#marcus abbot

[transfuserboxes]

can u make mark of a star character userboxes ?

but of COURSE!!!!!!!!!!!!

read mark of a star... crazy new pages coming out were so serious bruh were getting # PROFESSIONAL W IT!!! even if the um. currently posted pages are kinda ass.

...anyway

bonus!

[rt-lots]

I WAS MEANT TO FUCKING RAVE, AND DIE AN ICON!

(read mark of a star!)

[exacerbatty]

[greyjug]

Someone please write a fic of Abbot just casually and repeatedly mentioning Marcus pike's name in high regard to his superiors so that he could be promoted and moved to dc because he was interfering with his ship. Just Abbott offhandedly sowing the idea of moving away into Pike's head because he wanted him oUTT!! GONEEE!!!!

[romerona]

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Carmy stood in the dimly lit laundry room, hands on his hips as he glared at the washing machine like it had personally wronged him. The display panel flashed erratically, like it was trying to send an SOS in Morse code, while a faint but concerning smell of burning plastic wafted through the air.

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. All he wanted was to wash his clothes—just one normal task in a sea of chaos. Apparently, even that was asking too much.

With a frustrated sigh, he muttered curses under his breath and gave the machine a half-hearted nudge with his foot, as if that might magically revive it. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. The machine remained defiantly lifeless.

“Wow. Bold strategy. Were you planning to wrestle it next?”

The voice startled him. He turned sharply to see you standing in the doorway, holding a laundry basket overflowing with brightly colored clothes. You were dressed in the epitome of Saturday comfort: an oversized t-shirt with a graphic that read 'Physics: It’s Not Rocket Science... Oh, Wait, Yes It Is,' paired with baggy sweatpants and ridiculously fluffy, colorful monster feet slippers. Your hair was slightly messy like you’d just rolled out of bed—or perhaps fought the laundry demons he was now dealing with.

Your lips curved into a teasing smile as you tilted your head. “I’m impressed. I didn’t know machines responded to passive-aggressive foot taps.”

Carmy let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t have a better idea.”

“Well,” you said, stepping into the room and setting your basket down on the counter, “I hate to break it to you, but this thing looks like it’s plotting your demise. What’s the issue? Won’t open?”

“It stopped mid-cycle,” he explained, gesturing toward the uncooperative machine. “Clothes are stuck. It’s probably fried.”

“Oof. Smells like defeat and polyester.” You crouched down to inspect the machine, tilting your head like a mechanic sizing up a stubborn engine. “Looks like it’s giving you the silent treatment. Did you try apologizing? Promising to separate your whites and darks next time?”

“Funny,” Carmy deadpanned, though the twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

You straightened up, planting your hands on your hips in a stance that could only be described as authoritative. “Well, lucky for you, Carmy-next-door, I happen to be an expert in broken things.”

Carmy raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah? How’s that?”

You let out a playful scoff, crouching in front of the washing machine as if it were a patient in need of your expertise. “When you work in a place that runs on shoestring budgets and prayers, you pick up a thing or two about fixing stuff. I’ve practically got a minor in MacGyver-ing. It’s part of my many talents.”

He smirked, watching as you pressed a few buttons and tapped the side of the machine like you were coaxing it back to life. “Sounds like a tough gig.”

“Oh, it’s a blast,” you replied sarcastically with a grin, peering at the machine’s latch. “But the real fun is my lovely fourth graders and their… slippery fingers. Nothing keeps you on your toes like finding out your class stapler’s been dismantled to ‘see how it works.’”

“And you adore them,” Carmy guessed, his voice soft but sure.

“Ugh, to a fault,” you admitted, sitting back on your heels to glance at him. “They’re chaos in human form, but they’re my chaos. Like when Marcus decided to see if he could use glitter glue as a bookmark. Spoiler alert: he couldn’t. And then there was Kayla’s science project that involved exactly zero science but a lot of snacks. Kids are wild, but they’re kind of the best.”

Carmy chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shook his head. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

You huff a laugh nodding. “But they make all the broken stuff worth it... also, they’ve prepared me for moments like this. Fixing things? I’m a pro. Diffusing meltdowns? Also a pro. Dodging paper balls? Let’s just say my reflexes are unmatched.”

He chuckled quietly, his blue eyes softening as he observed your easy confidence. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“Oh, hardly,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh.

He watched as you tinkered with the inner workings of the washer, the way your monster-footed slippers stuck out behind you, and the light in your eyes as you spoke about your students. There was something captivating about the way you moved—confident but never overbearing, your words spilling out in an endless stream of humor and warmth. For someone who probably dealt with endless chaos in your day-to-day life, you had an energy about you—warmth—messy and vibrant—that felt oddly grounding in his otherwise muted world.

Finally, with a triumphant click, the washer’s door popped open. A puff of warm, damp air escaped, carrying with it the faint scent of detergent. You rocked back on your heels, grinning up at him as if you’d just disarmed a bomb.

“And there you have it!” you declared standing up, sweeping your arm dramatically toward the liberated laundry like a game show host revealing a grand prize. “Your clothes are finally free, Chef Carmy. Laundry liberation, courtesy of yours truly. I accept gratitude in the form of snacks, coffee, or eternal admiration—your choice. But please, no autographs. I have to stay humble.”

“You’re something else, you know that?” Carmy said, huffing a quiet laugh as he shook his head, stepping forward to start transferring the damp clothes into another machine. His tone softened slightly as he added, “But thanks, really. I owe you one.”

You waved a hand dismissively, already moving to the next machine with your own basket in tow.

“Don’t worry about it, Carmy…” you said, your tone casual, though the smirk playing on your lips suggested otherwise. “But, if you do feel like you want to repay me, feel free to bring me more of those leftovers—like the ones you brought when I first moved in.”

He paused, eyebrows raising slightly as he met your gaze. “That’s what you want? Leftovers?”

“Not just any leftovers,” you clarified, turning back to load more clothes. “The fancy ones. Braised short ribs, perfectly roasted vegetables... whatever culinary magic you’re whipping up in that kitchen of yours. Don’t think I forgot.”

Carmy paused mid-transfer, glancing at you with a faint, almost embarrassed smile. “You liked those, huh?”

“Liked?” you scoffed, tossing a pair of socks into the machine. “I was ready to write you a thank-you sonnet. That braised short rib? Poetry in food form. You’ve ruined me for takeout forever.”

He chuckled softly, shutting the door to his machine. “It was just a test recipe.”

“Well, then I’d be happy to test more of your recipes,” you said with a wink, starting your own machine and leaning back against it. “Strictly as a favor, of course. I’m nothing if not generous.”

“Generous,” he repeated, shaking his head with a smirk as he pressed the start button on his machine. He glanced at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

“See?” you teased, flashing him a grin. “You’re already getting the hang of this whole neighborly exchange thing. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my expectations high.”

Carmy shook his head, letting out another quiet laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” you quipped, settling yourself into the nearby chair and grabbing a book from the empty laundry basket at your feet. You opened it casually, like you weren’t fully aware of the fact that his attention was still on you. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, Chef Carmy. I’ve got standards now.”

Carmy smirked faintly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the counter, arms loosely crossed. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, watching as you flipped through the book, completely at ease. The light in the room, though dim and slightly yellowed, softened your features, making you look... warm. Pretty, even. The oversized t-shirt, the messy hair, and those ridiculous monster slippers didn’t detract from it—in fact, they only made you more endearing. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. Instead, he tucked the thought neatly into the back of his mind, letting it sit there quietly.

The faint hum of the working washing machine filled the space, stretching the silence between you into something that felt oddly comfortable. He wasn’t used to that—not in conversations, not in moments like these. Usually, silence felt heavy, awkward, something to be broken. But this? This felt... different.

Still, the need to say something eventually won out, despite his lack of finesse with small talk. Clearing his throat softly, Carmy shifted his weight and finally asked, “So... uh, how are you liking it here?”

You glanced up from your book, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “In the building? Or in the laundry room?”

Carmy huffed a quiet laugh, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. “The biulding, I guess."

“Oh, it’s not bad,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “The walls are a little thin—I may or may not know the entire plot of the soap opera your upstairs neighbor is binging—but they are decent. A little quiet, though, except for one guy who keeps kicking appliances. Total menace.”

“Sounds rough,” Carmy deadpanned, though his smirk gave him away.

“It is,” you said with mock solemnity before your smile softened. “But honestly? I like it. It’s... cozy, you know? Feels like a place where things can settle down.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor. “That’s good.”

“It’s growing on me,” you admitted, closing the book and resting it on your lap. “I mean, it’s not every day you move into a building and immediately make friends with someone who’s probably going to be on the cover of Some Fancy Chef Magazine someday.”

“Friends?” he said, arching a brow.

“Yeah, friends,” you replied with a teasing grin. “Or at least laundry room acquaintances.”

He shook his head, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine. “Friend's better.”

"Good," You smiled, shifting slightly in your chair. “So, Carmy-next-door, aside from working and battling possessed washing machines, what do you do for fun?”

“For fun?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as though you’d just asked him to name every spice in his kitchen alphabetically. “Uh... I don’t know. Not sure I’ve got much time for that.”

“Not buying it,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Everyone’s got something. Come on, spill. What’s your guilty pleasure? Do you secretly knit in your downtime? Binge-watch trashy reality TV? Start a garden but refuse to tell anyone because it ruins your ‘serious chef’ vibe? And if you are, I know someone who could be your new best friend.”

He let out another quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “None of those, but now I’m thinking I should start knitting just to throw people off.”

“Do it,” you said, pointing at him. “Then you can make me a scarf. But seriously, what’s your thing? There’s gotta be something.”

Carmy hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting yours again. “I guess... sometimes I’ll just walk around the city. Clears my head, you know?”

You nodded, smiling softly. “That’s a solid choice. City walks are like people-watching with a side of fresh air. What’s your favorite spot?”

“There's this park near the river. Quiet, not too crowded. Good place to think." Carmy tells her.

"Sounds nice," you replied, smiling. "I might have to check it out sometime."

"You should," Carmy said, his expression softening. He clears his throat, "I-uh, I used to draw, though. Sketch stuff when I had the time.”

“Used to?” you asked, leaning forward a bit, intrigued. “You mean you don’t anymore? Or are you just too modest to admit you’ve got sketchbooks hidden under your bed?”

His smirk faltered into something a little more genuine, a touch of shyness creeping into his expression. “I still do. Sometimes. When things aren’t too crazy.”

“Now that’s interesting,” you said, sitting back with a thoughtful smile. “What kind of stuff do you draw? People? Landscapes? Elaborate food masterpieces?”

“A little of everything,” he said with a small shrug. “But mostly recipes, or at least how I want them to look."

“Like a visual diary,” you said, nodding. “That’s actually really cool.”

“Yeah, well...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing big.”

“Carmy,” you said, tilting your head at him. “You just admitted to having an actual hobby, and I’m here for it. Don’t downplay it.”

He huffed, shaking his head flushing ever so slightly. “Alright. What about you? What do you do for fun?”

“Me?” you repeated, your eyes lighting up as you sat back in the chair, clutching your book like a prop in a comedy routine. “Well, let’s see. I’m a professional daydreamer, certified in overthinking, and an expert-level snack enthusiast. It’s an impressive resume, I know.”

Carmy chuckled, the corner of his mouth twitching into a rare smile. “Sounds like a full-time job.”

“Oh, it is,” you said with a mock-serious nod. “But if we’re being serious... I like to read, obviously.” You held up the book for emphasis. “And I’m a sucker for a good movie. Big screen, small screen, doesn’t matter. I also like to go out with friends— go to clubs, a karaoke bar, grab dinner, play board games, complain about life. You know, the usual.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening. “Any favorites? Books or movies?”

“Hmm,” you mused, tapping your chin. “For books, I like a little bit of everything—mysteries, fantasy, even the occasional cheesy romance. Keeps life interesting. And movies... I’m a sucker for feel-good comedies. But every now and then, I’ll binge something dark and broody just to balance it out.”

Carmy nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Feel-good comedies? Got any recommendations?”

“Oh, I’ve got tons,” you said, your eyes gleaming. “But only if you’re ready for some real classics. Think Clueless, The Princess Bride, or When Harry Met Sally. If you’ve never seen those, we might have to reassess this friendship.”

“Clueless,” he repeated, remembering the movie because of Natalie who forced him and Mikey to watch it, one eyebrow-raising. “That the one with ‘As if’?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, pointing at him with enthusiasm. “See? You’re already on the right track.”

He smirked, shaking his head again. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“What about you? Do you watch movies, or is that too much fun for someone as serious as Chef Carmy?”

He smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I watch stuff sometimes. Nothing specific. Just... whatever’s on.”

“Lame answer,” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him. “We’ll work on that. I’ll make you a list. Everyone needs go-to favorite movies.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he said, his smirk softening.

“Good,” you replied with a playful nod, leaning back in your chair. “And since you’re such a layer enigma, like an onion, I’m guessing you don’t do the whole ‘night out with friends’ thing often?”

“Not really,” he admitted, his tone quieter now. “Doesn’t happen much.”

“You should,” you said, leaning forward slightly, your tone teasing but warm. “You might surprise yourself. One minute you’re awkwardly standing in a corner, and the next, you’re reenacting a dance scene from Dirty Dancing with a stranger. That’s how the best stories happen.”

Carmy shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Not sure that’s my thing.”

“Hey, it doesn’t have to be Dirty Dancing,” you said with a shrug. “But everyone deserves a good night out now and then. Even mysterious chef-next-door types.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But no promises.”

“Fair,” you replied, looking over at him with a soft smile. “I’m just saying, Chef Carmy, you can’t live in your kitchen forever. Sometimes you’ve gotta step out and find your own rom-com moment.”

Carmy stared at you for a moment, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. He shook his head, as though amused by something he couldn’t quite put into words, but the warmth in his expression lingered.

The hum of the machines filled the room, a soft backdrop to your easy conversation. What started as playful banter drifted into more thoughtful exchanges—small glimpses into each other’s lives, quirks, and histories.

Minutes melted into what felt like seconds, neither of you noticing the time slipping away. For once, it wasn’t about schedules, responsibilities, or the ever-present noise of the outside world. Just two neighbors sharing stories in the glow of the laundry room’s dim light.

A/N: So, thank you so much for all the support. It really keeps me going. I'm thinking of making like a small series of this, like a few interactions before they started dating- maybe some jealousy along the way lol- the first date- maybe the future but idk.

Also, just in case I do, please tell me if you would like to be tagged.

Part 4?

@themorriganisamonster

[catominor]

I beg you please elaborate on the Roman senators as a monastery, like, Cicero is the abbot for sure, but the others? Crassus, Pompey, Caesar, Cato, god what are even Marc Antony and Marcus Agrippa? Anyway, I love your daily posting, and hope you feel better soon!

i thinkkkk.... crassus should be the sacrist. and cato has librarian vibes to me.... he can be so authoritarian with those books... ouh or maybe novice master. so he can be authoritarian with those novices.... theres so much to consider.... i hauve to think about it more tbh....

[writingamongther0ses]

Treasure Triplets- Bonus Characters

Gonna reposting some posts from my old account with character profiles and some revised facts:

Vanessa and Will Runic, everyone!

Like Elliot, Will was born in Florence but moved to the US when he was a baby. Sixteen years ago, his mother lost her powers thanks to Connor Klein. Most believed that this was due to the fact that she was evil and constantly tried to steal his fortune. Those closer to the Klein family believed this was more due to an incident related to Isaac, Connor’s nephew.

Vanessa is still scheming- however, this time to reclaim her powers. To do so, she sends Will to try and get closer to the newly revealed Klein heiresses. Despite being an evil witch, she still tries to be a good mother and allows him to actually befriend the Klein Manor kids.

-_-

Donna and Isaac Klein are Connor’s twin niece and nephew from his now-deceased sister Tilly. Due to fertility issues, it took a while for her to conceive the children she wanted. She took it even further by experimenting with a spell that gave both twins extreme luck, in order to give them better lives then she had. Both of them took it different ways.

Donna sees it as a curse, since the spell only gives luck in money and charisma. After her mother died, leaving her with no way to remove the spell, she ended up in the military before leaving to have a fruitless career as an archaeologist for Klein Enterprises. She forces a smile every day despite finding nothing to prove her worth.

Isaac uses it as a blessing. He sails through life with an easy grin, ignoring how people whisper about him behind his back and the fact that his ‘friends’ are usually manipulating him. The only time he gets angry is when he gets called a nothing, or when Vanessa Runic and something called the ‘Hattie Incident’ gets brought up.

-_-

Marcus Hilton, owner and head of Hilton Inc and rival to Connor Klein.

1. He’s a year or two older than Abbot and Molly Klein but is shorter than both.

2. He dyes his hair to look younger.

3. He’s the second richest man, which is the source of his rivalry with Connor.

4. His CEO is paid very well to babysit him.

5. He was born in Boston.

6. He constantly mixes up the triplets’ names. (Ignoring the yells of this is why they’re color coded.)

7. He is straight as a ruler.

8. His company is one of those companies, despite that there is LGBT+ staff, that go rainbow for Pride for brownie points.

9. Despite his rivalry with Connor, Klein Enterprises and Hilton Inc does run a children’s charity.

10. And despite never getting their names right, he does try and get the triplets to work for him.

-_-

Antigona Delvina-Prifti  is the CEO of Klein Enterprises’ rival Hilton Inc. She also serves as the assistant *cough babysitter cough* to Marcus Hilton, Connor’s rival.

1. She immigrated from Albania at 19 to go to business school.

2. Her favorite triplet is Becca, due to the fact that Ella and Terra aren’t helpful when it comes to separating Connor and Hilton during their arguments.

3. She would’ve worked at Klein Enterprises, except Hilton Inc’s board of directors offered her a larger salary to deal with Hilton.

4. She has a girlfriend named Gemma who ends up working for Klein Enterprises as the in-house doctor.

5. She plays roller derby! (Mostly to resist the urge to punch Hilton.)

6. Her family is Muslim and Antigona does keep to some traditional Muslim practices, including covering her hair.

7. She is a coffee-drinker.

8. Her dislike of Hilton is well-known, due to his evil plots is bringing her reputation down.

9. She is far-sighted.

10. Becca pays her for business tutoring

-_-

Harrison McFall is the superhero Dark Knight, Kalani’s future boyfriend, and Noor’s father.

1. Dark Knight was actually a TV show and Harrison was going to act in the movie before the original actor, James Glass, tried to kill him and set fire to the set.

2. He got Terra’s first crossbow gauntlet because she thought he needed better protection.

3. Harrison’s father is mayor of the next city over.

4. Harrison left his family due to them being homophobic and toxic towards him.

5. He was a gay mess for Kalani within a few minutes of meeting him.

6. Harrison is actually brunette, but he had to dye his hair for the movie part. He kept the top part of his hair blonde afterwards due to liking the look.

7. Becca ended up with his coat on his first public hero appearance due to her nearly dying and being a panicked mess. He gave it to her to try and comfort her and she never gave it back.

8. When it comes to interacting with his family, Harrison is petty.

9. He knows how to sew.

10. His favorite dessert is blueberry pudding.

-_-

Noor McFall- Al-Amin is Harrison’s adopted daughter and Terra’s future girlfriend.

1. Her mother moved from Pakistan before Noor was born to work as a scientist for Klein Enterprises.

2. She plays football and hockey for her school and is learning about roller derby.

3. She enjoys learning copycat restaurant recipes and making them halal.

4. She’s planning on buying a motorcycle when she’s old enough.

5. She runs both the Klein Enterprises and the Dark Knight Instagram accounts.

6. One of Noor’s most popular posts is the livestream of the entire staff of the Bin playing Mario Kart. (Becca won.)

7. Like the triplets, Noor is very light for some reason.

8. Gibbs and Harrison ended up needing to make Noor a special pair of gauntlets and arm/kneepads to wear when patrolling with Dark Knight.

9. She’s fifteen, making her a year old than the triplets

10. When they’re older, she and Terra will make a podcast describing the Treasure Triplets’ adventures.

[scotianostra]

On 10th November 1150 work began on the construction of Dryburgh Abbey in the Scottish Borders.

Dryburgh was founded by Hugh de Morville for Premonstratensian canons from Alnwick Priory in Northumberland. De Morville was the Constable of Scotland and Lord of Lauderdale, but despite his Scottish titles he was a Norman lord, with his roots in England, so it is not too surprising that he invited English canons to populate his new abbey.

Construction of the new abbey concentrated on the abbey church, but even so, the church was not finished until the early 13th century.

Dryburgh became the mother house of the Premonstratensian order in Scotland, establishing daughter houses at Whithorn, in Dumfries-shire, and Fearn, in Ross-shire, among other locations. Dryburgh was never as prestigious or as wealthy as the three major Borders abbeys at Melrose, Kelso, and Jedburgh, but it lasted for 400 years in this peaceful spot by the Tweed.

The peaceful life of the canons at Dryburgh was disturbed in 1320 when a canon named Brother Marcus punched the abbot. For this serious offence he was expelled from the abbey. Much worse was to come just 2 years later in 1322 when the armies of Edward II, retreating from a reverse against the Scots, heard the abbey's bells ringing in the distance. According to legend, the army turned aside from the route of its march and sacked the abbey, setting fire to the monastic buildings and carrying off whatever loot they could grab.

The Scottish Reformation had a more long-lasting effect, however, and the numbers of monks dwindled until there were only 2 remaining in 1584. Eventually the last of the monks died or left, and the abbey was left to crumble into ruin.

Then the 11th Earl of Buchan stepped in. The Earl was a keen antiquarian, responsible for founding the Society of Antiquaries in Scotland in 1780. Buchan bought the Dryburgh site and turned it into a peaceful landscape garden, where flowers bloomed amid ancient ruins. When the Earl died in 1829 he was buried in the sacristy. His close friend, the novelist Sir Walter Scott, died just 3 years later and was buried in the north aisle.

Pics are a reconstruction by Andrew Spratt and pics I posted here taken on my visit to the Abbey in April 2013.

[markofastar]

↳ read MARK OF A STAR on webtoon!

"The internets favorite lovebirds Elias Tumeric and Marcus Abbot take a break from the hustle and bustle of influencer life to visit Pennsylvania!

But before their vacation can begin, there's somewhere they need to stop first."

its been an indie passion project for years now, finally on a schedule to be made and released! a dramatic romance story with lgbtq characters, comedy, and tension...

our twitter!

our webtoon link

[sendandburn]

Clearing up misconceptions

So a lot of people seem to believe that Abraxas Malfoy married Druella Rosier, however...

Druella Black[4] (née Rosier) (fl. 1951-1955) was a pure-blood witch who married Cygnus Black III. The couple had three daughters: Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa Black. " (Harry Potter Wiki)

So who did Abraxas marry? Honestly.... We don't know. All we know is that however it is, they are definitely not a Rosier. Perhaps he married an Avery, Macnair or Mulciber.... Or someone from a different pureblood family entirely.

Another common misconception, constantly being perpetuated by fanfiction cause people just LOVE the idea of a Teeny Tiny Wizarding world :

Dorea and Charlus Potter are James Potters parents.

They are not, as you can see right here:

"James Potter I (27 March 1960 - 31 October 1981),[1] also known as Prongs, was an English pure-blood[3][4] wizard and the only son of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter.[12]" (Harry Potter Wiki)

So what Charlus and Dorea are of James? Well, either They are his grandparents or, my own personal take, his Aunt and Uncle.

Ofc, you are free to write them as his parents if you want but not only you will be essencially erasing and/or flat out ignoring the freaking inventor of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion but also systematically destroying every chance Progsfoot/Starbucks, Jegulus, Sirry, Drary and whatever the heck the oficial ship name for Regulus Black/Harry Potter is (Regarry? Hagulus? Hargulus???) ever had of happening.

Look, i get why someone would want to destroy Sirry and Regulus Black/Harry Potter and as much as i love progsfoot, it is not that popular so it's not that surprising that someone would want to kill it. But Do you seriously want to obliterate two of the three most popular crack ships on this fandom, just so you can pretend the wizarding world is even more inbreed than it already is?

Wich, if you want to avoid incest, would leave you with the following options for partners for Harry :

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Charlie Weasley

Bill Weasley

Cedric Diggory

Cho Chang

Neville Longbottom

Ron Weasley

Hermione Granger

Ginny Weasley

Marcus Flint

Oliver Wood

Dean Thomas

Theodore Nott

Blaise Zabini

Astoria Greengrass

Daphne Greengrass

Pansy Parkinson

Susan Bones

Hanah Abbot

Fleur Delacour

Gabrielle Delacour

Victor Krum

Luna Lovegood

An Oc

Remus lupin

Albus Dumbledore

Severus Snape

Tom Riddle

Minerva McGonagall

Amelia Bones

Alastor Moody

Evan Rosier

Barty crouch jr

Mulciber Jr

Avery Jr

Fenrir Greyback

Xenophilus Lovegood

Rubeus Hagrid

..... Or Cargo of any kind

Not as big of a selection as you would have by just leaving things as it is, but it may still please somebody so, whatever.

I guess the choice is up to you

Just remember that this is not canon.

[deathmimedream]

Oracle’s starter!

If you haven’t, read the intro post for my baby boy for context:

The undersized Ghoul awoke well before Marcus would return.

He’d known they were going to the main monastery to stay, but had never seen it.

It was dark, only a small bedside lamp to illuminate the entire room.

He half sat up, head still pounding, but nothing he couldn’t ignore after decades of visions.

He gulped the water at the bedside down, then grabbed clean clothes from their luggage, taking a cool shower.

In the dark.

But when one had migraines, too much bright light aggravated them.

He fingercombed his wet curls, dressing neatly, in the black ruffled shirt and trousers his Father always said he looked handsome in.

He added his suspenders, and wriggled into his boots as well, but he scowled at his reflection.

The scars, the empty socket where his right eye had been.

He carefully settled on his eyepatch, before looking away.

Best not to dwell on his appearance, even when his father said he was not ugly, hideous, or a monster, the mirror made it hard to believe.

He stepped away, and decided to explore, just a little, as he found a walk often helped ease the pain in his head.

He managed to figure out where a few places were, before he heard a voice? Voices? Ahead.

He started to back up and turn, but they rounded the corner…their eyes met….and hell broke loose.

Oracle’s eyes went wide, then rolled backwards into his head, his careful glamour peeling away like dripping water.

He barely registered falling, as images from his element invaded his mind.

Fire, earth, air, water, quintessence, other faces, names, elements, and tangled strains of music, voices he didn’t know raised in harmony…water, wind…a storm battering him, and then falling….falling…

He tasted copper on his tongue, his lips, barely registering his own pain, as he muttered out what he had seen.

“A storm…a ritual….danger…pain…so much blood…” he whimpered softly, unaware of who was beside him, but aware they had triggered this vision.

[rt-lots]

EPISODE 1 OF OUR COMIC JUST DROPPED!!!! the prologue was posted a while ago, but i decided i should post abt it here too. ^_^ PLSSS READ IT we work so hard on it and milli doesnt feed me until i get my scripts done and im so fucking hungry it's so cold in this basement

(ALSO IF U HAVE QUESTIONS PLS LET US KNOW we're gonna do a qna type thing soon !!!)

[exacerbatty]

we got 100 followers on our webcomic were basically like celebrities now yk

all seriousness check out the comic. were hoping to use the story to talk abt how abuse can effect people

[theantonian]

Octavius meets Cleopatra

Once Marcus Antonius' funerary rites were over, Cleopatra gave herself up to a perfect frenzy of grief. She wounded herself, refused food and fell into a fever. Octavius sent word to her that, if she did not yield to the physician and take her food, he would kill every one of her children.

When Octavius learned that Cleopatra had become composed, and seemed to be in some sense convalescent, he resolved to pay her a visit. As he entered the room where she was confined, which seems to have been still the upper chamber of her tomb, he found her lying on a low and miserable bed, in a most wretched condition, and exhibiting such a spectacle of disease and wretchedness that he was shocked at beholding her. She appeared, in fact, almost wholly bereft of reason. When Octavius came in, she suddenly leaped out of the bed, half naked as she was, and covered with bruises and wounds, and crawled miserably along to her conqueror's feet in the attitude of a suppliant. Her hair was torn from her head, her limbs were swollen and disfigured, and great bandages appeared here and there, indicating that there were still worse injuries than these concealed. From the midst of all this squalidness and misery there still beamed from her sunken eyes a great portion of their former beauty, and her voice still possessed the same inexpressible charm that had characterized it so strongly in the days of her prime. Octavius made her go back to her bed again and lie down. Cleopatra then began to talk and excuse herself for what she had done, attributing all the blame of her conduct to Antony. Octavius, however, interrupted her, and defended Antony from her criminations, saying to her that it was not his fault so much as hers. She then suddenly changed her tone, and acknowledging her sins, piteously implored mercy. She begged Octavius to pardon and spare her, as if now she were afraid of death and dreaded it, instead of desiring it as a boon. In a word, her mind, the victim and the prey alternately of the most dissimilar and inconsistent passions, was now overcome by fear. To propitiate Octavius, she brought out a list of all her private treasures and delivered it to him as a complete inventory of all that she had.

Sources: Cleopatra by Jocob Abbot

Plutarch's Life of Antony

Image: Octavius and Cleopatra (1760) by Anton Raphael Mengs

[iomadachd]

@deathmimedream asked: Marcus read the note again, nervously looking around the moonlit forest.

He was where he had been asked to be, and at the correct time…so who was this person he was meeting?

How did they know so much about him, what he’s been doing? He scowled, crinkling the note in gloved shands.

“Oracle. Damn that kit…I got careless….”

He suddenly noticed that the forest was silent, and slowly turned.

“Oh…shit.”

It's not common for the punishment to be death by Ghoul these days. You truly have to fuck up in nearly every way possible to be sentenced to such a fate.

Trafficking young Ghouls via illegal Summonings is just one of those fuck ups.

That is where Cowbell comes in because the judge and jury have long since made the decision and he's the executioner. He enters the woods precisely five minutes before he needs to be there and he can already hear the Abbot far off in the woods, beyond the line that keeps humans safe from Ghouls.

He's a dead man and doesn't even know it until Cowbell enters the clearing.

Oh... shit.

He smiles as he removes the Meliora mask from his head, setting it aside so that Marcus realizes just how bad the situation is. Ghouls simply don't remove their masks in front of humans for any reason.

Normally.

The smile is slow, curling across his face until the teeth are bared in the threat of impending violence instead of welcome. Too bright green eyes flash in the moonlight, competing with the silver white of his hair.

He passes a note to the defrocked Abbot, staring at him with a predatory gleam. So many forget that Ghouls aren't human.

You have been ex-communicated from the Ministry and are beyond human borders. I suggest you run.

It's almost laughable the look of shock on Marcus' face and it would be so simple to kill him then and there before he recovered enough to run. Cowbell has craved the Hunt far more than he craves the kill.

When Marcus finally has the presence of mind to run, the Multi Ghoul gives him a head start because it will be a short hunt. Humans can't outrun Ghouls, no matter how poorly a Ghoul might be, or how fit a human.

There's no glamour to be found, only the wild Ghoul beneath. It's laughably easy to slam the man into the forest floor, tail curling around his throat and claws piercing his shoulders. Eyes wild from the bright burst of blood in the cool air.

There are no words from the mute Ghoul, only the pained screams of the human beneath him to break the silence of the night that surrounds them.

He lifts a hand to his lips, licking the blood from his claws and for the first time that evening he purrs, a full-bodied thing full of satisfaction.

He takes his time with his prey, claws carving shallow scratches into his arms, the blood heavy and hot on the grass, steaming around Marcus. His tail tightens, choking off the screams that escape.

No one can help this human, his life is forfeit to the Ministry and the Ghoul who has hunted him.

The sharp snapping crunch as he bites off each of his fingers, chewing flesh and bone and only spitting out the nails once he has swallowed.

Finger foods are an excellent appetizer.

The death scream as Cowbell claws into that soft, vulnerable belly, hand sliding up beneath his rib cage and pulling the heart free. Viscera and blood soaking his arm and the dead human beneath him as the wet pop and squelch echo amongst the trees.

There's death in the air, hot blood meeting the autumn night and creating whisps of fog that curl around him.

He eats his heart as a reward for his duty to the Church, the muscle still pulsing against his teeth and down his throat as he swallows.

He's more leisurely with his feast now that his prey is dead, biting off pieces of flesh with a wet crunch, choosing bits of muscle and fat from the arms, the belly, and the thighs. Sweet and rich on his tongue.

The Ghoul eats until he's more than had his fill, belly full of human and a content heaviness in his mind.

There's still a good deal of Marcus remaining, and he takes his time pulling strips of flesh, muscle, and fat from the corpse. He tucks it into a bag along with the liver, kidneys, and lungs. Finally, he removes the head, tearing it from his spine and body.

Proof of death is required, after all.

The remaining bits of offal, flesh, and bone go to the Earth, a fitting tribute from a half-Earth Ghoul. The blood spray and body eat have gone to the Air. Only the head will go to the Clergy, the rest will remain with him.

After all, human is a rare treat.

[ask-papa-terzo]

-brings in a tea service on a tray, peppermint tea in the pot.- I thought I would bring some tea, for you and Papa. My summoner, Abbot Marcus, always makes it for me when I feel sick, so I thought it would help? There’s a few shortbread cookies too…I baked this morning.

-quintessence kit Oracle

Thank you, kit. It's really kind of you to do this for us. I'll give Terzo the tea and I'll keep the biscuits for myself for the moment, he hasn't had much of an appetite over the past few days. I'll keep one aside for him and I'll see if he's hungry after his nap. - Omega