentia

What they smell: TBD

What they smell like to others: Citrus, petrichor, lavender

Patronus

Form: Leopard

Memory: The first time she successfully healed a wounded animal and released it into the wild.

What they see in the Mirror of Erised: Her with her mother, father, and sister travelling the world

FAMILY

Sister: Fenella Fraser

Her identical twin sister. The two are very different, but very close due to the fact that they only had each other growing up. Fiona is very protective of her sister, but is also interested in seeing how things will go now that they don’t live in the same room anymore.

Grandfather: Alasdair Fraser

Fenella and Fiona were raised by their grandfather on a rural and isolated farm in Scotland since they were a baby. He was very strict and very paranoid and refused to let the girls go to Hogwarts, homeschooling them with help from Isla, who their grandfather barely tolerated. He died suddenly from illness when they were 15.

Father:  Thiago Gonçalves

A Brazilian Muggle-born who was fond of travelling and adventure. Went to Castelobruxo and was an eager student. Currently missing.

Mother: Catrìona Fraser

A Scottish pureblood raised by her strict father. Never went to Hogwarts and homeschooled by him. Left his house the second she was old enough and ran off to find an adventure. Currently missing.

Guardian: Isla MacLean

A pureblood witch who lives nearby to the Fraser farm and one of the few aware of its location. Alasdair would (begrudgingly) invite her over every two weeks or so to help teach Fenella and Fiona as Isla worked as a tutor to younger wizarding children at the nearby town. Not knowing anyone else, when their grandfather died, the two girls went to her to help deal with his death and what comes after. She has reluctantly become their caretaker/guardian for when they aren’t at Hogwarts.

Pets:

Angel An angry old tomcat that they used as a rat catcher on their farm.

Has always been fond of taking care of wounded animals, or any that live on her grandfather’s farm and considered all of them her pets too.

FRIENDS

Best Friends:

Fenella Fraser Her sister, see above.

Good Friends:

TBD

Friends:

TBD

It’s Complicated:

TBD

Love Interests:

TBD

Dormmates:

TBD

Doesn’t Interact:

TBD

Enemies:

TBD

Story

Childhood:

Homeschooled by her strict grandfather and a neighbour before his death. After that, they went to live with the neighbour for several months and she became Fenella and Fiona’s caretaker and guardian before shuffling them off to Hogwarts.

Fiona was always in trouble with her grandfather. She didn’t like being told no without a reason why and frequently broke his rules to go off exploring on her own. She still loved him and was sad when he died, but was excited to be able to properly learn things at a school.

Hogwarts:

Was also quite shocked to be separated from her sister when they were Sorted into different Houses. She took it much better than Fenella however and quickly tried to make friends in Ravenclaw. Turned out to be not great at school, but always had fun with the Ravenclaw door’s riddles.

Adulthood:

TBD

Miscellaneous

Has ADHD but it’s undiagnosed because 1800s

Decent at art, at least when it comes to drawing animals or plants.

Has her own family curse related to Ancient Magic that I will probably expand more on when the games comes out lol

[jamiewood-archive]

It’s very early in the morning when Jamie finally arrives back at home, a fresh cut above his eyebrow and the stink of cigarettes lingering on his brown leather jacket. He comes through the kitchen entrance as he always does, trying to be quiet, but not really knowing who for - his dad will have left for practice with the Magpies already, and probably doesn’t even know he was ever gone. It’s alright, though. It’s not like he does any of this for attention.

Thinking he might try and catch a couple of hours of sleep before his dad gets home and he has to go out again, Jamie heads for the stairs leading up to the main house, scrubbing a hand over his face. Something crunches under his boot when he reaches the narrow servants’ landing, drawing his attention downwards. The green ink on the crisp envelope is immediately recognisable, the same as on the letter inviting him to Hogwarts seven years ago. It can only mean one thing.

“Shit,” he mutters, scooping it up off the floor and fruitlessly trying to wipe away the muddy footprint that now marks the parchment, stamped over his own name.

The envelope feels light in his hands, far too light for the weight of its contents. His whole future is in here. How can he open it? Maybe he should wait for his father to come home, but... there’s no way Jamie can face him without any idea of what to expect.

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s crossing the entrance hall and pushing his way into Lachlan Wood’s study, off limits to himself and his siblings, except for when they’re in trouble. Jamie has seen a lot of this room over the years.

It’s the same as always, from the great oak desk that stands under the window, to the trophies and shields that line the shelves, to the newspaper clippings hung on the walls. Jamie hardly sees any of it. Instead, he looks to the fireplace - to the photograph of the dark-haired witch that rests on the mantlepiece.

It’s from before he was born - before even Alasdair was born - but it’s the clearest image of her he has. A glimpse of Eunice Wood as she was: a bright, laughing woman in a Montrose Magpies jumper, captured by a muggle camera and preserved by a spell. When he was very small, he’d sneak in here to talk to her, hiding under the desk with the frame clutched in his tiny hands, trying to remember anything about her from when she was alive. He hasn’t done that in a while.

“Alright, Mum?” He mumbles, addressing his feet rather than look at her. “My, erm, my NEWTs came. Got them here.” Jamie turns the envelope over in his hands, trying to prepare himself for whatever’s in there.

There’s a letter opener on the desk, he knows, but he tears into the envelope anyway, clumsily pulling out the paper inside. The preamble swims in front of Jamie’s eyes, his mind refusing to find purchase on any of the words McGonagall has written. They don’t matter. What matters are the grades, written plain enough that even he can understand them.

Jamie lets out a shaky breath. “I- I passed,” he says, unable to quite believe it. “An E, three As, and a D... That’s- that’s four.” It’s less than what Alasdair got, and it’s more than he ever expected. It still won’t be good enough for his dad, but right now, that doesn’t matter.

He looks up for the first time, a hesitant but genuine smile breaking out across his features, reflected in the black and white face of his mother. Hers is an old joy, but for a moment, he can pretend its for him. He can pretend that somebody’s proud of him.

[raevenlywrites]

The Ties That Bind 1 of ???

They say the first of my kind was a woman named Alasdair, a human raised by hawks. She learned the language of the birds, and was gifted with their form. It is a pretty myth, I admit, but few actually believe it. No record remains of her life. No record except for the feathers in every avian’s hair, even when otherwise we appear human, and the wings I can grow when I choose--and of course the beautiful golden hawk’s form that is as natural to me as the legs and arms I wear normally. This myth is one of the stories we hear as children, but it says nothing of reality or the hard lessons we are taught later. Almost before a child learns to fly, she learns to hate. She learns of war. She learns of the race that calls itself the serpiente. She learns that they are untrustworthy, that they are liars and loyal to no one. She learns to fear the garnet eyes of their royal family even though she will probably never see them. Of course, I have. I have seen them look to me in fear and pain, a young prince’s final moments. I have seen them look at me in consideration, a new ruler sizing up the woman who would be his enemy. And I have seen them beneath me, cushioned on a pillow of down, soft as my own hair. They taught me how to hate those eyes. No one taught me how to read them.

Danica Shardae, Tuuli Thea

The Mistari Disa spoke to the entire hall as she concluded, “The best advice I can offer is this: Tie the two royal families. Make the two sides into one. If you are willing to trust each other, and willing to put aside your anger and your hatred, then Zane Cobriana, take Danica Shardae as your mate. Danica Shardae, have Zane Cobriana as your alistair.”

The Disa’s words rang in my head as I dressed for bed, numb and mechanical. The serpiente prince had cried out as vehemently as the rest, as I had sat in shocked silence. The rest had reacted; I had observed. I watched garnet eyes flash with temper, right alongside normally sedate avian gold. But I also watched Zane’s face crumple as the Disa kicked us out, his desperate hand reaching as if he could see the fleeting peace slipping through his fingers even as he struggled to grasp it.

Take Zane Cobriana as your alistair.

I still couldn’t process the idea. “Alistair” was a word that meant so many things to me, none of which matched the fiery cobra. My first alistair, Vasili, had been taken from me too young to truly remember him. And after that, alistair was a word most often followed by the ragged grief of a newly made widow.

It was not a word I could fathom associating with Zane Cobriana.

I realized my hands had been working the same button over and over. I shook myself, trying to return to reality, to keep moving through this latest shock. My composure was shot to hell, and I jumped when a knock sounded at my door.

“Shardae?”

The familiar voice of long-time personal guard--oh, hell, my best friend, sounded through the door. Rei had been the most outspoken at the Disa’s suggestion, and he hardly sounded calmer now, though at least he was hiding it better. Shaky, and craving the comfort of his familiar presence in this unfamiliar place, I bid him enter.

He paused in the doorway, and I watched his face as a thousand thoughts chased their way behind his eyes. Already I felt better, just seeing him as shaken as I. Rei had been my friend since childhood, and was the only person I ever truly relaxed around. I had seen him in his grief for his father, lost when he was but a boy of twelve. He had seen me cry over countless deaths, until I had grown up enough to no longer let the tears show. We knew the shape of each other’s grief; and we knew how important it was to have somewhere safe to let it out, to be weak. He was weak with me now, and I sank into that uncertainty gratefully.

“Dani,” he breathed, only after the door was closed firmly behind him. “I’m sorry I lost my temper in the hall today. It’s my fault we were banned from further discussion.”

I straightened my shoulders, gathering my strength as he fell apart. We did this in turns, my Rei and me, being rock and crash wave alike.

“I don’t believe you were the only one shouting,” I said lightly, fighting back the shiver that threatened at the memory of those flashing garnet eyes. Zane had been exquisite in his anger, a fine, shimmering thing. It had been beautiful, and terrifying, like a lightning strike. I wrapped my arms around myself, unable to stop my reaction.

Rei mistook the gesture for fear, and I suppose that was in there too, and placed his hands over mine. It was utterly too forward, unspeakably inappropriate, and far from the first time. Rei and I had always been each other’s exceptions, our refuge for strength and comfort. I leaned into him, resting my forehead against his chest. His arms encircled me, fitting around me perfectly through years of habit. I had grown since that first night we’d curled up together, frightened and alone and crying ourselves to sleep, and so had he. But we’d grown together, and his arms still fit around mine as I held myself and tried to keep from falling apart.

This. This was what an alistair should be. This feeling of warmth, of solidness, of safety.

Rei would be my alistair, and I would grow to love him in that way, in time. And even if I never did, friendship was still well worth protecting.

Alistair.

Protector.

Fighter.

My thoughts flashed on Zane Cobriana again, reaching out for the fleeting dream of piece. He was willing to fight for that dream. And I was cowering in the arms of a man I was too afraid to love, for fear of losing him.

Losing him to the war we were here to stop.

I must have tensed, because Rei pulled back, searching my face.

“Dani... You know I care for you, and I’ll always protect you. The thought of the snake coming anywhere near you...”

His hands flexed on mine, grip growing uncomfortably tight. I pulled away and he let me go, falling back into that careful soldier’s ready. The moment had passed. Time to put our weakness away.

“We’ll find a way, Shardae. I should go, let you sleep. Things will look brighter in the morning.”

I wished I had the courage to ask him to stay, to tell him that a night in his arms would bring me more comfort than the tossing and turning I knew was sure to come. I always slept better in Rei’s arms. But we hadn’t done that in years. And until I was ready to declare formally what the entire court already knew, he would keep his careful distance, expect in rare moments like this.

I closed my eyes, and I wished I could remember how to cry. - I began to undress again, but a flicker of movement caught my eye--

And suddenly I was face to face with garnet.

Zane Cobriana stood in my room, stepping elegantly from shadows and moonlight.

His hand was on my mouth before I could draw breath, the other cradling the back of my head.

“Please, I’m terribly sorry, but we need to talk, and so I need you not to scream.”

I stared at him wide-eyed, eyes lingering on impossible details--the stray strands of hair that fell across his face, the thick, sweeping curve of his stunningly dark lashes--as the world paused between one heartbeat and the next. I was utterly frozen, drowning deep in radiant red, the hypnotic gaze of the Cobriana garnet.

My people told stories of this gaze, the near-demonic power to enchant and posses. I forgot to breathe, drinking down those eyes, edges tight with pain. Pain... Zane Cobriana looked pained. It was barely there, just a tightness around the eyes, but his eyes were all I could see. We were not but a breath apart, and all I could do was gaze into those eyes, and nod.

Zane nodded to, head moving with mine as if uncertain of the motion’s meaning. Finally, he gave one certain shake, mind made up. He sprang away from me, leaping to the far side of the room as he released me, falling into a warrior’s ready. I just stared, mind refusing to process. Zane Cobriana had snuck into my room, and he was crouched and on guard against me.

“What.... what do you want?”

My mouth was cotton dry as I struggled to speak, tongue darting out to wet paper lips. They tingled with the memory of Zane’s fingers, soft and cool, so delicate, but so firm...

“To talk.”

He hedged his words, carefully controlled and guarded, just like his posture. But when I didn’t scream, or really react in any way, he relaxed, pulling himself up into a liquid, wary posture. Those elegant hands disappeared into pockets, but the underlying tension in his shoulder belied the casual gesture. He was a coiled spring, and no amount of leaning carelessly against the wall would disguise that.

I shook myself mentally, trying to come to grips with this fevered dream. No, no dream. In my dreams, I was often painfully aware I was dreaming, and able to pull together my careful avian reserve. Here, in this moonlit room, I was wide awake, and utterly lost.

“Won’t... won’t you sit down?”

Internally, I shrieked at myself. The mortal enemy of me and my kind had broken into my room for goddess knows what purpose, and I was observing social niceties. Won’t you sit down? What was the matter with me?

Zane smirked, a sardonic twist of his sculpted lips. My mind kept focusing on the most inane details--the perfect press of his cupid’s bow, the strong line of his jaw--as he folded himself elegantly onto a cushion. His long legs glittered in the moonlight and for a moment I thought he must have been in armoured form. But no, merely snakeskin pants. My gut filled with ice. The prince of the serpiente in snakeskin pants. Yikes.

“Why thank you, Danica. May I call you Danica?”

Mutely I nodded, sinking down onto my own sleeping pallet. I watched myself in bemused horror, like an out of body nightmare, as I sat and calmly waited for the prince of the serpiente to say his piece. Then again, compared to his dramatic entrance to my bedroom, this behavior was rather sedate. Formal even. The manners between us seemed almost absurd.

“Then you must call me Zane,” he insisted. I realized this casual chatter was his own nervousness, as my mute manners were mine. Neither of us really knew how to handle one another, and that somehow gave me courage. If he was shaken too, that somehow put us on more even foot.

“Alright... Zane. What did you come to talk about?”

He chuckled, the sound rolling through the dark like velvet. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself, and madly, half expected Rei to wrap his hands around mind. Had only been moments ago that Rei had been in my room? If Zane had come any sooner--

“We were thrown out of the Mistari hall quite abruptly. And in all likelihood the same will happen tomorrow unless we have a chance to properly discuss their suggestion beforehand,” he said lightly, cutting through my thoughts. They scattered like early morning fog, as thin and ephemeral and impossible to hold onto. If he thought we were going to make any more progress here than we had in the hall, he was sorely mistaken. I couldn’t think my way out of an egg like this. If I’d been able to, I probably would have screamed for my guards by now. Really, it was only the utter bizarreness of the situation that had kept me from doing so already. We never trained for what I should do in the event of a security breach. In the Keep, it was unthinkable. And in the fields, I was quite literally surrounded at all times.

Zane had found my security’s one weak spot.

My blood ran cold.

“Are you here to kill me?”

Zane gave me a tired look and sighed.

“I just said I was here to discuss peace with you, Danica.” He shook his head. “What is even the point. How can they possibly expect us to entertain marriage when you’re too frightened to even talk to me?”

“I’m not--“

I snapped without thinking, pride pricked. He’d broken into my room, assaulted me--of course I was startled, I was also exhausted. At his chagrined look, I realized I’d actually spoken those thoughts aloud.

“Of course. It’s late. I apologize for any offense.”

I laughed. “Offense? Offense? Offensive was the way you acted so utterly repulsed at the mere thought of marrying me. This? I don’t believe there are words to cover what this is.”

Zane snorted. “I suppose that’s fair. If it was only a matter of your lovely body, well.” His eyes flicked up and down my frame, and I felt my cheeks turn scarlet. “And I’ve seen you have no trouble with mine, either.”

At that my face caught fire, enough that surely the room should have been ablaze with light. I clenched my fists in my lap and locked my gaze to the floor, counting slowly to ten. Shouting at him would bring my guards crashing in here for sure. And he had a point; we did need to talk. If we broke into a shouting match tomorrow, the Disa would simply kick us out again.

“Comments like that are also why we could never work,” I said hotly. “An avian alistair defends his pair bond’s virtue, not mocks it.”

“And is your pretty guard captain to be your pair bond, then?”

At that my eyes flew to his in complete shock. “Wha--“

“Oh don’t play coy, pretty Danica. I saw the way he held you. That is not a man unfamiliar with your body.”

I could only stare at him in open mouthed horror. Zane went on as if he didn’t notice.

“It’s not a deal breaker for me. I’m sure you don’t expect me to come to you as pure as the driven snow either. Keep him, for all I care. We both have heirs to produce, after all.”

Heirs?

Again, I must have spoken aloud, because Zane seemed to stop midthought, changing his words at the last moment.

“You’re the only Shardae left,” he said softly. “I at least have my sister and... her child.”

His gaze felt, soft and uncertain.

“Her announcement is what finally convinced me. I’ve already lost one sister with child to a soldier’s knife. I cannot bear to lose another. Irene was so frightened when she told me--“

His voice cut off with emotion. The strangled sound reminded me too much of Gregory.

I rose, not certain what I intended, but it was lost to Zane’s reaction anyways. The serpiente was off the wall and crouched almost before I’d finished standing, and his speed took my breath away. I cried out in spite of myself-- and the guards came pouring in.

Zane’s form flashed to lightning black, the shift to his cobra form nigh instantaneous. I threw myself forward, blocking Rei’s movement into the room, shielding him from Zane’s attack. It was utterly stupid, and pure instinct. I threw myself between the man that would be my protector, and the man who would pay lip service to the job in the name of peace. But Zane did not attack, rather doing on the evasive than the offensive. His liquid form shot between the soliders’ legs, gone and lost in the shadows before anyone could truly tell what had happened.

Rei stared into my eyes, lost in utter bewilderment. Neither of us knew what to make of my throwing myself before him, breaking every rule of our working relationship. I hadn’t acted as his queen. I’d acted as his dearest friend.

Rei reacted as my guard, pushing me aside and scouring the room with his eyes. Checking to make sure the room was secure before checking to be certain I was unhurt. The guards scattered around the room and hall, people spilling out at the noise and ruckus. Zane appeared behind a wall of guards, Mistari standing firm between the avians and serpiente. The tigers ushered us all back into our rooms, effectively placing us all under arrest.

Locking me into the room with Rei.

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

List is currently: @lordkingsmith  @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @writinginslowmotion 

[themegalosaurus]

something post-episode 15x03

It must be Cas who Sam's texting so furtively, which is fine, except that if Dean's going to be apologized for he'd rather know what's being said; so the next time Sam takes a shower, Dean swipes the phone from his brother's jeans pocket and MacGyvers his way around the scanner with a piece of sticky tape and a fingerprint lifted from Sam's breakfast juice.

Cas certainly shows up in Sam's recent messages, but it's the name on the thread at the top which gives Dean pause. Rowena. He doesn't - well, they all saw her fall. And when he clicks through, yeah, there's no mystery texts from beyond the grave; nothing from Rowena since the text she sent to both of them back in Harlan to let them know she was on her way.

Instead, all of the messages are from Sam: clutches of them at intervals over the past several days.

05:30: Had a really fucking terrible dream last night 05:33: Shit sorry I just woke up properly 05:35: I don't know why I'm texting you sorry when the thing I'm sorry about is that I forgot you're dead 05:40: And killing you. I'm sorry for that

16:30: I keep seeing the hole, the rift, whatever, and you falling 16:33: Some kind of rich irony in me venting to you about being triggered by your death

01:45: I just don't know who else to talk to about this shit. the cage is open, that's what belphegor said. and i know L hasn't been in it for a while, but it's fucking me up 01:48: i just keep seeing his face 01:50: he's dead 02:12: he's dead

21:27: I hope you weren't too afraid

06:01: what's it like to have a thousand angry ghosts inside you, i wonder 06:03: scratch that, i don't want to know

11:42: you can call it prophecy or whatever but it still feels like the same thing, like not being able to choose 11:44: except i did choose, you made me 11:48: fuck you

03:03: something's wrong with me, i think 03:04: more than usual 03:09: i wish i could trust how i felt anymore. i hate this

22:10: i’m not still in there, right?

07:17: it's a week later and i still can't sleep

Dean doesn't even mean to read them, not once he realizes that this isn't quite what he thought; but it's an easy slide of the eye down from one to another and then before he knows it, he's at the end. That last message was sent this morning.

It would be very easy for Dean to swap out Rowena's number for his own. He could get this stuff straight from the source; the things Sammy won't tell him. I don't know who else to talk to about this shit, indeed. So much for what Cas had said, that he and Sam had each other. It doesn't feel like that looking at this.

It juddered something inside of Dean, too, the pit in the graveyard and Rowena's careful steps towards the edge of it. Of course it did. He won't ever forget it, the sickening shock of Sam's fall; and the silence afterwards as the ground sealed up tight, dry grass and dry earth and nothing to show the great rift that had torn open everything just moments before. 

All of it, what Chuck’s doing, is designed to press their buttons; to send them sliding back into the worst of what’s come before. He’s dead. He’s dead. Dean thinks, unexpectedly and with a feeling like a cold shock of ice at the top of his spine, of Alasdair.

It would be very easy to swap out Rowena's number for his own. He doesn't do it.

[aures-rose]

Dear Diary,

A lot has happened and I don’t want to write about it all but… I guess I should. It’s March now, my birthday month. The second triwizard task has passed and things are supposed to be calm now until it gets closer to the next one but they’re not really.

Tom sent me a birthday gift earlier this week. The first gift of the year. I didn’t even know he knew when my birthday was, but he sent me a unicorn soft-toy and it’s holding a heart that says ‘You’re Magical!’ I’m going to pin the note here, but I don’t think he’s very good at writing, so don’t make fun of him.

 Deer Faryfayce,

Happy Birdday!

Your big frend,

Tom

 I honestly can’t believe he remembered my birthday never mind that he got me a gift. I’m really glad he did though, I mean, it must mean I’m important right? Like, we really are almost best friends? Maybe we can be actual best friends now. I was really happy about it until I found out that he got Talula a necklace for her thirteenth birthday. That's such a grown up gift. It's the kind of gift you get the girl you like, not like a soft-toy. You get your little sister a soft-toy. I know I shouldn't care, it's not like we're dating or anything, I'm dating Jamie and I like Jamie. I don't like Tom. But it still bothers me. Maybe it's because he called me a baby.

Anyways, Lion’s Den happened on Sunday and… Well, it started out okay, if you pretend Alasdair wasn’t there. And Dumb Vicky… but Dumb Vicky brought sea salt caramel cake and we were all meant to be celebrating March birthdays like mine and Andie's. I gave Andie some cake and she ended up knocking the plate into my face. I was covered with icing and cake so I jumped over the couch and smeared cake on her too and everything was just fun, you know? Andie wasn't being mean to Jamie. There was no fighting. Artie and Dumb Vicky and the prefect, Bree, all left and so it was just us and Lex and Alasdair and Ramon who came in to eat cake but he started picking on Andie and so she and I teased him back. At some point though, Andie was teasing and going at Ramon, so I ended up full body binding both of them. I really only meant to get Ramon but then Andie stepped in the way. Anyways, Alasdair and Lex left and I asked Jamie if they had a marker. I was hoping they’d go back to the dorms so I could release Andie but Jamie’s an artist so they actually had a marker on them. And they were all like ‘I don’t feel good about this, you should let them go, Ressy.’ Which sounded like a terrible idea because they’d both be real angry at me and if they were free, they’d be able to curse me back. Anyways, Jamie got all serious and was like ‘I’m going to wait in the clocktower. I know you’ll make the choice that’s right for you.’ And so when they were gone I freed Andie. But Andie thought I /tried/ to curse her and so she was real mad at me. Or maybe it was because it took a whole lot of tries to free her, I’m not sure which. I told her that I was going to free her anyhow when Jamie left but that didn’t work out so anyways, we tried to free Ramon and it took us both forever and her spells kept failing and apparently it hurt Ramon when they did. Well, anyways, I finally got him free and he started yelling and cursing at us. I felt like crying but then instead I started to laugh, I really don’t know why. It was like, I couldn’t help but to laugh at the whole stupid day. And I mean, I was glad that I was laughing instead of crying in front of Andie and especially instead of crying because this dumb boy yelled at me but then he started calling me a freak and talking about my eyes. He called me an alien and an abomination and said that I was lucky I wasn’t a boy because he would’ve smashed my head in. He also called Andie… some not so nice stuff...and a donut? Anyways, I don’t know if it’s because he called me a freak or if it’s because he was insulting Andie or if it was because I stopped taking my calming draughts when Professor Mac told me I should but I ended up shoving Ramon and telling him to try it then. Andie freaked out and grabbed me so I couldn’t punch him in his stupid face even when he kept calling me a freak and calling Andie names too. I’ve never been that angry in my whole life- even before Hogwarts, before calming draughts. I just wanted to hurt him and I told him I hated him and tried to kick him but Andie was pulling me away. I ended up remembering I had my wand in my hand and I hit him with a knockback jinx and Andie made her gum fly up his nose. He ran away and Andie left to go back to the dorms but… I hate him. I hope he’s afraid every moment until we graduate and that he’s always looking over his shoulder afraid that we’ll curse him, /really/ curse him like the Fae in my books.

I left after that and went to meet Jamie in the clocktower. I really feel like maybe I’m not as good a person as they think I am. I couldn’t tell them that though. I told them about what happened though and about how tired I am of always being yelled at because people think I won’t do anything about it or being told that I’m a freak or a beast because I’m part veela. I’m tired of being told I should just let people be mean because they’re just scared or because I might get hurt! I told Jamie everything and they agreed and hugged me and I think they’re honestly the most good a person could ever be. I could tell the conversation bothered them so I asked them about the birthday gift they had for me and so they dug in their backpack to get it and… Well, it was wrapped in this blue-green shimmery fish-scale paper and it had a bow on it that reminded me of mother-of-pearl and when I opened it it was this mechanical mermaid! She swam out and she kind of floats around and everything. Jamie said they wanted to bring a piece of the ocean to me which is one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me. It’s up there with being called fairy-face and being asked if I’m a mermaid. I loved it so much I couldn’t even tell Jamie how much so I just hugged them really tight. Of course, when I was hugging them, I remembered I had cake on my face and told them I should clean up and ask if they wanted to go to the commons with me.

On the way to the commons, we ran into Everlina and… That was not really good. You remember that boy Rubicon? I wrote about him before, he’s the one who told me my violin sounded like a dying boggart and also he doesn’t like me because I’m part veela? He and Everlina have been friends since before we were even sorted, when his house burned down, he went to stay with Eve and her family… Well, he only just realised that she’s halfblood and ended up totally losing it when he found out! Everly says he basically went crazy and started talking about how non-purebloods just want to kill purebloods and steal their magic and how he started to hurt himself and was crying and stuff and she wanted him to go to the Hospital Wing with her but he just wouldn’t! Anyways, Everly was really upset about it and so I gave her a hug but really I want to find him and curse him too for making her cry. I don’t know why people in this school are just allowed to get away with this stuff! I just don’t get it! I think I’m going to write Professor Green about it, she’s his head of house. Maybe she can do something about it, unlike when Professor Rask told us Octavia was just scared. Talula warned me to stay away from Ruby himself though because we’re too evenly matched, being in the same year, and he might really hurt me but I’m not afraid of him! We all decided to disperse and head back to our commons when the Head Boy caught us. I think Jamie expected us to get in trouble but he was really nice.

I ran into Tom in the Great Hall the next day and I thanked him for the soft-toy and gave him a hug and everything. He and Talula (and Eve too, though I didn’t find that out until later) got these letters from these dueling clubs telling them they were interested in them when they graduate. That’s really cool, right? Tom’s club was the Dragons which he says is a really cool team and that they must be interested in him because his da must be one. I know Tom really likes his Da, so maybe that’s why he was so excited. They even sent him a t-shirt that he put on and started dancing in. He’s not really a good dancer but that’s okay, I told him he has wicked cool moves anyhow. He and Talula started talking about starting up dueling club again though which is really cool. Maybe, since the only spells I can really do are body binds and knock-backs, I can actually get good too. It felt really bad listening to everyone talk about their dueling invites. I know they all deserve them and they’re all really good, I just keep thinking about how I failed my charms exam last year and the practical part of the DADA one and how I’m just really bad at casting magic in general and it makes me feel worse and worse.

Anyways, I remembered that I don’t know Tom’s birthday so I asked him when it was and he said he’d give me his address so I can send him something. I was thinking about sending him a dragon soft-toy but then he said not to send him one. I might send him one anyhow and something else, something cool too. His birthday’s on the 21st of August. He also said I could come visit him in Surrey over the summer when I told him he could come visit me too. He says his mum’s almost never around so maybe he’d like the company? Jamie said I could come visit them too in a muggle community, so that cool too! Maybe I’ll actually do something this summer instead of just being sent away.

I think that’s everything I have to write about this time, but it won’t be long before I write again.

[windermeresimblr]

A Quick “Tutorial” On Faking Stormy Weather For Fun And Photoshoots

I’m very bad at photoshop still, and I also don’t trust my ability to replicate the same editing twice.  So, when I decided that my screenshot of Highlanders charging needed some extra oomph, I realized that I could fake editing in a rainy, moody background with a few pieces of C.C. Here’s how I did it.

Step 1: Shopping

Fake fog and fake rain can be found here: fog and rain. They are decorative objects; you can’t tell in the picture, as it’s posed and--by its nature--a still item--but the rain actually “falls.” Which I think is pretty neat, and even though you can’t really tell it’s changed in still pictures unless you stick your nose super close to the screen, it helps to convey a sense of time.

Step 2: Background Colors

I chose “Moonstone” from CuriousB’s Any Color You Like set, because it’s a purply grey that suits a blustery, rainy day. (Moonstone is also a kickass name.) Of course, your scene’s weather depends on what story you want to tell; I’d advise not using white or very light colors, because this will blend in with the rain and you won’t see a great deal.

What I did was paint the soundstage with the plain flat white color in “Misc.” in Create-a-Style, then entered my hex code of choice. Voila! A nice flat, neutral background. You can also use the weather objects outside, in which case you can ignore this step and move straight to step three.

Step 3: Positioning and Lighting

These fog and rain objects are layered; the further you put your item or Sim, the more obscured they will be by the weather. Therefore, if you want your Sims to be reasonably visible, put them in the first two layers or in front of the weather object. 

(I wanted the three Sims in the background to look more obscured, and then positioned the other two closer to the “weather” but still far away. Alasdair, of course, cannot be hidden behind the fog since this is his own imagine spot :P.)

I realized that too-bright lighting will wash out the rain! Set your lights on dim. After all, if it’s raining and pouring, visibility will be...not so good, and we all know how fog impacts visibility. And it’s also probably not going to be super sunny and bright. (I like using flame lighting because I think it mimics sunlight, but that’s my opinion. You, of course, can use whatever lighting you like.)

Finally, take your pictures!

ETA

@treason-and-plot​ reminded me of the existence of fog emitters! No C.C. (just a fully patched game and knowing how to operate the Buy Debug menu, as well as the list of fog emitter codes) is needed in that case.

However, the same caveats hold: don’t match the background color to your choice of weather effect; be careful where you place your weather effect so you don’t block a key element of the shot; and, of course, watch the lighting! 

(Also--have a notepad or other item handy so you can remember which fog emitter code you’re using, because eventually you’ll forget and you’ll have one fog emitter standing out and you’ll wail and gnash your teeth.)

[zalia]

The Tundra Project

Thank you so so much for the amazing response! I’m so happy that so many people are interested in sending Alasdair Stuart some love for his role as Peter Lukas in The Magnus Archives. As a reminder, you can find the original post here

So here are guidelines and instructions for how this will be handled and what to send! Please make sure to read all of the post as it should clarify details. If you have any other questions, message me and i will try to clarify!

Vital Details

Closing date: January 27th (this gives me time to load everything on the memory stick and pack up any physical items!

Where should I send items: tmatundraproject [@] gmail.com

What to send: Nice messages thanking Alasdair for his work! Fanfic! Fanart! Cool fanmixes! A photo of that cool boat you saw that reminded you of the Tundra! Please send fics in .doc format for ease of opening.

Information to include: Your name and social media handle if you *wish*. I am not opposed to adding anonymous submissions if you prefer.

Is there a rating limit?

Yes! While I love all ratings of fic and art, please keep them around the same rating as The Magnus Archives series itself - around PG-13. While a brief kiss is fine, anything more than that is not something I’m comfortable passing on.

Can we send any content? Are ships okay?

Yes, within reason. Content should focus on Peter Lukas. As I mentioned above, please keep content canon-appropriate. I am happy to pass on a shippy LonelyEyes fic with canon-typical ominousness. I’m not comfortable passing on anything with, say, sexual violence and really abusive relationships. CANON-TYPICAL is the guideline here.

I'm going to stress that I don’t have a problem with works like that in fandom! Go wild! I just don’t want to hand works like that over to one of the actors.

Does the art/fic have to be new?

Nope! If you have something already drawn or written or made up, send it along! That is great!

Can I send physical items?

I am still working out the logistics for this. For obvious reasons, I’m not comfortable just posting my home postal address, or giving it out to random people I do not know, even though the majority of people I’m sure are delightful.

1. If you are attending (or know someone who is attending) the Magnus Archives live show on November 30th, the Rusty Quill Livestream on December 7th, or the Mechanisms concert on January 18th, you can give them to me there.

2. If none of that works, get in touch and let me know. I *may* be able to set up a PO Box to accept deliveries, but it’s a bit pricey so I want to figure out if there is a large demand for it first.

Even if I end up not being able to accept physical items, you should absolutely send photos of the cool stuff you’ve made so I can include that!

When will this be given to him?

All being well, February 1st

Is this an official Rusty Quill thing?

Nope! I am just a fan. Alasdair is basically the nicest person in the world and has really loved playing Peter Lukas and I just think it would be cool to show our appreciation!

[trans-affirmation]

I've been feeling a bit low and dysphoric lately and i am not out to people bc i don't think they would believe me if I said that I'm actually a man, bc I'm not that masculine and I don't have traditionally masculine hobbies and all that. so like im not that confident in my identity yet. could you please write me something like calling me a boy/man/dude/guy/lad whatever and he/him? i like cats, cross-stitch, drawing, period dramas, taking walks, singing, meeting friends.. my name is alasdair:)

Hello, Alasdair! (Very handsome name, btw--trans people always choose the coolest names 👍) The pressure you feel to be a more masculine man, and the insecurity you feel in your more feminine interests, is something I think most trans guys feel at some point in their lives. A lot of cis men feel these same feelings too, in fact; your anxieties about not being manly enough are a pretty common aspect of the male experience, actually, even if your feelings on the matter are a bit more complicated because of the fact that you’re trans. But you’re not in poor company, I promise you this.

Being a man is about more than just being masculine, though. I think for a lot of trans guys who are insecure in their identities, it can help them feel better to hold on to these extrinsic signifiers of masculinity as proof that they are really trans, that they’re not wrong about themselves. But your manhood doesn’t need to hang on being interested in sports and cars and manly things like that--these things don’t make you a man any more than your chromosomes determine your gender.

Unfortunately, there’s never gonna be a moment when a voice descends from the heavens and tells you “yup, you’re definitely trans, 100%!” All you have is yourself and your own thoughts and feelings. And it can be really scary to just depend on your own thoughts and feelings when it comes to such a big and important aspect of your identity. It can be scary not to have “proof” you are who you say you are. But you know, deep down, that being a guy and living as a guy will let you lead a happier and more fulfilled life than trying to live as a girl, and that’s what really matters. You can be a wonderful dude who loves cats and cross-stitching and singing and meeting with your friends and still be a dude, through and through.

So yes, I think when people make friends with a certain Alasdair, they’re not going to invalidate his gender just because he likes cross-stitching--they’ll accept him for the man he is. Transphobes may invalidate your gender and use your feminine interests as an excuse, but honestly, transphobes will find any excuse to invalidate trans people. And there are plenty of wonderful and accepting people out there, too, people who aren’t looking for an excuse to invalidate you. I believe you when you say you’re a guy, and I’m certain there are plenty more people out there who will believe you as well. And I think with a little more time, you may be more able to believe in yourself, too. <3

[blackhyena]

tagged by @bironism thank youuuu honey!!!

Get to know me // Rules: complete the survey and say who tagged you in the beginning. When you’re finished, tag people to do this survey. Have fun and enjoy!

1. Are you named after someone? kind of. I think my dad considers it to be like.... the fem version of his name. i disagree however. alternatively, Rosanna Arquette, but it’s not spelt the same, so..... No. 

2. When was the last time you cried? today!! i was watching a house through time. david olusoga got to me again

3. Do you like your handwriting? oh its a MESS, that’s why I never do those handwriting memes it’s an atrocity. I do like it though, in a weird way.

4. What is your favourite lunch meat? i don’t really eat meat much anymore, i generally have tuna instead

5. If you were another person, would you be friends with you? uh. i have no idea how i come across to other people so um. pass

6. Do you use sarcasm? i don’t like to because i think there are definitely better and more interesting ways to be funny. but also yeah, i do

7. Do you still have your tonsils? yep!

8. Would you bungee jump? jesus christ no.

9. What is your favourite kind on cereal? i don’t really have cereal either! but you know those mini weetabix with chocolate in? oh yeah. oh yeah 

10. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? haha never 

11. Do you think you’re a strong person? physically? no. mentally? also no

12. What is your favourite ice cream? anything like cookies and cream! but i also really like honeycomb too. it’s about the texture

13. What is the first thing you notice about people? eyes or hair... maybe teeth. idk it really depends on the person but i def latch onto a feature

14. What is the least favourite physical thing you like about yourself? ohhh don’t ask me this question. i don’t really like my face shape i think it’s very saggy and shapeless. would kill for that good good bone structure

15. What colour trousers and shoes are you wearing now? none....none colour. i’m wearing a dress and no shoes

16. If you were a crayon, what colour would you be? oh. purple or red?

17. Favourite smell? rain! on! tarmac! babey!

18. Who was the last person you spoke too on the phone? my cousin

19. Favourite sport to watch? absolutely not

20. Hair colour? blonde but not really

21. Eye colour? blue w/brown heterochromia

22. Do you wear contacts? no

23. Favourite food to eat? actually yes sushi. love the soosh

24. Scary movies or comedies? scary! but i love it when you get a bit of both.

25. Last movie you watched? i think it was grand budapest hotel? maybe EDIT: just remembered it’s love and friendship actually. Good film

26. What colour of shirt are you wearing? purple

27. Summer or Winter? summer

28. Hugs or Kisses? i’d literally kill to kiss someone right now

29. What book are you currently reading? janine, 1982 by alasdair gray and SUPPOSEDLY also the divine comedy but i’ve been very lazy with that

30. Who do you miss right now? my friends who don’t live so nearby :( i would like to hold them!!

31. What is on your mouse pad? my fucking          What

32. What is the last tv program you watched? house through time (see above, it was emotional)

33. Stones or Beatles? oh come on. neither ideally 

34. What is the furthest you travlled? galapagos islands!!!

35. Do you have a special talent? i’m approximately good at a few things... not sure i would say i’m exceptionally good at one in particular though

36. Where were you born? uhhh about 10 minutes drive from where i live now. 

Tagging whoever wants to do this, i’m not fussed rn!! 

[finnigan-thomas]

˜”*°•❦ 𝔰𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔭𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔯 ❦•°*”˜ [OC Teaser]

this is something quite different, but I really enjoyed doing this and I hope you guys enjoy reading it!

◤¤ He whistled along to Celestina Warbeck’s “Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck That Quaffle Here” as he stirred the contents of the cauldron four times clockwise, then two and a half times anti-clockwise. Even sooner than he had expected, his mother shouted down from the living room to the basement where he was working, threatening that whoever she caught singing the Puddlemere chant would be on De-Gnoming Duty next. He swiftly stopped whistling, but a small laugh escaped, he couldn’t help the chant being so catchy, nor his mother’s intense love of Quidditch. Holyhead Harpies were her team and, in their household, supporting any other was simply not an option. ¤◢

◤¤ His father, meanwhile, had begun to hum the chant from wherever he was in the house, most likely the kitchen. It took only a few seconds for his younger brother to join in from the top floor with the lyrics, a brave move considering he was most likely to be thrown over her shoulder as punishment, still being a small 10 year old. The Potioneer simply had no choice but to join in, bellowing the lyrics until the entire house was filled with the chant. Their mother didn’t know who to hunt down first, he heard a small “Sonorus” above their din, before her amplified voice overtook all three of theirs with an impassioned, “All of you. Tomorrow. De-gnoming. AND family Quidditch match.” That shut them all up. Groans echoed around the house, but none were brave enough to speak up and face her wrath. ¤◢

◤¤ The groans weren’t protests against the family Quidditch match, especially not from Alasdair, his younger brother, who had aspirations of playing for his Hogwarts house team, whichever house that may be. They mainly groaned because of the de-gnoming they would suffer through beforehand, in the freezing cold January weather. The Potioneer didn’t doubt that he and his father, who always played together, would be beaten once again and that they would have to suffer through an infamous Family Punishment for it. He didn’t particularly care for Quidditch so the loss wouldn’t bother him, only the punishment. Although he ordinarily preferred to spend his time making, creating and perfecting potions, or studying, he attended the Quidditch league matches every time the Harpies played, in order to spend quality time with his mother and brother, time he treasured. ¤◢

◤¤ The Potioneer understood that having a family, especially a family like his was a privilege: his parents loved each other and their two sons, they were caring and honest with one another and they didn’t have to worry about money, thanks to their parents’ hard work.

It wasn’t all daisies and dandelions though, his childhood hadn’t been without its difficulties, and some of those could be brought to mind with the mere murmur of the name Kalani. ¤◢

Kalani Bonaventure

⟿”the heaven’s good fortune”⬳

✥ “But Mummy, why can’t I help her?” the small 9 year old asked, the frown on his face breaking the innocence there. His mother had sighed and spoken very carefully, “Little Ami, the doctors are trying to help Kalani right now. Your potions can’t fix this pain.” She broke the news in a quiet voice, with her husband’s hand on her shoulder for support. The little boy looked heartbroken; he couldn’t help his best friend, not even the best of his talent could cure her. He visited her every day she was in hospital, bringing her sweets from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and chatting to her endlessly to try and raise her spirits, even when all she could do was listen. In the end, neither his efforts nor the doctors could help her, and ‘heaven’s good fortune’ travelled to her namesake. ✥

◤¤ Ever since that day, May 17th 2013, the Potioneer had struggled with the feeling of helplessness and sought to avoid at all costs. He doesn’t know what his future plans are or what he wants to do in life, all he knows is that he has a yearning, a need, to do something great. To make a difference somehow. ¤◢

“I don't want to be remembered for who I am, I want to be remembered for what I did, the impact I, Amadeus Ogden, left.

[atlantic-riona]

GIA CHILDE I AM HERE TO PROMPT LIKE A CRAZY CHICKEN okay so 4, 24 92, 97, 101, 110, and whatever you want honestly it doesn’t even have to be these pick and choose I AM HERE TO ENABLE YOUR WRITING

EXCELLENT I HOPE THESE SMALL OFFERINGS WILL MAKE YOU HAPPY

(I played fast and loose with the dialogue prompts, so like…in some of these the line doesn’t really get said! Also, I had to replace 97, because that one got a little bit spoiler-y, so instead I went with 13 and 59 (which is a slightly edited snippet I’ve written already but haven’t figured out where it goes yet). And not all of them are complete–most of them are just snippets that will probably appear in future chapters.)

4.“Who gave you that black eye?”

“Who gave you that black eye?” Gwydion demanded.

Alasdair gingerly fingered the area around said eye. “Someone wholooks and feels a lot worse than I do right now, hopefully.” Atleast, he’d be surprised if Val wasn’t curled up into a ball andmoaning to his friends like the coward that he was after the drubbingAly had given him. He’d spent quite a long time waiting to give Valhis comeuppance, and he’d be very disappointed if said comeuppancehadn’t been successful.

“Sit down. Now,” Gwydion said, nearly hissing the commandwhen Alasdair loitered by the door for a half-second too long.

He rolled his eyes, made his way across the tiny room, and floppedbackwards onto the bed. It creaked alarmingly under him. He snorted.“Shoddy workmanship.” Then again, not much was made for someoneof his height and build. But in his opinion, well-made furnitureought to hold up under any sort of person.

“Then build us a new one.”

He considered this in all seriousness, then shook his head indismissal. “You won’t be in Eblana Ladrem long enough for it tobe any use. Plus, I don’t think I could do it in time, what withschool and everything.”

“Oh, the great Aly finally admits that there’s something he can’tdo? Today is an interesting day.”

Kneeling down next to him on the bed, Gwydion leaned over to examinehis eye. In his hands was a small vial of…something.

Alasdair treated it to a suspicious glare. “What’s that?”

“Poison,” Gwydion replied in an absentminded way, reaching out togently trace the bruise. He winced. Even the light touch stung a bit.“And after I give it to you, you’re going to tell me exactly whatyou’ve been up to. Or else.”

“Or else what?”

Gwydion reached out and tweaked his nose, which he knew Alyhated, and grinned. “Or else I get Bran and you can tell himall about the adventures you’ve been having. Pick your poison.”He glanced at the vial. “It’s not actually poison, by the way;it’s an ointment—”

“I know.”

“I was only joking about—”

“I realized.”

“Touchy, touchy. Well?”

Alasdair sighed. “Is there a third option?”

“No.”

“Pity.”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

24.“We’re playing checkers. If you don’t like it,leave.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bran watched as his littlest brothersidled closer, nibbling at his lip. He returned his gaze to the boardbefore Conor could notice the attention. This process—which hadbeen going on for the last twenty minutes—repeated for another fivebefore he heard a voice pipe into his ear. “What’s that?”Conor’s tone was curious, but trying not to sound like it was.

“Your move,” Bran said to Art. To Conor: “It’s soldiers.”

Conor shuffled closer. “What’s that?”

This was the tricky part. If he showed too much interest, Conor wouldbolt. If he didn’t show enough, Conor would get annoyed and leaveanyway.

So he kept his eyes trained on his pieces as he answered, “It’s aValaviri game. Everybody plays it on the continent for fun. I wasjust teaching Art how to play.”

Across from them, Art sat back, narrowing his eyes at the board. Forsomeone who had only learned the basics of the game an hour ago, hewas proving to be a challenging opponent. Bran had barely managed tocorner one of his brother’s pieces, and even now he wasn’t toosure that Art wouldn’t find some way to escape.

When Conor didn’t say anything, Bran hesitated. But he hadbeen showing some interest, and he was still here…“Do youwant to know how to play?”

A shrug. “Okay.”

Well, it was something.

While they waited for Art to make his move, Bran explained the way itworked. Each side had a certain number of soldiers—usuallydistinguished by color traditionally, although right now they wereusing pebbles and shells—and the goal was to capture the board, orthe “city,” by trapping the opposing side’s soldiers with one’sown soldiers. Conor didn’t say anything as Bran demonstrated how tomove the pieces around, but he did lean in as Art finally decided tomove one of his pieces on the outer sides of the board, rather thansave the soldier that had been captured. Which left another piece ofhis wide open…

Bran plucked the captured soldier off the board, and was justreaching out to trap Art’s other piece when Conor tapped his hand.“Not that one.”

“Why not?”

Conor shifted an inch or two closer and pointed at another spot onthe board. “Move here instead.”

“Why?”

“Because…” He paused, then jerked his head at Bran andretreated a little ways. Bemused—but also a little pleased—Brangot up and followed him over to the other side of the room. When hebent down, Conor whispered, “Because he’s trying to trap you. Ifyou capture that piece, he’ll be able to get a bunch of yours inthe next ten moves. If you go where I told you to go, you can traphim instead.”

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92.“You’re so clingy, I love it.”

The streets were dark and wet. Only the moon shone down upon theslippery cobblestones. Cait hopped up onto the rail of the bridge andstrolled along it as if it were a safe, dry walkway instead of arotting, slick piece of wood.

Lucan resisted the impulse for about a minute before he caved andasked, “Could you not do that? You’re putting horrible visions ofyou falling and dying in my head.”

She twirled, shooting him a smug look over one shoulder. “Jealousof my talent?”

He closed his eyes and waited until the dizziness attacking his headstopped. “Please, Cait, we’re fifty feet up.”

“Only twenty-five,” she corrected, and skidded a little. Hesurged forward.

In apparent bewilderment, Cait examined the hand wrapped around herankle. The cool night air blew the loose strands of her hair backfrom her face as she looked from his hand to his face. Lucan triedtelling his fingers to let go, now that there was no danger, but theyseemed to have other ideas that overrode those mental commands;namely, that letting go would lead to certain death some thirty feetbelow for someone he considered a friend. Someone who could perhapsbe—a good friend. Yes, that was it. A good friend.

Suddenly she laughed: a short, delighted laugh that brought ananswering smile to his face. In one fluid motion she shook his handoff and jumped down. She didn’t land with catlike grace—her bootsmade an echoing thump when she hit the ground, and when shestraightened and started off down the bridge again, her stride couldbe charitably characterized as more of a spirited march than a smoothstroll—but it was graceful, nonetheless, in a way that was purelyCait.

“Wait up,” he called after her.

Already at the end of the bridge, she stopped and turned to wait forhim. “You’re awfully clingy tonight,” she observed.

“Sorry.” Lucan fell into step next to her as they made their waydown yet another unfamiliar street, and found himself wishing that hecould stay to learn its name. To walk these streets with her untilthey became as familiar as the back of his hand. To not know that, assoon as he found his quarry, he would leave and never return. Hestole a glance at her, so as to capture this moment deliberately inhis mind.

Cait’s head was down, and a small smile played about her mouth. Shelaughed again when she caught him looking at her, but more softlythis time. Her eyes crinkled just before she laughed, he noticed. “Idon’t mind,” she admitted. “I like spending time with you.”

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101.“Don’t be an asshole. Asshole.”

Marian shoved him. “Hey! What was that for?” he protested.

“For being an absolute menace to the population at large!”

“Marian. Are you calling me a menace for not being able todistinguish between different shades of blue?” Aly’s tone wasincredulous bordering on ‘politely concerned for her sanity’.

“Yes! You shouldn’t do things like that in public!” Shesniffled, only halfway caring how illogical she sounded. As long ashe didn’t realize the true cause of her almost-tears, it didn’tmatter. And for a minute, she thought her ploy would work.

“Well, excuse me for never having set foot in such a ‘highquality establishment’ before, where such lowly beings as myselfget looked down upon for not knowing the difference between blue and,uh, turquoise blue or azure—” He paused. “Thisisn’t about the colors, is it.”

“Of course it is! What else would it be about?”

“Oh, I don’t know, my brother?”

She turned her nose up. “I’m certain I haven’t the faintestidea what you’re talking about.”

Alasdair gave her a long, long stare. “You’re not a very goodliar, you know. I can always tell when you’re bluffing.”

Summoning all the tattered scraps of her composure, she drew themaround herself before facing him. “Who’s bluffing?”

He puffed out his cheeks. “According to you, my skills at dealingwith emotions could use work, so please don’t make me strain themwhile I drag the answer out of you.”

His teasing tone irked her. She wasn’t in the mood right now.“Don’t be an asshole. Asshole.”

He gasped. “Mar! Such language! What would Bran think?” Heelbowed her. “Do you write about me in your diary?”

The subject change had given her such whiplash that it took her amoment to process the question.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 

110.“Quit stalling. Where’s your father?”

“Quit stalling. Where’s your father?”

Oh, this was wretched. This was absolutely wretched. Marian lookedwildly to her right, where Bran had flattened himself against thewall, staring at her with wide eyes. He shook his head and mouthed,Not yet. Beyond him, Alasdair hunched over her father’sdesk, meticulously replacing papers as fast as he dared. If he wenttoo swiftly, the rustling of the papers would draw attention.

“Marcus,” the prince reproved in a long-suffering tone, beforeturning back to her with an apologetic expression. “Sorry abouthim. Look, we really need to speak to your father, so if we couldjust…”

Without thinking, she moved to block his path to the door of thestudy. “He’s not in right now.” She was amazed at how easilythe lie came out. Behind her back, she made hasty (and subtle)flapping motions indicating the need to speed things up. “ShallI—that is, I’ll tell him you were looking for him when he getsback,” she said, remembering Bran’s story about misdirection.Phrase what you want them to do as a statement, not as a question,and most people won’t push further. And don’t give them time todwell. “In the meantime, would you like something to drink? Inthe triclinium, perhaps?”

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 

(I replaced 97.“I don’t need a hero, I need a husband” with 13. “Looks like we’re gonna be stuckhere for a while” and 59. “How do I even put up with you?”)

13. “Looks like we’re gonna be stuck here for a while.”

“Looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a while,” Artsaid, kicking at the loose dirt. A pebbled rolled off to the side,into the darkness, where it made a surprisingly loud clunk. Somethingshifted above them. They froze.

When it seemed likely that the ceiling wasn’t going to collapse onthem yet, Alasdair reached out—slowly—to grip Art’s shoulder.“Maybe move a bit more carefully, okay?”

His mouth had gone dry. He touched the papers inside his bag, to besure they were still safe, and then nodded. Then he remembered thatit was too dark for Aly to really see the nod, so he said out loud,“Right. Got it.”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

59. “How do I even put up with you?”

“Who’s a good boy?” Alasdaircrooned. “That’s right, you! You are!” He held the puppy up tohis face with childlike glee.

“He is not a good boy,” she saidfrom her seat by the window. “He is the least good boy I know.”

Alasdair gasped and clutched thepuppy to his chest. “You take that back.”

“I will not,” Marian saiddefiantly. “The little monster chewed up all of my sewing today. Doyou know how expensive silk is?”

“He is not a monster!” Thepuppy’s ears were covered as Alasdair glared at her over its head.“You take that back right now. Apologize to Puppy.”

She couldn’t help it; she threwback her head and laughed. “I can’t take you seriously when youcall it ‘Puppy,’ Alasdair. Give it a real name, won’t you?”

“Puppy,” he said with emphasis,“is not an it. Puppy is a he. And he’s not a monster, soapologize.”

“I refuse,” she said, stickingher nose in the air.

Boots thumped against the floor asAlasdair jumped to his feet. “Puppy and I,” he announced withgreat dignity, “are leaving.”

He was halfway out the window beforeMarian thought he might actually be serious. She rushed over as hevanished outside. “Alasdair?” The night wind, cool and gentle,ruffled her hair. Below, there was only blackness. “Alasdair?”She bit her lip. “I take it back; Puppy’s not a monster.”

“Ha,” said a supremely satisfiedvoice above her. Marian shrieked and stumbled backwards as Alasdair’shead popped into view, his green eyes shining like a cat’s. “Iknew that would work.”She clapped a hand to her chest,breathing hard. In front of her, Puppy panted cheerfully, his tinytail beating a happy rhythm against Alasdair’s chest where he wasbeing cradled ever so tenderly. In deference to Puppy’s sensitiveears, Marian decided against swearing and instead fixed her glareupon an unfazed, smirking Alasdair. “You are the most aggravating—”

“I know,” Aly said sweetly. Heclambered back into the room, obviously pleased with himself. “I’maggravating, irritating, horrible, terrible, no-good, devious, tootall, and I have no taste in shirts.”

“Well, at least you saved me thebreath and time of having to tell you yet again,” Marian sniped.

“And I could fix the shirt problemif you would just let me—”

“The day you pick out my clothesis the day I—oh, wait, that’ll never happen,” Alasdair shotback, still grinning. “Ever.”

“Just a little embroidery—”

Alasdair turned away, cradlingPuppy, and for a moment Marian worried that she might haveaccidentally hit a true nerve in their familiar argument; but then hegrinned at her over his shoulder. “Hush,” he said with mockconcern. “Puppy shouldn’t have to see us fight.”

“Oh, you,” Marian said, morerelieved than she cared to admit. “How do I even put up with you?”

“I have no idea,” Alasdair said,squinting down at Puppy. “I’m told that I can be somewhat of ahandful.”

“Who said that?”

“My professors.”

“Was this before or after youcaused multiple explosions at the university?”

“No comment.”