#marby thoughts

[marblish0220]

extremely random and unasked for story time but i swear it is hockey related--

So, I'm at a party chatting with this guy. he says he's not from the states and I guess correctly that he's from Sweden (he gave me northern Europe as a hint) I joke about trying to guess which city (I only know one city in Sweden), but he says the town he comes from only has like a few hundred people in it, it's basically in the polar circle.

Conversation moves on a little and this song comes on, he says, "I know a guy from my hometown that played the drums and he did a cover of this song. I had a huge crush on him when we were growing up." I nod along bc I've never heard the song before. Then he says, "Yeah and then he became an actor and he plays a gay character in this Swedish show, but he's straight irl"

I'm like, hold up, what's the show called? (I was thinking it might be SKAM bc i forgot it's Norwegian)

And he says, "Oh it's a Swedish show, you've probably never heard of it. It's called Beartown."

And i say calmly (i was not calm)

LIKE THE BOOK??

and he says, "Yeah you've heard of it?" (I'm reading it right now)

and he tells me:

"Yeah the book is based off my hometown.

I'm really surprised you're reading it."

I say, after picking my jaw off the ground, "I'm an ice hockey fan. That's why I'm reading it."

He laughs and says that I'd love his hometown, cause they're crazy about hockey.

And I'm just like... yeah man, they wrote a whole book about it (like, three of them).

And then he tells me,

The guy I had a crush on played Benji, you know, the gay one.

Like ok, there's been some weird coincidences in my life so far, but this one is the weirdest. And, I don't think I could go to bed tonight without someone knowing lol.

so i guess theres that. benji's actor is straight and good at playing the drums.

[marblish0220]

Oh no! Doesn’t Obama know about the cup curse? Now he’s never gonna win a championship this is so sad :(

“In 2009, Sid the Kid was actually a kid.”

[chiwhorei]

𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐞 - 𝐏𝐭. 𝐈: 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Miguel and Peter have been best friends since grade school. You’ve been in love with Miguel for about that long.

He’s messed with every girl on campus, all of your friends, any girl with a pulse except for you- Parker’s adorable little sister. Even so, there’s plenty of ways to get fucked.

|| 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐃 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ||

Characters: Miguel O’Hara, Parker!reader, Peter Parker Tags: Explicit- MDNI, College AU, Brother’s best friend, friends-to-lovers, house party, alcohol, voyeurism with a third party, sloppy oral, degradation, yearning, sarcasm, shared Marbies and the insurmountable melancholy Word count: 3k cross-posted to Ao3!

Thank you for your patience and encouragement, I survived my first case of writers block since being back. -xoxo, chiwhorei

You wobble forward on a pair of heels that pinch a bit too tight. Your favorite pair was lent out to a friend, they matched her outfit better anyway. The runner in the hallway slips under the balls of your feet.

The bathroom, that’s your excuse. His room just happens to be right next to the bathroom. You’ll just peek in to see if he’s hiding from the pounding music and drunk college students trying to talk over it.

The fruity drinks Peter keeps making you are starting to tingle in your cheeks. Miguel calls you a lightweight, but you’ve hardly seen him at all tonight. He’s not a very good host, you think, leaving his party guests to mill about without his company.

Most everyone seems plenty boozed enough to not notice, but you would miss Miguel even if you were sedated. You’re certain you could miss him the same, even if you’d never met him. You curse your own hyperbole, God, drunk you is annoying.

“Mmph,”

A muffled groan spills out of the creak in his bedroom door. Sober you probably wouldn’t creep any closer, but she’s long gone. Plus, you have to walk past it anyway, you remind yourself, to get to the bathroom.

Your eyes wander from their strained focus at the end of the hallway and catch on a familiar complexion. Strong arms hold Miguel’s meal against his bed as it whimpers and squeals, muscles flexing underneath the remainder of his summer tan. The space between the door and its fame is just enough for your face- too much, by far, but the blood under your skin seems to pull you as close as possible without it squeaking open any further.

“Calm down, Mami,” He shushes against her, you can hear how wet his lips are, “we’re not going to get anywhere with you squirming.” Miguel’s voice knocks the air from your lungs, it escapes past your lips in a clumsy gasp.

His stare, deep and unblinking, pins you to the doorframe. You’ve gotten Miguel plenty mad, riled him up more times than you could count- but this is different. It’s red-hot, soldering you to the ground below. It’s not anger, not surprise, not the mixture of both it probably should be.

“P- please, I can’t,” her voice is familiar, even broken around a cry, “I can’t cum again, Miggy.” He kisses up her leg, licking at her ankle as it’s pinned to his chest. Pink strappy heels sit limply against the dip in Miguel’s collarbone- the pair you leant her a few hours prior. They matched her dress better, but that doesn’t seem to be a concern anymore.

Miguel doesn't stop, doesn't flinch. You can hear his mouth as it purrs into her again, see his cheeks sitting high on his face- even behind the thighs that obscure your view. Instead of yelling at you to close the door, Miguel smiles wildly. Evil, in the sweet, tooth-rotting kind of way.

“Aw, Pobrecito,” he coos against her, but the words are shot towards his voyeur, “you can give me one more.”

It feels like a bullet in your chest, friendly fire.

“You’re my good girl, aren’t ya?”

“Hey,” A finger and thumb snap in your blank eyeline to rip you from your thoughts, you jump in your seat at the sound, “Are you listening to me whatsoever?”

“Claro,” Your accent lacks any semblance of confidence. Miguel scoffs, at least some of his work is getting through.

You clear your throat and focus back to the textbook in front of you to read off the next prompt, “Write out a response to the following question, ‘¿Qué haces este fin de semana?’

Miguel snorts in response, and your eyes narrow across the kitchen table. He swallows back the snicker he holds in his mouth, hands up in feigned innocence.

“Vale, but this one’s easy, ‘No tengo planes, porque soy pinche abborito-” You clip his last word, throwing the first thing in reach, your textbook, towards his head- hoping to land a papercut.

Your tudor’s braced for impact, catching it with one hand and laughing at your outburst. You huff, arms crossed and posture falling. Miguel and Peter have your parents old dining room set, your chair wobbles as you sink back in it. Just like it always has.

“I got that, asshole.”

“Well, you could have fooled me,” Miguel slides your book back across the wood between you, “You tested out of Spanish 101 and now you're going to flunk out of 205. What was it, hermanita, clerical error?”

God that nickname digs past your skin and into the nerve endings, eating its way outwards. It wasn’t always like this, was it? You can’t seem to remember a time where his voice didn’t ignite every cell of blood.

He must have a talent for house fires, you think, or maybe you’re just more flammable in the days following your little run-in. You retreat ever further into the wobbly dining chair to create some distance, digging your shoulders into the spoked back.

It feels the same as when you were kids. Slinking into your chair and puffing your chest when you and Miguel would pass insults over the table. Your cheeks feel just as hot, your blood just as cold. You’re 13 again and Miguel just told you that boys aren’t going to want to kiss you and get stuck on your braces.

“I did well on the stupid placement test because it was on paper.” You feel like you’re speaking around that mouth of braces again, “I can understand the vocab and stuff, but our final is all oral.”

“If the final is oral,” Miguel chirps, pulling you closer by the leg of your seat with a splintering screech against the floor, “you might as well just drop the class, mija.”

He’s far too close, your skin might start sizzling. This was a horrible idea, one you’re sure you’ll be paying for later. He might as well put it on your tab.

“I’m just going to go to the tutoring center tomorrow, or try to drop, or fail and lose my spot on the dean’s list.” You go to slam your textbook closed but Miguel’s fingers curl over the spine, spreading out to keep it open.

“Cálmate, you’re not doing any of those,” instead of looking dumbly into his stare, your eyes fix on the rings Miguel wears; one for every long, beautiful finger. He mixes silver and gold, and you can’t decide which metal looks better against his gilded complexion. The things those fingers could do, your eye threatens to twitch at the thought, the places those fingers have been. Nearly all of your friends and the majority of Sorority Row.

“I promised you I’d help, I’m a man of my word,” his tone feels earnest for a beat, and you watch a pointer finger come out to barely graze the hand you’ve still got holding your book. It’s hypnotizing, maybe you shouldn't be so hard on the girls that hang off of his every sentence. All of these years you should’ve been inoculated, and you’re still no better. You might even be fatal.

“Plus, your brother bet me that you’d fail your final.”

Fuck him. And every perfect plane of skin. And that lopsided, toothy grin. And that goddamn laugh that makes you feel undercooked and mushy.

You pull your hand away, moving to stand up but those dangerous fingers curl around your wrist. His touch is so familiar, so easy to get sucked in to, like a rerun of your favorite movie. A physiological horror, maybe.

“C’mon, I bet him that you’d ace it. You’re my smart girl, mi nenita.”

The opening you have to throw a smart remark, or maybe another book, is wasted thinking about if you’re the only one who gets called that.

Miguel drops his grip on you as the front door opens. From the corner of your eye, you see his tongue lick over his bottom lip, just like he does every time he’s won. He must like the taste of your turmoil.

“Is our girl fluent yet, Mig?” Your brother’s presence is booming and a more than welcome distraction. Peter’s hands wrap around your shoulders, pressing his stubbled cheek against your face hard enough to squish your mouth to the side.

“Oh absolutely, she’s on her way to nailing that final. We’ve just got to work on her or-”

“Peter,” your voice interjects, a few octaves higher than what would pass for normal, “you got a lighter? I need a break.”

Your brother pats his jacket pockets a few times before tossing you his zippo. You fumble the catch, nerves rubbed raw and bloody. Don’t give him a reaction. You reclaim a bit of your composure and swipe the pack of Marblo reds from the table.

“Hey! Those are mine,” Miguel’s protest dosen’t reach his eyes, and you can’t hide the pleased smile that he pulls up over your teeth, “fucking brat.”

“Put it on my tab.”

The cement fencing around your brother’s apartment is cold against your ass. Your brother’s lighter sparks a few times before you can light up the cigarette. He should get a new one, but you know he won’t. Peter hates change.

Must run in the family.

It wasn’t always like this, you think against the first pull from Miguel’s cigarette, maybe if I keep ignoring it, we can both pretend it never happened.

What’s longer, death, or a life sentence?

You would have gladly lived and died a lovesick puppy, following your brother and his best friend around like Miguel was leash training. Living in between the moments of your life where he was, where he’s always been. Wrestling in the living room, pretending to hate when he’d gain the upper hand and pin you down helplessly under him. Playing tag, playing house. Calling shotgun in his old mustang, giggling every time your brother tried to argue. “It’s her seat, Peter,” he’d say with his arm over the back of your seat, pulling out of the driveway as if he hadn’t just ripped out your bleeding heart, “get over it.”

You couldn’t tell at first, but that open bedroom door was the last straw bending. The last few moments before the break, the aching stretch as you’re snapped in half. You’re not just Peter’s clumsy kid-sister anymore, you’re the drunk college girl that watched Miguel fucking his tongue into your freshman-year roommate.

You’re the still-drunk girl that walked home alone and touched herself to the memory of his wet smile and lashing tongue. The sobered-up girl that came hard on a toy named after him.

Heavy boots stalk forward, tracing the sidewalk and landing in your eyeline. You take another drag, blowing out into Miguel’s face.

“No fucking manners,” Miguel pulls the cigarette from where it sits between your lips, “what am I going to do with you.”

From where you’re perched, you meet his gaze without having to crane upwards. Miguel’s lips wrap around the stain your lipgloss left. You wonder if he notices, if he likes that taste too.

“I think I’ve had more than enough of you today.” Your quip is half-hearted and falls flatly on the pavement between you.

“Ya know, for someone with a stick shoved up her ass,” Miguel steps closer, taking up the space between either knee, “your posture sucks.”

You straighten your back in protest, but a low tree branch pokes into your spine. A yelp splinters from your throat as the wood catches where your leggings meet your sweatshirt.

Miguel laughs, but leans forward and reaches around your middle to snap the branch from where it’s stuck against your tailbone.

“Told ya.” He flattens his palms against the cool cement, you can feel the warmth of his thumbs on either side of your thighs. Rule number three, Don’t let him get too close. But you’re trapped already, surrounded in three of the four directions.

“I think we need to have a little chat, Mami.”

Maybe if you fall backwards into the tree behind you, you could try to make a break for it. A few scrapes and bruises sounds significantly more palatable.

“I think I’m good, I’ve met my heart-to-heart quota for the year.”

You try to stand, but Miguel’s hands keep your hips down where you’re sitting. You can feel the ridges of his fingers where his rings lie, the warmth of his skin, the slight tremor in his left hand.

“Ay coño,” Miguel tilts his face up to give you a smile, his canines look sharp enough to break skin, “no need to play coy now.”

Flashes of wet lips and borrowed shoes run past your vision. There’s no way you’ll make it out of this conversation in one piece, you feel yourself chipping already.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yank the cigarette from Miguel as he exhales, blowing his smoke from the side of his mouth. What a gentleman.

“I see,” he tuts. You watch him swipe his tongue across his teeth, it takes every ounce of will to keep you from thinking about how your lip gloss tastes in his mouth.

“Maybe I should bring in an outside perspective, I wonder if Peter saw anything on Saturday.” Miguel stands up straight and spins around to feign walking away, “He can help us track down the creep that was watching me fuck your little friend-“

“I don’t know what you want me to say, O’Hara,” your jaw is clenched hard enough to snap wire, “That I’m sorry? I promise I didn’t see anything? I promise I won’t tell anyone?” At least anger is a little easier than shame. Even if you’re the one in the wrong, it feels evil for Miguel to play with his food like this.

“O’Hara?” He laughs, turning back to face you with crossed arms.

“Well, Parker, I guess I’m just wondering,” Miguel takes the spent cigarette from your hand, pulling the last of it with a final inhale and dropping it onto the ground. You hear the crunch of his boot as he puts it out.

“Did you like what you saw?”

His face is only as far away as your eyelashes, two hands coil around your legs, hiking them up behind your knees. His lips are so close to you that you can taste his gum- cinnamon. A flavor so specific to him, you swear that’s the only reason he likes it.

“No,” your voice is barely above a whisper, speaking to someone you wish couldn’t hear it, “I mean, I wasn’t trying to… watch you. I was going to the bathroom and-“

“And you thought you’d stop by for an anatomy lesson? I only promised I’d help you with Spanish.”

Your eyes prick with frustrated tears, it’s either fess up or fall backwards and make a break for it.

“I was drunk,” your voice is louder than it should be, the arch in Miguel’s eyebrow seems to agree with you.

“I was tired, a- and drunk, and when I walked by your room I was… curious, I guess.”

His hands loosen from where they press into your leggings. He hasn’t let go yet, thumbs now drawing circles into the thin spandex. If his touch wandered any farther, you’d be done for- the damp heat spilling from your center outwards is mear inches from the tips of his fingers.

“Little Parker was curious,” his voice croons, “about what exactly? The birds and the bees? What mommies and daddies do when they love each other?”

Miguel’s waist blocks your legs from twisting over each other, there’s no relief to be found, it seems there never is- for you at least.

“I know what the-” his patronizing widdles down any sharp comeback you’ve got holstered until the points are dull, “I’m not a fucking kid anymore. I’m plenty versed in that area of study, and I definitely don’t need any notes from you.”

You’re not as hopeless as Miguel thinks, your first year of college was spent on any ‘anatomy lessons’ you had still been missing. Underwhelming, unsatisfying, clinical even, but the specifics would be buried next to your grave before you’d give them to Miguel.

“Hey Mig, ya ready to go?” Your brother’s voice almost knocks you from the cement ledge you’re perched on.

Miguel doesn’t falter for a second, whispering into the shell of your ear and punctuating with one last malicious smile. Your skin feels sticky, like you’ve just crawled out of a mouse trap.

The words he moved around his lips are left to echo in the now-empty space in front of you. His Mustang whines as it pulls out of the driveway and you try to shake loose from the grip still searing your thighs.

“Just let me know if you need help studying those more private subjects, I’m known to be quite the tutor.”

©️chiwhorei.2023 || don’t fuck with me I’m so serious

[alessiathepirate]

Post-Now You See Me 2

RIFFLE SHUFFLE: Dylan Rhodes / Shrike x fem!reader

Summary: Waking up next to her was something Dylan Shrike liked to experience.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I may have made while I wrote this short story.

Warnings: nothing at all, just some soft fluff

•••

It's been a while since Dylan Shrike woke up peacefully, his eyes opening slowly, trying to get used to the light.

It still felt unusual. After all those years, working for the FBI, waking up when every other person on Earth was still sleeping -- waking up to the annoying buzzing of his alarm, hurrying through chaotic mornings and then getting to work...

This felt nice. This was something he could get used to. Slow mornings, soft ones - where he doesn't have to drink strong coffees and quickly dress up.

It felt nice, because his bed wasn't empty like it used to be in the past.

Dylan turned around, facing the other side of the bed, the side of her lover, as he was still hugged by the duvet. As his eyes examined the other side, the state of it and the person sitting up with her back to the headboard, he couldn't help but smile.

Really smile.

It was nice too. Smiling this quickly after waking up.

There she was, the love of his life, the only one who really knew him ever since the beginning, who chose to stay with him and love him even after the case with Marby. She was sitting, her thighs still covered by the duvet as she played around with a pack of cards, her eyebrows moving with her thoughts, focusing on trying to do a trick right.

Dylan didn't say a word. He didn't open his mouth to say 'Good morning' like he always did, he didn't get on his elbows to lean over and kiss her like he loved to do. No, instead he kept on watching her, his smile widening every time the cards fell out of her untrained hands, landing on the duvet. But regardless of her failures, she picked them up one by one and tried again.

She tried to do a riffle shuffle. The simple, pretty much overused trick Jack did a few days ago. Her attempts weren't overly bad. They were quite nice if Dylan wanted to approach it from a professional point of view. She could divide the pack into two different decks and then make them fall interleaved. The difficult part for her was the 'bridge'. The cards always fell the wrong way when she tried to do that.

"Almost..." she whispered to herself as the cards landed on the duvet once again.

"That was a pretty nice try." Dylan finally spoke up, making her realize he was awake. He smiled when her hands shook in fear. "Just keep a more firm hold on the cards. And don't be afraid to use your thumbs when you're making the bridge."

His voice was still rough from sleep. Even he felt that, but if her sudden smile and adoration was anything to go by, then she liked it that way.

"You're up..."

"I've been up for a while." he said honestly, pushing himself up to lean toward her and press a soft kiss to her lips. "And I enjoyed the sight."

"Stop it." she whispered shyly, her cheeks running pink.

"No, I mean it. I like waking up next to you."

She smiled at that as she started to pick up the cards and after Dylan found a comfortable position he helped her too.

"I can say the same." she started, her lips forming a smirk as she continued: "And I gotta say, waking up before you and seeing you sleep peacefully- You're adorable when you're asleep."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." she answered shortly.

"Well don't you forget that I had many chances to wake up before you to admire you and then be late because of it." Dylan said, remembering her sleeping form trapped in sheet and duvet, her arms tight around one of his, her face soft and stressfree.

"And what's the conclusion?" she asked, her voice had a teasing edge. "I'm adorable too?"

He leaned closer to her, as if he'd like to share something confidential with her. "More like gorgeous, darling. The most gorgeous woman I've ever seen." he smirked when her cheeks reddened once again. "Even if you snore."

"Hey!" she shouted, laughing. "I don't snore!"

He laughed too as she leaned away from him in fake anger.

"You most definitely do."

She threw a card at him and it landed on his chest. "I tried to be nice, but if you want to play dirty- Just so you know, you snore a lot too."

He handed her the thrown card with a wide smile and watched her complete the deck, putting every card in place.

"It was cute, you know. You trying to do a card trick." his voice became softer again, trying to make her understand that he means what he says.

"I want to know a thing or two as well, you know... I don't want to be the only unskilled one." she whispered back to him, her tone changing to a serious one.

"You are skilled. Believe me, Jack wouldn't be able to model a theatre, no matter how hard he tried." he said, trying to make her see her own importance.

"Yeah, but- I just want to know stuff. The very basic stuff. I like making the models for you, but I want to know the tricks you do too."

Dylan looked at her, her features, her small pout, all the small gestures she tried to hide. He loved her. He loved loving her. He loved watching her work on the miniature models of theatres. He loved seeing how focused and interested she was.

He tilted his head.

But watching her do more card tricks would be something he'd love too.

"All right, darling. Take a look at this, okay?" he saw her nod as he gently took the cards from her hands. "You're doing the first part really well. Getting half of the deck in each hand and then mixing them. You can get your hands closer here too, see? The cards will interleave better." he started to explain as he did a very slow version of the riffle shuffle she tried to learn. "Now here, don't be afraid to hold the cards and remember that your thumbs are important. You form the bridge and then push down with your thumbs and- there you go." he finished as the cards landed in a singular perfect deck. "You finished a riffle shuffle."

He watched her smile closely, enjoying her shiny eyes and her barely open lips. Yes, teaching her magic would be something he could really get used to.

"And then-" he continued playfully. "You can pull the card which describes you most." Dylan pulled the card he previosly shuffled to the end of the pack. "Queen of Hearts, at least you're definitely the queen of mine."

She laughed as he handed her the card and he chuckled at the state she was in.

"God, that's such a Daniel Atlas move." she teased him with a giggle.

"Come on, don't be rude." he played along.

"I'm not. Believe me, no matter how many times you play me with a flirty magic trick, I always find it appealing."

"You better."

They smiled at each other as she leaned in to kiss him, her lips soft on his.

"I love you." he said lovingly, his hands finding her, touching her cheek and waist.

"I love you too." she said it back, but her soft gaze once again turned into something playful: "Just wait 'til I learn how to pull out the King of Hearts from your pocket."

Dylan laughed as he gently squeezed her waist.

He couldn't wait...

[saturnaous]

hi. your turn. what if you talked about your ocs teehee. stares at you with sparkly eyes

ooohhhh. ohhhhhhh. hooohoohooohhh. you messed up. you messed up big time. I'm on my computer now and you have to bare this hellstorm you brought up. hoohhhh

okay first we're going over Morble. because he's been on my mind lately teehee.

okay where are my pictures of him hold on. hold ond

marby mooby mamb. . .

okay so he's three years old now. I have to say that. I made him a few days before my birthday. it's horrible. we were similar ages now I'm OLD and he's also a lot older now but at the same time he's NOT. why are you in sixth grade still marbs. why.

anyways. He was made after another spurt of my enjoyment of The Weekly Roll on webtoon; it's a dungeons and dragons type webtoon, Morble is inspired by Sir Becket(he's now Lord Becket. good for you Becket). Becket's a Paladin, Morble's a Paladin. I dunno. It's neat.

that's not the neatest part about Morble though! You see. He's from a modernish dnd-like world. so uhm. basically he's kinda boring. besides being like an orphan or whatever. wait no before I move on to other bits I'm just gonna go in order of what happens.

Morble's basically just a little guy. he's just a fella. uh. he has a brother and HAD. two parents OH ACTULLY I RELALY LIKE HIS PARENTS HOLD ON I HAVE DRAWINGS OF THEM.

Katty and Mavrick. I like them a lot. these are them at maybe like early to mid twenties? around the time they got together(they went to the same highschool but met in collage and really connected at that point. they're so awesome together). they are SO neat to me.

Kat is a nice lady; she's like 6'1 and has a real hearty laugh. She's so sweet and so cool I love her so much. Mavrick is fucking deranged. He's an absolutely spunky ball of chaotic energy. He has no self preservation skill and is just an absolute goober. He's great. Everytime I imagine these two I just think of the rabbits with the "rabbit obsessed with his giant girlfriend who's 4x times his size" because he IS. They are looking at eachother thinking "I love my wife". Marvrick you are so wife. it doesn't help that he took her last name. Katty and Maverick Moor. . .

Kat was a firefighter for the longest time. Mav was a chaotic fencer and fence instructor. he's stupid with it though. His ass didn't like wearing protective gear half the time because of his confidence and lack of preservation skills. He died of a collapsed lung oneday when Morble was about nine.

teehee. mav's a little fabric guy tho. he knits. he sews. he embroiders. uhhhmmm. In that second image of Morble up here with the purple background! He's wearing a red cloak! Maverick made it for him and was gonna give it to him for his birthday. neat. obviously he couldn't. Kat gave it to him because. Well. Yeah.

Morble had a hard time with his dad being dead. I mean. what's a 9 year old supposed to do when your dad dies. it kinda sucks. Kat was going over some family history and going through some old heirlooms and stuff. The Moor's are from a pretty long line of Paladins spanding at least 500 years back(heehoo. hold onto that information). Turns out! There's also a great helm made by one of these Paladins from 500 years ago. Katty pulled it out of storage or whatever and gave it to Morble because he thought he might like it. Because it's neat. Morble loved it. literally has never taken it off.

A couple months after Mav died, Kat died while on the job. kinda fucked up. It's totally my fault for that but. Morble doesn't have to know that. But sucks for him. his brother too but he's a 4yo he doesn't really. know what's happening. but still sucks.

Morble and his brother move in with their grandma and stepgrandma. I don't have anything on them. but yeah.

Fastforward when Morble's 12. bc they had to move they're in a new school and stuff. nobody knows about dead parents or any symbolism in anything. yeah. he's kinda bullied but he just kinda shrugs it off. he's not that kind of guy.

anyways. now we're getting tot he fun parts. Morble walks from school to his grandma's apartment. there's a neat little field kinda inbetween the walk. onepoint Morble noticed a little glimmer near one of the super old trees over there. dunno how he caught it but he did(plot reasonings are why). anwyays.

morble goes over. turns out it's a neat little ring. he grabs it.

BOOM. he fucked up. the ring is magic. he gets swallowed up into some weird current thing the only way I've thought about what it's like is. basically imagine the sky is a giant fuckingthing of water and you can't breathe. it feels like drowning.

once he gets oout of it and recovers from the drowning feeling or whatever. he's like. where the hell am I. Because it's completely different from where he just was. which was like a dewy day or whatever. right now he's in super tall fields with grass and shit.

well. heehoo. yk how I said paladins go back about 500 years in his family? well. heehoo. heehoo. guess what.

Magic ring was really fucking magic and wahoo! Time traveling. I know. Wild. I don't know what I was thinking when I made him do that but it's integral to his character now so I can't change it.

Turns out. there's a little Party down a head from the road he got spat out right next to. turns out. hoo boy. The paladin in the party is an ancestor of Morble's. Got the same helm and everything. turns out he's the guy who MADE the helm actually. His name is Hearth. Hearth Moor. he's pretty cool.

about. uhhh. I dunno maybe 10 years go by? yeah Morble basically gets situated to being 500 years offset from his actual timeline. he's been looking for a way to get back for the entire time but. there hasn't been much luck. so he's just chillin.

he's 22 at this point. He sticks with Hearth and the whole party which I only vaugely got. then they go to fight a red dragon for some reason. no biggie.

hearth fucking gets clobbered and dies. which sucks. they retreat. then morble has the bright idea of well. I'm gonna go fight this dragon myself and WIN. avenge him or whatever. like an idiot. you remember how your dad died, right, morby? you little fucker.

anyways.he goes and fights this dragon. and somehow! for whatever reason! motherfucker wins. chops off his head and brings it back into town. he almost died tho. bro's bleeding like all hell. so yeah he has to spend some time being not fucking dead.

okay you know how I did that serval vs brown tabby poll yesterday. well. that was on our next character, Coraline.

coraline. the baddie. she's so cool.

she's a serval now btw. the poll said so and I was digigng the design more than the brown tabby. anyways.

She's a bard! She's working at the tavern the party was staying at. She basically became Morble's nurse because. because. she'd sing him songs and shit. Her voice claim is actually. uhhhhhhh. The son Rich by Cosmo Sheldrake and the other person that worked on it. yeah.

Coraline joins the party whenever they get back on their feet. The Tavern keeps the dragons head because Morble said they could. They go from 'The Hollow Tavern' to 'The Hollow Dragon's Tavern'. p neat.

uh. yeah. Next two years Coraline and Morble get kinda close. they like eachother but Morble's fucking stupid. he's a shy little himbo. what a goober.

that's basically all I got on canon for him tbh. I like to twirl him around in my head. I have one pathway where Marby finds a way to go back to his timeline. when he's 12. he was missing for about two months tho. 12 years turned into 12 weeks. yeah. sucked for everyone around them. but mostly morble because he's now 24 in a scrawny 12 yearold's body and going to 6thgrade classes. and everybody thinks he's 12 and doesn't know where he's been for like two months and he won't tell anyone because nobody would believe him if he shrugged and said Yeahhh I picked up a magic ring and I was stuck 500 years ago for 12 years! No biggie!! yeah. Morble just kinda goes about like tho after that and becomes a highschool history teacher and works at the local museum. he's really neat. He also is super funky when it comes to his classroom decorations because he has a wall of swords and an entire replica of the suit of heavy armor he used to wear. he's also deranged and under his clothes and leather jacket he has like. jackchains, chainmail(lining his jacket), greaves, and. I think something else but I forgot what. he's wild. I just really like to put him in the salad spinner of my head and think about him with things teehee. twirls hair kicks feet.

yeah. you fucked up with this ask tho. I have more. I'm talking about Harry now. maybe Kinglen if I feel like it. let me get my things fo harry.

this be harry. harry hearthorn. I'm obsessed with him. he's so fucking funny. you'll have to excuse the things of Alphonse and stuff in that last one. I'm gonna be using. him for dnd <3

I love Harry. He's from a military type country or whatever. it's. it's not the best. they're like. I don't know how to describe it. think of amestris but less "we wanna take over the world" and more "we like war and we want more" or whatever. you understand. it's a weird one.

there's like three main branches of jobs. military, research and development slash the sciences, and basically 'entertainment'. entertainers are literally just everything that doesn't fall into the other catagories. these are like artists and show runners and broadcasters and radio hosts and other things of the sort.

school works in this place by being 12 years just like 'merican schools(EAGLE SCREECH GUNSHOTS FIREWORKS). but the first 8 you are just doing general stuff. the 9 and 10th are for pinning down what branch you're going into. and 11 and 12 are getting experience in your field. this is mainly getting mentorships and other stuff, witht he execption of the military branch

Military only has one place to go. If you're going into the military at 16, you're goign STRAIGHT To tht emilitary at 16.

Harry's mom was in the R&D branch, Harry's dad was in the military. they met at a bar. they're funny. both bisexual which is REALLY funny because Harriet is ALSO bisexual and Harry is bicurious-aspec. harry's mom is 6'1 btw. Harry's 6'5. justlittle stuff. I think I named her Maria. his dad is named Henry.

anyways. Harry and Harriet., they are siblings. Harriet is two years older than Harry. though it's funny bc their full names are Harrison and Harriet. but. Harriet is Harry. And Harrison is Harriet. they had a sense of humor.

ATM harry is 31. Harriet is 33 and a senior broadcaster at one of the shownetworks or whatever. Maria is retired. Henry died while on duty when Harry and Harriet were lke 12 and 14.

anyways. Harry wanted to go into the science or military branches. like his parents. His scores were leaning more to being althetic and shit so he got put into the military. he's been there like. ever since. he barely goes home bc he feels no need and because there's an active war(a really long one. . . neither side will stop. . . they really like war) and he just. didn't feel the need. but they forced him to go home a few times when he got like. shot and stabbed and stuff. yeah he's a g like that. did I mention he's a first lieutenant btw. he's a first lieutenant bc I said so.

anyways. his downfall is when onetime. after making a bad call sends the part of his platoon he's with through a part of whereever they are. one fo the younger guys. steps on a landmine. out of like, 14 soliders, only three of them survive. harry, someone else who was closer to the mine, and a younger one that was farther away and practically unscathed. Harry lost his leg and most of his hearing in his right ear and all of it in his left. teehee

anyways. after his main amount of recovery. he's still in the military but they don't put him on any active duty despite him BEGGING for it. because of the PTSD mainly and because he's depressed as fuck secondarly. yeah. basically it sucks for him really bad. he gets put on staff duty indefinetly. also I have to mention Harry fucks. severially. I mentioned that he's aspec. like. arospec. he is not acespec. he fucks.

anyways. basically he's depressed as fuck because. he accidently killed a bunch of guys and ptsd is kicking his ass. he tries to drink his worries away and doesn't care about what kind of trouble he gets into with the drinking and getting caught with girls and stuff. he gets put onto suicide watch after an incident with a lower ranking guy. yeah.

at that point they decide the best option is to just. give him an honorable discharge. so they do that. Harry has to move in with his mom and sister. he does that. everything sucks for him. yeah

at some point after his birthday he decides well. this fucking sucks. I hate this. I'm leaving. he grabs like his old uniform, and money, and a pack, and a pack of smokes and just. hitchhikes. out of the country. without fucking telling anyone. he calls Harriet and his mom after he's out of the country like "heyyy. I'm. I'm out west or whatever. gonna. figure something out here." and they're like WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK MAN. WHAT THE HELL. but he writes them letters and calls them ebcause they can't really do jack about it. yeah

so. basically he's just hitchhiking till he gets to another country. which he does and then basically he tried to do some freelance work or something. then he finds a little group who are gonna basically take down the government. I dunno that's where the campaign is gonna start methinks. Harry might get himself a funny little dragonborn boyfriend. yeah. okay I have to shower and. actually do stuff teehee I rolls out of bed and went straight to my puter to talk about these guys. so teehe. I'm so hungry I need water.

OH OH HOLD ON. uhhmmm here's old art of morble. spannign from 3 years ago to a couple months ago. teehee

neat. the third one is the very very VERY first thing I did of him ever in existance. second one is one I did and the first one is a redraw from months later. the last one is me just doodling him months ago and pinning down his design again. I changed his helm bc it made no sense.

OKAY I’M GOING I’M GOING FALLS TO THE FLOOR AND ROLLS AWAY LIKE A LOG

[marblish0220]

Thinking about this in the context of the Dallas stars bc like, it’s not a *huge* fan base that’s making rpf content for it (as far as I’ve seen) and a lot of the players on the team are at relatively similar levels of popularity, so there’s a lot of mix and matching when it comes to pairs, and very much it’s tied to what’s - for lack of a better description - popular at the time? So I mean, if you’re quantifying rare pairs as fics with less than 100 works for it, or even less than 50 works, then most DAL pairs are probably considered rare pairs, no? Also tho, grain of salt and all that, bc I’m very new to ‘it all’ so this is purely based on the little I’ve gathered from being around for a short while. And like it does kind of feel like, to me, that a lot of folks I’ve seen in the fandom take more of a “fine, I’ll do it myself” approach. And at the same time, there also doesn’t seem to be this kind of *locked in* mentality to just one ship or pairing one player just with one other player. Everyone’s kinda open to everything and that’s really cool.

honestly? if you want more works in your rare pair tag, talk to the multishippers

we're already into shipping characters with anyone we find interesting for them

we have a lot of practice at looking at two characters and saying, "hmmm that could work"

we're generally pretty open-minded when it comes to shipping anyone with anyone else (although even multishippers can still have NoTPs)

so squee your little heart out about why you love your rare ship that no one knows about, and nudge your local multishipper to see what they think

[brainrot-hq]

Okay I mentioned having thoughts on Kate McKinnon Barbie and I want to talk about them.

I will say this is more pure speculation than theory, I don't really have anything to support this, and it was literally an idea I had in the shower lol

Okay, so Kate Barbie and Margot Barbie are the only only blonde Barbies (at least as far as we know), and I thought that that was an interesting choice.

Basically, I think that Kate Barbie may have been the main Barbie at some point, and found her way to the real world on her own, but it possibly was been a doll instead of a person? I'm not 100% sure on the way it would happen, but I think that she may have become something of an outcast, as we see, and then Margot Barbie (Bargot? Marbie?) either came into being/the universe created her or something and kind of took the place of main Barbie.

Or: maybe Kate Barbie was a doll that a child owned that somehow found its way into Barbieland, causing her to be the disheveled Barbie we see her as.

Idk this, again, is all speculation. It's basically me seeing one thing and taking in and running.

Let me know your thoughts!!

[moved-to-civic-hub]

@wintermulitplied asked:

🕯️Annnnd Maud & Pinkie for Marbie

"Um..." Marble fiddled with her hooves. She never really talked about herself or her feelings much...her sisters mostly did the talking for her...especially Pinkie. So instead, she takes a paper and pencil and scribbles a picture of Marble with her three sisters: Maud, Pinkie, and Limestone. There are hearts on the picture, indicating the love she had for her sisters. "Mm-hmm."

send me 🕯️to hear my character's inner thoughts about your character | open & accepting

[flightfoot]

Let It Be Enough To Reach The Truth That Lies Ch.1

Thanks to my betas, @miabrown007, @khanofallorcs, and Marby!

AO3

-------

Well, so much for THAT test.

He’d found a Holder for the Ladybug Miraculous quickly. That girl from the bakery would do nicely.

The Black Cat was proving trickier.

Apparently, an old man on the ground, straining to reach his cane wasn’t even worth stopping for, much less helping. Granted, he didn’t see any kids around; it was just random adults. Which was weird since he was right outside Collège Françoise Dupont and he was pretty sure Bakery Girl was running here to her class.

Though, she seemed like she was late… maybe he should’ve waited until lunch period to try the test. Most of the students were probably inside by now.

With a sigh, he got up and trudged off. Hopefully whoever held the Butterfly Miraculous now would wait just a little longer before activating it.

He didn’t notice the small box he had left behind.

------

Adrien sighed as he sank into the car seat. 

Of course Nathalie and Gorilla caught him. His father probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone, but those two? They actually looked after him. They’d notice — especially Gorilla.

Though he had a feeling Gorilla hadn’t been the one to draw attention to him being gone. His job might be to protect Adrien, but well… even he seemed to realize that the lockdown his father had put him under wasn’t so much ‘protecting’ him as ‘stifling’ him.

At least, that was what he thought from Gorilla’s facial expression, body language, and him very conspicuously going to the bathroom for an extended period of time right about when Adrien would need to leave in order to run to school.

Unfortunately, Nathalie wasn’t so lenient.

He played around with the box he’d scooped up as he ran to school. He’d intended to bring it to the lost and found (assuming a student or faculty member lost it, judging by its location), but it looked like he wouldn’t get the chance.

Maybe she’d return it for him?

“Hey, Nathalie, I know you probably won’t let me head back there but… could you at least make sure this gets to the school? I think someone left it behind and I wouldn’t want them to not get it back because of me.”

She was silent for a minute. He didn’t even think she heard him at first.

Finally, she let out a deep breath and stuck her hand back. “Very well. Give it to me.”

She brought it up in front of her where she could see it. 

And choked and spluttered.

“This- how did you- where did you get this?!”

Adrien blinked, surprised. Why would just a small box — albeit a very ornate one — garner such a strong reaction? “I found it on the ground just outside the school.”

She turned halfway around in her seat, her face deadly serious. “Adrien. Do you remember anyone around? Anyone at all?”

“I- I mean, there were some random people, but I don’t-”

“Adrien. This is important. Think.” 

He closed his eyes, concentrating hard.

But-

“Sorry, Nathalie. I don’t remember. I wasn’t paying attention to that.”

She stared at him a moment, searching his face, then nodded. “Very well. They may have left already in any case.”

“They who?”

She ignored him.

“Nathalie? What’s up with that box?”

She pulled out her phone. “Mr. Agreste? I’ve got something you need to see.”

----

She refused to acknowledge him for the rest of the car ride.

He stopped trying after the third attempt. Clearly, he wasn’t going to make any headway like this.

It was like talking to his father; once he made a decision nothing Adrien said or did would sway him.

When they entered the house, Nathalie headed straight for his father’s study. He tried to tag along but-

“Adrien. I must speak to your father privately.”

He frowned. “Is this about the box?”

She just turned around, closing the door behind her.

With a sigh he walked to his room, depositing his school bag on the floor before making a flying leap onto his bed, burying his head in his pillow.

What was Nathalie hiding?

Why was that random box so important?

And why couldn’t he go to school?

He’d always had a very… constrained social circle, limited to Chloé, and occasionally Félix, whenever he happened to visit. It could get lonely sometimes and he really wanted to spend time with more kids his own age, but he’d at least always had them, plus his mother.

A deep ache filled his stomach. She’d only been gone a couple months, but it felt both like no time had passed at all, and like an eternity.

And when she passed away, so it seemed had his father.

He’d ordered a full lockdown, not allowing Adrien to see ANYONE but Nathalie, Gorilla, and himself. Not that that meant much. He seemed to live in his study now.

Adrien had been trying to give his father space.

But… while his father had lost his wife... he’d lost his mother.

And he still needed people. 

He couldn’t stay locked up in this house forever, slowly going insane with only his spiraling thoughts and memories to keep him company.

*rumble*

What was that?

He ran out the front door, expecting to see… he didn’t know.

But definitely not what was actually there.

A giant stone monster?

What the hell?! 

Could this day get any stranger?

The police shot at the monster, which seemed like a pretty ineffectual choice to Adrien. If it was made of stone like it looked, that wouldn’t do much more than annoy him.

It glowed, growing even bigger.

Well.

So much for that.

Rushing back inside, he turned on the TV. 

A surge of excitement ran through him as he listened to the newscaster. 

A supervillain? Here in Paris?

Maybe it wasn’t a good thing. Wasn’t something to hope for. That supervillain was causing a lot of damage, and judging by the police chief’s broken arm, had already hurt people.

But Adrien’d grown up on tales of superheroes and supervillains, of good versus evil, of epic battles and the triumph of the best of human nature.

He may have practiced some superhero moves a few times. His climbing wall was great for perfecting the landings.

Of course, not all superhero tropes were created equal. While he liked the regular human superheroes showing how even ordinary (well, for certain values of ‘ordinary’) people could fight against the most extraordinary foes, he loved seeing people who had superpowers intrinsically fight for what was right as well, his favorite superheroes weren’t even usually called ’superheroes’.

When he was a couple years younger and flicking through TV channels, he’d stumbled across a show in a style he hadn’t seen before, but had grown quite familiar with since.

A pigtailed teen girl struggling against a supervillain, not knowing what to do, thinking all hope was lost and she’d failed-!

Until a rose embedded itself at her feet.

A mysterious dashing stranger dressed in black giving her the words of encouragement that she couldn’t find for herself.

He continued watching, later discovering that the show was named after the titular heroine Sailor Moon. 

Tuxedo Mask — at least, while transformed — remained his favorite element of the show, the sort of hero he secretly wished he could be.

Though with a cooler transformation sequence. Tuxedo Mask’s was pretty boring. The Sailor Scouts were far more interesting to watch.

He may have made up his own transformation sequence for Tuxedo Mask, practicing it a few times.

A few hundred times.

With what had happened in- in the past few months, he’d stopped watching it.

Stopped daydreaming.

But now it all came rushing back.

He jumped up, about to race out again-

And paused. 

What exactly could he DO here? 

He didn’t have superpowers, and his attempt at karate…

Well. There was a reason he’d dropped the class after a few sessions. 

Right now he wished he’d kept at it. Fencing didn���t seem like it’d be that useful here.

Oh who was he kidding, even KARATE wouldn’t do much. The police had already tried firing at the monster and that only made it stronger.

He’d go and follow it, see what might happen — hey maybe he could still help from the sidelines, and who knew? Maybe a superhero would show up to help! — but somehow he doubted Gorilla would let him.

Look the other way so he could go to school? Sure.

Look the other way so he could follow a dangerous, unknown supervillain? Kiiiiinda went against his entire job.

Though, that didn’t stop him from feeling a pang of jealousy when he saw a girl around his age on TV, following the supervillain on her bike. Absurdly dangerous, most definitely, but he’d change places with her in a heartbeat.

Unfortunately, all he could do was watch.

A superhero DID show up a short time later. There wasn’t much info on her — the only recording was from that girl on the bike from before, and she didn’t catch the full fight — but he thought she was pretty cool from what he saw. A bit camera shy, though.

He understood that sort of thing. He’d been pretty anxious whenever the press gathered around when he was younger and less experienced.

Not so much anymore, he was used to it now, even enjoyed it at times, but for someone not used to the attention? It helped having someone there with you for reassurance and guidance.

For him, that had been his mom. 

But this girl didn’t look like she HAD anyone.

Adrien flicked through the news channels, trying to devour any info on her, the supervillain, all of this, that he could.

And then-!

“A new wave of panic is sweeping across the capital as dozens of people are mysteriously transformed into stone monsters”

Well.

That wasn’t good.

Ladybug had managed to take down one supervillain by herself (who was apparently a kid named Ivan who didn’t even remember it?) but that many? 

With no backup?

The supervillain had grabbed her during the fight. It’d been part of her plan… but with no backup, she couldn’t afford to make any mistakes, and that could easily have gone wrong.

That was a lot of pressure to put anyone under, especially a kid who looked no older than himself.

Maybe staying up until midnight, browsing online forums, speculating about Ladybug, the supervillain, and the rock monster clone army hadn’t been his best plan.

Going to bed early might not have made a difference, though, he was too hyped up.

Still, even exhausted, he was determined to give escaping to school another shot…

...Aaaand was quickly shot down. Turned out Gorilla wasn’t going to let him run out there when people were turning into frozen stone monsters. Who knew?

He contemplated trying to turn his bedsheets into a makeshift rope (he’d seen it in several movies and TV shows, it had to work, right?), but eventually scrapped the idea. He may have been climbing the walls of his room, but he wasn’t THAT desperate. Yet.

The superhero Ladybug returned, but her confidence seemed pretty shaken. She stuttered and fidgeted in front of the camera a lot and seemed to wilt under some particularly harsh statements by the police chief.

Which - seriously dude? She was TRYING!

But even as unsure as she seemed, she persevered. When the giant butterfly head man, Hawkmoth, tried to blame her for causing the damage to the city, she snapped. She was NOT taking that crap.

Adrien may have jumped up and down and cheered a few times during her subsequent speech, grinning like an idiot. She was AWESOME! And that Lucky Charm thing? Inspired! He wished he knew more of how that power worked. Did she make the plan and then summon the object? That would make sense but from her look of confusion after summoning it, that didn’t seem quite right.

Sitting back he sighed. He really, REALLY wished he could be there with her.

A door opened behind him.

He turned his head.

And did a double-take.

His FATHER?! Actually coming to speak to him UNPROMPTED?!

That hadn’t happened since-!

...Actually he couldn’t remember the last time that happened. It only ever seemed to coincide with him wanting something from Adrien or chastising him for something or other.

Oh no.

He- he couldn’t be that mad about him running to school yesterday right?

Or- or maybe this was about the box? There was something unusual about it, maybe he just wanted to know more about it? Or tell him what was so important about it?

Probably not that last one.

A hand rested on his shoulder. 

“Adrien, there’s something I need to show you.”

-----

His father had a secret passage by his mother’s portrait.

WHAT.

Seriously, when had he had THAT installed?! Was that just part of the house and he’d altered it to work via pressing part of the painting?!

...Were there more?

He’d scoured the house when he was younger, searching for the cool secret passages that all mansions seemed to have in the movies he watched and books he read. Only to come to the depressing conclusion that that was NOT, in fact, an intrinsic quality of mansions.

Might have to rethink that now.

He fidgeted as they descended in the secret elevator (he was still not over that) into some large, underground chamber.

...Okay, he REALLY thought he would’ve noticed this place being excavated, it had to have already been here.

Superheroes, supervillains, secret passages, hidden chambers… he was beginning to think he was dreaming. Or maybe trapped in a comic book.

The elevator came to a halt. 

Lights slowly came on as they walked down a long suspended hallway.

At the end? A nature area with grass and bushes, some sort of pod among them, a giant window looming over everything.

Was… was his father part of a secret underground cult?!

Was Adrien supposed to be indoctrinated in as its newest member against his will?

Or was he led here as a human sacrifice?!

Normally he’d calm himself thinking that this was real life and not like, a comic or movie — but considering everything that’d happened in the last twenty-four hours (heck, in the last twenty-four MINUTES), that wasn’t much of a reassurance.

His father turned around as his own steps slowed. “Keep up, my son. I don’t have all day.”

With a shaky breath he willed his feet to move.

It- it probably wasn’t a secret underground death cult.

There’d be more people around, right? Hooded figures in dark cloaks?

Just his father (and maybe Nathalie?) wouldn’t make for much of a cult.

Yeah! So… so there must be a perfectly normal, reasonable explanation for all of this. He didn’t have the slightest idea what that could be, but he was sure it existed!

They came to a stop in front of the pod.

...it looked entirely too much like a coffin.

He’s not using me as a human sacrifice, he’s not using me as a human sacrifice, HE’S NOT USING ME AS A HUMAN SACRIFICE-

“When I- when I told you that your mother passed away… I may not have been entirely truthful.”

Wh-what?!

But that meant-!

“She’s alive?!”

His father simply moved forwards and pressed a button on the pod.

The cover opened.

Adrien forgot how to breathe.

He hadn’t seen her for two months.

Hadn’t expected to see her ever again outside of portraits, photos, and films.

And yet, here she was.

But she wasn’t moving. No medical equipment was attached to her either.

He tore his gaze away from her. He needed to know. To read his father’s expression and know he wasn’t lying. “She’s ALIVE, right?!”

Father gave a slow nod. “She’s in a magical coma… but she isn’t dead.”

...Magical?

“How…?”

Father stared forwards, lost in thought.

A moment later he sighed. “She used a magical artifact she shouldn’t have, did something she should not have done… and paid the price for it.”

Turning around, his father turned his attention back to Adrien. “You gave me half of the cure. With your help we can acquire the other half and save her.”

Gave him half?

The box!

“Was that why Nathalie was so insistent on taking that box? What was it?”

“It contained a powerful magical artifact known as a ‘Miraculous’.”

Adrien frowned. He’d heard that term before. “That’s the thing the evil butterfly man wants, right?”

Father scowled. “She should’ve just handed it over. That pesky little girl doesn’t know what she’s doing!”

Something about that — his tone, his body language, his words — caused Adrien to take a step back.

“Father?” he asked cautiously. “What do you mean? How would that help you? What does Hawkmoth wanting Ladybug’s Miraculous have to do with anything?”

Adrien had a bad feeling about this.

In answer, his father took off his candy cane-striped tie, revealing the purple jewel underneath.

“Nooroo, Dark Wings Rise!”

A purple light flashed over him.

Leaving a man in a silver helmet and purple coat, a butterfly shaped jewel on his chest.

WHAT?!

Wildly, Adrien’s mind cast back through the extraordinary things he’d seen in the last few minutes, the secret passages, the underground chamber, his mom in a coma; all kept secret from the world.

All being recast in light of this new information.

They weren’t signs his father was part of a cult.

The secret passage, the underground chamber — both part of a secret evil lair.

And his mother being in a coma?

The hero refusing to give up an item that could cure her?

He’d seen this sort of thing before.

Sometimes the villain wanted an item, wanted something from the hero for a good cause.

But there was often a good reason the hero would fight tooth and nail to prevent them from acquiring it.

“Ladybug’s Miraculous, when combined with the Black Cat Miraculous, will allow me to save her.”

That was frustratingly vague.

“How? What do you need to do? What are the risks, the consequences?”

His father looked down on him. “I thought you missed her. That you wanted her back. What a poor excuse for a son you are.”

“No! Of course I-!”

“Do you wish for her to remain like this forever?”

“No I just-!”

“That Miraculous is the only thing standing in the way of reviving her. We MUST retrieve it.”

“We…?”

His father took a small box out of his coat.

A very familiar box.

Being held right in front of him.

“Open it.”

It wasn’t a request.

Gingerly he opened the lid.

A small black ring with a green glowing pawprint sat in the middle.

“Put it on.”

Swallowing hard, he did as his father commanded.

A light shot out.

“Wah-!”

It dimmed, revealing a small black catlike creature.

Who shook himself, looked around-

And locked eyes with his father.

“LET ME GO THIS INSTANT, YOU TERRIBLE EXCUSE FOR-!”

“I forbid you from speaking.”

The creature's mouth vanished.

“MMMMM! MMmm- MMMM!”

“Ah… much better.”

Adrien just stared, slack-jawed.

“Father, what did you just- what did you just DO?!”

“I shut up an annoying pest. If he insists on misbehaving and acting out, he no longer gets the privilege of having the ability to do so.”

WHAT.

Adrien opened his mouth to protest… and then shut it.

If he spoke up, ‘acted out’... would his father do the same thing?

He didn’t think his mouth could be sealed off.

But he wasn’t certain of it.

And there were plenty of other things he could do to him.

Suddenly, he was VERY acutely aware of how much bigger, how much taller his father was than him.

How much stronger.

Would Father ever hurt him?

Before today he’d have said ‘no, of course not’. 

Now he wasn’t so sure. He certainly paid no mind to hurting others.

The small cat creature gave his father a death glare, making gestures he guessed would be extremely rude if his forearms had actual fingers to gesticulate with.

“That,” his father pointed at the cat, “is a Kwami. They give the owners of their Miraculous powers. Simply say ‘Plagg, transform me’ and he will be sucked into the ring, much like what happened with my own kwami earlier. Each grants special powers unique to their Miraculous on top of the standard super strength, endurance, and agility. The Black Cat Miraculous gives the power of destruction; simply say ‘Cataclysm’ and you’ll be able to destroy anything you touch. But since you are a child, you will detransform five minutes later, same as that accursed Ladybug.”

He could transform?

Gain superpowers like Ladybug?

Become a superhero?!

He glanced at Plagg.

The kwami’d gone still, simply looking at him with lidded, narrow eyes, mouth still missing.

No. Not a superhero. Not while under Father’s control.

A superVILLAIN.

He swallowed hard.

He wanted to have superpowers, to run around the city, to fight and be free.

But if he had to be a supervillain, he’d rather not have powers at all.

Hesitantly he grasped the ring, slowly pulling it off.

Too late, his father spoke up. “I wouldn’t do-”

The ring was off his finger.

Plagg dropped like a rock.

“WHA-!”

Dropping to his hands and knees he cupped his hands around the violently twisting tiny creature.

His eyes bugged out as he spasmed wildly, flailing uncontrollably.

If he’d had a mouth, Adrien was sure he’d be screaming.

“What’s wrong with him?!” 

“You activated my failsafe,” Father replied. “I wouldn’t want you just leaving the ring lying around. Best you keep it on at all times, unless I allow you to remove it.”

His father did this? INTENTIONALLY?!

Ok, ok, don’t panic! Prioritize. The failsafe activated because he took the ring off, it was meant to incentivize him keeping it on at all times, so…

Fumbling around, he put the ring back on one of his shaking fingers.

Instantly, Plagg relaxed, sinking into his palm, eyes half-closed.

This… this little creature was at his father’s mercy.

And it didn’t seem like Father had much of that.

“F-father?” he said, looking up at him. 

Quickly, he dropped his eyes. Best not to seem like a threat, like he was challenging him.

Maybe Father would assert his dominance by taking it out on him.

Or maybe he'd just take it out on Plagg.

“Please. Please, could you return Plagg’s mouth to him?”

“Hmmph. Perhaps later, provided that he’s well-behaved. Keep him under control or else I’ll do so myself. Right now, I have a task for you.”

That normally would not sound ominous.

Normally, his father would not say that after revealing he was a supervillain and torturing someone.

“Yes, Father.”

His father smiled.

Adrien’s spine stiffened.

“Transform. Let me see what you can do.”

----

Left. Right. Dodge. Jump.

OOPH

He wasn’t used to being caned in the stomach.

It didn’t hurt much — the Miraculous was pretty protective as it turned out — but it was still a pretty harsh impact.

While he was off-balance Father hit him again, sending him flying into a wall.

And again.

And again.

Each time before he could even begin to recover.

Father walked over to him as he lay on the ground, struggling to get up.

Adrien braced himself for another hit.

“I expect better from you. As an Agreste, and as my son.”

He turned his back to him. “We will spar every day until you can put up even a paltry fight. I cannot have you putting up such an embarrassing performance.”

Every day?

This was going to be EVERY DAY?!

He understood training. Understood the need to practice to get better. But training was supposed to include guidance, helpful tricks, being shown a few moves. Not just being beaten by a stronger, more experienced opponent.

He grit his teeth. “Yes, Father.”

“You need to be stronger if you are to take Ladybug’s Miraculous. If we are to heal your mother.”

Mom…

He looked over at her, still peacefully sleeping, entirely unaware of everything that had happened.

If she knew, would she be okay with this?

An hour ago, he would’ve choked at the thought and yelled ‘Of course not!’ 

He knew his parents after all.

But finding out how little he truly knew his father made him doubt.

His father glanced at him. “You may leave for now. Tomorrow, you go out in the field. Do NOT disappoint.”

As he made his way to the elevator, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. “Not while transformed. Say ‘detransform’ to release it.”

“Detransform!”

Plagg spiraled out of the ring.

His mouth was still gone, but he seemed in better shape than he was right after being tortured, at least.

Oh god, Adrien didn’t want to risk accidentally upsetting his father but-

“I- I think Plagg’s learned his lesson. Please Father?”

He rested his gaze on Adrien for a moment. Then-

“Very well. But if there’s one peep out of him...”

“Thank you, Father.”

He snapped his fingers.

Plagg’s mouth came back. He opened and closed it many times as if testing that it’d truly returned.

“Y-”

NOPE.

Quickly snatching Plagg out of the air, Adrien ran for the elevator.

------

If he ever got his paws on that candy-cane son of a bitch…!

Plagg floated wildly around the room. 

Well. For certain values of ‘around’. That complete and utter BASTARD had decided that in addition to preventing Plagg from harming him, from interacting with anything or anyone else except for eating food, and forcing him to hide whenever others were around, he was ALSO on a leash.

Five feet.

He couldn’t wander more than five feet away from his Miraculous.

And since that- that torture spell would take effect the minute his ring slipped off of his Holder’s finger, that meant he was, in effect, tied to staying within five feet of Adrien.

Adrien…

He didn’t really know what to make of the boy just yet.

His father? Very clear opinion on him.

But his son didn’t exactly seem thrilled with Candy-butt’s actions.

Just his luck. OF COURSE the ‘dark power’ Wayzz had sensed had stumbled on his Miraculous. Naturally. 

He may have been the Kwami of Destruction, but sometimes it felt like he was the Kwami of Bad Luck instead.

Not that assholes getting their hands on him was entirely new, but well, usually they weren’t quite as well-versed in putting up safeguards to stop him from stealing his Miraculous back, or in extreme cases, Cataclysming their asses.

He hadn’t even been activated when the curses were applied. Which hey, on the upside, meant he didn’t have to feel them taking effect! ...On the downside, it meant he didn’t know exactly what the curses were or how many of them there were. Some of them he’d been told about, others he’d figured out for himself, but… there could still be others. He hadn’t known about the “torture if ring is removed” curse until Adrien actually did it.

Not that that would STOP him from looking for loopholes, but well… not right now. He’d been through quite enough pain already without risking stumbling across a curse that would activate the torture again.

He shuddered.

Kwamis by themselves rarely got hurt. But when a Holder transformed, fusing the two of them  together, he’d feel the same pain as the Holder.

The only time he’d felt pain that bad, his Holder had had the brilliant idea to extend his staff upwards a few thousand feet into a stormcloud, just to see what would happen.

They’d both been okay afterwards, but being electrocuted hurt.

“So, uh… is there anything you want to do? Or talk about? Or- or not do, whatever you feel like!”

Plagg blinked.

Adrien looked around awkwardly. “I know this isn’t exactly ideal and it sucks and I’m so, so sorry, but is there anything I can do to help?”

“...Camembert.”

“What?”

“Camembert cheese. The stinkier, the better.”

The kid made a face, but nodded. 

 ------

Thirty minutes and a trip down to the kitchen later, Plagg was completely surrounded with the delectable aroma of smelly, smelly cheese.

Adrien looked about ready to gag, but gave an attempt at a smile whenever he looked over at him.

A small part of Plagg got some satisfaction out of the kid’s discomfort. At least, he wasn’t the only one suffering because of the five-foot leash.

“Do you want to watch anything?” 

Plagg stifled a laugh. Kid’s nose was still wrinkled up from the cheese’s fumes and his eyes watered slightly, but he was making a valiant effort to pretend he was fine.

As far as TV went… well. He hadn’t left the Miracle Box much and Fu’s taste in shows was pretty dull, so-”

“Whatever you feel like. Unless it has to do with cheese, I don’t care. ...IS there a cheese TV show?”

“...I’ll check the guide.”

[marblish0220]

WAIT HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I JUST REALIZED I WAS AT THIS GAME OMG IM LOSING MY FUCKING MINDDDDDDDD I WAS IN THE ROOM WHEN IT FUCKING HAPPENED NEWIFONSDFIONEWIFSDNIOVSDNIVNFSIVOSFNVJFEAIOFJEAPFJZDOPMVDZLKVNSDILGNESOI

big roope-robo-miro celly

chi@dal 12.29.23

[marblish0220]

HOCKEY IS BACK!!!!

here’s something a little unusual (and idk if this will return) but some training camp doodles not actually based on a real nhl team?! yeah just some fun sketches i’ve done between trying to keep a handle on my actual life spinning out of control.

i’m so glad hockey is finally back :,) no lie, the last few months have SUCKED MAJORLY not fun at all. some days hockey was probably the only thing i looked forward to… and it’s the off season.

BUT NOT ANYMORE BABY

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Friday 25 May 1838

5

11 ¼

fine morning and F52° at 5 10 am breakfast at 6 ¼ and off from the cheval Blanc at Rocory [Rocroi] at 7 7 – rain in the night and early this morning but fair tho’ dulling at setting off drizzling rain at 7 ½ - indifferent coffee but good milk and bread and butter and very fairly comfortable – no bill but paid as agreed 17fr. pour tout compris – Rocroy [Rocroi] a nice enough – with little grande place in which the cheval blanc – strong little fortified town – 2 or 3 drawbridge and one other gate in coming out and new works going on – cool air this morning – It was the dome-like church steeple (small church) we saw in the distance last night – no trace of famous battle-field – the prince de Condé against the Spaniards – 1549 near Rocroy [Rocroi] cottage with tent-like door-porch, each side-post leaning against the house side, and thatched down in a point from the ewes - the bottom part projecting perhaps 5 or 6 feet – open country – some enclosures and thorn hedges – the picturesque  of yesterday quite gone – no beauty now – wood at a little distance before us which we soon pass thro’ – at 7 50 turn left at 1 (at right angles) – at 8 20 change horses at little village of Lonny – fine open country – we feel the better for the fine fresh air – at 9 ¼ 1st peep down upon Mézières and its cathedral and the Meuse – leave Charleville, apparently a good town about ¼ mile left (had we come forwards last night we should have turned in to Charleville hotel du commerce instead of pothering to get the gates opened at Mézières – then the river? and pass gate and drawbridge into the fortified ville at 9 35 and stop at la poste at 9 37 – off again at 9 52 = ¼ hour in changing horses, in a back street near to a bridge over something the river? which bridge however we did not pass but turned the carriage and went thro’ the old narrow not good but picturesque streets – pass old gateway and the Meuse? into the suburb – then 2 more gates and drawbridges and moats, and get out of the ville – nobody asked for our passport – Mézières an old narrow streeted ill built town – rather reddish yellowish marby soil – the red is on the other side, i.e. behind us – lower down the diver which now flows between low marby current-washed bare banks – fine open good country – no particular beauty – by and by slept ½ hour – A- awoke me by calling out the hat was gone – 2 or 3 times to call to the postillon and in taking off my velvet travelling cap 2 combs flew out – George had to run back – A- laughed much and long – more wooded towards the good village of Launoy  - 13 minutes inc hanging horses and off again at 11 39 – pretty well wooded about Launoy on both sides of us – all along (all today) rather hilly road – at 12 a little rain and in 5 minutes loudish peal of thunder (1st we have heard since landing) and thunder shower – Avenue (chiefly elms) from Launoy – reddish soil again – all along fine open extensive country – raining till at 12 40 (but fair before one) at la poste at Vauxelles [Vauxcelles] – off from here in 6 minutes at 12 43 – V- a neat little village la poste good house at the far end of the village -  a little from which ‘on traverse la grande chaîne primitive de montagnes en passant devant un cabaret, situé au point de partage des eaux’ – looked for it – hardly observable; and the descent afterwards not so great as many preceding descents – still elm avenue (began at Launoy) as far as I can see in a long straight line before us – asleep till 1 ½ - all in the chalk descending upon Rethel (now chalck from here to Paris) and drive thro’ the old town on the Aisne river and said to have been built by the Romans in Julies Caesars’ time – pass over 3 bridges (all wood I think) and lastly the canal of the Ardennes which beings here, and then at the end of the town La poste just opposite another wood bridge largeish old town partly built on the hill side – not many good buildings – 5700 inhabitants – off in 9 minutes at 1 58 – at 2 ¼ pass 2 large waggons of coal the 1st we have seen in France – add up accounts – calculate expense etc. as we drove along now that there is no beauty of scenery to call attention – chalk hills – at Isle at 3 38 one long street village – off again in 10 minutes – there has been a great deal of rain here and all our last stage – asleep again till 4 ¾ and then 1st sight of Rheims cathedral an enormous squarry lumping looking pile enough to swallow up all the town – two towers and sharp-pointed spire sun between them – long flat approach – range of hill along the horizon backing the town and stretching in the distance right – shabby streets, or not good streets but place royale handsome and stopped au Lion d’or opposite the richly sculpture cathedral at 3 10 – the landlord came up to the carriage to say he had no rooms – he had but one chamber – I got out to see it – rez de chaussée – largeish double-bedded room – then recollected he had one small double bedded room upstairs – saw and took it – asked his price – found it useless but servants to be 4/50 per day each and our dinner 4/. each of us, mine not included – made no inquiry as to beds - he would be dear enough – thought we were not going to stay long, and it would not signify much – got ourselves stowed into the little chambre – and Oddy well placed at no great distance on the same floor and George somewhere and ordered dinner at 7 – about ¾ hour arranging our effects then A- and I went out – in the cathedral 25 minutes – interior magnificent double aisles – windows of nef and chori all of finely and very anciently painted glass – the windows of the apses behind the high altar modern painted glass with much pink and orange colour throwing a peculiarly rich warm tint against the altar -   never more pleased with a church – worth coming to Rheims to see this cathedral – certainly one of the most beautiful interiors I ever saw – not so fine as York minster – but a painted glass – the blue ceiling with white fleurs de lis, the yellow painted capitals of all the pillars clustered – colours and cornices (looking like gilding) have altogether a charming effect – the marigold window over the great west door, is magnificent – no organ in sight to break the unity of the whole – put out of sight in the north transept – the transepts very small – dinner at 6 20 – and went out about 8 ¼ for ½ hour – into the Place Royale – handsome pedestrian bronze statue of Louis 15 – went to the booksellers’ Luton in the Place Royal – bought for A- letters on the histoire by M. de Thierry and an account of the cathedral for myself – fine evening and night – after the rain and thunder this afternoon (vid. line 4 from the bottom of the last p. ) – F61° at 10 pm a garçon here – the 1st house we have been at this time, where there is no femme de chambre – gave him A-‘s and my things to get washed  of mine two shifts one napkin and ditto cravat dimity waist and broad hemmed muslin handkerchief –

[biserker-kadan]

"Are you really going to let her do that?"

Eleanor watched her youngest grin toothily at her brother and the young Gilmore, wooden sword in hand and dark splatters of brown mud on her new silken dress.

Her husband had warned her, and she had paid no mind - she was regretting that now, watching as Ophelya slid across the dirt to knock her brother down with a mighty battle cry.

"I win! I win again!" She cried out, laughing gleefully as that wretched dog barreled into her and knocked her onto her back. Ophelya giggled away, arms and legs flying all over the place as 'Marby' slobbered all over her face.

"I mean honestly Eleanor, she's making such a mess. I could never allow it. My daughter would never be caught dead playing in the mud like some ruffian."

Eleanor turned her gaze to her companion. Took in the extravagant jewellery and outrageously expensive looking clothes and shoes and frowned.

Truth be told, she had no idea who this person was - just another high-born Lady expecting Bryce Cousland wife to know her.

She purses her lips, lost in thought as she took in her companions daughter, a sweet looking girl; all prim and proper standing tall with her chin held high.

She looked miserable.

For one moment, Eleanor felt an intense sadness crash over her.

Could she imagine her own girl like that? Ophelya, as rambunctious and loud as she was, just being so...still and poised, like a living doll?

Eleanor had complained over and over to Bryce about Ophelya - 'She's so much like her brother, how will she ever find a husband?'

What does it matter?

Could she be happy if her daughter was not?

Ophelya loved playing with her brother and the others. After all, she wasn't the only girl in the castle eager to pick up a sword and wave it around. Why should she be denied that?

What mother would keep her child from play?

Eleanor smiled, though her eyes were cold and lips closed. She leaned in close and whispered, "My daughter is fine just the way she is, perhaps you should not be speaking so freely and without thinking of consequences? Hmmm?"

The Lady paled.

With that and a very pointed glare, Eleanor called out, "Ophelya, Fergus, Gilmore, come along."

"But mother!" Fergus whined, sighing when Ophelya only nudged him and stomped forward, brows pulled together and the most murderous look a 7 year old can make on her face.

"It's not even lessons yet! Dad said we could play until the shadow hit the trees!" She argued, staring defiantly up at her. Eleanor smiled, open mouthed this time and pulled her into her side.

"I know, but I figured you three would be much happier having a go at it in the courtyard with the soldiers and the training dummies?"

Excited squeals and yelling followed her announcement and she laughed under her breath as she shooed them along ahead of her.

Eleanor watched out of the corner of her eye as Ophelya stopped and looked back. She smiled as spoke to the other little girl, "...and if you would like to come as well, I'm sure your mother would have no objections?"

Ophelya, always one step ahead of the others - so much like her mother - walked back and held out a hand, "It'll be really fun." She promised.

The girl spared one single glance at her mother before nodding decisively and taking Ophelya's hand with a shaky smile.

Eleanor followed the two girls down the path, both as equally excited as they rushed on ahead, talking in low tones and grinned.

Her daughter, no matter how well she was with a sword or her words, was going to rule.

[marblish0220]

i feel like i betrayed my pookie (robo) with my vote (wyjo), but unfortunately the nerd in me just wants to be right.

starsblr! who do you think will score the first goal of the season?

poll closes in 1 week! please put your answer in the tags so i can shout out whoever gets it right!

[harmonytre-reblogs]

here's my thoughts on the latest Pokemon news SPOILERS AHEAD https://youtu.be/ZBiTpi8ecTE *WEEZING WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO YOU???*Zigzagoon and Lineoone look cool *but BUT OH NO WHAT'S THAT THIRD EVOLUTION WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT *Morpeko is certainly adorable we needed a hamster one *NEVERMIND AAA WHAT IS THAT DEMON? *Bede looks cool, and so does Marbie *pfffffft what is that evil team XD team yell??? Like stalkers?? *aw man and they have the cool zigzagoon ;^; It's like were they even trying? Everyone threw a fit about alola, but this? Wow. It's like all the starters will be fighting types. Hnnnnnng. I never thought I'd be negative about pokemon... https://youtu.be/RZHItxIO_ms At least Failboat had a mostly positive reaction to it. Makes me feel a bit better and I like Morpeko now "ooh oh he's mean" But still Weezing why (But now that I think of it, it'll be fun to see how James reacts to it XD) So what are YOUR thoughts on this?

[tipsycad147]

Runic Postures

Published March 31, 2019 | By shirleytwofeathers

Stádhagaldr is an active system of magic that consists of the assumption of runic postures or gestures for magical effect. Gestures and postures form some part of almost every metaphysical or magical school. The can be seen from the simple folding of hands in prayer to the extremely complex system of asanas in the Indian hatha yoga school. Stádhagaldr is balanced in this respect.

The number and intricacy of the postures are varied enough to be expressive of the wide variety of forces present, but none require extensive training or straining of the body.

The overall aims of the Stádhagaldr are:

1. Control of the body through posture (stadha)

2. Control of thought through song (galdr)

3. Control of breath

4. Control of emotion

5. Becoming aware of the rune realms of the self and the world(s)

6. Control and direction of the will.

Stadhagaldr is used as a mode of psychological integration and personal transmutation, and it is also employed in all other types of magical operations.

The early 20th century German runemasters (F.B Marby, S.A. Krummer, and Karl Spiesberger) developed runic yoga as a means of harnessing the streams of power present in the earth and atmosphere.

According to Marby there are five cosmic zones to be reckoned with:

1: Inner-earth space

2: Material earth space

3: Wave space

4: Cosmic space

5: Super cosmic space

“The inner space of earth… is a vast but contained zone of tranquil space that radiates energy. This is compared to the outermost zone of cosmic space, which is also tranquil and radiant. Cosmic space, zone 4, is charged with radiations from the zone of cosmic space and is influenced by the physical bodies (stars, planets, etc.) that occupy it. Material earth space is the physical matter of the planet, which is heavily loaded with ancient forms of energy coursing through it in various patterns. Wave space is that zone just above the surface of the earth that our bodies inhabit. This is the region where energy patterns received from above and below are most freely exchanged.

“The rune magician makes him/herself capable of receiving and sending patterns of energy to and from all five of these zones. (…the rune magician becomes an antenna for the reception and broadcast of runic radio waves.) By using the proper runic postures, combined with the intonation of the right runic sound, the magician can draw in certain forces or combination of forces and then reshape and redirect them.

“…The interplay of forces within these various energy zones constitutes the phenomena of the universe. By becoming aware of them, engaging them, and guiding them consciously, the rune magician actively participates in the evolution and restructuring of the cosmos.

“The runes are the keys to the reception, absorption and projection of these forces. Their first effect is on the transformation and healing of the individual…”

The runic postures are bioenergetic antennas which receive the various energies, symbolised by the runes. Tests with the pendulum during runic gymnastics showed an expansion and charging of the individual aura as well as an extensive radiation. The posture receive cthonic and celestial energies, thus activate and vitalise body and mind. This energy is also necessary to fulfil magical goals.

Performing runic gymnastic creates an anchor for the runes in the individual aura and body. Then the runes have the possibility to become organic and find realisation and earthening within yourself and your surroundings (if you allow this to happen).

Each of the links below will take you to the individual Rune along with a longer explanation,the incantation to empower it, the Runic Postures (Rune Yoga), and the Runic Hand Positions (Rune Mudras).

Note: The postures and hand positions were an afterthought, and I am not finished updating the original posts to add them in. For clarity, I have noted the ones that are updated. When they are complete, this notice will disappear.

Fehu – For attracting wealth and protecting property. (updated)

Uruz – To clear obstacles and change circumstances. (updated)

Thurisaz – For protection and defence. (updated)

Ansuz – To increase communicative skills, pass exams and gain wisdom. (updated)

Raidho – To ensure a safe journey. (updated)

Kenaz – To restore self-confidence and strengthen will-power. (updated)

Gebo –  To create harmony in personal relationships. (updated)

Wunjo – To bring happiness and spiritual transformation. (updated)

Hagalaz – To attract positive influences. (updated)

Nauthiz – To achieve long-term goals or help lost causes. (updated)

Isa – To make a situation static, ground wayward emotions and calm volatile actions. (updated)

Jera – To bring events to culmination. (updated)

Eihwaz – To end situations and solve problems. (updated)

Perthro – To find lost property, obtain inner guidance and make financial speculations.

Algiz (or Elhaz) – Strengthening of magical power and luck and life force. (updated)

Sowilo – To increase good health, vitality and sexual powers. (updated)

Tiwaz – To achieve victory over adversity and justice. (updated)

Berkano – For fertility, family matters and love affairs. (updated)

Ehwaz (or Ehwo) – To cause changes. (updated)

Mannaz – To attract goodwill and new social contacts.

Laguz – To manifest psychic powers. (updated)

Ingwaz – To end a cycle of events or specific situation.

Dagaz – To create new beginnings or opportunities.

Othala – For property matters. (updated)

Sources:

Sunnyway

Flight of the Condor

https://shirleytwofeathers.com/The_Blog/magickal-ingredients/newest-ingredients/