#rosepetal writes

[rosepetalgold]

i look at you (and i dream)

Summary: Roman tells Logan what he’s thinking about and discovers his dreams might be closer to reality than he’d dared to imagine.

Relationships: Romantic Logince

Warnings: None! Pure domestic fluff!

Word count: 962

Notes: Title inspired by Mikrokosmos by BTS

Read on Ao3 Masterpost

-

“Roman, are you even listening to me?”

Roman blinks, emerging out of the colorful tapestry of his thoughts to find Logan staring at him from where he’s paused chopping vegetables for the dish he’s concocting for dinner, one eyebrow arched in a silent question.

“Sorry, my love,” he says sheepishly. “I just got caught up daydreaming.”

Logan sighs, shaking his head not unkindly as he returns to his cutting board, the slightest upturn of his lips betraying that he mustn’t be too put out by Roman’s lapse of focus. “I suppose it would be too much to ask for your ambitions of fame and grandeur to wait until I was done telling you about my day.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t thinking about any of that.”

“Work, then?”

“No, not that either.”

“Then what on earth were you daydreaming about?”

“You.”

Logan casts him a sideways glance, clearly baffled, even as his knife doesn’t falter in its steady rhythm. “I’m right here.”

“I know,” Roman breathes, not even trying to keep the wonderment out of his voice at the truth of such a simple statement, still unable to quite believe that this was real, that Logan was here, was choosing him, was his. “But I look at you and I just can’t help but dream.”

But his words only cause the puzzlement furrowing Logan’s brow to deepen. “I don’t understand. What could you possibly be dreaming about?”

Roman laughs under his breath, answers dancing over one another in his mind like so many bits of dandelion fluff caught in a breeze, too many to ever count. Where to even begin?

“Everything.”

He shifts closer, gently finessing the knife from Logan’s grip and laying it on the counter before taking his lover’s hands in his own.

“I dream about waking up next to you every morning and watching the sunset next to you every night. I dream about seeing you land your dream job and finally being recognized for that endlessly brilliant mind of yours. I dream about buying a house together out in the country like you want and us making it our own. I dream about surprising you with homegrown roses on idyllic summer mornings and slow dancing in the dark with you on starlit winter nights. I dream about all the days I’ll come home to you and all the ways I’ll fall even deeper in love with you and all the countless quiet moments I’ll get to just be by your side as we grow old and gray.” He laces their fingers together, marveling inwardly at how readily Logan reciprocates the touch, palms warm and steady against his own. “I dream of us, of the life we’ll lead, of the future we have together.”

Logan only stares at him for a long moment, gaze searching his own as a hint of pink begins to tinge his cheeks, and Roman can’t help but smile softly at the sight, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the bloom of color.

“You really think about all that?” Logan’s voice is slightly choked, words scarcely more than a whisper, and Roman draws back, a twinge of worry flickering to life in his stomach, but Logan’s grip tightens around his, keeping him from retreating.

“Of course I do. You’re it for me, Logan; why would I ever dream about anything else?”

Logan doesn’t even bother replying, simply tugs one hand free from Roman’s fingers, wraps it around the back of his neck, and pulls him into an ardent kiss.

Logan had never been as much of one for words as Roman was, had always tended to struggle a bit to vocalize his deepest feelings, but Roman doesn’t need a long-winded reply, not when the press of the other man’s body against his is all the answer he needs.

Logan, though, apparently isn’t content to let his reaction do all the talking for him.

“I know that not many people would call me a dreamer,” he says as he pulls back, gaze so open and vulnerable in the golden rays of the late afternoon light that Roman’s heart squeezes in his chest. “But I want that too. That future. The two of us. You.”

“It’s ours,” Roman vows. “And I’m yours.”

They meet in the middle this time, an intoxicating press of lips that tastes of hopes and dreams and happy endings, and oh nevermind all his indulgent imaginings about what might be, this is all Roman could ever want.

If this is his reward for daydreaming, he really needs to do it more often.

Entirely too soon Logan is drawing back again, rosiness now fully blossomed across his cheekbones.

“We don’t have to have a house in the country,” he says as if his brain has just caught up to Roman’s earlier words, the delay in processing entirely more endearing than it should be. “I know you like the city.”

Roman shrugs, sure the expression on his face can only be described as utterly besotted as his hands find a home in the familiar curve of Logan’s waist, pure affection melting through every inch of his body. “I can compromise as long as there’s no bears.”

Logan chuckles, low and bemused.

“No bears,” he promises, and with the way his eyes are sparkling with amusement, what else is Roman supposed to do but kiss him again?

“Love you,” Logan murmurs against his lips, the words still enough even after all this time to send butterflies dancing through Roman’s stomach like it’s the first he’s ever heard them. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too,” he whispers, and here, with Logan in his arms, present and future inseparable from each other for one breathlessly suspended moment, he can’t dream to ask for anything more.

-

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!): @darth-does-stuff

[rosepetalgold]

Currently trying to drop-kick writer's block out of my life by focusing on some short and sweet oneshots so feel free to send me a prompt and a pairing! 💜

OTP Prompt Challenge

Choose a pairing and a prompt and create something with it. You can write, you can draw - be creative!

Meet-cute

Bickering

Hand holding

Cooking together

Blushing

Firsts

Stargazing

Confessions

Morning routine

Sneaking glances

Argument

Grocery shopping

Dancing

Little gifts

Sharing a bed

Family

Pet names

Hugs

Matching outfits

Date night

Secretive

Comfort

Vacation

Washing dishes

Flowers

Sick days

Kisses

Flirting

Adopting a pet

Insecurity

Proposal

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee! And check out my Instagram!🥰

[ask-healthy-light]

if you still do requests it be cool to see a story involving the characters of askrosemaryandguru

Content warning: Similarly to this post about Quick and Rosemary, the story beneath contains some dark scenes, which readers may find distressing. Some characters are injured by implicit violence, but none are harmed explicitly, or graphically. Though the story is about protecting loved ones, and ends determinedly:

Reader discretion is advised.

Eye, Tooth, and Nail

Striking out from the shadows and dark corners of the abandoned building, two Ponies fought against merciless foes in nigh utter silence; though they often got hurt facing one of the Baron's soldiers alone, many hours later, by baton and blade, tape and tranquiliser, each floor finally fell silent.

The realisation of what just happened had not yet dawned on either Quick nor Guru when they met one another again, and they merely put their arms over each others' shoulders as they stumbled outside, laughing loudly as countless tears streamed down their faces, and their wounds left a bloody trail.

On their way back, the adrenaline coursing through their veins slowly wore off, and as the euphoria of their victory diminished, great pain took its place in both heart and mind; but they trotted on, walking through falling rain and rapidly draining energy, and only stopped when they reached Fixer.

With a few favours and a bundle of bits, Guru and Quick were let in, patched up, given supplies and a drink or two, and sent away, heading back the way they came under the light of the Moon; but they split up shortly after, sticking to alleys and shadows, until the two reached the rendezvous point.

Now, a mere stone's throw away from their home, the two Stallions helped one another clean up their faces, hid the bandages on their body, and calmed their breathing; and after they scanned the area, and had made absolutely sure there was not a soul nearby, they walked over and knocked on the door.

A tall Grey Pegasus, with one arm in a tourniquet, opened the door, and tightly embraced Guru as he entered, when two Fillies flew into the room, and leapt into the arms of their Uncle Quick; and the Stallions warmly held their loved ones, quietly reassuring them they were home, and they were safe.

But nopony dared to let go of the others, even as Quick and Guru slowly hobbled over to the stairs, so Guru turned to Quick with tears in his eyes, yet he did not need to utter a single word; for too well did Quick understand, so he smiled warmly, closed his eyes, and teleported the group upstairs.

When they entered the room to see the two Mares resting in their beds, neither Quick nor Guru cared about their pain, and happily trotted over to lovingly embrace their partners; and Thunder chuckled as Nooby showed up to give him many kisses and a warm hug, while Rose and Earth groaned in disgust.

The Fillies' lighthearted repulsion lifted the mood in an instant, which was a very welcome change, as it had only been a few days since the Baron threatened their family; but had it not been for the bravery of Thunder and Quick's agility, both Rose and Autumn would have been severely more injured.

The only thing they remembered was falling unconscious, before they woke up in bed with their loved ones sitting by their sides; but the Baron's unseen soldiers who hurt them were distracted by Guru, stunned by Thunder, whose arm broke when they fought back, and silenced by Quick, in a mere moment.

To their relief, Rose, Autumn, and Thunder were healing swiftly, so Quick and Guru helped the three downstairs for dinner, hoping that their message was clear; the protective ward cast on their loved ones and their victory over the Baron's soldiers should tell him they were not to be harmed at all.

They would stop at nothing to make sure their Family was safe…

(Thanks for reading this bonus! If you'd like a story of your own, feel free to send a request!)

Featuring: Gurumane and Quick, Rosemary and Autumn Breeze, and Thundermane, Earthheart, and Rosepetal from @askrosemaryandguru and @randomgurustuffs Nooby from @ask-nooby and @estrill

[bloomingdarkgarden]

Helo my love I was just wondering whether you too read fanfics and have some recommendations? Based on your other level writing style I’m very curious what caught your attention

All love xx

Hello lovely.

I have some long time fandom homies in acotar who are very talented and whose work I will happily point you to:

@yourstarsmyscars is incredible at writing characterization and explores so many ships. She'll make you fall for anyone. And has really immersive and unique retellings.

@tealeaves-and-rosepetals loves writing elriel mutual vulnerability as much as I do. Get in on her soft!azriel work!!

@thesistersarcheron has a lot of skill with wordplay and just generally making you foam at the mouth over whatever she writes.

In regards to your question, I do not read elriel or acotar fics really. Which probably sounds strange but there's an important reason for this that is common amongst many fic writers: if you are reading and writing for the same ship, you often end up subconsciously borrowing from other fic or really leaning on it to make your own. This has happened to me twice now by readers and is incredibly uncomfortable //creatively arresting to deal with. So I respectfully do not read elriel though I have a lot of love for the ship. It's a small fandom and boundaries are important. I will always have star wars fic galore to recc though ✨ that's my og fandom 🌌

[highladyjane]

Fave fan fiction atm? ✍️

Gawsh, at the moment?!

When it comes to fan-fics, I'm a multi-chapter, canon-universe kinda gal, and I usually don't start reading until the fic's got a couple of chapters going and updating regularly since I like reading stuff in one go (because so many I'd started on ended up unfinished and that kinda hurt since I get invested 😩), but I'm following quite a bunch at the moment 😅

My favourite fan-fiction to read will always be Elriel (they've kept me thirsty so they're actually the ones that got me started on fanfics), but I also read some Dramione, Elorcan, & random LOTR every now and then.

I'm sure you're already following/read the most easy to find, frequently mentioned, and already established ones, so I'll skip mentioning those.

If I'm going to recommend any of those I'm reading "at the moment" it would be the following that deserve so many more kudos and comments and hits and over-all LOVE and appreciation, imo:

@merakimoonglade's Chiaroscuro series! (Elriel)

I read it all in one go some weekends ago and fell in love with the author's unique, emotive, and beautifully descriptive style of writing. It's also filled with crumbs that are a delight to find here and there throughout. My heart hurt after finishing it, so I'll warn you for that, but that's because there were such lovely and light, but also angst-filled moments. She also has a multi-chapter fic on the works called Shadowlight which is a bit of a continuation to the series, and that's why it's a must include in this "at the moment" list. 😊

@violetasteracademic's Golden Doe in a Valley of Shadows (Elriel)

As I've mentioned, I don't usually start "In Progress" fics until they're well a couple of chapters in, but violetasteracademic is so intelligent and lovely - just like her writing! My favourite kind of people are those who reply to all the comments/messages even though they don't have to, so I automatically loved her! Therefore, my curiosity got the better of me, so I read 1 chapter, obviously got hooked immediately, and she's kept us fed and spoiled with nearly daily updates since then like the absolute ✨Mother✨ she is... So this is already a must-read!

@tealeaves-and-rosepetals's Resilience and Roses (Elriel)

Probably one of my all-time favourite fics because it's probably one of the most believably canon-like, beautifully well-written (I wish SJM wrote like this tbh), mind-blowing and heart-wrenching fics I've ever read, so it's got to be included - and I just cannot fathom why it doesn't have more LOVE. I'm including this in this "at the moment" list because I recently re-read it, and because she does have an on-going multi-chapter fic "Shining Through That Moonless Night", which is a continuation of Resilience; and which I'm honestly still holding out on for the same reasons I mentioned above. But I've read 1 chapter and already know I'm going to love it and probably bawl my eyes out for loving it, so I'm trying to wait patiently (while mentally preparing myself) for a couple of chapters more before I devour it...

As for one-shots, the most recent one I read (last night) was @viridianevergarden's The Comforts of the Night (Elriel)

I think they mentioned it's their first writing in a while, but I thought it was beautifully written and felt very Sleeping Beauty-ish and Az-angsty, so I'm hoping there's a continuation or that we get to see more of their writing in the future!

Now, I don't want any pressure at all to the above-mentioned on their writing journeys, but I really hope for more people to find them and GO and send them some very well-deserved love, so we see more of their writing and thank them for blessing us with their beautiful talent(s), humility, and overall loveliness! ✨️

Thank you for the Ask, btw. I tried not to go overboard with my answer, but here we are 😅😆

[rosepetalgold]

A bit of self-promotion for my big bang fic this year! Featuring a mildly run-down Victorian house, a ghostly Logan with a vendetta against EMF meters everywhere, and delighted new homeowner Remus who will stop at nothing to get so much as a 'boo' out of his elusive housemate.

Come for the historic ghost vibes, stay for the found family, the Intrulogical shenanigans, and the healthy dose of angst sprinkled on top!

the art of saying goodbye

Rating: Teen

Pairings: Platonic Intrulogical (main), past romantic Loceit (main), romantic Prinxiety (background)

Summary/Excerpt: 

Remus expects a lot of things from the Queen Anne Victorian house he’s just purchased—a restoration project to occupy his time, some peace and quiet from nosy neighbors, a chance to brag about being a homeowner before his goody two-shoes brother.

What he doesn’t expect is for the property to come with a very real, very curious ghost.

But it’d be rude to just ignore the spirit, so after a few false starts Remus strikes up an unlikely friendship with the incorporeal Logan, the ghost’s fascination with modern science and penchant for hijacking Remus’ technology proving unfairly endearing.

But even as their friendship grows, so too do the questions swirling in Remus’ mind:

Why is Logan still haunting the place he used to live?

(It’s the place he was murdered, Remus learns, and the place he can’t ever leave.)

Who is the mysterious Janus he keeps mentioning?

(His friend, his lover, his soulmate, Remus uncovers, whose relationship with Logan ended in tragedy for both of them.)

And what will it take for the ghost to finally find peace with the life and the love that were stolen from him so long ago?

(That one, Remus is still searching for an answer for.)

AUTHOR

@rosepetalgold - I’ve spent entirely too many hours looking up old Queen Anne houses in the name of research for this fic and I have zero regrets about it.

BETAS

@dragonsaphirareads

ARTISTS

@onthevirgeofdestruction - ghosts are cool so get the heatmapping equipment we’re going ghost hunting

@casart

[bonefall]

I know we’ve learned a lot about Blossomfall but can you tell me why she defected so late in the battle and why she ended up defecting? I would love to know how the battle went for her, was it because of Ivypool she defected? Since it was stated they had a brief relationship

I'm still working out the full logistics of the battle, but the full outline of the Night Of The True Eclipse goes kinda like this;

ThunderClan knows their exact plan because of Ivypool, and as soon as she vanishes, tries to get to convincing the other Clans to rally together

"They want to kill everyone in power and take over our Clans, just like they did to Shadow"

The politics here are patchy but Shadow is probably easy to convince, since they aren't looking for a repeat of Apple/Red/Rat's little stunt.

And WindClan has too many defectors to have much choice

RiverClan needs more coaxing

I want to write a speech here that convinces them to all unite because I LOVE rallying speeches like that

DARK FOREST

At the launch point, Tigerstar is getting the soldiers organized

They will move in blocks, and use the tunnels to jump out wherever they need

They don't need to slaughter everyone, stay focused on your targets.

Beetlewhisker is killed around this point

Icewing goes into Protect Mode, gathering the softer cats and defending them

But those cats, Mousewhisker, Minnowtail, Harespring, they're united in finding some way out of this

Ivypool asks her mentor Hawkfrost: "do you think we have a chance?"

Hawk: "......" (no)

There will be 3 battles, as the plan falls apart

FIGHTS

The Clan cat plan was to mix up the fighters in each camp and scramble the attacker's expectations, setting traps and ambushes and ensuring that NO NONCOMBATANTS (elders, kits) were present.

The first fight demonstrates this, showing how caught off guard the demons are.

In this fight comes the first set of defectors, Mouse, Hare, Minnow. Cats who turned as soon as they had the chance.

Featherwhisker is a DF cat who defects here as well, tending to the wounds of all cats

Ivypool planned to break it off here, but Blossom, Hawk, and others are still here. She can't leave them.

She meets Dovewing's eyes and charges off

The SECOND battle is even larger, now everyone is being more indiscriminate knowing this cannot be a Blitz to just kill the leaders.

A lot more cats die in this one, it's a proper middle ages clash of armies

There is a sea of screeching and yowling cats, tangled like a solid, writhing pelt

Lionblaze is a one-man-army but there's too many cats! The Clans can't keep up with their ability to teleport out of tunnels and get instant reinforcements

I am also adding: Spirits heal faster than the living. What could take out a mortal for days is healed in an hour for a spirit, because they do not have physical bodies.

Spiderleg catches Toadstep in his mouth during this moment and stops just short of snapping his neck

Everything goes quiet for him in this moment, the screaming and hissing, and all he can hear is the gargle of Toadstep choking. The taste of blood stings his tongue

He drops him, frozen in place as he realizes what he's doing

Either Rosepetal or Lionblaze shows up here though and BONKS him hard, and he runs off

When the Dark Forest retreats, they stream away like a wave lapping the beach and leave a floor of bodies behind them. Dead, dying, bleeding cats. Some of them are moving, but so mauled they aren't recognizable.

Some of the Dark Forest trainees are with them, Sunstrike is so badly injured she can't move. Furzepelt is trembling, clinging to her and trying to apply pressure to one of the wounds, begging for mercy

Marshwing is laying next to the body of Applefur, having fought her to exhaustion. When Birchfall runs up to his old journey friends, Marsh grins,

"We sure came a long way just to end up in deep dung, aye?"

Perceiving this carnage is too much for Jayfeather. What's the good of his stupid powers?! What's the point of STARCLAN if the damned cats are able to do so much more than them??

He's pissed, he's furious, he takes his stupid stick and jams it into the ground. Rips a clump of fur off a dying Dark Forest warrior, takes the blood of a dead mortal, and hesitates before biting his pinky claw clean off.

Blood of the dead, pelt of the damned, claw of a spirit from beyond StarClan

Featherwhisker: "ooo channeling on a moonlit night? Love that"

He leans his head on his staff as the hum of stars churns into a roar in his ears

MEANWHILE the Dark Forest cats are regrouping

The losses were baaaad.

Even some of the most ardent supporters are wavering.

Tigerclaw's newest plan: HURT THEM. If the Clans remember this night in infamy, that is a victory. Make an entire gap in the generational record, time to target the children

Hawkfrost reaches the final point on his redemption arc: "no im not doing that"

FIGHT

Hawkfrost is considered the second strongest fighter, and Tigerstar WRECKS him, mauled.

Ivypool is UPSET

It was brutal and most of the followers are terrified. Tigerstar says, "anyone else want to argue?"

Ivy drags Hawkfrost off, and as a final chapter with him before he fades JUST as they reach the Dark Forest Meadow.

She thinks he's dead, and he kinda is. We won't see him for several more arcs.

BUT NOW Jay is in heaven bringing StarClan Warriors down.

He resurrected his long-dead stick, and it stands as a massive tree in the stars. He fits as many angels as can fit onto its branches;

Firestar, Moleflight, Russetfur, Deerfoot, Stonefur, and the blue meanie and cowboy curtis and jambi the genie robocop terminator captain kirk darth vader lo pan superman every single power ranger--

AND THEN he brings them down on the tree like an elevator

But this is taking time, the tree is growing before their eyes and Jayfeather is open-eyed and stars are dancing in his sightless gaze

Then a sopping wet, brown tabby appears, breathless

It's Lizardtail, a DF trainee, he desperately explains that they are attacking the kits, please help

Dovewing confirms he is not lying. They've changed the plan and she can hear them barreling towards the noncombatants

They haven't reached them yet though, Lizardtail bought them time

He falls to the ground exhausted, having run, swam across the lake, and then run again

Mistystar makes an awed comment about his hallowed flight, which will become his honor title later. Hallowflight.

FINAL BATTLE

Dustpelt goes down swinging, reinforcing the bramble walls, assuring his kits Lily and Seed that he won't let anyone hurt them

Millie and Blossomfall face off, Blossom vowing she'll end Briarlight

Briarlight cuts through, "Bloss... do you really hate me like that?"

"YES I DO!" (pause. No she doesn't. However they do get interrupted in the chaos)

The first of the Clan combatants show up, pairing off with their rivals.

Ivypool is back, looking absolutely destroyed. She ends up pleading to Bloss that she doesn't want to lose her too

This is when she defects.

Up next, the Tiger/Scourge/Black battle

When Tigerstar wins the match, the sky brightens, and the stars begin to fall.

And that's when Firestar and the StarClan Reinforcements come in to end this

Brackenfur and Thornclaw face off. Mistystar fights alongside her brothers. Many such cases

When Firestar wins, ending Tigerstar's reign of terror, the battle is over.

The last of the DF fighters who fought to the end are captured. The dark forest warriors who stay too long become incorporeal as the Eclipse passes over the moon, leaving just the trainees.

[rosanna-writer]

WIP Wednesday

I had a recent-ish convo with @tealeaves-and-rosepetals and some friends about what's the hardest thing to write, and (at least for acotar fic), I find that it's scenes with the full Inner Circle. Six characters is a ton of interpersonal dynamics to balance, and it's easy to fall into the trap of making the conversation feel like clunky turn-taking and repetitive action-dialogue-action-dialogue-action-dialogue. I had to tackle another one recently for we said hello and your eyes look like coming home, and I'm patting myself on the back for it:

"Have you considered," Rhys drawled, looping an arm through mine as we headed into the dining room, "that Feyre spends so much time in my company for a reason?" I hadn't noticed Azriel in the corner, preternaturally still and half-hidden in a shadow, until he said, "Living under the same roof isn't a particularly compelling reason to spend time with you, brother." Cassian said, "And unfortunately, I've seen it, so I can tell you that neither is the size of his—" Amren couldn't have chosen a better moment to come striding in from the hallway. "Enough. No one wants to hear you finish that sentence." Mor took the opportunity to tug me away from Rhys and over to the open bottle of wine on the sideboard. I took a sip from the glass she handed me and rolled my eyes at Cassian made yet another dirty joke about wingspans. Amren's irritated hiss followed it, timed as if on cue. Azriel pulled out a chair for me. I made a face—not even Rhys, with princely manners engrained since childhood, bothered with that. Az just glared and jerked his chin at the empty seat, a clear order to cut the crap and sit down. I did, noting that Rhys's expression had gone soft as he sank into his own chair at the other end of the table. Not bothering to speak mind-to-mind, I raised my brows at him in a silent question. He just smiled as a flick of Mor's wrist sent the wine bottle floating through the air and landing gently in front of the seat she'd claimed at his left. I knew what that look meant—it was good to be home. I felt the same way.

[shdwwlkrsblog]

Valentinsday date with the boys|Naruto fandom|Hcs

Im not too proud of it, so if you have any tips to improve my writing, please let me know .Want a girls' version or other characters or fandoms? Requests are open .

Narutomasterlist

Warning: none

Characters: kakashi , madara , hashirama , tobirama , itachi

Kakashi

So kakashi will take you out for dinner (ofc)

Count receiving your favorite flowers in

But it doesnt end there , when you finish eating he will take you to a nice lake that also gives perfect view to the sunset

If you want he will bathe with you in it and play waterfight with you

If not you both just chill around there with kakashi holding you close to him and compliments fir you will leave his mouth occasionsally.

"Its so beautiful here, kashi" you whisper while his thumb rubs circles on your hand . kakashi smiles ,his mask off and holds you closer. He looks down at you and a sigh escapes his lips. "But it cant compare to how beautiful you look" he whispers back . You chuckle a little and kakashi chuckles too. His other hand on your side moves slightly and you flinch(?) A bit . "Ticklish , are we?" Kakashi teases before going over to attack your sides more. The hand that once rested on yours is now tickling your other side. You laugh uncontrollably , tears of laughter in your eyes.

Oh and dont think it ends there .

When you get home late at night a clone has already prepared a rosepetal bath for you .

He will join you happily if you ask him to but if not he will stay outsude and massage your shoulders and wash your hair.

Madara

Oh he is taking you to the fanciest places and spoiling you rotten with expensive gifts.

In return? Madara honestly only wants your smile and love.

Madara is a softie for you so prepare to see him at his sweetest (and flirtiest) this day

But after visiting the fancy Restaurant and going shopping in expensive stores . When you both are in private now prepare to be cuddled and watch movies.

His work? He doesnt care , slacking off once wont hurt and youre way more important anyways.

If literally anyone disturbs you on this day madara is almost gonna jump on them.

Cant they see that he is spending valentines day with you? How disrespectful

So i mentioned movies . Even tho its valentines day madara wont watch those cheesy romance movies. He is fine with any movie but dont torture him with those.

If you decide to watch such movie anyways madara will not give any bit of attention to the move . In case he gets really bored he might even tickle you into changing the movie . But other than that he might just entertain himself with playing with your fingers or reading a book just so he doesnt have to see it. (Jeez madara we get it you hate cheesy romance stuff)

Actually now thinking of it , i think madara might like the hobbit and lotr (idk seems like he might like those)

Hashirama

I can see him wanting to take you for a picnic as a valentines day

Hashirama spoils you yes but other than madara he doesnt think valentines needs expensive stuff to be enjoyable .

He is simply a man with the spirit of a child inside. So yes this day will mostly be him having random ideas and you going with it or warching that he wont hurt himself trying to pick apples from that tree

But once you both get home tired he is always over you . Please just cuddle him , he doesnt need more on valentines day than your love.

Movienight? Sure . Other than madara he will watch those cheese romance movies but he wont watch those extreme horrormovies .

But if you put on a horrormovie , well , hashirama will be clinging onto you whenever he senses something bad happens .

(He will cry if the dog dies)

Tobirama

He took the day off work for you (like hashirana and madara)

He takes you to the Restaurant you had your first date in (even if its ichikarus ramen) and maybe take a nice stroll through the city with you , if you want it .

But other than that i see tobirama more staying at home and spoiling you there.

So much love and attention from him and all he wants is to prove that he loves you and he wants to see you happy .

Well now for a bit evil reader.... he is ticklish ,very ticklish and since he doesnt have work ,there is no valid excuse to stop you from attacking him. Do it.

The stoic tobirama will be on the floor crying-laughing and begging you to stop.

His laughter is the sweetest thing you will ever hear ngl .

Prepare for a random revenge tho . Youre trying to get a class from a cabinet? Too bad tobirama will be getting his revenge from earlier .

Other than hashirama and madara he honestly gives no fuck what movie you both watch as long as you're cuddled up in his arms

Itachi

Valetines is soent at home ,in private . Hes bringing you breakfast in bed and all the other things you want

If you want to eat in a resturant he wont say no but in all honesty why would you want that? Itachi cooks better than them.

Speaking of wich

Cooking together

Cake? Normal food? Or burning the kitchen down? Doesnt matter for him as long as youre there with him.

Itachi gets so playful while cooking or baking with you

Valetines day for itachi is something private and intimidate . He likes to soent it at home and just shower you in love while cuddling you .

Oh, and dont forget to praise him for his cooking . He will melt for ya (it's canon for me that itachi is a sucker for praises)

[impossiblescissorspeachpaper]

Happy Elain Week!

So it’s been a little difficult for me to write much else outside of my THOAW universe and subsequently I don’t have much for @elainarcheronweek prepared. My brain has been a bit mushy and it pains me to not contribute in the way I usually would but I’ll try to put out a few things throughout the week.

For Day 1: Seer, I have this humble little drabble. Thank you to @ultadverb for the prompt idea. Have the best week y’all! I can’t wait to dig into all the goodies 😊🩷

***

Since the time she was a young child, Elain could always remember having the most vivid dreams.

Dreams of dark caverns, of great winged beasts swooping down upon her, of bone white hands grasping her sleeves and tugging at her skirts. They frightened her, as a little girl. She would sneak into her parents’ room; tears streaming down her full cheeks to seek her mother for comfort.

It’s just a silly dream, Elain! There is no need to cry! It is simply your imagination. Go back to bed.

Often, her father wouldn’t even rouse at her interruptions or mothers berating, but when he did, he would carry her back to the room she shared with Nesta and tuck her into her bed. He wouldn’t wait for her to fall asleep again.

The dreams carried on sporadically for most her life. Some time around the beginning of her teenage years, she learnt to not seek comfort from others anymore. It was often fruitless anyway, at least when she turned to her parents. Her sisters were more sympathetic. And when her mother died and their fortune squandered, everyone seemed too lost to their own despair to care about anyone else but themselves. She willed herself to cast the dreams from memory, push them aside and instead plaster on the pleasant smile she wore to appease those around her.

So, when she had been roused from sleep the night Feyre had returned once again from above the wall, her sister turned into Fae herself and the High Lord of Night along with his most trusted warriors in tow, she hadn’t thought much of it. The dream had come to her like they always did. Flashes of strange scenes she had never witnessed in her waking hours.

But she lay awake for hours afterwards, wondering what the swirling black waters meant, so deep and dark they appeared to repel light itself. Obsidian in both appearance and menace. She had heard the sobs and pleas of her sisters echoing off stone walls. Cruel laughter. A male grunt of pain. Beautiful, scared fingers twitching toward her.

And then the scene had gone dark, utterly silent. There was nothing but her subconscious thought for what felt like a small eternity…

But then, after the endless dark came light. Sunshine. As she had never seen it before. It was warm and buttery, peeking through the shadows of the darkness that had seemed to swallow her.

But the light was familiar and warm, gentle. Unassuming. It felt, comforting. Unlike anything she had felt before. She liked it. It felt peaceful yet exciting, as if some playful little creature was beckoning her closer, to look harder, to see beyond the shadows.

Others may have been weary, afraid. But she didn’t balk.

For whatever reason, she knew it would be ok. That whatever she found beyond that shadow would be worth it.

********

tag list:

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@nightcourtseer

@wingedblooms

@tswaney17

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@britishwings

[averysexyleon]

my lords' face claims fite me

Since you asked @rosepetals-onthelake !!!

Donna's face is Adelaide Kane and she's so beautiful. I'm HERE. FOR. BROWN. EYES. Capcom is like, averse to them for some reason but Donna? Naw she has Roma heritage (dress in her room, among other details.)

Alcina is Lana Parrilla who I also have a huge crush on. she also has a very alcina-like attitude in general, I find.

Karl's younger/human form is a model named Wim de Klerk. He has a bit more of an angular face than I picture Karl to have, but I like the idea that Karl looked a bit different before all of the trauma, and maybe looks different in the mold world.

Moreau is BY FAR the hardest lord to get a...read on, because he's mostly a fisih LOL. but I feel like Billy Bibbitt/Wormtongues actor Brad Dourif really could be the human version. both of those characters have some severe mommy issues and grovel and are pathetic in a lot of moreau's ways. I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to write him in human form, because I imagine him to be VERY EXHAUSTING and maybe still devoted to miranda???? idk, he's got trauma bonding down to an art. but I feel like the guy deserves some kind of redemption. He was just so GODDAMNED PATHETIC.

the lower two are him not as wormtongue, but you can see the actor's...I don't know....desperation? He has a really interesting face, and I think based on his characters he could really nail moreau. But Im very open to critique on this one. lol.

[rosepetalgold]

the art of saying goodbye

Summary: Remus expects a lot of things from the Queen Anne Victorian house he’s just purchased—a restoration project to occupy his time, some peace and quiet from nosy neighbors, a chance to brag about being a homeowner before his goody two-shoes brother.

What he doesn’t expect is for the property to come with a very real, very curious ghost. But what is he supposed to do, just ignore the spirit? That'd be nothing short of rude, especially considering that the specter's fascination with modern science and penchant for hijacking Remus' technology proves unfairly endearing.

But even as their unlikely friendship grows, so too do the questions swirling in Remus’ mind: Why is Logan still haunting the place he used to live? Who is the mysterious Janus he refuses to talk about? And what will it take for the ghost to finally find peace with the life and the love that were stolen from him so long ago?

Relationships: Platonic Intrulogical, past romantic Loceit, background romantic Prinxiety

Warnings for this chapter: None!

Word Count: 7000

Notes: My fic for this year's @sandersidesbigbang, aka another angsty tale that inexplicably grew out of a single fluffy scene, aka a prime excuse to procrastinate by poring through countless photos of beautiful Queen Anne houses my beloved. I hope you enjoy this ghostie story as much I enjoyed writing it! A big shoutout to my wonderful beta reader @dragonsaphirareads for all their feedback on this fic, and don't miss the amazing art by the incredible @casart and @onthevirgeofdestruction—you can check out their pieces here and here! (Seriously, even if you don't read the fic, go feast your eyes on their work because it is straight-up stunning. Go look, you'll see.)

Read on Ao3 Masterpost

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start (you’re here!) - next

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“This place is definitely haunted.”

Remus snorts, giving his brother a friendly sock in the arm.

“Oh come on, Ro, you scared of a few ghosties now? Afraid a floating white sheet is gonna jump out and yell boo?”

Roman doesn’t answer, just eyes the Queen Anne Victorian home in front of them with the amount of trepidation he usually reserved for any time Remus started a sentence with ‘I have an idea.’ The house does give off distinctly spooky vibes, Remus has to admit, what with its boards in desperate need of a new coat of paint and its broken window in the attic, not to mention the porch that looks liable to send someone plummeting to the ground if they take a single wrong step, but what was wrong with any of that? It all just added to the building’s character, and the risk of falling through the veranda was a delightful way to keep visitors on their toes, in his superior opinion.

And besides, he couldn’t turn his nose up at the property’s many flaws when they made it dirt-cheap. He wasn’t exactly a millionaire.

He grabs Roman’s arm, tugging him forward.

“C’mon, there’s some wicked spindlework on the back you gotta check out.”

His brother makes a sound of protest, dragging his feet as Remus hauls him onward.

“Aren’t we going to go inside?”

“Nah, I don’t have the keys yet. Everything’s still pending or whatever.”

Roman shifts his incredulous gaze from the house to Remus.

“You made me come all this way just to look at the outside of a house you haven’t even officially bought yet?”

Why yes, he had. He was such a good brother.

“Don’t act like it’s such a burden to drive twenty minutes out of the way to get here, especially when it means you’re twenty minutes closer to a booty call with Virgil.”

Roman splutters, face flushing a splendidly scandalized shade of crimson, and Remus cackles. That was more like it.

“Now c’mon c’mon c’mon, the sooner you ooh and aah over all my cool house shit, the sooner you can get some of that good di—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Roman interrupts, slapping his hands over his ears, but he doesn’t protest as Remus pulls him around to the back of the house and points out the expansive if overgrown backyard, the plethora of decorative elements adorning the home, the leaded glass windows that have survived well over a century.

“I don’t get it, though,” Roman says as he eyes the tower gracing the corner of the house, something Remus would swear is a hint of jealousy in his gaze. Made sense. He knows for a fact his brother would sell his soul to be Rapunzel. “If this is such a nice place, why has it sat empty for so long?”

“Dunno. The realtor just said it stayed in the family of the guy who built it for a while before changing hands a bunch. Apparently every time it’s been on the market it’s taken ages to find a buyer, but she didn’t really say why no one wanted to live here for too long.” Probably just her trying not to scare him away from what was clearly a substantial restoration project so she wouldn’t lose her commission. Either that or there was some kind of toxic fungus in the walls that had taken over all the previous residents’ brains and turned them into zombies and Remus was about to become its next victim.

What a delightful gamble to find out which one it was.

“Can we please go now before some serial killer comes charging out of this place and we both end up on the news?” Roman asks, already edging back towards the front of the house.

“Sure, if you really want to give up your one shot of having your fifteen minutes of fame in the media,” Remus replies, dancing away with a grin as Roman aims a kick at his shins. “Fine, fine, we’ll go. I wouldn’t want to keep you from a hot date and some—”

Something catches his attention, a flash of movement out of the very corner of his eye, and he pauses mid-stride, doing a double-take at the second-story balcony overlooking the backyard.

Nothing. Not even a curtain blowing in the non-existent breeze.

“What?” Roman questions from where he’s also stopped a few yards ahead of him.

Remus looks a moment longer, searching for anything out of place, but all is still.

“Nothing. Probably just a bat or something. Wouldn’t that be cool as shit, to have bats as roommates? Hey, maybe they have rabies if they’re out in the daytime. Did you know…”

He launches into a spiel of the most gruesome and fascinating facts he knows about the disease, joyfully watching his brother’s face grow increasingly horrified with each one as they make their way back across the yard, and by the time they reach the driveway, the flicker of movement is barely a blip on his mental radar.

Just a trick of his eyes, surely.

It wasn’t like houses could actually be haunted, after all.

---

Home sweet home.

Or home rundown-and-slightly-musty-smelling home, as the case may be, but who was Remus to nitpick?

He fits his shiny new key into the lock and steps inside, letting the door click shut solidly behind him as he pauses just over the threshold, taking a moment to survey the foyer. His foyer now, in his very own home. The sale had been endless offers and counteroffers and a mountain of paperwork so large he’s positive he could have buried himself beneath it and never been seen again, but the place is finally his.

Him, a homeowner. Who’d have thunk it. He’ll be rubbing this in Roman’s apartment-renting face every chance he can get, thank you very much. It’s the least he can do, really.

He unceremoniously deposits the cardboard box in his arms on the floor and wanders further inside, trailing his hand along the smooth wood of the stair banister as he passes. He’s supposed to be meeting some of his friends back at his old place shortly—or now, actually, but that was wholly irrelevant—to start moving all of his worldly possessions into his fancy new abode, but he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of taking the first load of boxes alone just to have the place to himself for a bit; he could use a few minutes to enjoy the space in peace before it’s filled with Roman and Virgil squabbling about the worst Disney movie heroes or whatever argument they were bound to get into.

Despite its well-worn exterior, the house is in surprisingly good condition inside, he muses as he roams through the empty rooms. There’s clearly extensive work that needs to be done if he wants to restore the place to its Victorian glory, an ambitious undertaking he knows will be neither cheap nor easy, but the bones of the structure are all solid, especially considering how many years it’s stood empty.

He finishes his meandering loop around the first floor and heads up the stairs, the tread of his steps entirely too loud for the pervasive quiet as he continues his exploratory wandering through the second story rooms. He pauses as he reaches what is clearly the master bedroom, surveying the original fireplace, the century-old hardwood, the attached balcony that was just begging to be used to pour water onto his unsuspecting brother’s head. Shit, his new house was cool as fuck.

It’d make the most sense to start hauling his load of boxes here, considering that’s where most of his crap is going to end up eventually, but the longer he hovers in the doorway, the more something feels … off. Just the slightest tingle prickling down his spine, and not the good kind. He steps inside and the temperature drops noticeably, a chill raising the hair on his arms.

“The fuck?” he mutters, raking his gaze over the windows in search of damaged panes letting in a breeze, but everything is intact.

He advances another step on impulse and the pinpricks dancing along his vertebrae only grow stronger, now accompanied by the distinct feeling he’s being watched. He scans the room again, slower this time, but there’s no furniture, no closet, not so much as a nook or cranny for anyone or anything to hide. Even the ceiling is empty when he turns his gaze upwards on the off chance he really does have some bats hanging around that he’s somehow missed on his numerous pre-sale walk-throughs.

Nary a beady eye to be found and still the sensation of being in someone’s sights doesn’t lessen. Not that it’s a threatening feeling, exactly, just distinctly unsettling, like there’s someone behind him no matter how many times he glances over his shoulder and finds nothing but empty air.

But that was crazy. He’d read the final sale documents until his eyes had been about to start bleeding and he’s absolutely positive that the house hadn’t come with any roommates. He’s probably just imagining the feeling, the result of watching one too many horror movies in the last week or his brain making things up in an attempt to liven up the empty space.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, yanking him out of his thoughts, and he rolls his eyes without even looking at the screen, already able to see the text from Roman in his mind’s eye: where you at?? i’m not packing up all your crap for you followed by an absurdly long string of emojis that basically constituted their own Roman-specific hieroglyphic language.

Time to face the moving-day music before Roman got annoyed enough with waiting that he rescinded his promise of free manual labor, then. Any investigations of potential invisible voyeurs would have to wait, no matter how titillating such a prospect sounded when he put it like that.

“You win for now, house,” he says into the quiet as he turns to leave, an edge of coldness still dancing along the goosebumps on his skin. “Keep your secrets. I’ll figure ‘em out eventually.”

---

The afternoon passes in a blur of hauling entirely too many heavy boxes and unwieldy pieces of furniture to the new house, and by the time night settles onto the horizon, Remus is utterly exhausted. He flops back on the couch, too tired to even think about putting his bedframe together, and he’s out in minutes.

He wakes disoriented, mind scrabbling blankly for a moment before the darkness coalesces into the still-unfamiliar contours of his sitting room. He just lies there for a moment, trying to figure out what’s roused him, but all is still. Just his brain deciding to deprive him of some tantalizingly horrifying nightmares, unfortunately—

Tap tap tap.

Remus bolts upright at the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the hardwood upstairs, adrenaline surging in a dizzying rush. There hadn’t been any signs of a squatter all day, and surely he’d remembered to lock the doors so no one could steal all the crap he’d just spent a whole day of his life lugging around. He waits for a moment, holding his breath as silence falls, and just when he’s about to pass the whole thing off as his imagination playing tricks on him, the steps start up again, slow and rhythmic like someone is pacing on the upper level.

Fuck his luck. If someone is secretly living in the attic of his fancy new home, he’s not going to be pleased.

He rolls off the couch and snatches his phone off of one of the plethora of boxes waiting to be unpacked, debating whether to risk turning on the flashlight before deciding for it; he might give away any element of surprise with the beam, but he’s certain to give it away if he starts banging face-first into walls or cracking his skull open falling down the stairs. His eye catches on a glass paperweight on the coffee table, a characteristically pretentious housewarming present from Roman, who apparently thought Remus had so many papers flying about that he needed to corral them with a glorified rock, and he seizes it on a whim.

Makeshift weapon was a much more useful purpose for the thing than its intended function anyways.

He edges around the scattered boxes towards the stairs, careful to keep his steps light and his hand shielding the light from his phone as the footfalls continue overhead, and makes it all the way up the steps without so much as a creak to give him away.

Flawless. He knew all those times sneaking up behind Roman to scare the shit out of him as kids would pay off someday.

He pauses on the landing to triangulate the noise, then creeps down the hall towards the footsteps as the sound grows even more distinct. The master bedroom again? What the actual fuck was going on with that room? Had he really managed to miss someone in there when he’d investigated earlier in the day? No, he couldn’t have, but then how had someone managed to get past where he’d been sleeping on the couch? Unless he really did have somebody living in the walls—

A floorboard squeaks underneath his foot, deafeningly loud in the quiet of the night, and the footsteps abruptly stop. Remus swears under his breath. Traitorous piece of wood. Now or never, then.

He lunges forward into the doorway of the master bedroom, raising the paperweight and howling a war cry as he swings his light across the room to reveal—

Nothing. The space is as entirely and utterly empty as it had been that morning.

Well, shit. There went any element of surprise he had left.

He darts back into the hall, racing to search through the rest of the rooms on the upper level one by one, but they’re all just as vacant as the first. He even hauls himself into the attic, bracing himself to be clubbed over the head by whoever is lurking, but with the exception of innumerable shadows billowing away from his flashlight, the space proves equally empty as the rest.

Unease stirs in his gut, creeping in alongside the lingering adrenaline as he makes his way back down the precariously rickety ladder into the main house. Surely there’s no way someone could have gotten past him, not when he would have heard them in the hall or going down the stairs.

And yet, as far as he can tell, besides a few mice tucked away in the attic, there isn’t another living soul in the house.

He stops in the doorway of the master bedroom again, staring inside. He’s positive this is where the footsteps had been emanating from, lack of proof be damned. Something weird was going on with this house.

Good thing Remus had just made the biggest financial commitment of his life to buy it.

Nothing for it now but to hope some elusive, wall-dwelling ax murderer doesn’t give him the chop in his sleep, he supposes, although he has to admit that’d be a badass way to go.

He reluctantly makes his way back downstairs and shoves a pile of boxes at the foot of the stairs to trip any nefarious intruders coming down, then retreats back to the couch, all the while keeping his ears primed for so much as a whisper of sound above him.

But even though it takes him a long time to drift back to sleep, the house around him remains as silent as a grave.

---

The whole thing must have been an impressively lucid dream, Remus decides the next morning. A second investigation in the light of day doesn’t reveal anything out of place: no shoe prints on the floor, no critters, certainly no people. It was probably nothing then, he tries to convince himself, just his overactive imagination needing an outlet after being a bit too jittery from all the excitement of moving.

But he finds himself pausing in the master bedroom again, something drawing him back to the space. First the chill and the strange feeling of being watched, then the mysterious footsteps? Two separate coincidences, or something more?

God, he sounded about as paranoid as Virgil. Next thing he knew he was going to be inventing his very own conspiracy theory to explain a few bumps in the night.

It really was nothing, he tells himself, shaking off any lingering unease as he tromps back down the stairs. If he starts jumping at every little noise in his old-as-shit house, he’ll be long dead before he gets the property restored. If he starts seeing glowing red eyes in the dark, he’ll start to worry. Until then, he has a mountain of boxes to unpack.

Unfortunately, said mountain does not pull a Beauty and the Beast and begin unpacking itself, leaving Remus to spend a dreadfully dull afternoon doing it instead, only the allure of building a fort out of all the empty boxes keeping him from living out of cardboard for the rest of his life.

By the time he’s finally finished unboxing most of the downstairs and getting the tv and wifi set up, most of the day has passed him by, afternoon sunlight splaying golden fingers across the hardwood.

Break time, then. He’s earned it, if he does say so himself.

He collapses onto the couch, flipping on the tv and surfing through the channels until he finds a rerun of some low-budget horror film from the eighties. Perfect. Nothing like a bit of mindless tv to rot his brain just that much more. Settling back more comfortably into the cushions, he pops open the bag of chips he’s snagged from the kitchen and pulls out his phone, beginning to scroll through his notifications.

Modern multitasking at its finest, truly.

But he’s barely a minute into atrophying his mind via social media before the tv starts flickering, volume dropping precipitously before ratcheting back up, the picture jumping to the weather channel, then a British cooking show, then the news with Spanish subtitles flashing in and out at the bottom of the screen.

Remus freezes with a chip halfway to his mouth, staring at the remote where it’s very definitely out of his reach on the coffee table, all by its lonesome. He’s no expert, but he’s pretty sure technology was not, in fact, supposed to suddenly start functioning by itself without any human input. Was his new house secretly sitting over some freaky radioactive waste? That would certainly explain why no one had wanted to buy it. Or was this some EMP disaster? Had someone decided to take out the whole country’s power grid, starting with Remus’ shitty tv?

He sits up, reaching for the rogue remote, only to pause as a chill moves over him, then past him like it’s heading for the tv, and the screen crackles, static beginning to fuzz both the video and the audio as the picture continues to leap wildly between programs.

Fuck the remote, then. Whatever freak accident has descended upon his living room, it’s time to go straight to the source.

Abandoning his snack, he stands, striding to the outlet and yanking the plug out of the wall. Silence falls immediately, the screen fading to black, but there still lingers a noticeable chill in the air, cold energy palpable against his skin and all too reminiscent of the feeling he remembers from being in the master bedroom.

“What the hell,” he mutters under his breath, casting his gaze around the room. Empty, just as upstairs had been the last three times he’d checked. He takes a step backwards, then another, and the strange chill decreases. On a whim, he pulls out his phone, scrolling through several apps without even paying attention to them, and sure enough, the hair on his arms raises as the temperature falls again, that sparking feeling of energy growing more intense as his phone begins to flicker on its own.

“What the actual hell,” he whispers again. Roman can’t have been right—this place can’t actually be haunted. There’s absolutely no way there’s a real, live—or dead, technically, he supposes—ghost in his living room right now playing fuck-up-the-electronics.

But if there is…

“Hello?” he calls, and the flickering abruptly stops, chill retreating once more. Shit. One word in and apparently Remus has already fucked things up. “Hello?” he tries again. Did this maybe-possible-potential ghostie even speak English? “I’m Remus,” he says, feeling more than a little crazy for introducing himself to his empty living room. If Roman ever knew of this, he’d die laughing and then Remus really would have a ghost haunting his ass.

He wracks his brain for something to say. If he were a ghost and a stranger started moving all of their shit into his home, what would he want to hear from them?

“Um, cool house you have here. I’m not gonna like, fuck it up or anything.”

Silence.

“I’m planning on restoring it bit by bit as I have money so if you could tell me the original paint color or wallpaper patterns, that’d be dope.”

Still nothing. Apparently the ghost is not amused. Time for a different tactic, then.

“What’s your name?”

Not even a cricket chirping. Jesus fucking christ, Remus is really blowing this.

“That’s the tv—the television,” he explains, gesturing towards the device that had seemingly either fascinated or enraged his new housemate, he can’t quite tell which. “It works by… well, I don’t really know how it works. Something with waves and frequencies or some shit? But you can watch recordings, people acting or baking or doing dumb reality dating shows or whatever, so if there’s something that you wanna see…”

He trails off, surreptitiously scanning the room for any ethereal presences, but the house is quiet, the ghostly feeling fading bit by bit. Great. An actual paranormal experience and he’s gone and shoved his foot so far in his mouth he can practically feel his toes wiggling in his small intestine.

“Alright, that’s cool, no worries. Just lemme know if you change your mind.”

He waits a moment more, hoping for a disembodied voice to speak or an object to start moving on its own or his body to suddenly become possessed, but there’s nothing. Snagging his leather jacket off the back of the couch, he beelines for the door, forcing himself not to run as excitement begins to grow with every step, bubbling up around his bones. He has a ghost. A ghost, an actual fucking ghost, and he hadn’t even had to pay extra for it. No way he’s not going to take advantage of the universe handing him the sickest housewarming present in the world, never mind the fact that he might end up a walking meat suit for the spirit.

He pauses as he reaches the edge of the yard, then thinks better of it and pivots, heading for his car instead. Who knew how far ghost range was, and he doesn’t want his new roomie overhearing. He’s practically vibrating with energy as he makes his way down the long, winding drive, and he only makes it a few miles down the road before he’s pulling over onto the shoulder, hopefully well out of spirit range.

His first call rings through to voicemail, but Remus doesn’t bother leaving a message, just hangs up and tries again, only to be met with the same result. The third time, though, proves to be the charm.

“What,” the voice on the other end spits, cheerful as ever. “Fuck you, Remus, I’m in the middle of—”

“You’re still into all that weird stuff, right? Like the cryptids and the creepies and the ghouls and ghosties and all that?” Remus interrupts. He can deal with Virgil’s wrath another time—he has information he needs and he needs it pronto.

A pause, so long he’s sure Virgil has hung up on him and he’s going to have to keep calling until the emo answers his question.

“Yeah?” the distrustful reply finally comes, anger blunted by obvious wariness. “Why—”

“I need to pick your brain,” Remus cuts in again. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

---

Plan Contact The Resident Possibly Unfriendly Ghost Who Might Possess Him, or CTRPUGWMPH to be short and snappy about it, is officially a go.

Unfortunately, it isn’t off to a promising start.

Virgil’s knowledge had turned out to be more spirit lore than specifics about how to get a ghost to actually appear, although he’d been infinitely more helpful than Roman, who’d just stared at him and asked if he’d had the house checked for carbon monoxide poisoning. Remus had soundly ignored him and had left Virgil’s apartment with his head swimming with theories about why ghosts haunt particular places and an extensive lecture from Virgil about how to find any potential objects or reasons tying a ghost to the house that might provide a potential talking point to engage said ghost in conversation.

But despite digging into every crack and crevice on the internet, emailing the local historical society, even calling his realtor to ask again about the history of the property, Remus comes up with precious little. The house had originally been built in the 1880s by a local merchant, everyone seems to agree, and had been inherited by his nephew soon after, but beyond that there’s frustratingly scant information available, and he can’t find so much as a whisper about anyone dying in the home. His ghostie could be anyone, then: A Victorian builder who’d taken a tumble, a flapper girl who’d partied a tad too hard, a hapless victim of some modern serial killer who’d taken advantage of the place sitting abandoned for years to do a bit of light murdering. 

With precisely zero context clues as to his new housemate’s identity, then, Remus embraces his remarkable talent of keeping up an entirely one-sided conversation as he works around the house the next few days, rambling about anything and everything related to the property he can think of, hoping something will pique the ghost’s interest. But besides a few more cold spots and flickering screens, the house remains stubbornly quiet. Maybe his ghost just needed a bit of help in communicating, though; drifting around an empty building with no one to talk to for the past god-knew-how-many years can’t have done good things to their incorporeal vocal cords.

Which brings him to Plan B: The infamous Ouija board, favorite tool of grifters and bullshit paranormalists everywhere.

And yet despite the makeshift, very high-budget seance he conducts with the two dollar board and the zero dollar candles he’s lovingly stolen from his brother, there’s once again no reply from beyond the veil besides a chill in the room that somehow radiates disapproval. Apparently his ghost isn’t a fan of pseudoscientific games any more than he is. At least they had standards, whoever they were.

But Remus is a stubborn bastard if he does say so himself, so on to Plan C it is. The used EMF meter he snags off of ebay has definitely seen better days, given the prominent crack across its screen, but the thing had been cheap and still seemed to work, so Remus wasn’t complaining.  Fancy equipment was for fancy people, after all, and of all the things he’s ever been called, he’s positive fancy isn’t one of them. He sets up the device behind the tv, which still seems to intrigue his ghost every time it’s turned on, puts on the first show he can find, and forces himself to walk away. His little trap is set. Now all he has to do is bide his time pretending to busy himself unpacking a box of books in the next room—

He barely has the chance to register the tv screen flickering out of the corner of his eye before an ear-splitting shriek is rending the air, startling him so violently that he promptly drops a hefty tome on his foot.

“Shit,” he breathes, surging back into the living room, but the noise has already stopped just as suddenly as it began, replaced by a frigid chill permeating the room. Maybe he should have thought twice about scaring the resident phantom without first hiding any of his valuables. Hopefully he won’t wake up tomorrow to find his tv shattered. “It won’t hurt you,” he calls, though the EMF meter indicates a distinct lack of any supernatural presences. “It just makes noise to let me know when you’re nearby, yeah? Totally harmless.”

No response, but for once he doesn’t mind, not when there’s excitement dancing white-hot across his nerves. There really is a ghost or spirit or demon or something here, and he hasn’t just been imagining things.

Fuck, this house is single-handedly the coolest thing that’s ever happened to him, even if he does now have to worry about his haunting buddy getting a bit of revenge on him in the middle of the night.

But Remus survives safe and sound into the next day without so much as a supernatural scratch on his skin. Bloody payback didn’t seem like his ghost’s style anyways, not when their favorite activity seemed to be pressing as many buttons as possible on the tv remote at once. Curiosity is still nipping impatiently at his heels though, urging him to explore this latest avenue of potential communication more, so he sets up the EMF meter again, this time in the master bedroom where the spirit seems most inclined to spend time if the continued pacing in the middle of the night is anything to go by.

A brilliant plan, only minorly ruined by the fact that the device is nowhere to be found when he goes searching for it the next morning.

“Are you disappearing things, ghostie?” he asks the empty bedroom. “Gonna zap me into another dimension next?”

 He’s joking, but as his hunt through the house reveals neither hide nor hair of the EMF meter, he can’t help but wonder. Had the ghost really just yeeted the thing into the ether? Or maybe it was right where he’d left it in the middle of the bedroom, but had been turned invisible like the spirit themself? What kind of ghostly superpowers did he even have, if any—

He comes to an abrupt halt as he emerges out the back door onto the porch, a laugh spilling past his lips as he surveys the myriad bits of metal and broken plastic strewn around him. Looks like he’s found his EMF meter. Apparently his ghost wasn’t nearly as endeared to this technology as he was anything with a screen. He glances up to the master bedroom window over his head, shading his eyes from the sun.

“Fair enough,” he calls, still fighting down amusement despite himself, and there’s the faintest shimmer in the air above the balcony, reminiscent of a heat mirage despite the cool morning air. “No more screeching little boxes.”

Left with zero information about his ghost’s identity, a useless Ouija board better repurposed as a doorstop, and the remains of his one piece of official ghost-hunting equipment, Remus concludes his only option is to embark on Plan D. Said plan isn’t so much an strategic approach as it is a wild hail mary to find any way to communicate with his ghost that didn’t involved hurling objects from balconies, as much fun as such an activity was, but then again, Plan D did sound delightfully dirty, so he’ll take the trade-off.

The internet, of course, is the place to turn to for highly questionable ghost advice, and it only takes a single google search to find message boards teeming with it. Half of it is clearly bullshit, he quickly discovers as he trawls through post after useless post, and the other half is baseless theories without any semblance of evidence to back them up, but just as he’s about to call it quits and move on to whatever the hell Plan E is, an old thread catches his eye.

‘Old Ghost Caught By Photography?’ the title reads, and Remus skims through the post, intrigued despite himself at the detailed claims the author had been able to capture the image of a Victorian spirit by using an antique camera and photography methods from the end of the nineteenth century. He pores over the attached images, searching for the slightest hint of photoshop or manipulation, but everything seems legit. And it made sense in some weird, probably illogical way, he supposes, that ghosts might only be spotted by using technology from their day and age—historical continuity in the metaphysical realm or some shit.

It’s the best lead he has after hours of searching, and really, he’s just spent a very hefty chunk of change buying a whole-ass house; what was the harm in dropping a few more dollars on some vintage photography equipment?

Which is precisely how he finds himself crammed into his makeshift darkroom in the tiny closet under the stairs several weeks later, holding his breath as he carefully begins to look through the latest batch of negatives he’s just finished processing. It had taken an obscene amount of research, a healthy dose of trial-and-error, and more than a few failures to figure out the intricacies of the dry plate photography process, but he’d gotten there in the end, even if the most he has to show for it is a few suspicious blurs in a couple of images.

Maybe this whole idea of capturing ghosts in photos was just as bullshit as the others, he muses as he examines yet another empty picture of the dining room, or maybe his ghost wasn’t from the same era as the camera he’d bought. Maybe his ghost simply didn’t want to have his photo taken, or maybe—

His train of thought abruptly derails as he picks up the next plate.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

The image is still a negative, the reversed colors lending a certain eeriness to the picture under the red darkroom lights, but there, right smack in the middle of the photo—a figure. An actual human figure, clear as day, looking right at the camera. Remus whoops, nearly knocking over a vial of chemicals with his elbow as he dances backwards in pure giddiness. Oh fuck yes , there is a ghost haunting the place. His ghost, now that he owns the house. His ghost who is…

He pauses, forcing himself to focus on the figure in the photo even as he feels like he’s about to vibrate right off of his bones with excitement. Spectacles, clean-shaven, dark hair neatly styled. Neat trousers, white shirt, trim waistcoat, and a decidedly fancy ascot, the whole ensemble distinctly old-fashioned. Victorian, then? Or Edwardian? Or some historical reenactor who’d met an untimely demise in costume? And it does seem to be an untimely demise; the man looks to be in his mid- to late-twenties, unless he’d found some ability to look whatever age he wanted in the afterlife.

Regardless, he can’t make himself focus on fashion for long. He has a ghost to talk to. Fighting his way out of the cramped closet, he bounds up the stairs, forcing himself to slow to a respectable jog as he darts into the master bedroom. He stops in the middle of the still-bare room, trying and utterly failing to keep his hopes in check.

“Hello? Ghostie?”

No response.

“Mr. Glasses and White Shirt?” 

His skin prickles, the hair on the back of his neck raising. Aha. There he was. 

“Hey, what’s up?” He turns in a slow circle, searching for any sign of his specter, any flicker of light off a spectacle lens or a flash of a shirtsleeve, but the room is as empty as ever.

“I have a photo if you’d like to see it.” Could ghosts not see themselves in mirrors or was that only vampire lore? And if he couldn’t see his own reflection, did the ghost even remember what he looked like?

He raises the picture, proferring the negative to the vacant room, and holds his breath. Nothing, for several long moments, and then the chill edges closer. Remus bites his lip, barely able to keep himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet at the prospect of a ghost being within arm’s reach.

“I wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything, I just wanted to see if you were real or if I needed to go check myself into a padded room, you know? I’m Remus, if I haven’t said that. What’s your name?”

Several more excruciatingly long moments that Remus is sure has to be the longest span of silence in history, then—

“Hello.”

The voice is thin and slightly hoarse, quiet enough that Remus has to strain to make it out, but it’s as unmistakably real as the form that flickers into existence right in front of his eyes, identical to the man in the photo. He’s distinctly transparent, the edges of him not quite defined, fuzzing out around the edges like the ambient glow of neon signs, but he’s here and he’s real and this is so fucking cool that Remus could keel over right here and now from excitement and join the ghost in wandering around the house for all eternity.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, because if there was ever a time for swearing, by god this is fucking it, and the spirit withdraws slightly, already guarded expression closing in further. “No no no, it’s good,” he rushes to assure him, resisting the urge to reach out and try to touch him. “Good holy shit. Complimentary holy shit.”

The ghost doesn’t seem entirely appeased, but he tilts his head slightly, something like curiosity sparking in his eyes as he evaluates Remus.

“Why are you not frightened of me?” he finally asks, and Remus has to fight back the absurd laugh bubbling up in his chest. He’s being questioned by a century-old ghost in the middle of his haunted home. Life really was delightfully freaky.

“No offense, man, but you’re not exactly terrifying. I mean, I’ve been here what? A solid month? And you haven’t even tried to pluck my eyeballs out or anything.”

Another unreadable pause. Is he just giving the spirit ideas? Were his eyes about to be forcibly unmarried from his skull à la eagles tearing out Prometheus’ liver?

“Do you want me to be afraid of you?” he asks after a further absolutely unbearable five seconds of silence.

“No,” the ghost admits after a moment of clear hesitation, “but previous residents certainly have not appreciated my presence here.”

Remus scoffs. “That’s their problem. Some of us are smarter than that.”

The other man’s head tilt deepens, something akin to puzzlement furrowing his brow, as if he can’t fathom why having a ghost is actually the most badass shit on the face of the planet.

“Can I ask you some questions?” Remus asks, exhilaration still racing along the underside of his skin so intensely that he can barely stand it. “You can ask me whatever you want, too.”

The ghost nods, although he still seems cautious as one hand fiddles absently with his ascot. “I suppose that would be alright.”

Twenty questions with an undead spirit. Remus’ life really was getting better by the minute.

“Did you used to live here?”

“I did, many years ago.”

“Did you own the place?”

“At one point in time, yes. It was truly a beautiful house in its day, and a wonderful place to reside.”

Oh fuck yes. If having an old-timey ghost who can give him historically accurate advice about restoring the house isn’t the coolest fucking thing that’s ever happened to him, he isn’t sure what is. He has half a mind to start grilling him on paint colors and wallpaper prints and the original hardwood, but—

“Did you die here?”

The words are blurting out of his mouth without even bothering to detour through his brain on the way out, burning curiosity eclipsing any thought that perhaps asking about death isn’t exactly acceptable ghost etiquette. He barely has time to register the change in the spirit’s expression, the visceral upset written across his features clear as day, before he’s gone in between one breath and the next, vanishing back into whatever thin air he’d come from and leaving nothing but a biting chill in his wake.

Shit shit shit. He’s finally gotten the ghost to trust him enough to show up and talk and then he’s gone and ruined it within the span of two minutes all because he had all the self-control of a sieve trying to retain water.

“Wait,” he calls, casting about in vain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Well, apparently his subconscious had, but that hadn’t been his intention. “Please come back. You can ask me as many invasive questions as you like.” Nothing. “You can haunt me for revenge, if you want.” Utter silence. “Are you gonna hurl me off the balcony like my EMF meter?”

There he goes again, giving the specter ideas, although really, being yeeted out of a window by a ghost would be a damn cool end if he does say so himself. He lingers in the room for several long minutes, forcing himself to keep quiet lest he miss the spirit’s hushed voice, but there’s nothing but the faint sound of a bird twittering outside.

“Alright,” he finally relents, disappointment pooling in his stomach as he glances down at the photography plate still in his hand, the negative serving as indisputable evidence that the encounter hadn’t just been a fever dream. He’ll find a way to make things right with the ghost somehow, one way or another. He has to. “Just come spook me if you change your mind.”

-

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!): @darth-does-stuff

[theyapperyfactory]

HELLO!!

my names crème, or melody, or mocha!

im a minor!

im a big WSS supporter and i dont really like shelby!

SSS is fine to interact! i just dont really like shebly, and i havent since WAY before the whole accusations.

more below the cut!!

likes!!

bursonas

cotl

creatures on sonaria

discord

LOVEJOY <33

dislikes!!

water (genuine fear ik)

being out in the open

endo systems

any messed up k1nk writing about ANYONE

extra!!

i use alot of pronouns!! i prefer lamp/vanillia/swish/love/sick/rosepetal/choco if im honest but anything really works!! i am masc! i like to draw! and i have plenty of doodles if anyone wants them!

this isnt my main account!! i have another account with multiple other blogs

im open to sharing most of my socials! id prefer if we talked for awhile before i do so!

both my pfp and banner i found on pinterest!

i do have a handful of disorders im questioning abt! that being said im OKAY to be sent hate. i find it really funny!!

i will block 'fuck wilbur' types of people! unless you wanna have a genuine conversation.

ill prolly make my own tag list eventually

thank you for reading this far!! i hope we can be friends!!

[sittinthroughthisoreshit]

Imposter Bramblestar AU MAP Idea Script- 111 Winchester

So I only recently discovered the absolutely amazing song "111 Winchester" by I The Mighty, and it seems so under-appreciated. It's just begging to have an animatic/MAP/PMV made of it but it doesn't look like anyone has so I made a script for one myself starring one of my lifelong obsessions. You can use this if you wanna, I have no artistic capabilities so I'm not gonna make anything out of it (although I would like to be credited if you use it please).

Trigger warning for: Possession, horror, burning alive, canon-typical animal death, Ashfur being himself

Intro:

Ashfur jumps out from the Moonpool. He promptly smacks one of his hind paws against the water and it freezes over. Panicking StarClan spirits can be seen on the other side banging their paws against the ice frantically to no avail. He smirks and heads towards ThunderClan territory. Looking out over the camp, he spies Bramblestar, Squirrelflight, and their children (Jayfeather, Lionblaze, Alderheart, and Sparkpelt) and his eyes darken with anger and his claws unsheathe

I'm feeling up tonight for something dangerous / I know a place up north that no one ever goes / I'm picking you up in ten so raid the cabinets / We'll top the liquor off they'll never know

Bramblestar is gathering his mate and children to take a little family trip out into the territory to cut loose and bond. They gather up some herbs and prey to take with them on their excursion. Bramblestar leaves Rosepetal and Thornclaw in charge of the Clan while he's gone and they happily see the family off on their day trip.

So call your girl and bring her friends / Break the lock, the fun begins

The group make their way through the forest to an idyllic-looking clearing perfect for a picnic. The happy family settle down and begin eating and talking

Here the party never ends / Long as we breathe oxygen

The group continue to settle in for their picnic. Ashfur's eyes flash from the shadows for a split second but vanish just as quickly

Turn it up a little louder 'cause no one is around here / This creepy little place is ours for now

The group talks, eats, and plays, not noticing the eerie fog that's starting to roll in- or the ghost cats that show up and take shape from said fog

How'd my drink fall off the counter? / Oh, tell me does it feel a little colder?

Lionblaze says the first line out of confusion. He had set his prey down on a flat topped rock, but it's somehow fallen off onto the ground (the viewer sees one of the ghost cats knock it off of the rock- the living cats can't see the ghosts). Sparkpelt says the second line, shivering as one of the ghosts brushes past her to join the others in clawing at the trunk of a tree before fading away and vanishing back into the fog

What's that writing in the mirrors? / Couldn't read it any clearer / Someone wants us all out of this house

The group stare at the tree where the ghost cats just were. There are now words clawed into the bark: "Get Out". Now terrified, Alderheart breaks the silence by exclaiming the last line in a panic

I'm not sure that we're alone here / Baby can you stand a little closer?

Jayfeather sings the first line, fur on end, sensing a presence that the others don't. Squirrelflight sings the second line to Bramblestar, frightened. He obliges and nuzzles his head into her fur in an attempt at reassurance, although his expression betrays his own fear and unease.

Followed the staircase but it lead me nowhere / They disappeared into the center of a wall

The group attempt to leave the clearing, but to their horror the now thick fog has covered the way back, and although they can't be sure, the more they walk the more the scenery around them looks more and more different than before, warping into something alien

I found the doorway that leads to the cellar / But only after a thirty-foot fall

Lionblaze suddenly charges forward, thinking that he sees a clear path out. However, he plunges down almost immediately after, having run over the edge of a cliff. Luckily, he manages to dig his claws into the wall of the cliff and his family all help pull him back up to safety.

Not sure where this hallway ends / Or my sanity begins / Where the hell are all my friends? / There were six when we walked in

As the group keeps moving, the members keep vanishing one by one into the fog, something silently dragging them away. By the time Bramblestar realizes this, he's all alone

Something's crawling in the attic, I think I'm going manic / This shadow on the wall is not from me

As Bramblestar frantically calls and searches for his missing family, his shadow grows larger and larger in size. It no longer resembles him in any way, now looking like Ashfur's silhouette instead

One more shot before I panic / Oh, none of this is getting any clearer

Bramblestar continues to search for his mate and children, running headlong through the fog and tripping over tree roots that keep growing all around him. He grows more and more distressed the more he can't find them. He finally collapses to ground gasping for air, exhausted.

I hear you calling from the bedroom, I swear I'll come and get you / As soon as I remember how to breathe

As Bramblestar tries to get his bearings, he finally hears his family's terrified voices desperately calling for help. He sings the lines as he begins running again despite how visibly tired he is

There's no method to the madness / Where is my reflection in this mirror?

Bramblestar stumbles into a puddle and is horrified to notice that he now lacks a reflection. As he turns and runs away, Ashfur is seen reflected in the pond where Bramblestar's reflection should be, grinning maliciously at his retreating form

Frozen, I'm all alone when something calls me to a study / I hear in my head "third book on the left" / And I find matches and a locket just for me

Suddenly, Bramblestar hears a new voice in his ear that compels him to ignore his family's cries (shown by his eyes glazing over and his movements becoming robotic) and follows the sound to a hollowed out log. Inside the log are a large and thick dried branch, a piece of flint, and a small torn piece of spotted gray fur. Seeing the fur sends Bramblestar snapping out of the trance he was in as he recognizes exactly who the fur and scent belongs to

Frozen, I'm all alone when something calls me to a study / I hear in my head "third book on the left" / And I find matches and a locket just for me

A figure looms behind Bramblestar. He slowly turns to finally see Ashfur standing right behind him. He stares, frozen in a combination of horror, shock, and anger.

Something's crawling in the attic, I think I'm going manic / The shadow on the wall is closing in

The two toms square off, hissing and spitting at each other. Ashfur leaps at Bramblestar, presumably to make the first strike, but to Bramblestar's surprise the spirit disappears when the two make contact

Just when I begin to panic / Somehow I know the person in this locket

Bramblestar's body begins seizing and his eyes roll back in his head as foam dribbles from his mouth and blood comes out his nose. Bramblestar's eyes close, and when they open, they're Ashfur's eyes. He is now fully possessed by the wicked spirit

I hear you calling from the bedroom / But I don't care to find you / And I'm sure we'll never see outside again

Possessed!Bramblestar sings the above lines to his still trapped family members with a sadistic smirk on his face as they're all shown encased in thorny vines that are tightening painfully around them as they call desperately for help that isn't coming

There's a method to the madness / And I still got these matches in my pocket

Possessed!Bramblestar smiles as he walks back to the hollow log containing the branch and the flint. He grabs the branch with purpose, knowing what he has to do...

I don't recognize myself / 'Cause right now there is someone else / Telling me behind the shelf there is gasoline and / I don't feel like myself / I don't feel like myself / I don't feel a thing

Possessed!Bramblestar strikes the branch against the piece of flint and it ignites as his eyes sparkle with vicious glee. As he tosses the flaming branch onto the ground and the fire spreads, Ashfur's image flickers briefly over his (a repeat of the past fire he caused)

I don't recognize myself / 'Cause right now there is someone else / Telling me to pour it out over everything and / I don't feel like myself / I don't feel like myself / I don't feel a thing

The fire slowly engulfs Alderheart, Sparkpelt, Lionblaze, Jayfeather, and Squirrelflight. Squirrelflight is the final member to die, and she recognizes that Ashfur has possessed her mate and curses him as she dies. Possessed!Bramblestar is the last to be consumed by the fire, laughing and grinning as he sings the final line as he vanishes into the smoke and flames, glowing blue eyes being the last thing seen by the viewer

THE END

Post-Credits Scene:

When the group doesn't return to camp, a border patrol is sent out to search for them (the only cats mandatory are Cinderheart and Larksong for angst reasons. All other cats can be whoever you want). As they travel, show that there is no evidence of a fire having taken place (no burnt earth, no fallen trees, nothing). Also, all the scenery is normal, no longer warped. The patrol freezes once they stumble upon the tree in the center of the clearing that still has the claw marks spelling "Get Out" on the trunk, but not just because of the eerie message it bears. Spread out in front of the tree's base are the six charred bodies of the missing cats. Lots of horrified reactions and tears shed. As the camera pans away, Ashfur's spirit stands nearby with the spirits of Sparkpelt, Lionblaze, Bramblestar, Alderheart, and Jayfeather still encased in thorns beside him. He leads them away, the vines puppeting the unwilling spirits like marionettes as he takes them away to the Dark Forest with him. He gives one final wink to the camera as everything fades out.

[ronnie2point0]

... nobody told me to do this nobody not a single soul d. bloodmarch nsfw headcanons.

CRUCIFY ME CRUCIFY ME RIGHT NEXT TO JOSEPH I DON'T CARE. I HAVE DONE WHAT MANY MEN HAVE FEARED TO DO AND SOMEONE IS PROBABLY SEARCHING FOR SOME RECENT SHIT LIKE THIS ANYWAY

anyways i may or may not have studied his character a little too long if it feels a little too accurate (or not) don't shoot me please

Judging by the affectionate nature he's got (ex. bouquet making, letters to you, etc.) Damien would be the kind of man to 'go big or go home'; loves the setup of the 'rosepetals leading to the bed' trope, big on enhancing the experience down to the little things (ex. scent of candles, lighting, bedsheets and coloring, music if you care for it, even down to the body wash and fragrances on himself to keep you interested + kind of aphrodisiac-esque?)

King of Sensuality. What did you expect? He's a Victorian aficionado. He writes poetry. He indulges in raunchy NaruSasu fanfiction. He's got saucy things to say when the time is right, and it's shocking everytime. Knowingly presenting himself as incredibly put-together, gentlemanly-like and respectful, he sure as hell uses your inital perception of him to his advantage. Starts with little sweet compliments and quips about your appearance, then it'll be the gestures. The lingering finger dropping down your spine before he departs. The longing gaze before dropping it to keep you thinking about what's in his mind. The nectar-sweetness of his caress of your cheek until a kiss is given... and he'll make it last just before you need more. Small bonus: Body Worship™.

He's a switch. I don't make the rules. Depending on the partner he'll fluctuate more on topping or bottoming, but generally Damien will love both. Avid strap-on user. If he's bottoming: missionary through-and-through. Likes the intimacy of seeing your face + reactions to his own if you hit/touch a spot he loves, likes to gently claw at your back or wrap himself around your neck and feel you near. Topping? Lotus. Same case of intimacy mentioned prior. (of course in reverse)

Probably enjoys the flair of kinks/fetishes; the man avidly imagines things a little too vividly when it comes to sex + has his naughty ass books to prove he's most likely interested. May enjoy wax play, raunchy massages in moody lighting (probably would pick up the kind of oils that make your skin tinge/heat), yes it's super on the nose but a vampire kink. May or may not like doing it in his study (mainly oral) and has a guilty pleasure for being called "sir". He tries not to acknowledge that one but his pink cheeks give it away.

Sorry to crush any small dreams but the man is too nice for his own good; painfully patient and incredibly good at purred praises but can't bare the idea of insulting/degrading you in anyway shape or form. To Damien your body is a shrine he'll praise and keep in prisitine condition till 'Death Do Us Part' because it hurts the values and morals he has for himself. And maybe he's a bit scared you won't take it well if he does have the courage to try once on a blue moon. Worst he can get is being some sassy little tease (thank Mary for the influence) and prod your buttons until it's too much, which in his eyes he can see as 'forgivable sadism'.

Damien isn't much of a vocal person during the early stages of your relationship with him—dysphoria is still presently a bitch and it does take him longer than most to fully dive into preparing himself to be bare in front of you. (its cute even when you know you've accepted him already) Tends to either hum or sigh at best. Later on however... loves to mewl. Loves to whine if he's frustrated from work and does the 'Pouty-Cheek Thing'™ if you're purposely hard on him (heuheu get it) for funsies + still timelessly get's shy and bashful if you're honest about how good he sounds

Remember how I said he's big on sensuality and enjoys body worship? small secret: his erogenous zones are by his thighs, inner wrists and ears. sorry i dont I DON'T MAKE THE RULES do you see how i have too much time on my hands also good morning tumblr so sorry for this

[bloomingdarkgarden]

Ten Questions For Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag @nikethestatue <3

How many works do you have on AO3? A whopping... 6.

What's your total AO3 word count? 411,132

What fandoms do you write for? ACOTAR

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I try really hard to, but sometimes it takes a few weeks (or months, hehe). They mean so much <3. I do not respond to people just demanding updates and being entitled as hell, which happens frequently.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes. I have had weirdly specific elements and distinct metaphors from wbitd taken and used by a reader of all people (ouch) while I was on a 3 month break from writing. It still hurts/ makes me angry to think about. Very arresting feeling, and gives me acute anxiety about taking writing breaks and general trust issues with the fandom.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No but it sounds fun!

What's your all-time favorite ship? Reylo my beloved.

What are your writing strengths? angst, heavy angst lol, lyrical prose, inner monologues, fantasy lore, arcane development.

What are your writing weaknesses? fluff. all the fluff I write ends up being angst instead. I try to write something sweet and cute and then my poor readers comment that they cried through the whole thing.

First fandom you wrote for? Sjm's faerie hellhole, yall.

no pressure tags: @tealeaves-and-rosepetals @duskandcobalt @yourstarsmyscars