#imogen’s hair in front of her eye was for once NOT because of other eye issues (it was a good eye for once) but instead forehead issues :/

[lavender-temult]

Wild to me that I haven’t done this redraw before

[quietblueriver]

one word prompt: intention

Hi!! Thanks so much for the prompt. Had a few minutes to write and it's Thursday (woo!) so here's some soft Imogen-centric Imodna fluff with a little bit of violence at the start.

-

Imogen has always loved the smell of rain. It’s in the air now, the sharp scent at the back of her mouth, but it’s tainted, covered with layers that press against her tongue and turn her stomach–burnt hair and singed flesh and something she thinks might be fear, made manifest in human sick and ammonia and she can’t even hear the cries of pain anymore, much less taste them, smell them, but it feels almost like she can.

Her eyes roam over the bodies strewn in the tall grass around her, collapsed over and under and against each other, brutalized and mutilated and motionless.

Like pick-up sticks. The thought comes unbidden and Imogen’s breath catches in her throat, stuck between a laugh and a sob, both hysterical and neither able to make it into the world. It’s enough to unfreeze her hands and her body, which begin to shake and shake and shake. 

I didn’t mean to, she thinks to herself. “I didn’t mean to,” she says aloud, desperate, a confession and a plea, because she’s not a monster, is she? And maybe that’s a lie, because she’s always known there’s something not quite right with her, and everyone else has known it, too, has said it or thought it or scrawled it across the little shed daddy used for storing tools, across the slate Imogen used in school.

Freak. 

Freak. 

She snaps back into herself, body stilled and determined, reminded that there’s something more important, someone more important, and she turns to see Laudna, body hunched against the sturdy, ancient trunk of the oak tree behind her, fragile legs splayed in front of her, one hand limp at the nasty wound on her torso while the other rests palm up on the ground. 

Pushing back the flash of anger that whites her sight and heats her hands, she runs the few steps it takes to reach her, smoothing back long dark hair and tucking it carefully behind the ever present gold cuffs. A deep breath steadies her, and she’s well past questioning the comfort of the faint smell of decay, of wilting flowers and the leaves of the forest floor in fall. 

They have to go. They have to go now, and she doesn’t want to move her, not like this, but there’s no choice. With a wince, she takes Laudna’s hand from the wound and bites her lip, retrieving the maroon shawl that had fallen from Laudna’s shoulders during the ambush and wrapping it as tightly as she dares around her waist, the best she can do to keep pressure until they make it somewhere safer. 

A small whimper causes Imogen’s chest to seize with empathy and affection, and she shushes reflexively, cupping Laudna’s jaw. “I know, honey. I know. I’m so sorry.” Furrowed eyebrows settle and Imogen lets herself run her index finger down the cool, clammy skin between them once before she starts to move. 

“Okay,” she breathes to herself, leaning back so that she can adjust Laudna’s limbs, slip an arm around her waist and under her knees and lift. A few of the men had ridden, and thankfully their horses are not terribly far away at the fenceline. Laudna weighs almost nothing but it’s enough that Imogen’s grateful for long afternoons with sacks of grain and bales of hay as she begins to walk as carefully and quickly as she can.

A groan from behind stills her. Maybe not dead, then. She adjusts to take in the scattered bodies one last time, the smears of black and red and pink. Her eyes stop on one of them, angry flesh visible through a half-burned sleeve, arm stretched toward a thick coil of rope he would never get the chance to put around Laudna’s neck. 

Jaw clenching, shock and regret fade further into the recesses of her mind, anger filling in the space. She may not have meant to do it, but she would gladly do it again. She will learn how to do it again. 

Her hands pull Laudna’s body just a little tighter against her own as she leaves the mob behind. It takes nothing to ignore the next noise of pain she hears, the little prickles of one or two deeply unpleasant returns to consciousness that reach her mind before she reaches the horses. 

Laudna’s awake but more out of it than Imogen has ever seen her by the time she’s maneuvering them both into the saddle, slurred questions about Imogen’s well-being on her tongue and in her thoughts. 

“Hush, darlin’. I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about,” Imogen says as she settles them so that she can keep Laudna tight to her front. It’s going to hurt her; there’s no getting around it, and she apologizes sincerely but doesn’t slow them down when Laudna gasps back into a fuller consciousness at the pain. She nods at the apology as she tucks her head against Imogen’s chest and moves her hands to squeeze at Imogen’s forearm where it’s flexed above her wound to keep them together. The metal of her ear cuff is sharp against Imogen’s sternum as they ride. 

Smells like rain. The thought floats absently from Laudna, part of a largely incoherent set not seeking or requiring a response. Imogen, who has never been happier to hear nonsense, hums in agreement anyway, knowing Laudna will feel it. 

Later, she tells Laudna that the scent was Imogen herself, that she became a summer storm, sudden and unforgiving in its violence. Laudna’s wide eyes track the scars spreading over Imogen’s hands and wrists until Imogen offers them up, cool fingertips exploring carefully. There is fear in her eyes when she’s finished, but it doesn’t sting, because Imogen doesn’t need to read minds to know that Laudna is not scared of her but for her. 

“I’m gonna learn how to control it,” she says into the night between them, and Laudna squeezes at her fingers encouragingly. 

“Of course you will, dearest,” she affirms with the kind of soft affection that makes Imogen confused. “You’re very capable.” 

Much later, Imogen learns to control it, at least as much as she can. She fights with Laudna and for Laudna and gains a new family and fights with them and for them, too. She grows used to the blend of petrichor and iron and sweat that clings to her more often than not, and the lightning that springs from her is full of intention. She is glad, more than once, that her daddy made her hard. She is scared, more than once, of the way that it makes her feel to have that much power, to be able to hurt, to choose to hurt, to, in the worst parts of herself, enjoy it when she makes that choice. 

“I am the storm,” she says, and she means it, but she means it just as much when she tells Laudna not to let go. She doesn’t want to be untethered. She doesn’t want to lose herself. Laudna doesn’t understand but she listens, and they are moored together. 

Eventually, body scarred and lightning licking at her heart, she is given the option to pass the mantle. There is a new group, eager and younger and capable, if a little lost. Laudna’s cool hand wrapped in hers, she chooses to stop. It is more difficult than she would have hoped. 

Eventually, they spend hours sitting on a porch they’ve decorated with colorful potted plants and rocking chairs and a table Imogen made herself. If they are outside on days when a storm is coming, Laudna will stare at the clouds and take a sip of her tea and say, “I love the smell of the rain. Don’t you, dearest?” And Imogen will see the curl of her lip and know exactly what she means. 

“I prefer the smell of fall,” she says every time, always a little bashful and always rewarded with a smile that reminds her that she may be the storm, but she is more than that, chooses to be more than that, too.

[unikittybigbrightworldau]

This is the last day of our trip, everyone. It went by so quickly, but I’d like to give my deepest thanks to everybody who participated!

[Image Description: Three drawings of pairings consisting of OCs from the Big Bright World AU.

Image 1: Trey and Imogen are floating in the air together, a la Howl and Sophie in Howl’s Moving Castle. Trey is behind Imogen, holding both of her hands. He is looking at her while appearing to be hopping off of his right leg. The bottom of Imogen’s cloak is bent in a way that looks like she has one leg up. She looks surprised and a little nervous to be this high up.

Image 2: Phil and Marmotter, who is known as Armot colloquially, are sitting on a low porch and having tea together. Phil is a humanoid being with a square head and square hands. He has poofy hair and a small beard. He is wearing a zipped-up, long sleeved coat, a pair of pants and some low-top shoes. Armot is a marmoset-otter hybrid with an otter’s tail and nose, but a marmoset’s feet and hair tufts. He wears a long-sleeved dance shirt and a pair of trousers. Their tea stand is between them, and it has a square tray with a half-empty pitcher and a full cup on it. Phil is looking down at his full cup of tea with a gentle smile. Armot is sipping his with his eyes closed. Both of them are holding their cups with both hands.

Image 3: Marlibut and Dave Seaweed. Marlibut, who is often known as Marley, is a marlin/halibut hybrid with both of his eyes on one side of his head. They are happily closed. He has a long, swordlike nose, a pointy fin on his head, and a halibut’s top and bottom fin on his body. He has a crescent-shaped tail fin and long, thin arms. Dave is a patch of seaweed made up of three seaweed fronds. His face and arms are on the front frond, and he gets around on a small semicircular stump. He is looking up at Marlibut and smiling. Dave is holding Marley’s right hand with both of his, and Marley has his left hand behind Dave’s back.

/End ID.]

Today is our second free space! Just like yesterday, it’s a day to take us wherever you’d like to. You can show me which of the other OCs from the Big Bright World AU you ship, you can do something with your other ships from the show, or you can do more with the previous five ships we’ve done! Just try to keep things Big Bright World and canon related, and be mindful of everyone’s orientations.

Here are my final surprises for you guys! If anyone here has seen Howl’s Moving Castle, then we’ve got Imogen and Trey floating in the air the way Howl and Sophie did. I also decided to shine some light on the relationships of Big Bright World’s background characters. Phil and Marmotter, aka Armot, are a queerplatonic pair of guys who live in Swan Lake, and they’re sitting together and enjoying tea. In that last one, there’s some sweetness between Dave Seaweed and Marlibut, some citizens of Marevi.

I can’t wait to see what you’ve got today! If you had anything planned for any of the previous days, but you couldn’t do it, you can still post your entries even after today is over! You don’t need to stop just because the week is done. As I’ve said before, I’ll take any late entries!

Once again, thank you so much for participating!

[starchildghost]

every word I say is kindling (but the smoke clears when you're around) - a Laudna/Imogen au, chapter 3/3: may your peace walk on with you for a while. also on ao3.

/

It takes time - longer than you had thought, so much so that you grow a bit fearful, a decidedly mortal emotion you had thought deadened inside of you - for either of them to notice.

It’s Laudna, of course, who does first. Her threads are all blue and the once-black of Delilah that chokes her; red is a color she hasn’t associated with since the last of it bled out of Matilda’s hands as she wrenched herself from the Sun Tree. It’s natural that she’s startled by the wave of red that hits her - red tether, red moon, red fury, red end. She’s used to only two voices in her head (three, if you count her ratbird) - she startles at the new, overwhelming one.

Startles, and feels revulsion creep in. You have put so much on the woman’s shoulders; she grows tired of it. Tired of fate.

Laudna, still biding her time on her airship, does not react to the affront on her consciousness; she waits for whatever lies on the other side to make its move.

/ 

Imogen’s dwellings within her mother’s domain aren’t humble by any means; she is a Temult, their savior, and her abode must reflect that. The Ruby Vanguard, however, dealing in secrets and keeping themselves from drawing too much attention, doesn’t allow for too much luxury. Imogen did have herself a rare luxury amongst them: a mirror in her private chambers, an object usually reserved for group areas. Mirrors are fragile and difficult to obtain, so far from bustling markets and the prying eyes of the commonfolk - it’s only because she’s a Temult that she’s been allowed one of her own.

Imogen’s attitude towards it shifted as she did - her purple sparks were beautiful - her itching skin that cracked apart with that same pulsing power was hideous - the hair that damns her, marks her as a Temult, makes her look so much like Liliana is horrific, and so is the mirror.

On this occasion, however, the mirror is a curiosity. Imogen rises for her morning tasks and nearly misses it - has no reason to linger on the mirror and so she doesn’t, until something catches the corner of her eye.

A portion of the mirror is much darker than any part of her own room is - it’s not a reflection at all, but a look at something.

At someone.

A woman sits curled up amongst some crates, using magic to propel a tiny husk of a rat (with a bird’s skull) along in front of her. She is speaking - or perhaps singing? - to herself, to the corpse, Imogen can’t hear. The scene is dark, and the woman and her magic are too, other than her deathly pale skin. “Hello?” Imogen asks aloud, stretching her hand towards the mirror before she can think of anything more logical to do.

The woman looks up, alarmed, and- the connection cuts out, leaving Imogen’s hand to touch its own reflection instead.

But Imogen Temult has more than one way to communicate. Who are you? She thinks, her eyes boring holes into the mirror, seeking the woman she’s sure she didn’t invent.

There is no response, and the only thoughts for Imogen to read are the buzzing drivel from the Ruby Vanguard.

The days pass like this, at first - a reflection of a woman she can’t reach in the mirror - a dead rat with a bird’s skull dancing in the reflection of a puddle - a song in a woman’s voice whose melody shakes her soul but whose words she can’t quite make out.

For the first time in many years, Imogen Temult feels excitement. She tells no one - she has always been told she’s been destined for important things and that others won’t understand, and she’s decided that “others” includes the Ruby Vanguard as well as the commonfolk. Liliana, well, Liliana just seems glad that Imogen returned back to the encampment, and largely leaves her alone to chase wisps of a woman who might not exist.

If it’s her psyche breaking, well, Imogen’s just glad it’s happening in a way that can make her happy.

For her part, the woman doesn’t seem surprised to see her after that first morning. Imogen doesn’t see her smile often, unless the rat is at the forefront of her attention, but her expression when she’s alone seems to always be calculating, judging. Imogen’s certain that the woman is sizing her up - which must mean their connection goes both ways.

The Ruby Vanguard does not have an extensive library, and what they have does not mention you. You are, after all, the opposite of what they strive for. Imogen devours every book, every manuscript, every scrap of information she can get her hands on (or her mind into), but nothing conclusively leads her towards what this connection might actually be.

It matters not; she knows she hasn’t reached a dead end, because she sees the woman more and more frequently, a ghost in her vision as your tether truly takes root. It’s so taut neither can move in a way that matters without the other feeling it, and Imogen, so used to tuning others out, is extremely aware of the other woman’s presence.

Where she showed to Laudna as a wall of red, red, red, Laudna’s presence in Imogen’s mind is much softer; she is a symphony without words, a gentle and soothing lullaby against the buzzing and droning that other people’s minds fill Imogen up with.

Imogen reaches her mind out to that music constantly, but has yet to receive any response.

Until, that is, Laudna softens. It isn’t intentional on the warlock’s nor her patron’s end; rather, the two are caught - literally - sleeping. It’s unclear to Laudna and to yourself, really, just how entwined Delilah’s consciousness is with hers - perhaps Delilah knew Imogen was coming and allowed her to see, or Laudna’s exhaustion became her patron’s and they were equally powerless in the face of this new bond.

Imogen began her day as had become customary to her - she reached her mind along the tether, aching to see the woman she’s decided means her destiny is taking hold - and, to her surprise, her whole world jolts into that cramped, dark storage space she’d seen that first day.

The woman is not alone.

It’s not the dead ratbird, who rests on her lap, clearly drifted from her grasp as she fell asleep. No - Imogen sees a shadow on the woman that she hasn’t been able to before.

The woman leans against a dark, wooden wall, and by all rights there shouldn’t be a shadow at all - it’s not bright enough where she is. Nonetheless, a much bigger woman is outlined behind her - Imogen can’t glean too much from only a silhouette, but as her eyes frantically take in the scene (already she feels her grasp on the tether slipping, already she knows she will be forced away) they can’t help but trail to where the shadow’s hands seem to rest - dark fingers compressing around the woman’s throat even as she begins to shake out of her slumber.

“Hello,” she rasps, meeting Imogen’s gaze with a crooked smile, seemingly amused at what she sees (Imogen can only imagine what face she must be making - any attempt to fix her expression proves futile, however: a messiah is not trained in how to school her expression) as she just tips into alertness. The storage space is already fading around Imogen, dark wood and crates giving way to sunlight streaming through a window, but Imogen can just make out the woman’s next words- “I think we’re each other’s fates.”

/ 

Things spiral from there, just as you hoped they would. Imogen has begun to realize that you have taken the thread of her fate in your hands and twisted it from her - you have wrenched what Liliana had created for her and twisted, twisted, twisted, reshaped it into something else.

It’s little things, adding up to make a clear picture in Imogen’s mind. A member of the Ruby Vanguard reaches out to stop her, thoughtlessly, forgetting those whom she touches burn - and when their hand reaches her shoulder they remember to flinch away but not before making the briefest of contact - it should have run them through, would have done so just a week before, but instead it’s the briefest zap. Imogen hears the sound, continues pushing through to her mother. It’s the buzzing of the thoughts of the Ruby Vanguard - she pushes them away, sometimes physically pushes them away, gives herself space; finds she can’t compel them anymore, her feelings to them merely a whispered suggestion now.

The Vanguard accept this with reverence; their messiah is settling in, affirming herself to their purpose. She isn’t the child they had grown to fear; no, she returns their love, look at how she’s begun to care for them.

Imogen thinks her spark has begun to dim, and she knows just who to blame.

 /

In the end, Imogen Temult and Laudna meet just the once. Imogen stands at the edge of her world, looking at the mountain that makes up her horizon, and she feels the approach of that symphony that’s been drowning out her powers since the other woman opened up to their connection.

She should be seething, she thinks. She should muster so much of the storm that the woman will fry where she stands. The world of the Ruby Vanguard should be marked by two graves struck by lightning; she, their messiah, should facilitate it.

Instead, she stands in the middle of the destruction she had wrought not too long ago, a circle of crisp, dead plants, in a field full of flowers blowing in a breeze, and she watches the approach of the woman whose shadow eclipses more of the world than it has any right to.

“It’s you,” Imogen can’t speak above a whisper, finds herself choked up by the woman’s presence - afraid of what it means. Imogen had spent years crippling anyone who approached, spent years crippled herself by their presence - this woman brings only music with her. There’s no headache on either side, no words to drown out.

“It is.” Laudna agrees. She isn’t afraid. She smiles at Imogen, and there are more teeth in that smile than Imogen has ever seen before. Laudna ghosts her hand over Imogen’s cheekbone; there is no electricity to stop her. Imogen has never had someone so close to her, and her breath catches.

Imogen wishes she could immolate her on the spot; she knows she could not draw the power to do so even if she wished to. Laudna’s eyes twinkle.

“Why did you do this?” Imogen asks even as she leans into the other woman’s touch. “Why are you interrupting my destiny?”

“Destiny?” She echoes, with a laugh. “Sweet girl, it was no more your destiny to bring about the apocalypse than it is mine to be the hero. People should be kinder than the gods that eat them. We are both vessels for people much worse than us. The difference,” she angles her face down towards Imogen’s, whispers has if telling her a secret, “is that I’ve come to the conclusion I can empty you of yours.”

Imogen tenses and reaches for Laudna’s chest, bunches the fabric of her dress in her fists, unsure what she even intends to do. Laudna’s hands close around her wrists. “Is that such a bad thing?” Laudna rasps, her whisper barely coming out around her broken vocal chords, head tilted toward Imogen but cocked on the angle that was the end of Matilda. “Why should the godeater’s outcomes for you be natural, and the path you forge on your own obscene?” Her grip tightens, and Imogen wills her power forward, taking the effort to muster up what was once unavoidable for her, sparks flying through her cracked skin into the other woman. Laudna continues speaking as if she doesn’t feel a thing, ranting at her patron, at Imogen’s, at you - “Do you intend to let them have every part of you, Imogen Temult? To take all that was good and all that was rotten and every ounce of potential in you and eat you up? To let them keep whispering to you that you’re right on the verge of realizing something, gaining something real and true, walking on a path that is not yours and that you did not choose, a baited fucking lure to a godsdamned noose-” she releases Imogen’s wrists, turns away from the woman, looks towards the heavens, screams to Delilah, to you, to Predathos, any who may hear - “doesn’t that make you ashamed? To scavenge off our lives, when they’re all we have?”

Her chest heaves with the effort of shouting, and she slowly turns towards Imogen, who had reached for her once more. Imogen’s fingers, still glowing with the pulsing power that marked her as a savior, lightly skim over the dead woman’s jaw. Imogen Temult, who had long since thought she would never be able to be close to another human being, leans into the woman whom she cannot shock, and before she can stop to think, she kisses her.

Laudna is not fast to react, but when she does, it is with need, with hunger that has defined her existence. She deepens the kiss, nibbles at Imogen’s bottom lip. They both feel a click, a sense of belonging that they’d wanted their whole lives, and then - it ends.

They stand together, Imogen’s head against Laudna’s still chest, taking in the flowers and the breeze, separate from either of their worlds, on the cusp of something new, until Imogen, a savior who knows she can no longer do any saving, a messiah who was not raised to know patience, has to ask: “Why are you here? Really, why are you here?”

Laudna doesn’t move, doesn’t turn her gaze to the other woman. “I’m going to kill your mother and burn this fucking cult to the ground.”

“Why?”

“Because the woman in my head wants to use their power to her own ends, and I cannot allow that. As long as they live, she will use me to reach for them, for the power they’ve amassed here, and it is my lot in my unlife to keep her with me and stop her from entering your world. I do what I must.” Laudna states it all, matter-of-fact, having thought about it for as long as she’s known they existed.

“If she… uses you to reach for it, how are you stopping her now?”

Laudna finally looks at Imogen, her mouth opening into a crooked smile made more crooked by the bend in her neck. “She thinks she’s all-powerful, but I absorb power for the both of us, not just for her. I am not her dog eating table scraps. I have my tricks, and when Delilah awakes again, I’ll simply tell her there was infighting in the cult, and Liliana Temult and their little moon beacon didn’t survive the fight.” There’s mirth dancing in her eyes.

Imogen absorbs this all, thinks of the broken people who come to her mother out of desperation, not out of desire for the red end. Knows that she no longer possesses the power to unleash the storm on the world even if she had ever wanted to - feels Laudna’s thoughts but cannot read them. “Will you - will you let them run, if they want to?”

“Oh, most of them will run, I expect. I won’t stop them. Unless you want me to?” For the first time, Imogen’s opinion seems to matter to her.

“No, I… no, let them go, if you can.”

Laudna nods, begins to walk towards the encampment, leaving Imogen behind in the ring of dead plants. “Wait!” Laudna stops, turns towards Imogen. “What will I do?”

A small, genuine smile from the dead woman. “Your path will be your own.”

“Will I ever see you again?”

Laudna stills, looks towards the sky and squints before locking eyes with Imogen. “Sweet girl. There is a whole world. Pray that you don’t.” She turns, again, to walk towards the death and blood you have always intended for her, and then stops, and smiles again at Imogen. “May your peace find you on a lonely road, Imogen Temult.”

Laudna makes her way towards the encampment of the Ruby Vanguard. She does not turn back. Imogen looks toward the mountain - the edge of her world so long as she has lived, and she begins to walk.

[conditionaljewel]

An Aria for Imogen - Chapter 2

(Chapter 1)

About a month passed since Imogen and Laudna welcomed baby Aria into the world. Born with misty purple eyes and already showing signs of having similarly colored hair, Aria had been nothing but a blessing for the Temults ever since she arrived. With the nursery prepared for her arrival, and Pate on his best behavior, the first handful of weeks went by like a breeze.

That is not to say that it did not have it’s troubles. While parenthood was a new concept to both of them of course, childbirth did have its impact on Imogen, and left her feeling quite weak for a handful of days thereafter. Laudna did her best to care for Imogen and the baby all at once, and even had the help of Fearne for a few days, after she got antsy and wanted to come meet the baby and shower all of them with gifts. The girls had graciously accepted and welcomed her into their home, and Fearne took to Aria quite quickly, allowing Laudna to help Imogen get back to her full strength.

Ever since the night Imogen had opened her mind and heard Aria’s thoughts for the first time, she had decided she was going to treat her just like she would any other person — by blocking them out, but only once they became coherent. During those first few days and weeks of having Aria, Imogen had taken off her Circlet and allowed her mind to remain open while Aria was feeding. For the first time, Imogen was hearing Laudna’s melodic harmony from wherever she was in the house in conjunction with their daughter’s beautiful, albeit simple vocalizations. There was no words, no ideas or phrases, not even imagery to go off of at first; just an out-of-pitch song of noises that did sound displeasing.

After Imogen and Laudna had discussed the matter, they had agreed that only while Aria was a baby and toddler, and until she could better understand the world and communicate her needs clearly, would Imogen open her mind to Aria’s thoughts. Only if she absolutely needed to — in case of emergency, essentially. These first few months were different, they had reasoned with one another, because while they acknowledged Aria is her own person, judging by these first few days of exploration, she wasn’t yet able to formulate a coherent thought, and so there was not much to grasp onto. Imogen didn’t view it as if she were invading her privacy, which is how she often felt when she would hear others’ thoughts before she discovered the Circlet, and before she learned to control her innate abilities.

As it were, Imogen’s powers had its benefits in helping to raise a baby, as Imogen was able to pick up insight into moments when Aria was crying or being particularly fussy. They both knew that a day would come when Imogen may finally hear something that she didn’t want to, or need to, but until then, and just in Aria’s best interests, she would only listen in when it was absolutely called for, and only until Aria could communicate on her own.

In a matter of just two short weeks, Imogen fully recovered and was back on her feet to her typical extent. They began to welcome a rotation of guests through their door in small groups purely out of happenstance. Fearne stopped by a few more times, including once with Ashton, FCG and FRIDA all in one visit. Chetney and Deanna also made time to travel from Uthodurn to the Heartmoor to meet Aria, with Deanna gifting her a beautiful woven blanket. The border coloring nearly matched Aria’s eyes, and the decorative portrait that had been woven into it featured Pate holding hands with Sashimi in front of their home. Laudna absolutely adored it and thanked Deanna up and down for days for it.

The last visitors, and the most awaited visit as a result, were Orym and Dorian. They had planned it for weeks in advance, because it would be Dorian’s first trip to the Heartmoor, having been unable to join the Bell’s Hells on their first journey here those few years prior. Orym had visited the girls here several times before the baby was born, like most everyone else had been able to in between their everyday lives, but Dorian had become quite busy back home that for a period of time, he found himself unable to leave the Silken Squall if for no other reason than he had simply missed it all that time while he was away.

But now, time finally afforded both men the opportunity and the occasion to make their first joint trip to the girls’ home. With that mindset, Imogen communicated with Orym several times a day discussing plans for their stay. They wouldn’t be able to stay long, so they had decided on two nights in town given the rest of the boys’ itinerary and plans around the region. Orym insisted that he and Dorian would stay at an inn, not wanting to impose on the new moms or the baby, even despite Imogen and Laudna’s insistence that they wouldn’t be imposing and that they had the space.

It was moot, however, as Orym and Dorian’s first stop in town was the Sodden Grange Inn to find a room and put their things down. They didn’t linger there for long, wanting to arrive at the Temults’ home before night began to fall, and it was already well past midday. They paid up their coin for the room for two nights, scampered up to their modestly prepared corner suite, and quickly freshened themselves up from their long journey to best look presentable for their friends.

Meanwhile, across town at the Temult homestead, Imogen and Laudna were separately preparing for their expected guests. Aria was sound asleep in a bassinet just off to the side between the dining room and kitchen, which is where Imogen currently was. She hummed to herself, milling to and fro about the kitchen collecting spices and other ingredients for their evening’s meal. As she traipsed through the space on light and airy feet as she danced to her little song, her path carried her around to the back of the kitchen where a large bay window looked out over the garden. She stopped in place there and peered through the windowpane to see Laudna crouched low in one of the beds of soil plucking a few fresh tomatoes off their vine.

The light was fading as the late midday sky started to transition to night, but from her vantage point Imogen could still see pretty clearly. It quickly became obvious to her that Laudna’s bushel was nearly full of tomatoes and other vegetables that she’d plucked. Imogen watched as Laudna reached for and took one last tomato from its vine, only for one of the tomatoes that had already been placed in the bushel to fall onto the ground. Laudna was quick to pick it up in the same hand that held the freshly cultivated one, and brushed the dirt off before she put them into the bushel, both now perched precariously on the edge and tempting the fates to fall once more.

Laudna stood from her crouched position in the tomato bed, carefully now as she didn’t want any more of her produce to fall and hit the ground. She used her free arm to cautiously hold everything in place in the bushel as she rose, ensuring their safety thus far. She caught Imogen’s gaze in the window looking out at her as she turned, and flashed her a smile. Before taking another step, and sensing the gathered goods were secure, Laudna reached down with her free hand and grabbed the hem of her skirt. She bunched up a fistful into her hand and pulled it up, exposing her long, ghostly white, rail-thin legs to the cool night air. She started to step carefully through the soil bedding trying to avoid stepping on anything still growing, taking little steps one by one.

Imogen watched as her raven-haired belle daintily tip-toed through the maze of the bed, Laudna’s bare feet sinking into the fresh soil and loam of their garden, allowing her to feel the dirt between her toes for a second. As Laudna neared the edge, still holding the bushel close to her with her forearm, she began to playfully hop from foot to foot through the rest of the garden; like a ballet dancer leaping across the stage during a performance, the bits of Laudna’s skirt that were free flowed behind her as she leapt, taking the shape of her leg as it rode up in her stride for the last two steps of her exit. A completely unnecessary show when she was already so close to the grassy edge, but she couldn’t resist the urge to have a a little fun.

Laudna landed gracefully outside the bounds of the garden patch, and dropped her skirt back to the ground. Imogen grinned as she rose her hands and gave a small round of applause as Laudna began to trek back toward the backdoor of the homestead. Imogen turned on her heel and walked through the house in the same direction as Laudna toward the back door.

As Laudna entered the house, brushing her feet off on the rug laying just inside the doorway, Imogen met her to collect the gathered goods from her arms. Having closed the distance and seeing her in the light now, Imogen let out a little giggle as she saw dirt tracked all over Laudna’s forehead and cheeks. “How in the Gods’ names…” she said in a playful exasperation as she licked her thumb and placed it up to Laudna’s forehead, wiping the dirt clean. “You’re like a child, I swear,” she said as Laudna laughed unashamedly while Imogen made her best attempt at grooming her.

“You act like I’m caked in mud, darling,” Laudna said as she raised the bushel up a little higher in an effort to get Imogen to turn her focus elsewhere. “It’s just a bit of dirt, though I do love your touch, always.”

Imogen trailed her hand down Laudna’s cheek and across her lips, Laudna giving her a soft kiss as expected. In the same motion, Imogen reached up from underneath with her other hand and braced the bushel from under Laudna, and began to gather it in her grasp.

“Go wash up, darlin’,” Imogen said while Laudna relinquished her hold on the bushel, slipping her arm out from its handle as she felt Imogen’s arm sliding in opposite hers. In doing so, Imogen stood up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on Laudna’s cheek. “Go on,” she added.

Laudna gave Imogen a light tap on her butt as Imogen turned away to return to the kitchen and started to rinse the produce that Laudna had retrieved. While Imogen did that, Laudna followed her as far as their path would allow until deviating toward the hallway and down to the washroom. There she took a few minutes to clean herself up, even taking a moment to touch up her makeup for dinner.

Meanwhile, Imogen removed the vegetables from their bushel and started to wash them off as she counted just what Laudna had brought back. She had only needed two tomatoes and “however-many carrots” Laudna could carry. For the latter, Imogen could not fault Laudna for what she had returned, as carrots are forever troublesome; there were six carrots in all that Laudna had pulled, and while four of them were about as long as Imogen’s arm, none of the four were thicker than the size of a copper piece. The remaining two were of acceptable thickness, but quite short in length and were not nearly long enough to be of use.

“There’s a metaphor in here somewhere,” she sighed as she chopped up the longest two, judging them to be the best since she were planning to dice the carrots for their stew.

The tomatoes, meanwhile, is where Laudna got a bit carried away. Somehow, “two” had turned into “twelve,” and now Imogen had a dozen perfectly ripe tomatoes on her counter. One by one she rinsed them of their dirt, minding the one that Laudna had dropped that now presented with the softest of bruises.

“I said ‘two’, how’d she get ‘twelve’ from that…” Imogen wondered. “Did she not hear me right?” Imogen shrugged and continued to rinse off the collection of crops.

Just as she placed the last tomato down beside its counterparts, Imogen dried her hands off with a cloth towel that was hung off the doorknob of a low cabinet. Completing wringing her hand dry in the red and white striped strip of cloth, Imogen heard the raspy, thick accented voice of Pate call out from the corner of the room. “Imogen~! The baby is up!”

She turned and saw Pate bouncing up and down gently on the mobile that was attached to the bassinet where Aria had been sleeping. Well, he was less bouncing, and more flying in place as he clung to the mobile as it was now oscillating vertically from his hovering. Imogen placed the towel down on the counter and walked over to where the bassinet sat in the corner of the room, where the kitchen meets the dining area, to find a cooing and squirming Aria having aroused from her nap.

“Well hello, little darlin’,” Imogen said with the brightest smile and biggest eyes as she looked down on her bundle of joy. Aria squirmed in place, her hands and feet covered in the little mitts of her onesie that had been gifted to her from Orym’s mother on one of his previous trips ahead of her birth. She cooed as Imogen reached down and picked her up, cradling her in her arms and giving her a kiss on her forehead.

As Imogen began to walk away back toward the counter, she heard Pate cry out “What, no thank you’s for Pate?” Imogen sighed and dropped her head before giving an understanding chuckle, a small grin growing on her face.

“You’re right, I’m sorry Pate,” she said as she turned around and walked back over to Pate. “Thank you for letting me know, you’re a very good baby sitter.” Pate straightened his composure as Imogen reached out and pat him on the head while she gave him his requested praise. He beamed with joy.

“Pate, we have talked about this,” a voice came from around the corner. Laudna had emerged back into the kitchen, herself wringing her hands dry on a separate cloth towel that she had brought from the washroom with her. She had changed outfits and was now dressed in a very elegant but simple black and purple dress with lacy patterning made out to look like tree branches and blooming leaves. There was also embroidery around the neckline of purple flowers, and she wore black shoes with a little lift on the heel that had similar looking purple flowers on their face to match the neckline. “We do nice things not because we want to praise, but…”

Pate sighed and joined Laudna, as well as Imogen who chimed in at the end, “but because it is what’s right.” Laudna stood beside Imogen as they all finished speaking in unison, now acknowledging that she was holding a bright-eyed Aria.

“You’re right,” Pate continued on his own, before looking over at Imogen, as she began passing Aria off to Laudna. “I’m sorry.”

Imogen cracked another smile and pat him once more. “You’re a good boy Pate, don’t worry.” She gave him a wink, and returned to the counter to finish preparations of the vegetables for the stew.

Laudna now held Aria in her arms in the middle of the kitchen. Pate settled down into the bassinet, taking up the space that Aria had previously been laying in, curling himself up and taking little snooze of his own. As Imogen diced and sliced away at the last of the tomatoes she needed for dinner, Laudna began to bounce on her feet in place as she began to sing a little song to Aria, who was now firmly grasping a fistful of Laudna’s hair. Laudna played with Aria with her free hand as she sang,

The itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the water spout Down came the rain and washed the spider out Up came the sun and dried up all the rain And the itsy-bitsy spider went up the spout again

Laudna lightly tickled Aria’s tummy, walking her fingers up her little torso to her chin in tune with the song, and presenting the tiniest bop on the nose when she arrived on “again,” eliciting a joyful laugh from Aria. She yanked at Laudna’s hair, prompting Laudna to whimper the quietest, most patient “ow” as Aria pulled once, twice more. It was less that it actually hurt, but more that Laudna was worried Aria might pull her hair out with something more, and didn’t want to startle her. Laudna delicately tried to get the baby to loosen her grip or at least give some slack on the strands she held, but Aria was unyielding in her grip and refused to relinquish any footing. She was locked in for now.

Imogen put down the last of the tomatoes into the stew, having decided to not let them go to waste by adding a third to the pot instead of the two as intended, and gave it a big stir with everything now in the melting pot. “There we go,” she said as she put the lid atop it’s opening and put another piece of kindling in the wood burner. Laudna turned around, directing both hers and Aria’s attention to Imogen as she cleaned her hands and the counter of her mess. “The stew should be ready in about an hour or two, I think. I need to go finish getting myself ready, though” Imogen declared as she dried her hands once more and met her two favorites in the middle of the kitchen.

“I’ve got our little dearie,” Laudna said as she tickled Aria again, prompting another coo as Imogen moved in to steal a kiss. She gave Aria a few playful nibbles on her cheek, making her laugh out in delight, Laudna beaming from ear to ear.

“I’ll be right back,” Imogen said as she peered up onto her tiptoes to kiss Laudna’s cheek one more time before bounding down the hall. She untied the apron that adorned her body and tossed it over a chair as she exited the kitchen, only for it to fall off the chair and slip to the floor.

Laudna shook her head at this, before she turned her attention back to Aria, saying “come on you, time to get you dressed to meet your uncles” as she proceeded down the hall toward the stairs, heading up to the nursery to get Aria changed.

In the downstairs washroom, Imogen splashed some cool water onto her face and arms and proceeded to take a few minutes to herself to freshen up and unwind. She looked herself in the mirror before closing her eyes, as she opened her mind up and proceeded to listen in on Laudna and Aria, having heard them move upstairs.

From here, as she took a moment in this private space to herself and listened in on her wife and their child, the symphony that was playing in her mind were comparable to that of the symphony that they’d heard a few months ago when they were vacationing in Yios. The strings, the woodwinds, the percussion, the range and tones and overall sound of the vocals, all of it coming together at once; Imogen thought it was the most beautiful music she had ever heard in the world, and she recalled making such remarks to Laudna that night as they returned to their inn that night.

What Imogen could hear now beat that performance. Hearing her beautifully scary wife’s hauntingly beautiful mind presenting such a sweet melodic symphony in unison with the voice and range of their daughter’s mind, their radiantly sweet and joyful daughter, overwhelmed Imogen and brought her to tears. She recalled that night a few months ago that she’d first heard Aria’s mind, before she was born, and how she was moved to tears then. This just intensified them.

Imogen sat and listened just for a moment as Laudna continued to get Aria dressed upstairs. She hummed to herself a little tune, unbeknownst to her the same melody that Imogen was currently hearing, as she slid a fresh onesie on Aria. This one a soft creme white color with little pink dots and bigger purple dots all across it. Aria didn’t fuss much for Laudna tonight, cooperating largely for the most part as they completed this complex ritual they’d come to be very familiar with.

Laudna began to put the finishing touches on Aria’s outfit, adorning her head with a little bow headband, and giving her a little kiss on the nose after she was done. “You stay there for just a second,” Laudna said to her as if Aria were about to suddenly hop up and walk away. Laudna kept an eye on her as she spun out of Aria’s sight, cleaning up the mess the was made. She put the soiled clothes into a hamper in the corner, and put away the lingering effects of baby care. Once everything had been cleared, Laudna pulled a black and purple harness sling out from the top-most drawer of the chest that Chetney had built for them, and began to put it on over her head and shoulders.

Aria was familiar with this sling, having been placed in it many a time by Laudna when the three of them go for their little strolls throughout the neighborhood. Aria had come to recognize it a little bit, seeming to understand where she was about to be put when it came out, but there wouldn’t be any walk tonight. “No no, tonight it’s just for cuddling,” Laudna said as she picked Aria up and began to insert her in between the sling’s support band and her own chest. After just a few seconds of scooting Aria into place one leg at a time, situating her against the framework of Laudna’s chest comfortably, she craned her head down and kissed Aria once more on the crown of her head before she left the bedroom and headed back downstairs.

Just as she reached the base of the stairs, she turned the corner to see Imogen emerging from the washroom, patting her face dry and slinging the towel over her shoulder. “Oh!” She exclaimed as she spotted Laudna and Aria coming toward her, before sighing of relief and giving a smile.

Laudna closed the distance as Imogen moved to do the same, walking toward but then past her before turning the corner to go upstairs. “Wait, where are you going,” Laudna asked as Imogen began to ascend the staircase.

She bent over the railing of the stairs and kissed Laudna on the forehead. “I need to change after all, I’ll be right back,” she said as she finished rushing up the stairs. Laudna heard her footsteps scamper quickly down the hall and into their bedroom, the door closing behind her.

In their bedroom, Imogen quickly changed out of the dress she had been cooking and cleaning in all day, grabbing the hem and pulling it up over her torso and slipping her head through and out its hole, tossing it to the floor in the corner. She had completely missed the dirty clothes bin she was aiming for by about a foot. She further hurried over to the closet and opened the doors, and began to rifle through the wardrobe’s options until her eyes landed on what she was looking for. She smirked and grabbed it, along with a pair of shoes that were laying on the ground just below that, and made haste getting dressed.

Knock knock knock. “Hello, Temults?”

Laudna heard the rapping at the door following by the calling from Orym a moment later as she was sat in the lounge, watching the fireplace. Their knocking having called Laudna to attention, breaking her out of the trance that watching the flames dance across the logs had put her in, she called out to those behind the door, “one moment!”

Laudna rose to her feet, holding Aria close to her still wrapped in her sling, and swished and swayed around the furniture that dotted the lounge, crossing through the threshold that separated the room from the entryway. Laudna craned her body up the staircase, propelled by one foot off the ground as she lurched around the banister and shouted politely, “Oh Imogen~, they’re here darling.” She said dropped back to the ground as she round in place and took the handful of steps toward the door.

Just as Orym and Dorian had stepped across the threshold and Laudna was closing the door, Imogen exited the bedroom and made for the staircase. The three of them below were in the middle of exchanging pleasantries when the sound of block heels knocking on wood interrupted their greetings, as Imogen began to descended the stairs. She had indeed changed as she told Laudna she going to, and was now wearing a beautiful soft violet dress that fell to just above her ankle, with a pair of black sandal heels that were adorned with a handful of jewels all along the various straps that bound to her foot. They were a pair Laudna recalled Imogen having received a a gift from Fearne’s friend, and Dorian’s friend as it were, Opal; Laudna then further recognized this outfit immediately as the one from their date night in Yios.

“Oh, my,” Laudna said out loud, respectfully, as she put a hand to her lips in sheer delight as her beautiful bride reached the bottom of the stairs and waved to their newly arrived guests.

Orym and Dorian even let out gasps of awe and admiration; “you look very pretty, Maude,” being a direct compliment paid by Dorian to her as he greeted her upon stepping inside. Imogen was immediately caught off guard and laughed at this loudly, before giving Dorian a playful punch on the shoulder.

“Oh, I missed you Dorian, c’mere,” she said with a laughed as he gripped the place where she punched him, feigning discomfort, before she pulled him in for a hug. “It’s so good to see you again.”

His face lit up with a bright smile as he embraced Imogen, “it’s so nice to see you too, Imogen.”

Dorian was sporting a suit appearing to be of semi-formal attire, a dashing blue jacket with matching pants — and a bold choice to not be wearing an undershirt, but something that Dorian was pulling off well given his physique. For Orym, his appearance this evening was heavily inspired by earth-tones, as he’d chosen to wear soft shades of green and brown in the form of tight fitting slacks and a button down shirt that left a few buttons undone to show off some of his chest hair.

Imogen led their guests into the lounge and offered each of them a seat. “Would you like something to drink? We have a few delicious bottles of wine that we were saving for special occasions like tonight, if y’all were in the mood?”

Orym and Dorian both nodded and Imogen left to prepare a few glasses. Laudna entertained them as they waited, beginning to exchange commonalities and mundane pleasantries. How are you’s, how’s Zephrah this time of year, where is the Silken Squall and how are your parents, has anyone heard from Dariax or Deni$e, the banal topics. Imogen soon sat down and joined them in a drink, sharing a toast to themselves and their comrades.

“To Bell’s Hells; hopefully, we can get all of us together sometime. Wouldn’t that be a treat?” Imogen said as the others took their sips, before taking her own.

Laudna set her glass down and began to remove a fussing Aria from the sling. “That it would be, wouldn’t it” she said as she lifted Aria up from the sling, as though she were being asked the question herself. Now that she was freed from her containment, Aria cooed and began to give grabby-hands at Laudna as she gave her a smile. Just then, a spit bubble started forming slowly and Laudna knew what was about to happen; being a learned parent now, she was quick to catch Aria’s spit-up with a handkerchief and managed to clean her up quickly, without any issue.

Imogen excused herself to check on dinner, which gave Laudna the opportunity to ask Orym and Dorian which of them would like to hold Aria first. “We didn’t want to play favorites, so you two can decide amongst yourself,” Laudna said.

Dorian was quick to deflect to Orym, but not as quick as Orym was to deflect to him first. They both spoke over one another: “You haven’t visited them in so long, you should go first;” “right, I haven’t visited them in so long, so you should absolutely go first instead.” They politely went back and forth for just a few seconds before Laudna interjected: “Gods, where’s Letters to flip their coin when you need them?” She stood up and walked over to Dorian and extended her arms, presenting Aria to him.

Orym gave a slight grin, figuring he had won that round, and gave a little chuckle that no one else seemed to pick up at the moment.

As Dorian took the baby into his arms and pulled her in to his chest, holding her close, he began to rock back and forth softly. “Hello little Aria,” he said as he presented a finger to her. She gripped it in her hands and held it tight and firm.

“Careful, she’ll pull it off,” Laudna cautioned playfully, motioning to the bit of scalp that it turns out had come loose during Aria’s earlier tug-of-war session. Dorian laughed at the comment initially, before he saw Laudna’s motion. His laugh turned to a grimace at the sight as Laudna patted the skin flap back down into place; Orym kept his eye focused on Aria, only watching Laudna out of his periphery, not quite keen on wanting to see it directly.

After a few minutes, Aria started to get fussy. Dorian attempted to get her to calm but was finding it to be futile, as she began to squirm, kicking out and arms starting to flail, hands getting grabby. Laudna encouraged him to keep trying and holding her, knowing that sometimes Aria is just working out new people and situations. Just as she began to act up a bit more beyond that however, Imogen returned and announced that dinner was nearly ready. She noticed that Aria wasn’t behaving well anymore, and walked over to Dorian and put her arms out. “It’s okay hon, I’ll take her from here, she’s probably just hungry.”

Dorian shifted Aria around in his arms and brought her head up to his lips and gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead before passing her back off to her mother. Imogen smiled as Aria’s uncle embraced her for the first time, thinking to herself how happy she was with their little found family of so many aunts and uncles that their baby now had.

Imogen held Aria close and sat down in the chair she previously occupied, beginning to lower just the top of her dress to expose her breast. “Orym, is it alright if I feed her before you take her,” she asked as she lifted Aria up to it and placed her gently at her exposed nipple, trying to get Aria to latch and begin feeding, which happened rather quickly. Imogen shifted both their body’s weights so they were both comfortable before Orym could even answer.

Orym smiled and nodded, “oh of course, you don’t even need to ask. There’s plenty of time, and actually…” his voice trailed off as he hopped down from his spot on the couch besides Dorian and walked back over to the entryway. “We brought some gifts for you all.” Orym grabbed a bag that he had set down just inside the doorway and came back into the lounge, reclaiming his seat. He opened the pouch of the bag, which was a moderately sized brown satchel with a buckle clasp on the front, and stuck his arm inside. It must have been a Bag of Holding, because Orym’s entire arm disappeared into this bag, and while Orym was not the biggest person here by any means — Aria would soon outpace him surely — this bag was not that tiny, either.

After just a moment of reaching, Orym first emerged with an envelope that he set down at his side. “That can wait a sec,” he said as he plunged back into the Bag, seemingly reaching deeper than before. His tongue was exposed between his lips as he searched before finally a tiny “got it” was uttered, and he pulled his arm out once more. “Ta da!” He exclaimed upon revealing what it was that he had pulled out: a small gift basket full of various trinkets, lotions, spices, and odds and ends from Zephrah. “This is from me, from home. There’s a little bit of everything in here,” he said as he passed it off to Laudna. “I thought it might help to serve all of you.”

Laudna examined the items up close as she was handed the basket. It was chock full of jars and tiny pouches of spices for cooking and baking, a cookbook of recipes from Zephrah housewives, soaps and lotions for washing and cleaning; Alma, Orym’s mother, even packed in an assortment of colored onesies and cloth diapers, as well as some wooden toys and dolls for Aria specifically.

Tucked away beneath all of that however was a special stone that had the iconography of the Ashari on it. “It’s special,” Orym explained as Laudna plucked it out from the basket. “It’s a sending stone. It works once a day, but it’s always working. It won’t work again after this for today, but —“ he picked up the stone and waved his hand over it once, twice, a third time “—just listen closely and tell me what you hear.” As his hand passed over it the third and final time, a sound began to play. It was quiet at first, but as he passed the stone over to Laudna and she put it to her ear, she could hear it.

“Is… is that Zephrah?” She asked.

Orym smiled. “Yeah,” he was beaming. “It’s the sounds of Zephrah. It’s always listening, so once a day, you can turn it on and listen to the ambiance for a little while. I thought Aria might like it in her bedroom.” Orym turned back to where he’d put the envelopes down and grabbed them in his hand. "But here, I have another gift for you both,” he said as he handed the envelope out to Laudna, face up. “There’s one in here for another place, as well as a special message.”

Laudna looked over at Imogen a bit puzzled before taking it in her hand. Imogen returned her look, confused herself as to what it could be. She averted her gaze down to Aria briefly to check on her as she fed. No problems. She looked back up as Laudna now had the envelope in her hands, and turned it over to reveal to wax seals adorning the flap keeping them secure. Laudna inspected the seals closely; one she recognized as a symbol of Vox Machina, from when Bertrand showed it to them on his lapel all those many moons ago. The other took Laudna a moment to recognized, but then it became clear to her because it was the first time she had actually seen this: it was the new (to her) Chamber of Whitestone seal.

Laudna’s mouth opened for a moment in surprise. “This… is from Whitestone? From … “

“The DeRolo’s,” Orym said.

[whatwordsmiss]

lil preview if youd like because im still very excited about this fic and i gotta share at least a lil piece of it

The wind howls, slicing against her cheeks, whippin’ the pieces of her hair that have fallen loose. Black storm clouds above threaten to open at any moment; it’s the middle of summer, but the air is icy, burning the insides of Imogen’s lungs with every heave of her chest. Her fingers tighten around the reigns, and Flora dances her feet beneath her — anxious and filled with unease. Horses are smart creatures, after all, and Flora has always been well attuned to Imogen’s emotions.

She sits — waits — on the edge of the field, heart hammerin’, blood roilin’ like the clouds above. The twitch of her jaw makes her teeth grind together until she can’t stand it. Imogen glances up; sees a flash of light within one of the clouds. Feels it reflectin’ deep within her.

“This ends now,” she promises to the storm.

She flicks her wrists, sure and strong, snapping the reigns. “Yaa!” She yells, spurrin’ Flora into a fast sprint straight ahead. Imogen leans into the fluid motion, knees bent and thighs bracin’, her face low to Flora’s mane. The muscles of the horse ripple, lungs pantin’, as she pushes faster and faster.

The clouds above split open. It begins to rain. Softly at first, and then harder and harder, until it feels like it’s pushin’ against her, fightin' her back, refusin' her promise. And the long grass below slices at her boots, at the underbelly of Flora as they race across the many fields closer and closer to town. The dread of bein’ too late makes her fingers feel numb.

And then Imogen sees her.

“DELILAH,” she roars, the word tearin’ from her throat, leavin’ her feeling raw. The copper bite of blood rests on her tongue, and she can’t make sense of if it’s real or simply the taste of her own rage. Decides that she doesn’t care. 

Both will be spat at Delilah.

The crowd that had gathered around the tree turns at once, a range of surprise and fright colorin’ their faces. But Delilah only turns wearin’ a smile that’s small but pleased. Imogen watches from too far away — much too far away — as Delilah turns, says somethin’ to the crowd; to the person bound with hands behind their back and with a bag over their head, standin’ on tiptoes so the noose around their neck wouldn’t claim them too soon, wouldn’t tear skin and break bones and take and take and take. 

Laudna.

It doesn’t matter what Delilah said, it doesn’t matter that Imogen is still much too far to hear. The crowd lets out an answerin’ call in response that’s loud enough to carry over hills and thunder. They raise up their pitchforks and their torches and their fists that have only ever held hatred, and they press in — closer and closer, surroundin’ Laudna.

Only Delilah turns back to Imogen, mouth still curled with twisted pleasure. And Imogen’s finally close enough that she has no problem understanding the next three words Delilah yells to Imogen’s… neighbors, classmates, her preacher, fellow farmhands, grocer… they’re all here and they’re all here waiting to hurt Laudna.

A crack of lightning illuminates the field.

(When her mama was still ‘round, when her mind wasn’t too preoccupied with anywhere but here, she would sit on the porch with Imogen as the summer storms raged on ahead. Imogen was small enough then that she could fit perfectly within her mama’s criss-cross applesauce legs; one of her mama’s arms was always wrapped around her, while the other pointed out the flashes of light.

You gotta count the seconds after each strike of lightnin’ and the thunder that booms afterwards, she taught Imogen. Every five seconds is a mile ‘tween you and the storm.

Imogen had nodded, eyes refusin' to move from the dark clouds in front of them.

What if the storms real close, mama? What if… what if I can’t count to five? Her heart didn’t even have a chance to turn into a skittish little thing before her mama held her tighter.

Then you come home, baby. You lay as low as you can, and you don’t let the storm hurt you.)

One… Two… 

“Kill the witch.”

mentally (because it is midnight) i am running around my tiny apartment going yippee! yippee! because i caught the writing bug again and it is so fun! i love this first meeting it might be one of my very favorites! i can't wait to finally post something again after almost a year

[alixinwwonderland]

65, “Did you do something different with your hair? ”

"What? No!" Midge says, touching her hair self-consciously as Imogene narrows her eyes at her. "Come on, we have shopping to do and a strict schedule to stick to!"

Midge grabs her purse and hat and herds them out of the apartment, quickly closing the door behind them.

They're sitting on a park bench, nibbling on pastries and taking a break, and Imogene won't stop staring at the side of Midge's head.

"Seriously? I'm finally getting Ethan to stop staring like that, and now you start?"

"Sorry!" Imogene shuffles her hands in her lap and quickly looks away. A moment later, when Midge turns her head back to watching the passerby, she looks again.

"Imogene!"

"Sorry! It's just -"

"Just what?"

"I have known every detail of every haircut you've ever had, missy," Imogene starts. "I know when you changed brands of hair rollers and when you decided to let it grow a half-inch longer because it gave you more bounce. I know when something is different and something is different! What I don't know is why you won't tell me!"

Imogene's voice rises even as her face falls.

"Did I do something? Was it the thing I said about - or what Archie said about-"

"No!" Midge cuts her off. "No, Imogene, you didn't do anything!"

"Then why won't you tell me!" she squeaks, and Midge makes a mental note to figure out the half-formed joke in her head right now about the decibel levels emanating from the very tiny blonde beside her.

"I didn't do anything different!" Midge says. "I skipped the hairspray, is all," she amends as Imogene opens her mouth.

Imogene's eyes narrow at her.

"But you never skip hairspray. Or any step," she says. Midge sighs, then looks around to make sure there aren't any other parents in scandalized-hearing distance.

"I know, I know. I was ... a little distracted, this morning, is all," she says. The faint flush on her cheeks helps Imogene fill in all the blanks, all at once.

"Distracted, hmm?" Imogene says, and there's a mischievous glint in her eyes now. "Would this distraction have anything to do with the shuffling sounds coming out of your apartment when you answered the door that I was polite enough to pretend I didn't notice?"

Midge only blushes further.

"Miriam!" Imogene shrieks, swatting at Midge's arm. "Okay, okay, tell me everything."

"I hope you don't mean everything," Midge quips. A thoughtful look passes over Imogene's face.

"Maybe not everything, but broad strokes at least? Archie's been so focused on the club lately, his creativity has really taken a hit, poor dear," Imogene says matter-of-factly. Midge buries her face in her hands, cracking up.

"I cannot believe we're having this conversation in a public park," she mutters.

"Puh-lease. You've said worse in front of a crowd of strangers all paying attention. Now, spill."

And spill Midge does.

****

When they get back to the apartment, Joel is arriving at the same time, Ethan and Esther in tow. They crowd into the elevator together. Midge pretends not to notice Joel's fixed gaze on her.

As they exit, the kids run ahead. Joel tilts his head.

"Did you do something different with your hair?" he asks Midge. Imogene, bless her, tries to stifle her laugh with a cough. Midge just returns Joel's stare, unfazed.

"Nothing wrong with a little change. Especially when it feels much better than before."

[stardusted-bookworm]

Nightmares

Imogen woke up violently. She clawed at her throat, the air not coming as quickly as it usually does.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breatheIcan’tbreatheIcan’t breatheIcan’t–

“Imogen!”

Cold hands clasped her feverish ones and gently drew them away from her throat.

“Imogen, breathe with me, darling!”

Faintly, she could hear the sound of a rattling inhale and exhale. She tried. She really, really tried to match that steady breathing, but she couldn’t. Every time she tried, that dream. Flashes of it shot through her brain, always ending with that–that woman slitting her throat. IcantbreatheIcantbreatheIcantbreathe.

Magic like shadows and spiders and ink washed over her. Soothing only because she knew who it belonged to. The panic eased, at least enough for her to gulp down air. 

“Imogen?”

She raised her head slowly, still panting. There was Laudna, still holding her hands and eyes full of concern. Always there for her. Grounding her.

Imogen flung her arms around the other woman’s neck, sobs racking her body. Laudna held onto her tightly, hands rubbing her back in a soothing motion.

“I’ve got you,” Laudna whispered. “They can’t get you anymore, darling. I’ve got you.”

Eventually, the tears slowed before drying completely. And still, Laudna held Imogen close. Imogen took a shaky breath and slowly pulled away from her friend, but she didn’t break the circle of Laudna’s arms.

The dead woman gently brushed away her tears with bony fingers. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Imogen shook her head. "I think–" Her voice cracked. "I think I'm just going to get a glass of water."

She disentangled herself from Laudna and walked to the kitchen. She could feel the Calm Emotions spell fading and the panic starting to rise again. But she pushed it down. She didn't have time for this right now. 

Who was that woman? Why was she so hell bent on pursuing Imogen right now? What did that have to do with her mother and the Lumas twins?

"Imogen."

She looked up from her glass. Laudna was standing in front of her, looking both concerned and determined. It was the determination that piqued her curiosity. 

"What're you up to?" Imogen asked with narrowed eyes. 

Laudna just took the glass out of her hands, set it down, and pulled Imogen into the center of the kitchen. 

At first, what Laudna did made no sense. While still holding Imogen's hands, she stepped back and stretched their arms out. Then, she stepped forward and brought their arms back in front of them. 

Imogen couldn't help but smile at this. "What are you doing?"

"Come on, dance with me!" There was a glimmer of mischief in Laudna's eyes. "You might even start to enjoy yourself."

And even though Imogen was both mentally and physically exhausted, she began to mimic the steps Laudna was doing. 

"There you go, you're starting to get it!"

The grin on Laudna's face was infectious and Imogen couldn't stop the chuckle that bubbled out of her. 

Once they got the rhythm down, Laudna spun Imogen in a way that had them trading places and the lavender haired sorcerer threw her head back in laughter. There was a matching, wide grin on the warlock’s face. 

The women danced a little longer to the silent music, laughter filling the kitchen. Eventually, they slowed, Imogen’s head coming to rest on Laudna’s shoulder.

The undead woman cleared her throat. “Dancing used to help me a lot. With the nightmares I mean. I thought it might help you too.”

Imogen lifted her head, eyes wide. “You had nightmares too?”

Laudna nodded and brushed a strand of the other’s hair out of her face. “It was a long time ago. Long before I ever met you. But I had Pâté , of course! He and I would dance for hours until the fear just dissipated.”

Imogen’s heart broke for her friend. She hated the thought of her being alone with those nightmares. She cupped Laudna’s cheek. “I adore you,” she said, “and thank you so much for helping me through this.”

“Well, of course! I’d do anything for you, Imogen.”

The sorceress smiled softly. “I know Laudna. And I’d do anything for you.” She took Laudna’s hands and gently squeezed. “Let’s head back to bed. We’ll discuss the dream in the morning. It’s just a lot for one night.”

Laudna nodded, the love clear in her eyes. “As you wish.”

[gay-hypersexual]

you can forget about mine

It hasn’t even been a minute… at least that’s what it feels like. He’s not sure if time works the same way here as it does out there.

What he does know is this: in one moment all he knew was pain, but in the next, he knew peace.

In one moment, he saw blood, swirling sands, a glint of steel stabbing through his torso. In the next, it all vanished, replaced by grassy fields, cherry blossoms floating in the wind, a familiar face (kind, gentle, loving) hovering over his own.

In one moment, his small hands found and grasped onto larger ones, that of his lover, husband, big moon. In the next, that of his traveling companion, oldest friend in the group, big spoon.

Fearne is there, Derrig is there, Will is there, and he thinks he’s in paradise.

But it’s a minute later (or an hour or a year or a lifetime) that that thought disappears.

Because now there’s someone only vaguely familiar to him nearby. A tall, lanky figure with long, black locks, feathers adorning their shoulders, a mask obscuring their features.

And there’s a… tear. In the sunset orange-tinted horizon of his paradise, there is a crack, disturbing the air, calling to Fearne.

The faun bounds over to it immediately, hand outstretched, but she stops. Turns back. The raven haired figure seems to only slightly mind, shifting from one foot to the other.

Fearne kneels down, wringing her hands, avoids eye contact. “I— just give me a minute, ok, and I’ll be right back for you, I promise!”

There is no immediate response, just a head tilt of confusion.

“You… you will go through it, right? When I cast it, when I reach for you?” Her voice is quiet, but their surroundings are still, so the waver in it is audible and cannot be ignored.

Small hands let go of bigger ones (hesitantly, reluctantly) and intertwine with hers. “I don’t know.”

Tears have started to collect. They fall faster as she shakes her head no, vigorous and defiant. “Tell me you’re going to come back with me!”

“Fearnie…”

“No! No.” Seafoam green curls fall in front of her face, a curtain to hide her distress. “Please! Please, don’t make me go without you.”

No answer, save for a sharp exhale— choked and sad.

“You and Dorian once said I should stop taking things that aren’t mine, but I can’t help it! I steal things I like, and I want to keep them. Some would say that’s selfish… well, I am!” She squeezes her hands around his tight, finally looking up, not a dry eye between them. “I’m a selfish person and that’s why I’m asking you to stay with me.”

The figure has taken a step towards them now, tells her she must make the choice now, to accept or refuse, before it closes.

“One more minute!” she pleads, pulling the halfing into a hug. She speaks even softer than before, her breath tickling his ear. “I just found my parents again and I really want them to get to know everyone, see what they’ve been missing out on. And we found out this connection with me and the moon? What does that even mean? I need you with me to figure it out!”

“Imogen, Laudna, FCG, we all need you with us! And Chetney and Ashton… they’ll go berserk without you! And Dorian—” She curls him closer. “I know it’s hard, I know! But I’m not ready to say goodbye. Please.”

A feathered arm reaches down, nudges Fearne’s shoulder, and gestures to the rip in space. “You have to choose, it’s been too long.”

Fearne stands up, starts backing into it, gaze never leaving her friend. “Please, Orym, please! I don’t— I don’t want to be without you!”

In a flash of white, she’s gone.

Left standing in the fields, he… just isn’t sure. Why should he leave? Everything he ever needed is here. Here, not out there.

Out there is only more hurt. Out there is chaos, fear, doubt, death.

He only knows happiness here.

He looks back, and that face of the man he loved— loves, is staring at him with compassion and understanding. “Whatever you choose, little moon, I will always be here.”

The correct answer is not within him, not right now.

But there’s no new tear yet, so he doesn’t have to decide now.

Not yet.

[beauregardlionett]

a weight no one else should bear

Orym realized in the middle of their fight that this was beginning to feel familiar. He already knew to stick close to Imogen, to stand in front of her and with her whenever possible because she was easy to hit and easy to knock down. He knew that Ashton was reckless but effective, and that they always kept an eye on those prone to injury. Orym knew that F.C.G. was reliable in keeping the others up and getting them back up.

Dorian and Fearne were an old familiarity, a comfort at his back. And it was surprising to realize how quickly Orym had become accustomed to fighting alongside these newer folks.

Granted, he didn’t trust them with the details - not yet. But he trusted them to stay upright during a fight, to make it through.

(He tried not to trust too much, because the last time he did still stung.)

He was so worried about keeping Imogen safe that Orym forgot to duck. Doused in creepy goo, the rush of drunken, painful fatigue through his veins nearly took Orym to his knees. In his peripheral, the way Laudna stumbled made him realize he wasn’t the only one affected by...whatever this was.

But she pushed through, casting spells and trying to wrench herself free from the sticky spots in the room. Orym trusted her to keep fighting.

And it was chaos, confusion, and wholly disconnected from Orym’s senses for a few moments as the poison chewed through him. He slashed at the creepers, found himself unable to move away from them, and watched Fearne hit the ground. She was up a moment later but the fear still had a clawed choke hold on Orym’s ribs. Dorian reacted before Orym could find the strength to move and Dugger was incinerated in his wake.

Orym drew a shaky breath of relief as Dorian looked around, stunned and gleeful despite the grief. Fearne clambered to her hooves and Orym found enough energy to focus again.

Imogen shouted something over to his left and as he turned to respond, he watched the creepers lunge at her. For a moment, it was not Imogen he saw, but a face Orym tried not to think about. For another moment, it was not him but Dorian, and then Fearne, and then Laudna, and then every other person until it was Bertrand. In a horrible, sickening, flashing moment, Orym had failed every person he thought he could protect. The creepers tore into Imogen’s chest and the spray of blood in the air knocked Orym’s senses into motion.

Ashton shouted over the chattering creepers and their glee, Laudna screamed in a horrific, wailing tone across the room. Dorian had a hand pressed over his mouth like he might be sick.

Orym wrenched himself free of the goo at his feet and somehow made it to Imogen’s side. He didn’t even think about curing the poison in his system as he wrestled through the maniac creepers and shoved his arm between their frenzied claws. There were burns on his arms and his neck from being too close to those creatures when they died. Blood streaked his arms, his fingers, his clothes, and through his hair. But he upended the potion into Imogen’s mouth without hesitation and watched as her chest stuttered on an inhale.

She blinked up at him, alive and in pain, as the creepers pulled back to snarl down at Orym.

It was only because she survived that Orym allowed himself a moment to breathe and find his second wind.

He looked up for the rest of the party and found Dorian, face a little pale but still ready to fight. Relief nearly took Orym to the ground, but his eyes slid past Dorian to find Fearne stalking toward the creepers, her expression stony as she raised one hand at a crate. The ring on her finger glowed and the box moved by itself, Fearne never once looking at it, eyes set on Imogen.

There was a blur of action following that Orym barely remembered through the haze of exhaustion and poison. He might have helped Imogen block one of the creeper’s access points, but he wasn’t sure how effective he really was.

Somewhere in the chaos, there was quiet. Orym found it when Dorian knelt in front of him and settled a worried hand on Orym’s shoulder. It was a peace made whole when Fearne joined them, standing just over Dorian’s shoulder and smiling down at Orym like she wasn’t covered in blood and ooze. The others were doing...something, but Orym could worry about that in a moment. For now, he was okay here, in this pocket of relatively safe reality.

Dorian’s hand cupped beneath Orym’s elbow and raised his right arm for him. Orym looked at the pinched worry furrowing between Dorian’s brows before following his gaze to Orym’s arm. Burns laced up the exposed skin in fractal, frenetic patterns, marred by streaks of blood and ooze and dirt. There were a few distinct claw marks laced over it all as well. It took Orym a moment to register the pain, to remember that he had thrown himself into the fray to save Imogen.

“Here,” Dorian muttered, gaze fixed and determined. “Let me just...”

Orym blinked slowly against the sluggish drag of poison, watching as Dorian wet a rag with his waterskin to clean off the worst of the muck. He realized after Dorian’s hands glowed a pale white-blue - sealing some of the claw marks - against Orym’s skin that they should be saving spells. Just in case.

Instead of saying so, Orym mumbled a quiet thanks. He still felt unsteady, untethered from his limbs. Dorian flashed him a worried look, exchanged quiet words with Fearne, and then stood to his full height.

They eventually left Dugger’s house, and Orym stumbled blearily along with the group, his eyelids feeling like stone each time he blinked. They had barely turn the corner when Fearne was beside Orym, grinning and holding out her hand.

Orym was familiar enough with this routine to know it wasn’t worth fighting or protesting the inevitable. Plus, he was tired.

Fearne didn’t have to say anything to convince him before Orym was taking her hand and letting her help more than usual as he landed on her shoulder. That sequence of events more than anything probably gave Orym away, but it was too late now. Dorian came up beside Fearne, obviously concerned as he reached up and dropped another spell against Orym’s knee.

“‘m fine, Dorian,” Orym mumbled as the street swayed.

“Sure, Orym,” Dorian said, grinning despite the lingering furrow of his brows. “Let us take care of you anyway.”

It had been months since Orym left Zephrah, months since he had allowed anyone to get close enough to care for him like this. Trust was still a tenuous, difficult, and terrifying thing. Orym treated it like a feral animal, waiting for it to bite at any moment. But Dorian healed Orym without hesitation, without expecting anything in return. Fearne - for all her lovely, unpredictable chaos - loved Orym and Dorian so fiercely it was almost overwhelming.

He thought that maybe they could make it easier, to trust and to be cared for again.

Leaning his head against Fearne, careful of the curl of her antler, Orym smiled down at Dorian. A small uptick at the corner of his mouth, but a smile.

“Okay.”

[ascendantmarv]

ASCENDANCE MONTH

Day 24 - Free Day!

Here’s a little Jarogen fanfic I wrote because I thought it was a cute idea :)

I hate this. I hate feeling so weak and vulnerable. Most of all, I hate that I still feel this way around Imogen. I trust her with my life, but whenever I get emotional in front of her, I can’t help but feel like a child.

“I should be over their deaths by now,” I said through tears, my head on Imogen’s lap. She was stroking my hair in such a tender way, as if I were the most delicate thing she could ever hold. I lay there, sniffling, spilling all my memories about my family to her. “Once, my mother took me and Darius into Drylliad to get us out of our father’s hair,” I smiled. “It hardly worked; she lost me at the market almost immediately. Eventually Darius found me climbing trees with a few orphan boys I’d befriended.” Remembering my mother only invited more tears to my eyes. I squeezed them shut and clutched Imogen’s knee.

She gently caressed my cheek. “Your relationship with her sounds wonderful. I can tell by your stories just how much she loved you,” she said. She began messing with my hair, as she often did. Most mornings, I’d find small braids scattered all over my head.

“The castle hasn’t felt like home without them. And with Darius all the way in Belland--” I stopped, unable to find the right words. My cheeks were burning, and I could barely get a clear sentence out. I felt more tears coming. “I never--” I choked on a lump in my throat and sobbed harder, still. I continued that way for a few moments before I finally forced the words out of me. “I never even told my father I loved him. Not since I was a boy,” I said, glancing up at Imogen.

She shook her head frantically and placed her hand on my jaw. “Jaron, it’s okay. You’re okay. They know you loved them.” Looking at her, I saw tears begin to fill her eyes. I sat up and tried to apologize, but she stopped me. “No, this isn’t about me. I want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all.” She returned her hand to my jaw and looked into my eyes a moment before I felt a lump form in my throat again. She watched as water welled up in my eyes. I set my jaw forward to keep any tears from falling, but to no avail. As soon as Imogen pulled me into an embrace, I broke down once again. 

Lately, all I could think about were my parents. I couldn’t stop wondering what they truly thought of me before they died. Had my mother ever gotten over my supposed death? Had my father ever considered bringing me back to the castle? Did they still consider me a prince, or their son for that matter? I had so many questions that I would never be able to get answers to. In truth, I just wanted to hug them one last time.

I sobbed into Imogen’s shoulder, holding her as tight as possible, as she squeezed me, rubbing my back. 

This happens quite often, actually. She’ll find me somewhere in the sitting room between my parent’s former bedrooms, staring at my mother’s favorite painting, weeping. The first few times she’d come to sit by me, I’d turn the other way, refusing to let her see me this way. I’ve never liked letting her see me like this, but once I’d gone through it a few times, I began seeking her out. I’d enter her chambers in the dead of night begging for solace. I still feel guilty resorting to that, but every time, without fail, she gets up and comforts me, no matter how long it takes. 

I’d be lost without her.

We sat this way for a long while, Imogen holding me while I kept my chin in the crook of her neck, trying my best to quiet my wails. 

After what seemed like hours, I drew back from the embrace and placed my hands on Imogen’s shoulders, closing my eyes in an attempt to collect my emotions. She waited until I looked up at her to say anything, but for a moment, all she did was smile. I made an effort to smile back at her, but only managed a feeble one at best. She looked at me with sympathy, pulled my face to hers, and kissed my lips. My cheeks immediately became hot again, which caused her to pull away. She chuckled softly, fixed my hair behind my ear, and simply said, “You look exhausted.”

I stared at her and slowly nodded. I shifted my eyes to the King’s room, where my father used to sleep, then to the Queen’s chambers, and returned my gaze to Imogen.

The corners of her mouth turned up into an affectionate smile. “Would you like to sleep with me tonight?”

[beautifultypewriter]

Stage Door ~ Sean Wallace

Requested: No

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,062

Pairing: Sean Wallace x fem!oc

Summary: When Sean is dragged to the theatre with his family the last thing he expects is to meet a young woman who captures his attention so brilliantly.

A/N: I have so much to say, so please bear with me. First of all, since Gangs of London is now on AMC, I am able to watch it and honestly I have missed seeing Joe Cole on my tv screen. Like I don’t completely understand what’s happening on this show (I’m only on episode 6 - I am behind), but I dig it and mostly because of him. This is written with my OC. I use her name, but there’s no description of her other than the mention that she is Irish, so I’m gonna tag it the way I’m gonna tag it. I doubt anyone is even going to read this. Also it’s written in 3rd person instead of my usual 2nd. Also it takes place before any of the events from the show.

The theatre was the absolute last place that Sean wanted to be that night, but his father had gotten the tickets as a way to make his mother happy, so he couldn’t say no. Sean couldn’t say no to his father about anything really.  Going to the theatre on a Friday night was the least of his worries. The lights flickered and Sean looked up, wondering how a fancy theatre in the West End would have flickering lights, but then he noticed everyone else sitting in their seats and ending their idle chatter. Then the lights turned off completely and the curtain rose, the orchestra beginning a slow but strong tune. Sean wasn’t entirely sure what this play was supposed to be about, but his mother had raved about how great it was, so he figured he would try to pay attention.

 Paying attention was easier said than done. There was so much going on in just the beginning and Sean was having trouble keeping the different characters straight. All the singing wasn’t really helping either. He desperately wanted to close his eyes, but his mother was right next to him and he didn’t want to disappoint her. When he was sure he could get away with it, he let his head roll back just a bit and he squeezed his eyes shut. This had to be over soon. Sean felt someone squeeze his arm and just as quickly as he closed his eyes, his attention was back on the stage.

 And there she was. A simple dress and a timid look on her face as the other actors on the stage surrounded her and sang at her with threatening tones. Sean couldn’t pull his eyes away from her. He watched her fall apart on stage, the scene changing to some shady alleyway and new actors replacing the others, but still just as menacing towards the woman. The timidness that had been on her face previously had melted away to fear to exhaustion to hopelessness. And for the first time since the show had started, the chaos of the stage slowed, and everyone moved away to the wings… everyone except for her. She was alone, still in her simple dress, crumpled on the floor in the middle of the stage. The music carried lightly through the space as she lifted herself up, her arms wrapping loosely around her frame and her voice small as she sang. Sean watched her every move. His eyes trailed over her form, gliding over each and every tiny movement of her head, the rise and fall of her chest as her voice gained power and the music swelled. Sean could feel himself sliding forward in his seat, wanting to be as close to her as he could be. The woman’s voice flooded his senses, and he was finding it difficult to breathe. His chest tightened at the pain in her voice and he briefly wondered how she was able to do all this.

 And then it all stopped. Her voice faded out and Sean could breathe again as she stared out into the audience without really seeing them. Everyone around him was applauding, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He just stared.

 The story carried on and her character died, and Sean found himself losing interest now that she was no longer on the stage. It wasn’t until later, at the very end of the production that she came back. He straightened up as she glided onto the stage, still in a simple dress, but this one white, and a serene smile on her face. Her voice was soft and comforting now and if Sean had been different then he may have cried at the feeling she was pulling from his chest.

 The curtain fell shut and everyone was on their feet, applauding. Sean stood slowly as he clapped along with the crowd. The curtain rose again, and the cast came out to take their final bows. He searched for her and he found her nestled between her castmates, a small smile on her face as they stepped forward and clasped hands, bowing until the curtain fell on them again. Sean stared at the spot where she had been as everyone filed out around him, his own family lingering by their seats for a moment until his father was approached by a man. He had missed most of the conversation, but snapped to attention when Jac looped her arm with his and started pulling him after Billy and their parents. He leaned down to his sister, “Where are we going?”

 She shook her head, a quiet laugh on her lips, “Backstage tour,” she rolled her eyes, “only the best for the Wallace family.”

 Sean had never cared much for the theatre, but he was honestly impressed with the backstage. The mechanics of the curtain and the different set pieces was something that did interest him, and he reached out to touch one of the ropes, but stopped when the man’s voice sounded from in front of him,

 “Ah and here we have our own Fantine,” he held his arms out and she was there. Sean tensed as he looked her over. She was still in her white dress, and she was still smiling, only now she looked almost shy. The man motioned her forward, “May I present Imogen O’Connor.” She gave a small wave as she looked over each member of the Wallace family. The man continued, “Imogen, this is Finn Wallace, a very influential businessman here in London.”

 She held her hand out and Sean’s father kissed her knuckles briefly as he smiled at her, “I have my family here with me.” He turned to the rest of them and motioned to his wife, “My wife, Marian,” then he turned to the children, “my daughter Jacqueline, and my sons, Billy,” Sean’s brother gave her a small smile and a wave, “and Sean.” Her eyes landed on him, and Sean couldn’t breathe again.

 She smiled at him before turning to the group again, a familiar lilt to her voice as she addressed them all, “It’s a pleasure to meet you and thank you for coming to the show.” Her eyes fell on Sean again, “I do hope you enjoyed it.” He wanted to open his mouth and tell her that yes, he enjoyed her very much, but her attention was stolen by his mother.

 Marian had beamed at the woman, “It was a lovely show, and your performance was spectacular.”

 Imogen smiled as she looked down to her feet, “Thank you, that’s kind of you to say.”

 His father stepped forward again, “From up North then?”

 “Aye, Cavan.” Sean looked between the three as they made small talk, wanting to interject, but having no cause to do so.

 His father smiled wistfully, “Oh? Cavan’s beautiful, I hear.”

 She nodded, “Yes, sir, it is. Nothing like London.” The two of them laughed and Sean caught her eye again, causing her to look down.

 His mother smiled, “How long have you been in London?”

 Imogen shrugged as she looked around, “Oh, not long. A couple of months.” She nodded as she looked behind her for a brief moment then turned back to his mother, “Still trying to get used to the big city.” She smiled at them all again, “I’m terribly sorry, but I’ve got to be goin’. It was a pleasure to meet you all and thank you again.” There were a few mumbled goodbyes and Sean watched her walk away from their group. She turned back once to smile at him and he managed a small wave in her direction.

 It was only a few nights later that Imogen found herself backstage after another successful performance, a few of the other girls around her as she stared into a mirror, wiping off her makeup. The week had been a long one and she was glad for the day off tomorrow.

 “Imogen, you’ve got an admirer.” The Cavan girl turned to her castmate to see her pointing over her shoulder towards the door to their dressing room.

 Imogen shook her head, “Catch yourself on, Sam. Who’d be waitin’ out there for me?”

 Samantha shrugged as she smiled, “I don’t know. All I know is that a fit lad is out there asking for you and he’s got a big bouquet of flowers in his hand.” Imogen could feel her body heat up. She truly didn’t know anyone in the city, so who could possibly be bringing her flowers? She didn’t have any more time to dwell on the question though because she was being gently shoved towards the door, Samantha’s quiet laughter ringing in her ears.

 Imogen stumbled out into the hallway; the dressing room door swinging shut behind her. She cleared her throat as she hesitantly looked up to see her “admirer.” A smile broke out on her face when her eyes met those of the young man from the other night, “Mr. Wallace.”

 Sean’s face twisted as he shook his head, “Please, just Sean.”

 She nodded to him, her smile growing smaller, “Sean.”

 He seemed to relax as his shoulders dropped and he smiled at her, “Miss O’Connor.” Imogen pursed her lips as she folded her arms over her chest and Sean laughed, glancing down and back up quickly, “Imogen.” She smiled again, tucking some hair behind her ear as she looked down at his shoes. He cleared his throat, gaining her attention, and held out a bouquet of pink lilies towards her, “These are for you.” Reaching out, she gently took the flowers in both her hands, looking them over. She looked up at him, but before she could get a word out, he was speaking again, “That was an amazing performance.” He pointed over his shoulder, towards the stage, nodding his head.

 She smiled, “Thank you and thank you for the flowers,” she looked down at the bouquet again, “they’re beautiful.” Imogen looked up to Sean again, quickly glancing behind him, “Here alone tonight?” She gave him a knowing smile and he nodded.

 “Thought I might treat myself to a night at the theatre.” Before she could stop herself, Imogen let out a laugh, which she then tried to cover up by pulling the flowers up to her nose. Sean looked offended as he placed his hand over his chest, “Do I not look like the type of man to enjoy the arts?”

 Trying to control her smile, Imogen lowered the flowers, “Truthfully?” Sean nodded and she bit her lip, his eyes darting to the movement as she shook her head, “No, not really.”

 He scoffed, a smile threatening to break loose, “What kind of man do I look like then?”

 Tilting her head from side to side, Imogen narrowed her eyes and brought her index finger to rest against her chin. Sean grinned as he held his arms out to the side, his head tilted slightly as he waited for her to finish her assessment. She smiled, “You look the type of man who does his honest day’s work and then goes down the pub for a drink with his mates, watches whatever game is on the telly.” Sean nodded and she chuckled.

 He stepped closer to her, “If we’re being truthful then the reason I came down to the show tonight was because I wanted to see you again and I thought that, if you had the time, then I could show you around London,” he shrugged one shoulder, “help you get used to the place.” Imogen tightened her grip on the lilies as Sean’s words rattled around in her brain.

 Then she smiled at him, “I’ve a free day tomorrow and no plans.” Her eyes moved down to the floor again as she cleared her throat.

 Slowly, Sean placed his fingers under her chin and lifted until their eyes met and then he smiled, “Tomorrow it is then.” She nodded at him, moving quickly to peck his cheek before she stepped back from him, waving as she slipped back into the dressing room. The door was ajar and he could hear a few voices whispering to each other as he stood waiting, rocking back on his heels. The whispering ended abruptly and Imogen was in front of him again.

 She held out a slip of paper as she smiled, “Tomorrow.”

[greengrayeyeswrites]

shit-faced in love (chapter one)

Title: shit-faced in love

Pairing: Corpse Husband x OC (fem!youtuber!reader)

Word Count: 1,630

Warnings: Mental Health/Mental Illnesses are a big topic in this story. Mentions of depression, bpd and other mental illnesses. Angst, Fluff.

Note: This may be a Corpse x OC story but feel free to insert yourself into the main girls role. If Corpse ever announces that he doesn't like fanfics about him, I'll delete this.

Prologue — Chapter 1 — Chapter 2

— — —

„You did what?!“ Baylee screeched into the phone and Imogen sighed. She was standing in Ballinlough Community Park and watched Buddy run around in circles, greeting the other dogs. 

„Baylee, please don’t yell… This is stupid enough even without you screaming in my ear.“ Imogen rubbed the bridge of her nose and Baylee sighed. „I just can’t believe you pinky-promised on taking Pole Dancing classes when reaching two mil… Imogen, you know you’re depressed and suffer from BPD, right?“ Imogen chuckled. 

„I know, Bay. I was diagnosed often enough“ she quickly rolled her eyes and watched Buddy stumble over his feet. „To my defense, I was shit-faced hammered when we made that plan.“

Remembering the drunk game of Proximity Among Us a few months prior, where Imogen had a playful banter with the deep-voiced Youtuber Corpse Husband, send a shiver down her spine.

She was already tipsy. Tipsy and the imposter and running around like a maniac, killing everyone who came across her, when Disguised Toast asked her, what she wanted to do once reaching two million subscriber.

Her drunk laugh had ringed in everyones ears as she promised to document herself taking Pole Dancing classes like Seán and Mark had once done. 

„Do it in San Diego“ Corpse had chuckled and Imogen had pursed her lips. „You want me to fly all the way to the states to take Pole Dancing classes?“ She had asked before killing off his little astronaut.

Once back in the lobby Corpse, whom she was getting to know at that time, started talking about the weird and drunk induced idea.  „You wanted to visit your best friend in Houston anyway, right?“ The man spoke and Imogen had nodded—even if no one except her chat could see it.

„Then come to San Diego. I bet there are good schools here.“ And after taking another sip from her Vodka Imogen grinned. „Sure, why not!“

But Imogen had low-key forgot about this situation and when Corpse tweeted her this morning, her whole face flushed and she remembered everything about the drunk Among Us session.

„But are you doing it?“ Baylee’s voice brought Imogen back to the reality. „Are you really coming to the states?“ Imogen bit the inside of her lip. „I’m meeting my therapist later today. I will definitely talk about this with him and see what he has to say.“

Imogen heard Baylee hum in the background. „I would be happy if you’d come and visit me“ she started and Imogen pouted. „Me too!“ She watched Buddy run towards her, with a stick in his mouth.

She knew she had pinky-promised Corpse that she would fly over to San Diego and document her Pole Dance classes. But was she brave enough to actually do it?

— — —

Two months later, it was a hot and sticky day in June and Imogen was looking at the suitcase in front of her. She still couldn’t believe what she was about to do.

With a one-way ticket to Houston and Buddy’s pet passport in her hands, nothing was in her way to travel over the pond. She got tested negatively for Covid and was ready to embark on this new journey.

She had a good talk with her psychiatrist about the upcoming journey and he told her that she was currently stable enough to travel. He stacked up her medication and told her that she could always call him, when she felt like the mood swings were too much to handle.

It took Imogen two months to prepare Buddy for the upcoming trip, and a lot of meetings with his vet to check if the fluffy dog would be okay in two eight hour flights. 

Imogen had her phone at her ear and was currently talking with non other than her internet friend Sykkuno. „Do you think Buddy is going to be okay?“ Imogen asked, fumbling with the hem of her pajama top. „You’ve prepared him well! You checked his health with the vet and talked with airline. You also got a letter from your psychiatrist, that Bud needs to be with you at all times!“ Sykkuno spoke and Imogen sighed.

„I know, Sykk… But I’m a little anxious that he’s going to get sick throughout the flight.“ She looked at Buddy, who was still sleeping on his cushion. „I just read so many horror stories about pets dying during flights.“ - „I feel you, Imogen. I would be super scared if something would happen to Bimbus.“ 

Imogen sat down on her bed. She still had a few hours before she had to head to the airport. She was happy Sykkuno had picked up the phone, otherwise she would’ve freaked out.

„I’m seriously happy that there are no size requirements for emotional-support-dogs… I already booked business class seats so Bud and I can have more space.“ She sighed and Sykkuno chuckled. „Just imagine the faces of all these business men wondering why there’s a full grown Siberian Husky in business class“ his laugh rang in her ears and her heart jumped.

„Not gonna lie, Sykkuno, but I can’t wait to finally meet you in person!“ She grinned and looked at all the documents, that were sprawled out on her bed. 

There was the letter from her psychiatrist, stating that Imogen needed the animal for psychological reasons; a prescription of why Imogen needed said animal and all the other veterinary documentations.

Imogen could hear the one year older male laugh. „Me too, Imogen!“, his voice was as soft as usual. „I can’t wait for Bimbus and Buddy to meet!“ He chuckled and Imogen nodded.

She had contacted almost all of her closest Youtube friends and had asked them if they wanted to meet, once she and Buddy set foot in America. 

Sykkuno was one of the first to tell her, that he wanted to meet her and Buddy. Then came Rae, that invited her to do a collab or something for their channels. Poki also contacted Imogen, asking if she wanted to hang out with her.

But the one, Imogen hadn’t believe would approach her, was Corpse Husband. Corpse had called her—it had been one in the morning in Ireland—and told her that he wanted to meet her, once she was in San Diego for her Pole Dance class.

„You want to meet me?“ Imogen asked him. „You never show your face and yet you want to meet me… in person?“ His deep laugh rang in her ears. „Yeah… is that weird? We’ve been texting everyday and I really want to meet Buddy!“ Imogen rolled her eyes.

„You want to meet the dog, not me?“ He laughed even louder and Imogen was worried for a second. His breath hitched. „Are you okay?“ - „Yeah, you just sounded as if you were jealous of your dog.“ Imogen rolled her eyes and bit her fingernails.

„You know he’s not just my dog, but my companion, right?“ - „Yet you’re jealous of me wanting to meet him.“ Imogen knew that it was no use talking to him and sighed. „You know what? Let’s meet and see if you really only want to meet Buddy.“

Imogen shook her head as she remembered the late-night calls and texts from the faceless YouTuber. And she could only fathom how stressful it must be for him to actually invite Imogen over.

„When’s your flight?“ Sykkuno asked and Imogen sat down on her gaming chair, overlooking her room and sleeping Buddy on the floor. „It’s in few hours. I still need to dress properly, I’m still in my pajama. And I still need to head up to Dublin.“ Imogen laughed. „Your layover is in Washington right?“ - „Yes, I wanted to stop in Washington because Buddy can only hold in his pee for about nine hours.“ A chuckle left the black haired girls mouth and Sykkuno laughed. 

„It’s his usual sleep duration“ Imogen looked at her wristwatch. „Dang, Sykk… I’m sorry but I really need to hang up. I definitely need to get ready. Sorry Bub!“ The YouTuber on the other line laughed. „It’s okay, Imogen. Get ready. Text me once you’re boarded and in case you need anything!“ 

Imogen grinned. „Thank you Sykkuno. Really, thank you!“ She said her goodbyes and hung up. Looking at the watch one more time, she took a deep breath. 

Imogen stood up and put her phone on her desk before rushing to the pile of clothes she decided to wear for the journey. She decided on a simple black skinny jean and an oversized black print tee. 

It was one of her go-to outfits and one she felt the most comfortable with. Even if people on the internet were sometimes thirsting over her posts and pictures; she still didn’t give them thirst traps by choice.

 She would’ve never imagined people nutting over her posting a picture of her legs covered in cuts and bruises. 

Imogen never thought people would find her scars hot. And she always exclaimed in her videos, that it wasn’t pretty, that she wasn’t romanticizing her illness. She wanted to spread awareness that it was be ugly. That’s why she posted pictures of her legs. 

She wanted to show, that it wasn’t pretty, having legs covered in self-inflicted cuts and bruises. But people still thought it was hot and edgy because she dressed like that. 

Imogen straightened her hair and checked herself in the mirror. Her eyeliner had the perfect wing and her usually dark eyebags weren’t as prominent as usually. 

She took a deep breath. „Americas… here I come…“ she looked at her dog, before taking her phone and posting one more tweet, before getting ready to head up to Dublin for her first flight of the day.

to be continued...

Taglist: @wineandionysus

[nochiquinn]

campaign 3 episode 2: two characters with southern accents are gonna make mine come back permanently

(I never LOST it per se, it just isn’t as strong as it could be) (or at least it WASN’T)

fhsdkfjsdlk are they EACH OTHER

"marisha looks like a wicked and the divine character" she DOES

is sam wearing marisha' engagement ring

sam hold your hands still

dfsakldfj ashley in the muscle suit

"once esteemed" rude

tigers and bears as rugs, oh my

I was watching campaign 1 earlier, I'm gonna get all fucked up

...I was watching the first halloween episode too, time is a flat circle

"put me as far away as possible"

there's the reaction to ashton's rage I wanted from travis last week

"take away the cane! don't trust it!"

oh good thing they have paper versions too

"waiting for fearne's voice to come out of that beard"

travis: what's a chaos burst?!

I interrupt this combat to ask why laura looks so good with a goatee (see: this, the gentleman)

the muscle suit is killing me

she even drew his tattoo on I'm

mala: this is most taliesin has ever looked like just some dude me: he looks like he's in front of me in line at kroger

b e r t r a n d

"I'm gonna unhinge my jaw" robbie: D: taliesin: :D

"I have temporal morass" "what is THAT?" "it's just 2021"

I cry every time fcg uses transfer suffering

"somebody get laura a donut, she's out of control!"

cut his ankles orym

"this is going to be f u n n y"

"seeing what he did to laudna, my eyes are going to flash white" getting kind of rwby in here

ashley no the twitch tos

so if things get Real Stressful is sam gonna perch on his chair how committed is he to this bit

SNEK

dad council ground meeting

"that's what real healers do"

BERTRAND

oh no the beard

"I'm gonna throw a knife at bertrand"

sam

imogen hanging out with laudna

...sam is wearing marisha's necklace

w h i s p e r s

"we provide...leverage"

bertrand: [ashly burch voice] I'm canonically a coward!

tacitus kilgore

"you guys seem like you have a really good deal going on" g a y

(I don't even ship it (yet), it was just gay)

fcg: always just a book by its interior design

bertrand: m'tit's bleedin

"you can suck on my hair if you want" I'm

"I don't know how to handle a dare"

samuel

travis: I don't even want any now >:(

"I'm working with children"

quietly threatening fearne

dorian backing up fearne

"do I even need to roll for this, it's so obviously full of shit"

marisha making the crazy eyes at travis

travis blocking the crazy eyes with his hand

imogen my beloved

turn the exu crew up by the ankles and shake their backstory out

holy robit

"we normally patch those" ashton

he was gonna get it in there

"it's better to let stories happen slowly" shut up taliesin I want the backstory

pate WHOMST

taliesin's face

DE LOLOS

I'm fucking dying

he's a squib

I'm gonna die on my Undead de Rolo Laudna theory hill

"I go wherever you both go" cries about it

"democracy's great, fuck yeah"

"we've come to kill you"

"fuuuuck that's cool, I want one" "that knife is actually nunchucks" "I want it MORE"

everyone diving for their pencils

"the means are up to you" so murder, got it

fearne no

go to break so ashley can escape her costume lmao

FEARNE

"does [the hammer] talk too?" "you'll find out!! :D"

OH I didn't see that sam already perched on the chair, I take back my doubt of his commitment to the bit

dorian storm 🤝 dorian pavus getting manipulative magic cast on them as kids

oh no ashley is still in the suit

free her

Fantasy Dennis

ashley resting her chin on her plastic tiddies

"my ONE that I can REROLL because I'm a HALFLING"

"it's just a dial tone"

imogen getting sensory overload from using her ability too much is Relateable

"why don't they constantly think about their crimes?!" "goat cheese is pungent and overpowering"

oh NICE

man I missed liam/laura gigglewhispers

cardcaptor sakura jump boots

the polycule grows

I keep getting distracted by how natural that goatee looks on laura

fucking JOUST sam don't remind me how old I am

"we're bad! we're very very bad at this!"

fearne what

"I was eating trail mix and laura made it go bad" liam what does that MEAN

fearne ilusm

travis' hair dye spray whatever is bleeding onto his forehead

I love imogen so much but her accent makes mine come out SO HARD

f e a r n e

"orym falls on purpose"

I'm a halfling and I can't get up

they just have social anxiety leave them alone

the catheter of kas

"no, my weak nerd arms!"

You Can Reply To This Message

survival crimes

literally just saw that sam also drew marisha's tattoo on

them still not being used to the lighting makes me smile

marisha in taliesin's shirt is also v cute

"is it gonna be creepy?" "that's up to your interpretation, darling"

Team Back Door

children

"this back door has no crack"

"I'm gonna have anxiety for a week!" "good! me too!"

byeeeeee

[echo-bleu]

straight through the smoke (4/5)

Summary: After Magnus breaks up with Alec and chooses to align with the Seelie Queen, pulling the Downworld Cabinet with him, Alec is arrested  by the Clave for high treason. Will Magnus find out in time to save him from a death sentence?

This chapter takes on right where we left Alec in the previous chapter, standing on the immolation rune waiting for Imogen to light it.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

On AO3

“Wait!”

Alec opens his eyes. Imogen has frozen with the end of her staff just inches from the fire rune. He looks around to see who has spoken, but he already knows. He feels it. It’s Jace.

“Not now, Jace,” Imogen scolds him, keeping her staff close to the rune. “This can’t be interrupted.”

Jace resolutely steps inside the safety circle, and Imogen immediately lifts up her staff. Alec locks eyes with him. What are you doing? he tries to ask silently. His whole body is coiled and almost trembling in anticipation of pain that isn’t coming. He can almost feel phantom flames lick at his feet, but there’s nothing.

The faces around them are expectant and apprehensive, but not shocked. No one tries to stop Jace, and they look at him with something like pride.

“You’re about to execute my parabatai!” Jace shouts. “I can’t let you do it.”

“He had a trial and pleaded guilty,” Imogen frowns at him in anger. “It’s over. I’m sorry Jace, but it’s done.”

“No, it’s not,” Jace breathes as he reaches Alec, grasping his hand. “Be ready,” he murmurs.

Ready for what? Alec wants to ask. But he doesn’t get the chance. Izzy joins them in the center of the circle, and Alec’s heart goes up to his throat, as much in pride as in dread. They’re going to get themselves killed, or arrested. But he can’t help the way his body vibrates at the feel of his siblings’ hands in his, when he’d thought he’d never feel them again.

“Get out of the circle, Jace,” Imogen’s tone turns threatening as she lowers her staff once again.

“If you ignite this rune,” Jace gestures at the carved rune under their feet, “then you burn me, too. Are you ready to kill your grandson? Your only family?”

“Why are you doing this?”

Jace looks at Alec for a fraction of a second before turning back to Imogen. “Because he’s my parabatai and my brother. And he doesn’t deserve this.”

“Being bound to him weakens you,” Imogen sneers. “You forget your place. You’re a Herondale, and you deserve better than a traitor for a parabatai.”

Jace swallows, and Alec squeezes his hand. Through their bond, he feels the last of his brother’s hesitation, his hope for a reconciliation, fade away. “If there’s one thing I learned about family, living with the Lightwoods, it’s that it’s not just a name,” Jace says. “Alec is my family more than you ever will be.”

“And he’s not a traitor,” Izzy adds. “Just a good man who did his best to avoid a war.”

“Guys, you can’t do this,” Alec murmurs, too low for anyone but his siblings to hear. “You’ve got to go, or she’ll punish you too.”

“It’s okay, Alec,” Izzy whispers back. “Luke is waiting for us outside. Just be ready to run.”

Alec closes his eyes. This can’t end well. They’re surrounded by several hundred Shadowhunters, even if no one seems to be in a hurry to stop them. They won’t make it out of here, and even if they did, the consequences of this…

“I will have you removed,” Imogen warns. When neither Jace nor Izzy makes a move to get out of the Circle, she signals her guards to grab them. Jace and Izzy look at each other and let Alec’s hands go, stepping in front of him.

Jace delivers the first blow, in front of a silent, unmoving audience. Imogen gasps in disbelief as the first of her two guards takes a step back, then attacks Jace. He doesn’t last more than thirty seconds and crumbles under Jace’s well placed right hook.

Izzy slips a stele in Alec’s hand before she goes to dig her heel into the second Shadowhunter’s stomach with a kick-flip. Alec quickly activates his strength and accuracy runes. As Izzy finishes off the guard, he adds his stamina rune as well. He hasn’t slept in almost three days, and he’s really feeling the strain.

His mind still hasn’t really registered that he’s not dead, but he falls into a fighting stance all the same.

“Shadowhunters!” Imogen calls out when she sees her second guard go down. “Arrest them!”

For a moment, nothing happens. There’s a lull, the Shadowhunters around the courtyard staring at Jace and Izzy inside the rune circle. Staring at Alec. Jace and Izzy fall back closer to Alec, but they don’t look tense, like they don’t expect the other Shadowhunters to do it.

Then Kara steps forward, weaponless, her hand on her Institute insignia. “I refuse to obey,” she calls out, her voice trembling but resolute. She breaches the safety circle and joins them inside.

Imogen stares at her, gobsmacked. Alec feels a rush of pride, but closes his eyes in dismay. The last thing he wants is to put her at risk.

“I stand with you,” Jens declares before Imogen can recover from her surprise. He joins Kara inside the circle with no hesitation.

One by one, the Shadowhunters around them step into the circle. Underhill. Laura. Raj. Lindsay. Stunned, Alec stares as they all refuse Imogen’s order and declare their loyalty. In a minute, a good third of the Shadowhunters present have made their move, and none of the others seem prepared to go against them.

Alec bows his head under their stares, a tear running down his cheek, overwhelmed by pride and gratefulness. Shadowhunters learn to lay down their life for their comrades without hesitation in battle, but he would never ask them to do that in such a situation. This is more than a show of support – they’re proclaiming their loyalty in a way that leaves no room for ambiguity. They’re putting themselves on the line for him.

Jace pats his shoulder and looks Imogen in the eyes, through the crowd now separating them. “You can’t execute all of us.”

“This is an insurrection,” Imogen seethes. “Do you know what you all risk?”

“This is our Institute,” Izzy opposes. “Our turf.”

“Alec’s Institute!” Underhill proclaims.

“You still answer to the Law!”

“Valentine is dead,” Jace murmurs in Alec’s ear as voices of protestation rise across the courtyard.

“Magnus and Clary?” Alec asks.

Jace opens his mouth, but in a twist of fate, that’s the exact moment when a commotion starts at the edge of the courtyard, by the door that leads back into the Institute’s ops center. Alec and his siblings turn to look as the Shadowhunters move to let through two people. The first has Clary’s unmistakable red hair, though it’s dirty and tangled. The second takes Alec’s breath away as he always does.

Magnus looks perfectly composed, aside from the bloody cut just above his left eyebrow. By contrast, Clary is covered in dirt and blood. But they both look alright, if exhausted, and Alec lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

Magnus meets his eyes across the courtyard, and almost staggers in relief. “Alexander,” he mouths, moving in long strides to Alec before anyone can try to stop him. He reaches out and stops just before touching Alec, suddenly unsure.

Alec takes his hand and leans forward, letting their brows meet for the briefest moment. He can feel the gazes on them, the curiosity and the impatience there, and he doesn’t dare do more. He doesn’t know where he stands with Magnus, and now is not the time to find out.

“You’re both okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” Magnus breathes.

“Valentine is dead!” Clary announces loudly. “His body has been retrieved by the Council. The wards around the city are now down.”

“Malachi is dead too,” Jace whispers to Alec. “We’ve got proof that he was in the Circle.”

Alec lets out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes briefly. Valentine is dead. The threat against the Downworld is gone. Magnus is safe.

Now it’s time to fight for his Institute. His people. He lets go of Magnus’ hands.

Kara taps his wrist, and Alec looks back at her. She slips her Institute insignia in his hand with a small smile. “Your Institute,” she murmurs.

Alec nods at her proudly, briefly squeezing her hand before he pins the insignia on his dark red shirt – the closest thing Imogen’s guards could find to the traditional red of execution in the Institute. He makes his way to Imogen and the edge of the circle, his people parting respectfully before him and standing at attention.

He keeps his movements purposefully slow as Imogen watches him approach, and stops a few steps away from her, holding her gaze.

“We answer to the Law,” he says. He feels Izzy slip a phone into his hand and he looks down briefly to check the screen. “But not to a corrupt Clave. Did you know, Inquisitor Herondale, that your Consul was a Circle member?”

“Excuse me?” Imogen bellows. Her surprise looks genuine, though she might simply be a very good actor. But Alec doesn’t think that she’s working for Valentine, not with her history. Not when she very nearly executed Magnus in Valentine’s body herself.

He forbids himself from thinking about Magnus, who is standing at his left shoulder, any more than that and he extends his arm to show Imogen the photo on Izzy’s phone’s screen, which shows Consul Malachi Dieudonné with a Circle rune on his neck. She brings a hand to her mouth in shock.

Alec takes a deep breath. “I declare a state of emergency over the New York Institute and invoke the right of Separation under the Laws of Governance,” he announces. “From this moment and until the matter of the Consul’s treason has been investigated and resolved, this Institute stands outside of the Clave’s jurisdiction and will answer directly to the Angel.”

Imogen still looks too stunned to answer, but one of the other Clave officials steps in front of her. “You can’t do that!” he shouts. “You’re not Head of the Institute anymore!”

Alec calmly stares him down. “I believe that both an execution order and a demotion from the position of Head are required to be signed by the Inquisitor’s hand and filed officially at the Council Hall. Since no Nephilim has been able to pass the wards around the city since yesterday morning, they haven’t been filed yet. I’m still the Head of the Institute, and within my rights to declare our Separation.”

“This is wrong,” Imogen pushes past her colleague to stand tall in front of Alec. She’s almost two heads shorter than him, but another time, he would have bowed down to her. Not today. “Where did you find that?” she gestures to the phone still in Alec’s hand. “It’s a fake. Warlock!” she points at Magnus. “You did this!”

Magnus stares at her for a moment, letting a slow smirk spread on his face. “That depends on what you’re trying to accuse me of,” he tilts his head dramatically. “Did I kill the Consul? No. That was Clarissa’s admirable work.” He ignores the gasps of surprise around them. “Did I take this picture? Also no. Did I, while you were here trying to execute my boyfriend, defend my people and yours against a terrorist and kill Valentine Morgenstern? Now that I can answer affirmatively.”

Alec would laugh at Magnus’ poise if he wasn’t so tense. He tries not to let his mind linger on boyfriend.

“Downworlders have been banned from this Institute,” Imogen spits out. “You’re here to declare war.”

“No,” Magnus sobers. “You already have. I’m only here to stop an injustice and protect my family. I should probably warn you that the Institute is surrounded by vampires, werewolves and warlocks as we speak.”

“The Institute’s wards have been raised against all Downworlders. They can’t enter!”

Magnus laughs blandly. “And who do you think built those wards? I can bring them down in seconds. In fact,” he waves his hands, blue sparks moving around him, “I already have.”

Alec nods at Izzy, who slips away discreetly as Imogen gets even more agitated. “The wards are down and Downworlders are assaulting this Institute!” she shouts, her voice echoing around the courtyard. “This warlock just admitted it! Why are you all still standing there? We are under attack!”

A number of Shadowhunters look hesitantly between her and Alec, wondering who to obey. A few – Alec makes note of their faces – start taking out their weapons, but they stall when they realize that the rest of the crowd isn’t following.

“There is no attack,” Alec opposes coldly. “Downworlders are welcome in my Institute.”

Izzy slips back in at that moment with Raphael and Luke in tow. They step behind Alec, a wall of loyal Shadowhunters automatically forming around them for protection. Alec makes sure that the symbol of it all is abundantly clear to Imogen.

“You, however, are not,” he continues. “Magnus, will you open a portal? It’s time for the Inquisitor to go back to Alicante. Anyone here who’s loyalty goes to the Clave above this Institute is welcome to follow her.”

Imogen’s face looks constipated, but before she can answer, Underhill signals for Alec’s attention by the door leading to the ops center. “The portal won’t be necessary, warlock Bane,” comes a loud voice. Alec recognizes Jia Penhallow, who walks into the courtyard briskly, followed by Aline and five Shadowhunters in Council Guard uniforms, as well as another warlock. “We have our own.”

Alec straightens and stands at attention as Jia reaches him, but he keeps the Downworlders safe behind him. “Councilor Penhallow,” he says formally.

“I apologize for not taking the time to warn you of my visit,” Jia tells him. Aline smiles at Alec from behind her and he relaxes a fraction. “The Council called for an emergency meeting and had to make some executive decisions in the wake of Consul Dieudonné’s death.”

“I should inform you before anything that I have invoked the right of Separation,” Alec speaks up. “The Downworld representatives are here under the New York Institute’s protection.”

Jia’s surprise is only betrayed by a minute halt before she nods. “Noted,” she says. “But I am not here to arrest them, nor any of your Shadowhunters. The Council has obtained proof that Consul Malachi Dieudonné has been working with Valentine Morgernstern. He has been declared a traitor and his entire staff will be reviewed.” She turns to Imogen, who is still standing frozen at the edge of the rune circle. “Inquisitor Herondale, you are hereby suspended from your functions, pending investigation. All your current cases will be reinvestigated. Any ongoing sentence you have dealt is revoked and will be reviewed.”

There’s a general sigh of relief around Alec, and Izzy squeezes his arm.

“Lightwood,” Jia goes back to Alec. “Your actions will be re-examined in the light of the recent event. As you cannot be tried by the Clave under Separation, your case will be reviewed by a jury of your Peers.”

“I understand,” Alec bows his head.

“In the meantime, you will remain Head of the Separated New York Institute. You have a period of thirty days to dissolve the Separation or have your Institute vote for permanent Detachment by referendum.”

“I intend to dissolve as soon as a new Consul is elected, unless something else happens,” Alec promises. Detachment would incapacitate his Institute too much to be reasonable, even if the thought of parting with the Clave is sometimes tempting. That part of the Laws of Governance was written for times of war, when dire situations arise that need to be resolved faster than the Council can make decisions. Separation makes Alec the sole authority over the Institute, and he’s in a good place to know how dangerous that can be.

Jia softens imperceptibly. “That should happen within a few days,” she says. “There will be other matters to resolve, but for now, I will escort Mrs Herondale back to the Guard and go back to the Council. Your Institute and your friends have been through a lot. Take your time to regroup. And don’t worry too much about the trial,” she adds. “I’m confident that your peers will see that you acted like any good Head would have.”

“Thank you,” Alec nods, allowing himself a small smile of gratitude.

“Given the threat that Valentine Morgenstern put on the Downworld, there will be no repercussion for the warlocks’ actions of the last few days,” Jia nods toward Magnus. “The Council is grateful for your help in stopping Valentine.”

Magnus nods back without a word.

Jia signals to the warlock who came with her and he opens a portal. The entire crowd watches Imogen, defeated and silent, walk the length of the courtyard and disappear, followed by the two Clave officials who joined her for the trial. Underhill and Jens help the two half-conscious guards through the portal under Jace and Izzy’s smug gazes. None of the Institute’s Shadowhunters choose to leave. Jia and her own guards bring up the rear, leaving Aline behind.

“Alec! By the Angel, that was amazing!” Izzy exclaims as soon as the portal closes, jumping into his arms.

Alec laughs, suddenly exhausted. “Thank you,” he says tearfully, not quite capable of holding in his emotions any longer. “It was all thanks to you.” He makes a gesture to encompass Jace and all the others.

Everyone starts talking at the same time, and he gives up on understanding anything that is said. He’s tired and overwhelmed and swaying on his feet as his siblings and his friends all try to hug him in their relief.

He takes Kara’s Institute insignia off his shirt and pins it back on her chest, cupping her neck to make sure she knows how proud he is. She smiles back widely, her eyes full of tears. Alec tries to have a word for each of the Shadowhunters who approach him, even though their faces quickly start to blur in his head. They all stood for him, today. They saved his life. His parabatai bond pulses with reliefpridejoy and Alec wants nothing more than lie down and let that overtake him.

But he has something to do first. He scans the crowd for Magnus and finds him right beside him, hovering without quite touching him, his face unsure.

“Can we talk?” Alec asks.

Magnus nods with a small smile. “How about we sleep first, and talk later?”

“Yeah,” Alec laughs weakly. “That’s probably best.”

[exdeputysonso-archive]

I finally watched Cymbeline!

It was okay, I guess? Average. And confusing. And I say that as someone who’s familiar with the play. If I hadn’t been I’d probably be tearing my hair out while watching it. I’m not surprised it’s acclaimed with neither audiences nor critics.

The first scene had me worried the performances would be flat and that only some of the older actors, like Ed Harris, would have any clue what they were doing. But I have to say I found all of them tolerable (except for Cymbeline’s sons. I suffered whenever they were on screen). I also really liked the soundtrack. However, I think it would’ve been better to adapt the story without keeping the text. Too much was changed and cut out for it to work. The pacing went off the rails at the end, and too many things either weren’t explained soon enough, or at all, for it to be cohesive.

A few additional observations:

- “Briton Motorcycle Club” is the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever laid mine eyes upon.

- Milla Jovovich is so beautiful.

- Ethan’s haircut is ... unfortunate.

- Men are despicable :)

- How much cash is he carrying???!

- I think this is the first thing I’ve seen Anton Yelchin in. Just knowing a young person passed (and in such a horrific way) is bad enough. Also seeing for myself just how damn talented he was makes it somehow even sadder.

- Why did John Leguizamo have to wear that hat.

- Men are gross :))))))

- I’m glad PJ gets to play nice dudes every once in a while.

- If we count the 50 Shades trilogy as one, I’ve seen Dakota Johnson in three things. In all three, the guy she’s in one way or another involved with has been a douuuuuuuuuuuuche.

- I like that she, rather than simply cut herself to get a bit of blood, sliced her entire arm open for a good and proper soak. No half measures here. Very hardcore.

- Men are the worst :))))))))))))))))

- Anton Yelchin, if you have a gun, why’d you pull your knife first? Especially if the other guy has a rifle???

- I would be more impressed with that guy for cutting Yelchin’s head off with an, admittedly big, knife if he hadn’t immediately yeeted said head onto what looks like an open field. Y’all seriously expect no one to find it there?

- Still impressive how unfazed he is after having killed someone. I guess being hardcore runs in the family.

- Arrested for skateboard crimes.

- Waking up in a quarry, wrapped in fabric and buried under rockets, and with a headless body next to me is my newest nightmare.

- Bill Pullman????

- Well, whaddya know. They did find the head.

- Also, who took all of these candids ...

- Did ... Did PJ just die?

- What the fuck!

- His character didn’t die in the play! What the fuck! >:|

- Penn Badgley does nothing but RUIN LIVES.

- “You never killed Imogen. Til now.” John Leguizamo is not appreciated enough.

- Penn Badgley does not deserve Dakota Johnson. Homegirl can do so much better.

- I am miffed about PJ’s death. He could’ve been next to Ethan at the end! He wouldn’t have to say anything! He could’ve just been there!

All right. My final verdict is: average film with mostly solid performances; Ethan was great and so was the music; not nearly enough PJ, Anton, and Milla; 2 stars out of 5.

/Foolhardy

Yay! As always, thank you so much for sharing your thoughts, I love to hear them. I'll just comment on a couple things myself:

- As someone who wasn't familiar with the play, I didn't follow a LOT of this movie on the first watch lol. - Yes Milla Jovovich! <3 - Anton Yelchin was indeed super talented and I definitely got sad watching him in this. :( - Glad to get to see PJ play a nice guy now and then too. - I had the same exact reaction seeing Bill Pullman lol. - I wasn't a Penn Badgley fan going into this movie, and this movie certainly didn't change that. - Ugh one of PJ's worst character deaths if you ask me, because it didn't even make sense. And it's hardly acknowledged, it's like wait... did he just die??? And then they don't show him again lskdjflsdkfj. A friend had a theory that it was due to blocking. They wanted Penn's character in the backseat for the shot, so they needed another character in the front seat and Philario made the most sense to go with them. And then because he was there they just killed him because he has no lines in the end. Which sounds highly plausible because it didn't seem like they had a good reason otherwise, again with hardly focusing on it. But yeah I agree, he could have just been there in the end! - Big same to your final verdict. Those were pretty much my thoughts as well!

Also a huge thank you for this ask randomly inspiring me to do a google search which led to finding some great pics lol.