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kitfumo · 1 year ago

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Melty Blood, Street Fighter 6, and the Idea of the "Marathon Game"

Fair warning that I have issues compressing my thoughts into a succinct and precise format, and as such, this can and will end in me rambling and repeating the same talking points, most likely. With the release of Street Fighter 6 alongside the alluring promise of 1,000,000 dollars to the winner of Capcom Cup, a sentiment I've seen running rampant is the idea that you need to "get good" at Street Fighter as fast as possible. This mentality is common in competitive games in general, but the pressure is especially immense in regards to Street Fighter. While having the drive to improve at a game you enjoy is not inherently harmful, and in fact, can improve your enjoyment of your favorite game immensely, the issue comes from the reasoning behind why someone might feel this way. I believe that pushing yourself to improve as quickly as possible for a shot at a prize pool that only a handful of people will profit from can negatively impact your feelings towards not only a hobby that should be quite mentally beneficial, but runs the risk of missing the "point" and joy behind practicing fighting games as a whole. To dive into this deeper, I would like to talk about a different game entirely that I happen to be practicing currently, Melty Blood: Actress Again Current Code, and how that game has given me a bit of perspective on why I enjoy fighting games in general. MBAACC is an old game. The version of the game that is played today is around 12 years old, and that's a revision of a game that has been around for much longer. Actress Again doesn't have any sort of grand prize pool or circuit or even particularly huge following. That being said, it's a wonderful game with tons of systems to learn about, characters to study, and music to appreciate. The art is phenomenal and the game oozes with a specific type of charm that no other game has been able to replicate for me. All in all, the game is the definition of a complete package. That being said, the concept of breaching a game with such a storied history and so many years of development is extremely daunting. Some people won't be down with investing into a game like that, and that's completely okay! That being said, from my perspective, that complexity and depth of potential interactions is what I find so appealing about the game. Most importantly, though, the game is just fun! The movement, the specials, and the general personality of the game blends together perfectly for me. Melty doesn't need some huge prize pool or multiple majors a year to be appealing. People still play the game today because it strikes a chord for them, and that's wonderful. What does how cool and awesome I think Melty is have to do with Street Fighter 6, though?

Here's the thing. To put this bluntly, you probably won't be the one new Street Fighter player to win the 1,000,000 dollars. As sad as that might sound, that's totally fine! Internalizing that fact is important, though. A common adage being used to describe the grind of Street Fighter 6 is that the game is "a marathon, not a sprint." That sounds like a cliché given how often this exact phrase has been thrown around, but I promise you, it's extremely apt. Street Fighter 6 will most likely end up being an absolutely fantastic game in the long run. The system mechanics clearly have room for several years of development and refinement from both the players and the developers, and the sheer amount of potential interactions when you consider the variety of options available to the cast is staggering. You should actually have fun exploring those options, though. Take your time. It's okay. A game like this releasing in such a complete state that has clearly been treated with love and respect deserves to be taken in and chipped away at in a healthy manner. Fighting games are about the process of working away at little things you'd like to improve on over time and constantly finding new avenues of thinking about the game. Given the proper mentality, gradual improvement can feel genuinely therapeutic. That joy is available to you, and you shouldn't squander it by rushing to become this nebulous ideal of a Capcom Cup Winner or some legendary super gamer who picked up SF6 and became some Street Fighter prodigy. When you don't meet those expectations for yourself, you'll feel disappointed, frustrated, angry, and a whole host of other negative emotions that should never be associated with a hobby that can be so invigorating. Think about Melty. There isn't some inherent stress or expectation to place on yourself when you play Melty. You're probably just playing the game because you find it fun. Why shouldn't that be the case with every fighting game you play?

To wrap up this definitely-way-too-long ramble in way less words than I used throughout the duration of this post and is definitely already obvious, play fighting games (for the right reasons.) Be kind to yourself. Relish the little moments of improvement from finding out a new matchup strategy or finally getting consistent at a combo or setup you've been struggling with. Don't let out of reach expectations get the better of you, and focus on simply enjoying the process. It can be difficult for sure! Frustration is inevitable, and sometimes you'll encounter aspects of the game that you just don't vibe with, but remind yourself to not let those thoughts color your perception of all you find fun about the game you're playing. This isn't just applicable to Street Fighter 6, either. Hell, this isn't even exclusive to fighting games, they're just the hobby I have the most personal experience with, and Street Fighter 6 happened to be a decent springboard for my thoughts. also please keep letting me hit you with Manon back heavy punch command grab pleaaseee <3

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hamsterboos · 3 years ago

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Shining in the Darkness

I've had to rework this plot about 3 times because I started this earlier this year and then restarted it a few weeks ago and then re-restarted it yesterday lmao I hope you guys like it

Word Count: 1699

Read on AO3

Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Day 13 of Rowaelin Month Prompt: Florist/Tattoo shop AU

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“Ugh,” Aelin groaned, “look at them pretending to be all high and mighty with their all-black, emo, punk tattoo shop.” She turned away from them in annoyance, instead taking in the bright and beautiful flowers around her.

“I mean, I hope you didn’t expect a tattoo shop to be all sunshine and rainbows,” Elide laughed as she wiped down the counter where bouquets were made.

Aelin sent her a withering glance. “You’re only saying that because you’ve been staring at Mr. Tall-and-Dark ever since they started moving in.”

Elide sent her a sweet smile in response. “As if you haven’t been staring at Mr. Tall-and-Blond? Plus, this is the perfect opportunity to go get that tattoo you’ve been talking about for ages.” Elide gasped and suddenly pointed the rag at her, “You should go by and give them a welcome present! It’ll brighten that dreary place up too!”

Aelin glared at her, “Don’t you have some work to do?”

“Uh-huh, sure, kick your favorite cousin out for having such a brilliant idea.”

Aelin rolled her eyes at her, “Aedion’s going to take offense to that. Technically, you aren’t even my cousin.”

“I don’t care, and Aedion can suck it,” Elide cackled. “Go get them one of the potted plants. Probably a succulent or two, since it doesn’t look like they can keep anything else alive,” she said as she walked into the storeroom to take inventory.

Aelin sighed as she turned back around to watch the two men wipe down the clear glass panels and windows of the store. Her floral shop, Kingsflame Florals, was right across from The Cadre, a tattoo shop that was apparently opening tomorrow, and she was understandably frustrated at how everytime she looked out her own shop’s glass panels, she saw the dark and gloomy exterior of The Cadre. There was enough darkness in her own brain over the last few years after her parents had passed away that she didn’t exactly need to see it constantly as soon as she looked out of her shop, but Aelin also knew that it was strictly her problem and that she really couldn’t take it out on the shop owners.

Elide was right, though. The only decent thing about the entire place was the fact that there was a Mr. Tall-and-Blond, except his hair glinted so brightly under the sunlight that it looked almost like platinum silver. Even from across the street, she could see his muscles rippling under his black shirt as he wiped down the windows, (this man did not care about the burning sunlight, and she had no idea how he could bear it), and Aelin could see the vague swirls of a tattoo down his arm and on the back of his neck. If she was being honest, she wanted to go see the design up close, maybe get some inspiration for what she wanted, but did she really want to deal with all that doom and gloom?

As she chewed on her lip, she decided that maybe her parents were worth facing that - and she would never admit it, but Elide was onto something with giving them succulents -, and so she turned back around and picked up one of their potted succulents that was there especially for the store. Aelin grabbed their water sprayer, gave it a few spritzes, fluffed her open hair, smoothed down her blouse, and walked out the store.

“Hey, neighbor,” she called out as she crossed the road. Aelin was definitely feeling slightly intimidated by how black everything was, but she could deal. She was out of her emo-depressed phase after her parents had died, and a black tattoo shop couldn’t change that.

The dark-haired man wasn't there, but the man with the silver hair turned around, and she was weirdly excited to realize that he had bright green eyes. It was like a surprise of sorts - the man who seems to prefer black had silver hair and green eyes, exactly the opposite of his personality. He was incredibly attractive, though. Gorgeous eyes, pretty hair, sharp jawline, and the tattoo swirling up his neck, almost creeping up his jaw.

“Hello,” he responded, a slight tilt to his words thanks to an accent. Aelin blinked at first, trying to remember how to breathe again because holy crap, the man was suddenly even more attractive, and this was so not fair.

She put on her best, charming smile as she responded, “Welcome to the street. Your shop looked a bit too doom-and-gloom so I decided to bring over some flowers from my shop!”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at the plant in her hands. “Doom and gloom?”

“Well, yeah, your entire shop is black, which is quite an achievement honestly. How do you make something so dark when the front part of the shop is entirely glass which lets all this sunlight in?” she joked, but from the way his lips turned down into a scowl, she figured he didn’t exactly share the same sentiments.

“It’s a tattoo shop,” he stated in a manner-of-fact tone, “so yes, it’s a lot of black.”

“Um, right,” she awkwardly responded, her bravado effectively gone, “I just wanted to come by and give you a succulent to keep at the desk. I’m Aelin, by the way, I own Kingsflame Florals.”

He looked down at the plant again before looking back up at her. “I figured you owned the shop, but I’m Rowan. You can come in, if you want, and show me the prime location for that so it doesn’t look all doom-and-gloom.”

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“Not at all,” he responded with a wry smirk on his face. He opened the door to the shop, and she followed him inside, immediately blasted with the cold air from the air conditioner.

She took the chance to look around the shop, and she was taken aback by the variety of designs posted around the walls. There were the simple designs like flowers, birds, dreamcatchers, and butterflies, while there were also insanely intricate designs of swirls and lines that created abstract art and distinct images, and all of it was just pure talent.

"These designs are beautiful," she breathed, setting the succulent down near the computer.

"Thanks," he replied, leaning an arm against the desk. "Interesting?" he asked, and Aelin could tell from his expression that he expected her to say no.

"Yes, actually," she replied with satisfaction as she watched Rowan's eyes widen slightly. "My cousin says that your shop opening up here is a prime opportunity for me to get the tattoo I've been talking about for ages."

"What’s stopping you from becoming our first customer then?" Rowan asked. Aelin shrugged.

"Lack of inspiration, I suppose?"

"Any ideas about what you want it to be?” Aelin shook her head, to which Rowan continued, “A reason behind getting the tattoo might help with the overall design.”

"We're not that close for me to share that part of my life with you."

"Really? I'd say these past five minutes makes us best friends," he spoke, leaning into her, mischief shining in his eyes.

Stifling a snort, Aelin rolled her eyes. “You should already know my tragic backstory then.”

“Same for you, Ms. Flowers,” he responded.

“No, but you see, I never claimed to be your best friend.”

“Ouch, that hurt,” he responded, a hand covering his heart with fake pain. Aelin’s lips quirked upwards at that with the realization that they had been leaning into each other during that entire conversation, and she was flirting with this man. She hadn’t even noticed how dark everything around her was because within that darkness was this man with bright green eyes that reminded her of pine trees from back home and silver hair that glowed like the moon,

“Fair enough,” she laughed lightly. “It’s for my parents. The shop was actually my mom’s idea for something to keep them busy after they retired, but they, uh, died in a car accident a few years ago. They never got to open it, so I did,” she said, looking out the clear panels to her own shop. It was years of hard work and pain, but she’d gotten through it. “I always wanted to get a tattoo, but now it’s more for them.”

She looked back at Rowan and was surprised to see that there wasn’t any pity shining in his eyes. No, it was understanding and compassion. He understood her decision, and it wasn’t something a lot of people were able to relate to. They would simply pass it off as a nice gesture she wanted to do, but it went deeper than that. It was a way to ensure she would never be separated from her parents, and from the way Rowan had let himself smile genuinely in front of her, she knew he understood.

“The tattoo you were staring at earlier,” he started, pointing a finger at his neck, and Aelin flushed realizing that she hadn’t been as subtle as she thought she was, “is about my wife and daughter that had passed away, also in a car accident. I understand your need to connect to them, so how about I draw something for you? You can take a look at it and make any adjustments as needed, but I can help you start off with something.”

Aelin looked at him, and she slowly exhaled a breath because maybe this was exactly what she needed. “Okay. I wanted it on my ribcage, if that works?”

“Yeah, of course, just be aware that you will have to at least take your shirt off,” he teased, and Aelin was so shocked that she barked out a laugh.

“Wow, Rowan, at least buy my dinner first.”

“Happily,” he replied.

Aelin sent him a bright smile, and she knew that she was never going to live it down from Elide that she had gone to the tattoo shop with the intentions of giving the grumpy men a succulent and had instead left with the man’s phone number and a beautiful tattoo design amazingly created with Old Language letters and a Kingsflame flower.

#rowaelin month #day 13 #rowaelin #aelin x rowan #aelin galythinius #rowan whitethorn #floral/tattoo shop au #romance #comedy

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raviliuz · 4 years ago

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"Here comes the sun" Blaise Zabini x Theodore Nott

Muggle, retro au

@lifesucksandiwanttobeamarauder I finally translate that fanfiction, I hope you like it 🥺

The dark-skinned boy has tried to sit still from three hours already. It is incredibly hard for him, because of his amazing hyperactivity. In all honesty, sitting here as a model doesn't count to his dreams or favourites activities but he couldn't deny to Theodore's asks.

Just because of that — his bloody weakness for the older boy — he must stick up there and pose to Theodore's new painting. Blaise perfectly knows that person on that work of art won't be even similar to him. But it will be beautiful, perfect as everything that has been made by gifted hands of Theodore Nott.

There's music, playing quietly at the background, played on a gramophone, restored by Blaise himself. He gifted it to his friend as a birthday present two years ago on an incredibly warm and short night, 22th of June.

He has so many memories with that slight, passionate boy.

"Theo," he says suddenly, breaking the silence. He sounds like a dissatisfied kitten and when he doesn't notice any reaction, he repeats meowing "Theo, I'm bored."

The other boy finally pays his attention to Blaise, not his reflection on painting, which is created on a canvas (too small in Theo's opinion).

"Blaise, you really can't stand it for a while more?" Theodore asks and there is a nuance of desperation and melancholy in his voice, "I want to end it."

And Blaise has already known, he loses again. He won't be able to deny his friend the pleasure that results from looking at the painting — finished, after hours of working.

"I'll stand it, Theo" he sighs and in his mind adds 'always for you'. At this moment all he can do is begging and praying that Theodore is not able to read minds, just like some characters in their favourites comics.

"Nah, Blaise" slight boy says suddenly and leaves his paint palette and set of brushes on the cupboard, promising himself that he will wash it carefully within a few minutes when paints won't be already dry "I know you don't want to."

"It's not like that" Zabini starts to explaining himself chaotically because he doesn't want hurt Theodore's feelings, "I love watching your painting and you while you're painting. And I love that you have a passion and you're so talented. I just... It's May Day and we are sitting in your room..."

"It's alright, Blaise" Theodore interrupts his with the most beautiful, in Zabini's opinion, smile — that carefree, happy and only a little faraway one.

"We should do something and bring Hope with us to take many photos and place them in our albums with dumb yet cute captions" Theo proposes with a light laugh.

The younger, but taller, better built and more mature, of boys, stands up and brushes off invisible pollen from clothes. He reaches his hand to Theodore to help him stand up.

"Wanna go?" he proposes and even if Theo doesn't know where he agrees without a single question.

It doesn't matter where they go, it will be awesome as always if Blaise is with him.

He catches Hope and puts it on his neck. Theo loves his polaroid camera with whole his heart, even if it isn't the newest and all the better photos were made by Blaise.

Blaise is still holding Theodore's hand in his (definitely larger and rougher), like he doesn't care about rubs of paints in many different colours on Theo's hand and now, also on Blaise's one.

He pulls his friends outside and enters the garage like he is in his own house. Theodore knows what he means without words and grabs his bicycle with a big smile on his slim face.

Meanwhile, Blaise grabs his skateboard, which, only in the form of rebellion against sentiment, he did not give a name. But he perfectly knows that by his skateboard, people could see a different side of his personality, which he doesn't show often — bloody sentimentalist who loves very clichéd books or movies and constantly remembering beautiful moments, and it doesn't matter if that happens a year ago or two hours ago.

The skateboard has its best years far behind its. The picture which was printed on the underside of 'his love' (although, of course, incomparable to that of the boy just standing next to him) has almost completely faded and crumbled, peeling paint seems not so good, to put it mildly, but in Blaise's opinion, it adds the special character and charm to his skateboard. Every scratch and every cooked screw tell a story and Blaise thinks it definitely better than new skateboard — probably glamorous but without its own character.

Blaise isn't similar to Theo, not it that topic. He has never had boxes filled with various craps, which refer to many different events and happenings. He doesn't have special notebooks with tickets, a diary or millions of notes with quick sketches, created under the influence of a sudden flow of wen. He doesn't keep every notes and message on scraps of papers, which have been hand down on lessons, in hope that the teacher wouldn't see that. In first, even having a photo album was strange for Blaise. It shows, that he likes looking back at past and that feeling, which sometimes accompanies you right before falling asleep, when you remind yourself one of those pleasant situations from childhood, isn't foreign for him. It was all he was trying to defend himself against, but only for a time.

For a time when on his way stood that quite frail and nerdy boy. Theodore showed him being sentiment isn't something bad just as singing songs out loud in public places. As compensation, Blaise showed him the magic of comics and all these beautiful, charming in their area, which he discovered while taking a walk daily. Blaise pulled Theodore out of his room and dragged him away from the easel to lead him everywhere he can.

"To our place?" Theodore asks and gets on his a little too small, colourful bike. The seat creaks quietly under his mass but none of the boys pays any attention to this.

"Exactly, now ride, my carriage" Blaise screams and catches up on Theo's seat so the movement of the bicycle can drag him.

"Pff, flax" Nott giggles and Blaise find it as the most sonorous, melodic sound in the whole world.

They ride slowly through all that musty hole, also known as Torquay, or — their home. The road even if it's really old and it remembers when they as children drew chalk on a street, is not in a bad condition. A worse fate befell the road signs — some of them are smeared with sprays, and some are knocked off the ground, due to a car accident or a group of probably drunk but still strong young people.

There are many houses near the road. They are quite poor and definitely not as modern as houses in the capital. At some time, before he started taking daily walks, Blaise dreamed about living in London. Or rather, to be able to tell others that he lives in London. It's another thing which distinguishes him from Theodore — the older boy sees beauty everywhere, in everything and in everybody. Blaise envied him with this skill, for him the world has been boring or just ugly and people have been cruel sometimes.

The sun is warming their backs when they slowly ride on a well-known path. They pass Mrs Shermik, so out of courtesy from four meters away from her, they shout to the old woman joyful 'Good morning'. As they turn into a lane, which is fortunately dry as it hasn't rained much lately, Theo starts humming under his breath.

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad" he looks at his friend (nearly losing control of his bike) and Blaise quickly understands what he means.

Blaise joins to his singing and adds next line:

"Take a sad song and make it better".

Someday Blaise would have worried. He was worried about what people would think, he was afraid someone would hear them. But not now. Now he doesn't care when the words flowing from the depths of memory, and when the song ends, he starts another, definitely his favourite — "Blackbird". Neither of the boys has a perfect voice, singing is definitely not their hidden talent, but that doesn't matter. And that is wonderful, isn't it?

Here Blaise can no longer skate further — the ground is too uneven, even ploughed by the tires of wheelbarrows and carts of people from the neighbouring village. The dark-skinned man rejects Theo's offer to simply get his bike's rack and chooses to run next to the boy. The basketball team and two trainings a week are finally coming in handy — thanks to this, his condition is really good and he doesn't gasp like an old man with asthma after twenty meters run. Theodore, noticing how well his best friend is doing, accelerates, forcing Zabini to run, which he accepts with a groan. Nevertheless, he catches up with the older boy and promises himself that as soon as they get there, he will get his revenge.

After five more minutes, they are a destination of their travel. The place they describe as "their", although they are well aware that they are not the only people who come here, is exactly as they remember it — beautiful.

It was Blaise who discovered them during one of his walks over three years ago. He perfectly remembered how it happened.

That day he was trying to find a rather fast but shallow brook, which he remembered from his childhood. Before Draco's move to London, they told Draco's parents that they were going to the field, but in fact, they went to the brook and walked back and forth on a tree that had fallen over the river. He remembered just as well how Draco's mother, on her way to the store, noticed they were not on the field, prompting a search. When their parents found them by the brook — wet but in unusually good moods, they were already too worried to be upset with them.

After searching for more than an hour (during which he definitely fulfilled the daily, maybe even a week, step norm, but he didn't care) he found a place from his memories, although it was difficult to recognize its. The brook had dried up completely, leaving only a faint riverbed and tree roots washed out of the ground, but the place has definitely retained its charm.

Theo drops the bicycle, leaning it hurriedly against one of the roots, and lays down on the grass, staring at the almost cloudless sky, hidden only by tree branches. Blaise, slightly out of breath, rests his hands on his knees and stays like this for a moment. When his breath normalized he comes closer to Theodore. There is a snap and a Polaroid camera gracefully named Hope spits out a photo in which the image hasn't shown up yet. Theo enthusiastically grabs a small piece of paper and starts waving it so fast that it is about to reach orbital velocity. After a while, the picture clears up the silhouette of a younger boy, who was about to lie down next to his friend. Blaise looks at the photo and asks smiling, even though he already knows the answer:

"For your or my album?"

"Of course mine," Theodore replies quickly, grinning happily, "Why do you need your own photos? They will be much more useful to me."

The dark-skinned boy can't help but messes Theodore's hair in one move of his hand. However, Theo is not annoyed by that, he reacts to it like a cat, moving closer and silently demanding further caresses, which the younger one does willingly.

They are sitting like that (or rather, Blaise is sitting and Theo's half lying on him) till the sunset. There is a flower crown on Blaise's head, made by Theo with field flowers collected by him. And of course, Theodore took a photo of Blaise in his work of art.

It's getting dark. Butterflies, which were flying around them flew away and gave way for beautiful moths and fireflies. Theodore stands up energetically and starts jumping on protruding trees' roots, chasing insects to take a photo of them.

"Theo, please be careful," Blaise says attentively but the only response is 'don't worry' screamed by Nott.

Blaise unwillingly starts remembering his childhood. Times, when he wasn't Theodore's friend and all that connected them, was the same neighbourhood, chalk and short-term relationship of their parents. Then they found that as a stupid and loathsome. Nowadays, at their seventeen's, just as weird. But they weren't friends. After all, Blaise was friends with Draco and the teacher in primary had repeated that it's better to have fewer friends but true friends. So Blaise fraternizes with Malfoy till he moved to London.

It's not that now Blaise finds it as a mistake or holds any grudge with Draco. But nowadays he thinks that it is not good to withdraw from others.

When Draco had left and moved to London, Blaise had thought they now he stayed alone but on that moment, Theodore slowly crept into his life. Nott sat next to Blaise on school basketball pitch and started reminding happy moments from times when Draco lived in Torquey.

And later he showed his painting to Blaise and dark-skinned boy couldn't believe someone his age could do something that beautiful. A week later Blaise sat down with him in the canteen and sometime later also on most of the lessons so he could distract him from learning to read their favourites comics.

Now, Blaise would imagine his life without his always laughing and only sometimes a little faraway friend.

His thoughts are interrupted by a quiet scream.

"Ouch!"

Blaise, worried, stands up imminently and run through Theo. He is curled up in a fetal position between roods of the biggest tree. Zabini hugs him tightly and Theodore accepts that willing, cuddling to his chest while holds back tears.

"Ah, Theo" Blaise whispers, still cuddling the boy in his arms, "I asked you to be careful."

"I'm sorry, Blaise" he answers, sniffing.

"Don't apologize to me, silly" Blaise couldn't stop himself from nuzzling his friend's cheek.

"But you are worrying now and you warned me that I might get hurt..."

"Shhhh" Zabini interrupts him and places his fingers on Theo's mouth to shushes him "I always worrying about you, no matter if you get hurt or not" he admits truthfully and after a few seconds of silence adds "Please, stop crying.

He stops hugging Theodore, although he wants to do it forever. Blaise squats in from of him and gently grabs his friend's head. He wipes away tears, flowing slowly on fairy (although all that time, spends under the sunlight) skin.

He wants to not cry because of sadness or pain, wants him not to have reasons for a cry.

He wants him to be always happy, even if that meant that Blaise wouldn't be on his side.

Wants, wants, wants.

But the world isn't always beautiful, even if Theodore thinks so. Sometimes the world is cruel, ugly or just totally boring. The same about people who live in it.

Do it's really important to find your refuge. A place, a person or a hobby, which will be like an escape from all evils in that world.

Blaise thought that his escape is comics. Reading them has dragged him into the world of superheroes where he could use his imagination and think about meaningless things for hours such as what superpower would he choose (flying, of course). Besides that, the world in comics is just easier. It isn't hard to differentiate who is good and who's bad. Good people fight with bad people, that's all. The Justice League cares about Gotham and saves innocent people from Joker, Deadshot or Darkseid. In the real world, it would be an unsolvable matter with billions different threads and complications so even the best detectives wouldn't be able to decide who is guilty.

Comics world is just easier.

Lately, Blaise has got to understand that the whole beauty in that world is locked in its confusions, problems and ambiguities. Because the world is beautiful, even if sometimes it's cruel or ugly.

And the one who made him understand that is his only real refuge — Theodore Nott.

He is the one who makes reading comics even better.

He is the one with who Blaise could do anything and it would be incredibly good.

He is the one with who Blaise wants to talk about 'good old times' and makes new memories to remember.

He is the one with who Blaise wants to stay forever.

Theodore Nott is the one who Blaise bestow that hot and unique feeling which, no matter what since says, comes from the heart.

And that feeling, now makes him do something, he has been dreaming about for that long. Blaise gently and unsurely grabs the head of the person, who since a year isn't only a friend for him. He delicately raises Theo's head a bit upper to look him straight into his eyes. Their lips touch slowly and gently. Both of them don't feel so confident with what's going on but they will worry about that later. Now, Blaise doesn't have the time and desire to thinks about the consequences. Not now, when he feels the structure of soft lips of his love.

When the dark-skinned boy doesn't notice any objections from the older boy, he let himself do a light, carefully move with his lips. He doesn't want to scared Theodore, knowing how delicate and artsy person he is. He would ever forgive himself hurting Theo.

If he only knew how long Theodore was waiting for it and how much he enjoys that kiss, even if Blaise's lips are rough and chapped.

Blaise gently moves away and hangs his head down, looking at too long grass. He's afraid of seeing Theodore's reaction for what he has done because he's afraid of rejection and ending that important relationship.

However, Theo, likes he doesn't see his friend insecure, giggles lightly and grabs the younger boy cheeks, turning his face to him.

"Oh, finally. How long might I wait?" Theo says with a delightful smile.

"Really. You... Me..." Blaise mutters like he doesn't know what he wants to say.

"Yeah, silly" Theo chucked and hits an end of Blaise's nose with his "You're definitely my favourite person in that universe. And every other, alternative universe too."

Blaise, still can't believe what's happening, hugs his boy and kisses him quickly. The kiss is one hundred per cent cute and totally not sultry. Because feelings as sultry and desire don't fit Theodore, even in an alternative universe where Bruce Wayne become the Devastator instead of Batman. It just does not fit.

"Yeah, and you're my fav person."

They sit in silence for a while, but it's nothing wrong. The silent can be calming and comfortable, it can say more than every word in the world.

The air is getting cooler and owls' chirps become more ominous, so finally, Blaise breaks the silence and says:

"Theo" mentioned boy turns to him and glance at Zabini, "Is your knee still hurting?"

"It's not that bad" Theo shrugs but Blaise quickly understands that it's not good either, "But can you ride the bicycle? I'll drive on its carrier."

"But what with my skateboard?" Blaise asks inconvenience.

"I'll carry it, please" Zabini's only answer is a sigh but not the irritated one. He doesn't know what would Theo had to do to irritate him.

"Alright, but please, be careful."

Blaise raises Theo's bicycle from the ground and helps the boy to climb up to the luggage carrier and then he carefully sits on its seat. Theodore holds Blaise's skateboard (which he has named against his will — Faith) with one hand and the other one is embraced around Blaise's stomach so Theo can stably stay on the carrier. Well, maybe not only because of that.

"To me?" Blaise proposes and slowly leaves their place.

Theodore automatically nods but then he understands that Blaise can't see him so he quickly says 'yes' some times.

Boys are leaving, slowly and without unnecessary haste, but that moment is different than every previous one, they have spent here. Now, they're leaving their place not as just friends.

From Theodore Nott's album:

"4th of May, 1984 —

My favourite day to remember"

#harry potter #slytherin quidditch #bxb #slytherin quidditch team #blaise x theo #blaise zabini #theodore nott #zabini x nott #mrs zabini #muggle au #non magic au #retro #retro au #slytherin #slytherins #slytherin quartet #draco malfoy

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that-scouse-wizard · 4 years ago

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Sightseeing Part One

A/N: Hello everyone, welcome to this little one-shot of mine. I love the friendship between David Willows and Judith Harris that I and @judediangelo75 have developed. So, here’s a tale of David showing Judith around Liverpool, his home city. Originally, I’d intended to show both the muggle and wizarding side of the city but then it got longer than I thought it would and didn’t want it to be a slog. So here’s part one to briefly show the muggle side, part two should be coming soon to show off the wizarding side.

Context: This takes place in the summer between second and third year so David and Judith are about thirteen here. Also my first time writing David’s mum, Rue (should be mentioned, her face claim is Fiona O’Carroll). Some mild spoilers for my ideas but I hope you all enjoy especially you @judediangelo75!

Word count: 2867

MC friends: Judith Harris ( @judediangelo75 )

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5th of July, 1986

Judith Harris hated the summer holidays, some people would be able to enjoy it, likely going to somewhere abroad with their family but that simply wasn’t an option for her. For Judith, leaving Hogwarts for several weeks meant being stuck with her mother.

She tried keeping her head down but living under the same roof meant little chance of escape from being constantly subject to her mother’s judgements and cruelty. The tension at home was always so suffocating.

Recently though, she had received a letter from someone she knew, David Willows. The younger brother to Jacob Hall, a friend of her own brother, Jamal. Both of them had gone missing in their search for the Cursed Vaults, she supposed it was fitting for their younger siblings to get acquainted.

First impressions when they had arrived at Hogwarts, David was stand-offish, sharp-tongued and short-tempered. He wasn’t afraid to go for low blows in a verbal spar or physically fight people much bigger than him. Oftentimes, they had stayed out of each other’s way. She never tried to pick a fight with him. Although, unlike most of their peers, he had never been unkind to her.

Their friendship was a fairly recent development, only beginning at the start of their second year when they tried out for the recently vacant positions as Beaters on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Practice together meant more interaction especially as they both came under the mentorship of Erika Rath, Slytherin’s top Beater. It was during these practices that she had seen a different side to David.

Though he was aloof, they shared a remarkably high number of mutual friends, the most prominent of which were Penny Haywood and Rowan Khanna. When Judith had asked the two about their fellow Hufflepuff, both had spoken fondly of him. If they vouched for him, he surely couldn’t be that bad?

Though he was snarky, that tended to be when he was aggravated by someone he didn’t like, he had a tendency to give his friends good-natured ribbings. Judith had happily returned the teasing, especially when it had come to her own and David’s respective crushes on Orion and Erika.

Though he could come across as aggressive with a foul temper, it took specific things to put him in such a mood. Namely... rumours about Jacob, especially so if someone dared to openly compare the two brothers. His ferocity wasn’t just to defend himself either, he had very nearly started a fight with an older Hufflepuff when they had made a derogatory comment towards Judith. A fight would have started if professor Sprout hadn’t intervened. They had barely known each other for a month at that point yet he’d still stuck up for her. Of course, she could handle herself but the sentiment was appreciated.

Other than that, Judith and David shared a love of art. Drawing together in silence, maybe occasionally asking how the other’s sketch looked, a peaceful respite from the stress they were under. They quickly gained a reputation on the Quidditch pitch as Hufflepuff’s star Beaters after their team handily defeated both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor

Their titles as the ‘Heroes of Hogwarts’ had only served to connect the two further after conquering the Ice Vault.

All in all, the two of them had formed a decent relationship.

Still, it was a surprise when Goliath, David’s eagle owl had arrived with a letter inviting her to come visit Liverpool for a week. An opportunity she had practically leapt at. Thankfully, the owl had found her bedroom window first. Judith shuddered to think how her mother would have reacted if she found out she was receiving letters from a boy, no matter how platonic the nature of it was.

Keeping that fact about her friend a secret from her mother was definitely the only reason she was currently making the journey. She was sure David would agree to making plans in advance if they wished to do something like this again, lest she risk her mother’s ire.

She had purchased muggle train tickets as soon as she could, sending Goliath back to his owner with the day and time she was expected to arrive. Though expensive, it was the swiftest, and most direct mode of transport between London and Liverpool.

At least the weather had been nice with hardly a cloud in the sky. It had been relaxing, watching the landscape go by slumped back in her seat as the train had weaved its way through both city and countryside. Though it wasn’t nearly as hot as it could get in Barbados, it was still warm enough to justify her current attire, a yellow sundress with matching sandals.

“Now approaching, Liverpool Lime Street.” The automated voice of the train echoed. Judith stood up smiling at the announcement as she retrieved her suitcase from the overhead luggage area. That was her stop, the end of the line, it would be nice seeing David again.

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

Liverpool Lime Street was a large station, two cylindrical dome roofs made up of mostly clear glass and metal provided cover for all train platforms, giving it a tunnel-like appearance. Archways made of stone and mostly filled by windows supported the upper half of the building from the front. Great, red pillars held up the right side, creating a pavement for both foot traffic and a road for vehicles into the station’s car park.

David paced about, unable to keep himself from showing excitement. Wearing a plain grey tee shirt, denim jean shorts and black sandals for the hot weather. Occasionally looking around watchfully through the throngs of people going about their business.

His letter to Judith had asked for her to find the car park at the station and she would be sure to run into him. From where he was, simply turning left after arriving at one of the train platforms, then continuing straight would assure it.

It was about quarter past eleven, the time Judith said she was likely to arrive in her letter back. This would be the first time he had invited a friend around in a long while.

Frankly, although he was excited, he couldn’t help but feel nervous about the whole thing. Though he and his mother Rue had reconciled somewhat, she had tried to persuade him into inviting someone other than Jamal Harris’s little sister. She assumed they were just Quidditch teammates who happened to share a history with the Cursed Vaults and that was it.

It was only when David had told his mother the full story of their delve into the Ice Vault that she had relented. The curse had begun its most dramatic transformation midway through their match against Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup. Ice conjured by the vault had begun encompassing the school, threatening to overcome it entirely.

Together, they, alongside Bill Weasley and Penny Haywood had made their way to the vault. Breaking the seal on the door had caused Penny and Bill to become trapped by the cursed ice; as well as unleash its guardian, an animated suit of armour held together by ice and frost.

In the midst of the Ice Knight trying to carve them up, Judith had used an Incendio that had briefly drawn its attention from David after he was cornered. Whether his mother liked it or not, Judith had saved his life. An invitation to his hometown was the least he could do for her.

He had initially wanted to face the vaults on his own. Though, that plan seemed doomed to fail before he had even set foot on the castle grounds after he had bumped into Rowan. Now, Judith was a part of an ever-growing circle of friends that David was slowly building up, an addition that he was glad for.

He hadn’t thought much of her when he first arrived at Hogwarts. She had made no effort to seek him out, which was just fine for David at the time. Playing Quidditch with her though had shown him there was more to Judith Harris than first met the eye.

Underneath her quiet exterior, she was fierce, witty and a hell of a lot stronger than she looked. The first time they sparred together, David hadn’t been expecting her to use a back kick on him. While she had at first been worried she overdid it, David had shrugged it off despite the sizeable bruise it had left on his stomach. If anything, it had just convinced him it was a good idea to spar with her further. Nothing would keep his own hand-to-hand combat skills sharp like fighting an experienced opponent.

A splash of bright yellow caught his eye, quite distinct amongst a sea of other colours. A dark-skinned girl about his age with long, brown-black locs tied back. Her gold eyes looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings before finally landing on David, getting a beaming smile from her. There was no mistaking who it was.

“Judith!” He called out enthusiastically, grinning back.

“It’s good to see you David.” His friend answered, walking up to him and giving him a brief hug. One that he returned.

“Same here, welcome to Liverpool.” He replied, grandly gesturing to the outside of the station.

Judith rolled her eyes playfully, giving a brief scan of the view. There was a busy junction that ran alongside the station, vehicles coming from at least three different directions. A Neo-Grecian-style stone building and a white tower tipped with a room with blue windows dominated the view. Impressive in its own right but it would definitely be better to explore the city with David to really see what it had to offer.

“Thank you for the invitation, shall we?” Judith’s implication was clear to David, time to head off.

“Of course, mum is waitin’ for us in the car park. Just a heads up, she can be a bit... intense.” David warned.

‘Oh joy.’ Judith thought sarcastically, hoping David’s mum wouldn’t be an exact copy of her own...

She wouldn’t have long to wonder, moving along a pavement that ran parallel to the train platforms, towards the car park, separated from the rest of the station by a wrought-iron fence. A few cars were in it, without their owners of course. All except one.

In front of a silver Ford Escort stood a woman. Pale-skinned with shoulder length dark brown hair. She was dressed in a grey pinstripe suit, a pale pink shirt under it being the only other colour. Curiously, a small, sharp and serrated tooth was hung around her neck by a black thread. She held what appeared to be a red snakeskin handbag.

Brown eyes were fixed on the pair as they approached her, though especially on Judith. Clearly David had his mother’s eyes, ones that were intent on analysing Judith for their first meeting. Watching her warily in silent judgement, a stoic expression not giving anything away.

Judith could see what David meant. She didn’t like being watched ordinarily, it made her feel like she was being judged. Under Rue Willows’ gaze though, she couldn’t help but feel a nagging sensation at the back of her head, one that commanded attention. Not cruel exactly but not friendly either, it made Judith squirm.

“I-it’s nice to meet you, Ms Willows.” Judith greeted quietly, anxious to see if there was any change in the woman. Receiving nothing but another glance over.

“Ahem.” David coughed, trying to defuse the tension.

It worked, Rue finally spoke up after that prompt, “A pleasure to meet you too Judith.” She replied curtly, her accent making it clear she was from Ireland. She turned her attention to her son, taking a large pouch out of her handbag that clinked as she moved it before tossing it to David. “I was thinking, David. Maybe you could show Judith around the city centre? Even show her Under Mersey. Just be back by five, if you can.”

David’s eyes widened both at the statement and the amount of bronze, silver and gold staring back at him as he looked inside the pouch. Sure, they had talked about loosening the tight restrictions that had troubled their relationship since Jacob’s disappearance but something like this so soon was unexpected.

“Thanks mum.” David answered, sounding grateful for it.

Rue’s features softened slightly as a smile tugged at the corner of her lips, “You don’t want be carrying your case everywhere you go, do you Judith? Let me take it while you and David are out.” She asked, holding out her hand, sounding just a bit friendlier with her offer. Though despite it being phrased as a question, there was clearly no room for argument.

Judith handed her case over, “Thank you, Ms Willows.”

Rue only gave a nod of acknowledgement and a quick “Have fun.” as she put Judith’s case into the boot of the car before driving off.

“I see what you mean, intense is certainly a word for it.” Judith stated, “Question though, what’s an ‘Under Mersey’?

“Well, y’know how Diagon Alley is in London?” David asked as he started walking, getting a nod from his friend, “In every major city across England, Ireland, Wales and Scotland, there’s a place for wizards to go to, Under Mersey is Liverpool’s.” Judith hummed in understanding at that, she had never been to a wizarding community outside of London.

“But, how about a brief tour of the muggle side first? There’s a couple of iconic places in walking distance from here. Any other bits of history, I can just tell you about.” David suggested.

“Whatever you want David,” Judith shrugged, “This is your city, let’s see what it’s got.” The two friends stepped out onto the streets of Liverpool catching the scent of the sea on the wind. The general style reminding Judith of the inner city of London. Buildings being tightly packed together, only allowing roads through. Little to no space for alleyways turning the city centre into a maze of roads.

David grinned at her statement, “Well then Miss Harris, on your right you will see St George’s Hall. A big concert venue, mostly for dead posh events.” He said, making a show of it as he pointed out the stone building Judith had seen previously, “However, if you fancy more modern tastes, to your left you’ll see Radio City, Liverpool’s local radio.”

Judith chuckled at her friend’s showmanship, “Are there any music venues we could go to?” She asked as the two of them crossed the junction, content to follow David’s lead.

“Closest one to us is the Cavern Club. Mostly does local bands, Jazz, Rock and Roll, R&B, that sort of music.” Judith grinned, that was the sort of music she could get into, David wasn’t done with his little tour as they began walked through the streets, “Though it’s only open on a Thursday nowadays. It’s not the original, that was the cellar of a warehouse on Matthew street that got filled with cement when they were goin’ to construct part of an underground railway but it didn’t happen in that part of the city. They tried excavating the place to reopen it but there was too much damage to the structure. So they just built a new one on the same street.”

Judith’s brow furrowed at that, it was definitely an interesting piece of the city’s history but in retrospect it seemed to have been a waste of time.

“But Liverpool itself has been around since 1207, though it didn’t gain much prominence as a port until the 17th century.” David explained before pointing off further in the distance. “Up that way is the Pier Head, used to be where a lot of the goings on at the docks were handled earlier this century. More recently though, Liverpool produced one of the most famous bands in the Muggle world just over twenty years ago. They performed in the original Cavern Club, speaking off, we’re coming up to Matthew Street, right now.”

David suddenly turned onto Matthew Street, Judith following close behind him. It was clear to see where he was heading with the street being devoid of any foot traffic.

The Cavern Club.

Judith cocked an eyebrow at this, “I thought you said this was only open on Thursdays?” She asked as they now stood in front of the black archway, the doors of the club very clearly closed and likely locked tight.

“Oh it is,” David confirmed, “But this also the only way I know of to get into Under Mersey.” He continued, stepping beneath the neon sign of the club into the archway.

“How do you do it?” Judith asked, giving him a slightly sceptical look.

“Take my hand, brace yourself, and you’ll see.” David said, offering his hand to her. Judith took it tentatively, joining him at his side. David tapped his foot six times, the first two beats were slower than the next quick four before he then said, “Hey Jude.”

At first, Judith thought he was addressing her, though she only managed to get out a “Wh-” before she felt her stomach lurch as she and David fell through the pavement beneath them.

#harry potter #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hphm #david willows #judith harris #hphm mc #other people's mcs #hufflepuff #tigress and hound #hufflepuff!mc #hufflepuff!mcs

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siren1song · 5 years ago

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I wrote a fic in response to art again. This time it’s this really cool piece done by @strawberryjellystuff

I’m ngl I’m like crazy proud of this one.

Taglist: @acanvasofabillionsuns, @emo-disaster, @greenninjagal-blog, @jungle321jungle, @demidork84, @sleepy-sides, @gattonero17

Got a Darkside

The moon shined behind him, illuminating the path he had taken up to this point. But where Roman had to go, no natural light would reach. The trees looked black, the moonlight not daring to touch within ten feet of the forest.

Roman swallowed hard, adjusting his grip on the torch he had just lit so he could make his way to where he wanted- needed to go. And then he stepped out of the light and into the eclipsing darkness, chills shooting down his spine at the choice he had just made.

He was no coward, he needed to make this journey, overwhelming evil aura or not.

With a deep breath Roman adjusted the strap of his shoulder bag, the weight of the importance it carried making his chest feel like stone. He could do this, just one step in front of the other and he’d be back home with the things he needed to save-

“You can do this,” he whispered to himself, continuing to walk through the trees, the mushrooms practically glowing against the light of his torch.

The forest was filled with magic, and even someone with about as much magic as a cog like Roman could feel it. He couldn’t tell if it was as dark as mages made it out to be though, he had no magic to speak of, no way to tell the difference between light and dark magic.

There was no way to tell if the decision he was making was the right one, but he had no money for a trustworthy healing mage, nothing of note that a lord may want to help him save his best friend from the magical illness.

And he knew it was magical in nature. There was no mundane illness that he could find that caused the inky black veins running under Virgil’s skin. No matter how many times he bothered the village clinician, Doctor Logan Ackroyd, there just wasn’t an answer caused by non magical means.

So into the forest Roman was going, in search of the supposed dark mage that lived there. Hoping beyond hope he might be able to convince a man rumored to be as dark as they came to help him where money greedy mages of the kingdom wouldn’t.

Snap!

Roman whipped around, extending his torch so the flames would light any potential danger. He had to protect his handbag, it carried the only bargaining chip he had.

He had to protect himself as well, seeing as he was Virgil’s only hope of survival right now.

Nothing stepped into the light of fire, but Roman’s heart didn’t settle from his throat. He felt eyes on him, and the feeling made his skin crawl as if there roaches making their home underneath it.

“Keep going, Roman, you need to get to the center of the forest,” he mumbled to himself, his eyes constantly flicking about the trees, every movement and sound catching his attention.

Roman walked for twenty more minutes before he realized with an abrupt chilling terror that the sounds had stopped and the forest had somehow grown darker while he wasn’t paying attention.

He stopped, his grip on the strap of his shoulder bag tightening as he tilted his head this way and that, listening for signs of life.

Total silence and fear spilling down his spine, spreading to his ribs, constricting his chest until his breaths were quick and uneven.

No, he couldn’t panic right now, not when Virgil needed him.

But he didn’t have a weapon. Not even the sword he’d forged himself under his apprenticeship with the blacksmith. All he had was his fists and the knowledge of fighting he’d gained from his days on the streets when he was young, roughhousing with a brother he barely remembered.

Suddenly there was sound again, but only one. It slid in the grass and leaves, sending a sound not unlike a hiss to Roman’s ears. He tensed, looking around frantically as he struggled to pinpoint where it was coming from.

The feeling of eyes on his back intensified, and Roman whirled around.

Paralyzing fear locked up his limbs as snake eyes filled his vision, poison yellow and bright with power.

And yet it wasn’t a colossal snake in front of him but a man. A man with scales decorating half his face and powerful magic seeming to emanate off of his skin, almost as if he was feeding the forest around him. Which should be impossible, it was the magic in nature itself that gave mages their power, their connection and respect of the earth and sea and sky giving them abilities the mundane could never hope to have.

“You’re in my forest,” the mage said, stating a fact as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle and Roman was a piece.

Roman nodded, struggling to keep his breathing even in the face of the fear squeezing his lungs. Was this the mage of the forest he’d heard whispers of? The man no one seemed to have any information on beyond he was powerful and he preferred to be left alone?

“Why?”

The mage narrowed his eyes at Roman, suspicious of his intentions if he had a guess. Roman didn’t blame him, he’d be suspicious too if people spoke of him this way and suddenly a stranger appeared in his home.

“I-” he stopped, the fear in his lungs constricting tighter, halting his words.

With an irritated hiss, the mage glanced to the side. His eyes never locked on anything, almost as if he was looking at the forest itself.

The fear eased, and Roman could finally breathe.

What the hell? Did this mage just look to the forest itself and make it ease on the paranoia it was causing him?

Just how powerful was he?

“I need help,” Roman said, his voice hoarse and weak as it left him.

The mage looked at him again, tilting his head to the side as he searched Roman’s face like he was looking for something.

“I had assumed you wanted something, tell me what it is. I’ll decide if it was a fruitless endeavor on your part.”

Roman swallowed, glancing at the trees around him as the darkness seemed to grow even darker, the shadows reaching for his form, held at bay by the glow of his torch and the command of the mage.

“My best friend is sick, something is draining his life and I have found no non magic illness to cause the blackness filling his veins.”

The mage sneered, his fingers twitching at his side and the shadows lurching just a few feet closer. Roman’s fear returned, this time all his own.

“You couldn’t go to the light mages for help? I’m sure this type of heroism is exactly what they get off on.”

Roman grit his jaw, anger flaring at the memory of his meeting with the cheapest mage he could find.

“I’m poor, barely above a street rat as a blacksmith’s apprentice. They wouldn’t help me unless I gave them my life, and even then they wouldn’t do everything in their power to save the life of my friend.”

The mage paused at the rage in Roman’s voice, his face smoothing back into curiosity as he looked at him.

“And what makes you think I’ll do what you need for free?”

Roman took a deep breath. This was the one question he had been prepared for. He opened his shoulder bag, pulling out the only thing he had to offer a mage who had been cut off from society, and as far as Roman knew, contact.

A blanket. An afghan to be more specific. It was the only thing he had managed to keep from his mother before she passed and he was left on the streets. The only thing he and his brother had shared without a fight before he had been taken by guards for showing signs of magic.

The mage inhaled sharply, his eyes widening as they locked on the wool in Roman’s hands.

“I… hope it’s not insulting. I’ve heard sentimental magic can be powerful, and I know the weight of this blanket has gotten me through some very lonely years. It’s yours, if you will help me.”

Snake eyes snapped up to look at Roman’s face, making him flinch away, scared he may have insulted the most powerful man he had ever met.

“...Alright. Bring him here, and I will see what I can do. You leave the blanket with me, though.”

Roman’s grip on the afghan tightened, closing his eyes as he struggled to come to terms with the fact he’d have to part with it sooner than he anticipated.

“Do you have a way that would make it easier to bring him? He’s been bedridden for weeks, and my village is a week’s travel by foot,” he said, finally opening his eyes to be met with a surprised look from the mage.

It was almost as if he hadn’t expected Roman to agree so easily.

Roman was too desperate to save his friend to argue. If this mage could help, if Roman could get him to help Virgil, he would do anything short of taking his own life or the lives of innocents.

“I may have a way to help, if you promise me one more thing,” the mage said, confusing Roman.

“What may that be?”

The mage hesitated, eyes going from Roman’s face to the shadows around them that had slinked back during their conversation, to the blanket in his hands, and finally back to his face.

“Your name, and… continued companionship, once your friend is healthy.”

Roman blinked, staring at the mage in surprise. Of all the things he had been expecting to have to give up, his time had not been one of them. At least, not in the way the mage was asking.

Then he grinned, charming smile naturally slipping into place and confident squaring of his shoulders making the remaining fear he felt melt from his muscles.

“You may call me Roman. And I’d be happy to return for more leisurely activities once my friend is saved.”

The mage seemed taken off guard once again, though his own inviting smile graced his features. He took a few steps forward, gently tugging the afghan from Roman’s arms and into his own.

“And I am known as Deceit, but I suppose I’ll allow you to call me Dee.”

#casper writes #ts roman #ts janus #ts virgil #implied future roceit #platonic prinxiety #mage deceit #one mention of logan #ive noticed its a trend for me to write deceit as really powerful #especially when it comes to magic #im not really complaining it just seems to be a trend with me #anyway i hope you guys like this im v proud of it

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tawakkull · 4 years ago

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Forgiveness and Tolerance in Islam: Tolerance in the life of the individual and society: Part2

Tolerance Awards

Gathering around these ideas and feelings, the Journalists and Writers Foundation formed a committee and recently gave awards for tolerance to people who had been seen as having made a significant contribution to social reconciliation. This action was approved of by almost every segment of society—from politicians to people involved in the arts, from academics to journalists, writers, and the people in the street. Of course, a marginal group that was not synchronized with the general public, due to their different worldview, expressed their displeasure at an activity that everyone else had embraced; they made the mistake of reproaching the individuals and institutions that said yes to this consensus.

But let them say what they will. At a time when the world has become like a large village and at a point when our society is on the verge of great change and transformation, if we are talking about dialogue with other nations, then it will not be possible to explain away our disagreements with one another. In this respect, tolerance is a matter that needs to be rewarded and for this reason, tolerance must permeate all of society. So much so that universities should breathe tolerance, politicians should talk about tolerance, people in the music world should write lyrics about tolerance, and the media should give support to positive developments concerning tolerance.

Tolerance does not mean being influenced by others or joining them; it means accepting others as they are and knowing how to get along with them. No one has the right to say anything about this kind of tolerance; everyone in this country has his or her own point of view. People with different ideas and thoughts are either going to seek ways of getting along by means of reconciliation or they will constantly fight with one another. There have always been people who thought differently to one another and there always will be. It is my humble opinion that those people who are the mouthpiece for certain marginal groups that neither affirm the divine scriptures God sent nor the realities of today and who start fights at the drop of a hat should review their position one more time. Are they making their claims for the sake of human values or for the sake of destroying human values?

The Value the Messenger of God Gave to Humanity

More than anything else, with the training he received from his Lord, the Pride of Humankind gave value to every human being, regardless of whether that person was a Muslim, Christian, or Jew. Before leaving this subject, it would be beneficial to see what kind of a visionary man he was. He was the Pride of Humanity—his spirit was the beginning of the book of existence, and his message was the end. This is selfevident to those who know the Prophet’s mission. We know him as one by whose light the universe can be observed and read like a book. However much humankind, the Prophet’s followers in particular, take pride in their connection with the Prophet of Mercy, it is not too much. As one who loved him said, how fortunate we are to be connected with him. In fact, regarding the great blessing he received, the Messenger of God said:

The first thing God created—the first seed that was sown in the bosom of non-existence—was my light.[ Ajluni, Kashf al-Khafa’, 1:266. ]

This is true because he is the seed, the essence, and the summary of existence. If we express this same sentiment in Sufi terms, the existence of Muhammad was both the reason for creation and its final goal. Existence was created for him to be able to come into it as the embodiment of all human values and as a theatre in which all the manifestations of God’s Names would be apparent.

As I have mentioned at other times in different contexts, the Pride of Humanity, the reason for creation and the Prince of Prophets, one day stood up as a Jewish funeral was passing by. One of the Companions at his side said, “O Messenger of God, that’s a Jew.” Without any change in attitude or alteration of the lines on his face, the Prince of Prophets gave this answer: “But he is a human being!”[ Bukhari, Janaiz, 50; Muslim, Janaiz, 81; Nasai, Janaiz, 46. ] May the ears ring of those followers who do not know him in these dimensions and those human rights advocates who are ignorant of the universal message he brought in the name of humankind! There is nothing I can add to these words, but if we are disciples of the glorious Prophet who spoke these words, it is not possible for us to think any differently. Thus, it would be beneficial for those who oppose the recent activities made in the name of dialogue and tolerance to review their situations in respect to their heedlessness or their obstinacy that has permeated their personalities and spirits.

Tolerance and the Future

Even if we have different feelings and thoughts, we are all people of this society. Even though we may not have common grounds on some matters, we all live in this world and we are passengers on the same ship. In this respect, there are many common points that can be discussed and shared with people from every segment of society.

In all probability, time will clarify everything and prove that those who started the trend of tolerance were right. Again, time will discard feelings and thoughts of grudge and vengeance. Only feelings fed with love, forgiveness, tolerance, and dialogue will continue. People of tolerance will build a world based on tolerance. Those whose lot is not tolerance will drown in their malice, hatred, and anger in the well of intolerance. It is my wish that people such as these will wake up and not drown in the swamp into which they have fallen. Or else we will have to cry for them as well. I can already feel this pain and I am greatly grieved by it!

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vinylhazza · 5 years ago

Text

JERSEY BOY (E.D)

Fou Amoreux

jersey boy masterlist

part 1. here

… … …

her mouth hasn’t shut up about him since he kissed it. the idea that he may kiss it again is constantly stuck in her brain, which hasn’t stopped thinking about him even before any kiss they shared. Adélaïde seems to feel the same about her “Gray” as she likes to call him, the brightest smile coming to her face with the very sound of his name leaving her lips. She fell for the younger twin just as hard as Chloé fell for Ethan.

and if one day you wake up and find that you’re missin’ me

three months ago is when he hopped on that plain back to LA, back to his busy life with his busy schedule. three months of facetime calls and mushy text messages. three months of missing him to no end. three months of silent prayers sent at night, up to the heavens hoping they’ll answer her prayer and bring her jersey boy back.

she still goes to the ferris wheel. she never rides it, simply sits on the bench and watches the wheel spin around and around, remembering the first time his hazel eyes landed on her and the fire that it sent blazing through nerve in her body. she watches lovers hop onto the ride, hand in hand, starting their journey like she once had.

and your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be

she comes to the ferris wheel near every other day, just to see if maybe he had been the sneaky boy she fell in love with and came back to her without warning. maybe another Louis Vuitton event? maybe another event?...maybe just because he missed her?

she asks Adélaïde to join her each time, but she declines, instead opting to travel back to that very same bench where Grayson’s lips met hers for the very first time and sent her spiraling into a puddle of longing for his touch every moment. the way his eyes looked at hers that night, the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower reflecting off of his dilated pupils had been something she’d only seen in movies.

when they left three months ago...they had cried for days, wrapped up in blankets in Chloé’s living room, gushing about their adventures and trying to forget their heartbreak for a small fraction of time by watching the Notebook - which only made it worse naturally.

she almost expected him to not call or text her and treat her as a spontaneous love affair he’d had in Paris, never to be spoken of again. she expected him to throw away her number she scribbled down on the white hotel napkin after she whispered her words of devotion to him. the smile that blessed the world when he looked down and saw her number was breathtaking. he hadn’t needed it while they were frolicking and getting themselves into an abundance of trouble, because he always knew where to find her. right where he first saw her.

it was hard at first with different time zones, but he would always make sure to text her what he was doing, how is day was, anything he could come up with, just to ensure she didn't forget about him. but she could never. and he could never forget about her. they were both far too deep for that. what she didn't know...was that he and his brother had every intention of coming back and sweeping them right back off of their feet.

thinkin’ maybe you’d come back here to the place that we’d meet

the twins had already bought their tickets, already booked the hotel reservations. they had decided before hand in a deep brotherly talk that they weren’t going to tell the girls. they were going to hand it to the universe, and if it’s meant to be: Ethan will see his sweet Chloé at the ferris wheel and Grayson will see Adélaïde on that little bench by the bushes. fate had never done them wrong before.

she was far too embarrassed to ever tell him she often goes back to the place they met, she was far too embarrassed to admit that she just wanted to feel that fire again, just wanted him back again...just wanted him. and that was the closest she could get, it was the very beginning of their little love story, one they couldn’t have known would be lifelong.

they had told Lisa about Chloé and Adélaïde one day on a trip back to Jersey after a stressful weak of relentless press and internet snoopiness. but of course that was after she’d called them out on hiding something. mother knows best.

she knew the way they smiled was a little brighter. she knew the walk in their step was happier. she knew their texts were more thought out, like they were typing a novel instead of a one word answer. she knew they stayed up later than they ever had talking rushed and quite on their phones. she knew they booked “random” tickets to Paris right in her living room. she knew. she knew her boys fell in love.

so she wished them extra good luck before they went home, knowing they would be leaving in two days on a quest to return to their girls - and hugged them a little big tighter, whispering that they’ll be there. she promises the girls will be there. she’d never seen her boys talk about girls they way that they had on the couch, drinking shyly from their mugs. not even Grayson who was dead convinced he’d fallen in love every time he got into a relationship. she had a way of bringing it out in them.

it was never like this.

there was a hole in their world, an emptiness in the twins life since they stepped foot in front of that damn ferris wheel. something changed. that change is what makes them sit down in a mess of nerves on a flight from LA to Paris.

and you’ll see me waiting for you, on the corner of the street

so here Ethan sits, here he waits, hoping that when the sun sinks below the horizon, Chloé will be back in his arms once again. he hopes she still comes here. he hopes that maybe even if she never does, something in her will tell her just to come here because he’s waiting for her. and he needs her. and he never wants to let her go again.

Grayson and Ethan parted ways almost an hour and a half ago. they were hopeful, but told one another not to be too upset if they don’t show, that it’s just them taking a risk and if this city gives them that drop in the ocean luck one more time - they know it's a sign that they are the real deal.

so Grayson sits on the bench by the bushes and watches the comin and going of tourists staring dreamily up at the Eiffel Tower, just basking in the pure art and essence of the city that breathes devotion and love. they wait for Adélaïde and Chloé to get that feeling deep down in their stomachs: intuition.

so i’m not movin, i’m not movin

and that they had. on this day, for some reason while the pair drink their herbal tea and talk about nonsense while applying way too much of their facemasks...they get their feeling in their gut that they need to be somewhere. once this feeling comes it stays, and it weighs on their mind until they can’t stand it anymore, coming to the agreement that they needed to go to their “spots”.

the short car ride to the city is silent, air completely flooded with nerves and anxiety. they feel that same magic in their bones that they felt the day they met those charming twins that stole their hearts and never gave them back. but they didn’t want them back.

when the car is parked on a side street and they gleam at each other with watery eyes and fleeting hearts, they step out to give one another a long sentimental hug - hoping and praying they aren’t wrong. they hope their wishes on the shooting stars came true.

both Chloé and Adélaïde send a text to their respective twin, a short breezy message that they hope gets an answer within a few moments.

what’s up?

maybe then their assumptions can be confirmed. they wait for a minute to get an answer - and of course Ethan and Grayson get the message, but choose not to answer, not wanting to ruin the universes plan. the girls heave a sigh of defeat, but don’t give up hope. not until they know for sure.

Chloé heads for the ferris wheel, sending a wave to Adélaïde who rushes off to the Eiffel Tower with a giddy grin.

goin’ back to the corner where I first saw you

all four hum a tune as they wait, as they walk, as they pray. a habit for them all. it’s a song they haven’t heard in so long, but for some reason it seems very accurate in this moment. mysterious ways of the world.

the sun is sinking, and sinking, and sinking, casting a purple and pink glow over every part of the beautiful city - cool breeze brushing over Ethan’s face as he decides to stand, knowing he’s far too anxious to sit because who sits when they wait for-

teary eyes, those beautiful teary eyes. the purple making his Chloé’s skin appear golden but plum all the same, wind fluttering the end of her blush colored flowy tank top as they stare at one another, frozen. she’s only a few steps away, too afraid she’s hallucinating to walk any closer.

while the ferris wheel keeps on spinning, they keep on staring. her hands are at her side. one hand is in his pocket, the other holding a bouquet. he got flowers for her?

she’s taking in the sight she’s loved since that sunny day...dark wisps of hair, styled just right, silver chain around his neck, white Louis Vuitton t-shirt, black pants. stunning. just as breathtaking as the last time she’d seen him three months ago.

Grayson and Adélaïde share the same stare down just a few blocks away from them.

he waits on the bench still as a statue for his beautiful girl to rush over and caress his face with disbelieving eyes. lovers reunited again. he intends to ask her the same question, one he knows in his heart she won’t refuse.

Ethan takes his time walking over to a frozen Chloé, gaining the courage to say the sentence he’s been rehearsing in his head, to Grayson, to the random lady in the flower shop, and to his mother, to the flight attendant, anyone he could find. he hopes to God he doesn’t screw it up. he’s not messing up fates second chance.

“you’re here,” is the only thing she can say through her hysterical crying, not believing he is actually standing here, actually running a hand through her hair, actually holding her favorite kind of flowers (peach roses)...she can’t believe he actually came back for her. she’d wished and hoped and prayed - never seeing it work before so why would it now?

“shh...I’m here baby,” he grins widely at her, hugging her to his chest, hearts thumping loudly in both of their ears. high off of the feeling of each others skin against their own once again. sun sinking lower on this beautiful July evening, he finally continues speaking, “I gotta tell you something.”

she nods against his shirt, eyes closed, breathing him in, sinking in his arms like putty. safe place. that’s what this is, her safe place.

fuck he really couldn’t be more nervous than he was when Chloé leans back, taking his flowers and setting them on the bench. he takes her soft fragile face in both of his hands, looking into her eyes deeply, knowing how ridiculous they must look to all of the bustling busy people of the city...but he couldn’t care less.

“tu es la femme de mes reves,” it’s a soft whispered confession, as soft as hers had been. perfect. meaningful. she gasps at how easy it was for him to say, just like he’d been destined to. like he’d been waiting his whole life to say it.

it’s just what she needed to hear before she’s locking their lips together in an earthshattering kiss. lips dancing, tongues teasing, passionately whispering both French and English love confessions. right in the middle of Paris they fall in love all over again.

he has his French girl once more, and Grayson has his. and now that they’ve got them, they are never losing them again.

when they pull away they are laughing, not even believing their luck.

“I actually uh...came here to tell you something else too,” he chuckles, wiping stray tears from under her eyes. he’s pretty choked up himself. he knows when a fan posts a picture it will blow up and spread like wildfire to every social media platform their is, and he knows his mom will see it, and he knows she would be cheering. so he goes on to finish what he started.

“I was immersed in your life when we came here, and in turn fell in love with you...why don’ t you come and see what my world has to offer hmm?” it’s worth a shot.

“come to LA you mean?” she’d only been to the states once when she was eleven. it was a family trip to New York - her mom had always been obsessed.

“yeah I mean...I want you. and you want me. and I think if we actually give this a shot it will work, we could be really happy together. I mean I already am happy with you, but I want you in my arms more often than every couple of months,” he plants a soft peck of a kiss on her pouted lips, eyelashes fluttering against her heated cheekbones. yeah their worlds would change with any decision they make, but they've already been changed since the day they met. and neither of them want to ever feel that empty again. if she agrees to go to LA and see what her life could be, she would thank herself later. she knows by that same fuzzy feeling she gets in her toes when something amazing is about to happen.

it’s not like she’s moving there right now, simply testing the waters and making her own decision on where life could take her and if she wants to take the safe path, or follow the path less traveled. she’s just a small town French girl, how much happiness could she get? this doesn’t happen to girls like her.

“give it a try for me?” he just keeps on rubbing her cheeks, the light of the ferris wheel gleaming in her wide eyes staring back at him. he’s hers. she knows it in her bones and with her whole body that whether she’s here or there - he’s hers. everything else can follow later. why not take the leap? make the jump?

she only needs a moment more to think before she’s pulling at his neck for another kiss, making a mental note to thank herself years later for making another reckless decision to follow this jersey boy and his twin back to their home in LA. yeah it’s not great to make rash decisions...but when has it gone wrong for them yet?

“yes, let’s do it. I want to know what made you who you are,” and she means it, she wants to know what makes him tick. she wants to know how he is so polite. how he handles all the bullshit that’s thrown at him. how he thrives. she wants to know how he’s so bright. so full of sunlight and hope at all times. she wants to know how her man came to be. she doesn't give a fuck if she has to go to Egypt to find out, she’ll follow him.

“I was hoping you’d say that because Grayson is asking Adélaïde and it would be kind of weird if you said no and she said yes just saying,” he laughs, breathing out a sigh of relief when he sees Grayson and Adelaide walking towards them on the sidewalk with matching grins, Grayson throwing a thumbs up in his direction. she turns to see the gesture and Adélaïde mouth “oh my God” at her, dreamily smiling at Grayson’s side profile.

Chloé doesn’t give herself the time to be nervous, she doesn’t give herself the chance to think about what she’s going to pack, or the excited screaming fest she’ll surely have with Adélaïde later, she doesn’t give herself a chance to be nervous about the plain, or telling her mother even if she’s moved out on her own, she doesn't think about what she’s going to tell her job, she doesn't think about anything but those beautiful brown eyes looking at her soft and delicate. she doesn't think about anything but her jersey boy that came back for her. so she rests a finger on his lips, hushing him from trying to convince her or make himself nervous.

she plans to live in the moment like they had before, make the most of their time in Paris before he sweeps her off to start their lives and change her world for the better forever. she plans to take him back to that hotel room and finish what they started. she plans to rest her lips on every surface of his body simply because she can. she plans to keep his heart right here with her, where it belongs - whether it’s in LA or France. as long as they have each other who the fuck cares? she can hear her mother’s voice in her head, the saying she’s told her since she was just a little girl; tenter sa chance.

she looks up at him with a sly smirk, ghosting her lips against his, licking at his bottom lip lighting only to feel him grin.

“tu pourrais te taire et m’embrasser?”

… … …

part 3?

#asks #e!concepts #jersey boy ethan #ethan!concepts #flufffffff

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vannahfanfics · 5 years ago

Note

Request: GrayLu; END markings spreading to Lucy's heart, causing it to give out on her and Gray must revive her.

Here you go, Anon! Sorry it took a hot minute, but I hope you enjoy it!

Life in Every Breath

Alternatum to Heartbeat

Gray’s expression was stony and serious as he leaned over Lucy’s shoulder to stare down at the scratched, frayed tome that currently rested on her lap- the book of E.N.D. From his limited understanding, it was unequivocally linked to Natsu’s being; thankfully, Lucy had stopped him from destroying the book and thus snuffing out the dragon-slayer’s life. The bastard was annoying as all hell sometimes, but he shuddered to think that he could have just erased his existence like that due to some hasty actions. He watched as Lucy’s milky-white hand brushed over its uneven, rune-carved surface, the hand that was marred by scrapes and abrasions from their hard-fought war… the war that still had yet to end.

“I’m going to open it now,” Lucy breathed. They had decided to do so, because whatever was contained within could potentially save Natsu and defeat Zeref once and for all. He glanced over to see Lucy’s expression set in that determined grimace of hers, which caused him to smirk. Once Lucy got down to business, nothing could stop her. With a quick flick of her hand, she flipped the book open. For a second, it seemed like the world took a deep breath; the wind died down and nothing moved; everything just hung in limbo. Once the second passed, though, the world released a silent shriek. Light exploded from the book, along with a fierce wind that send Gray’s tousled locks to flipping. One of Lucy’s pigtails whipped up to slap him across the forehead, and he batted it away just in time to see the inked characters in the book actually moving. As if carried by the wind like leaves dancing across concrete, they swirled upwards before spreading out in constantly moving, interlocking chains of words.

“What are they?” he whispered and looked down at her. Her face was turned upwards, her brown eyes scanning the streaming letters to try and make sense of them; cast in the ethereal glow pouring from the volume, Gray thought briefly that she looked like an angel, sent from Heaven to wage war on Earth against the forces of evil. It was an ironically accurate metaphor.

“They’re all… about Natsu…” she frowned in response. Her eyebrows narrowed into acute arcs as she concentrated on the lettering. Suddenly, a concerned shock bloomed in her face, but before Gray could ask why, the world heaved in a savage earthquake. The light and words vanished as the book was flung from Lucy’s lap and shut in mid-air; Gray and Lucy soon followed. On instinct, he grabbed ahold of her and turned his body such to cushion her fall. He gritted his teeth as his bare back struck the rough cobblestone of the street, but aside from a few scrapes and bruises, he would escape unharmed. Lucy remained cushioned in the muscles of his arms and chest. Once the shaking stopped, she looked up, blinking.

“What was that?” complained Happy, who had ended up sprawled out on his belly next to him.

“It came from the guild. No doubt it’s Natsu,” Gray surmised. He loosened his grip on the Celestial Wizard as she sat up, holding her head as she recovered from the severe jostle. She then gasped and crawled off of him to scramble over to the Book of E.N.D., once more flipping it open to spill the script of Natsu into the air. Gray sat up slowly, his muscles stiff from the previous battles and the latest jarring, and incidentally glanced up at the words. He was alarmed to find that random characters were begin to pop out of existence. “Lucy, what’s happening?!” he demanded, startled.

“Natsu is injured, very badly!” Panic struck Gray’s heart like an ice spear of his own making. If Natsu was mortally wounded, they stood no chance against Zeref, period… And his friend could die. He crawled on his hands and knees over to Lucy just as she whipped out a magic pen and sat up on her knees, poised like a conductor ready to direct a symphony. “If I rewrite the missing characters, I think I can save him!” Gray didn’t even bother asking if she had memorized them, because he knew she did. He sat down beside her, watching as she began to hastily scrawl the magic characters back into place. He then clenched his teeth and looked down at his hands as he balled them into fists. I can’t do anything…

He jerked up as he heard Lucy scream in pain. Her back was arched into a sharp curved and her eyes wide as they stared unseeing up at the swirling mass of text; her hand, still clutching the magic pen, was dyed a bright, burning red with snake-like tendrils slithering up her arm.

“Lucy!” he gasped as she groaned in agony. Her entire body was quaking more than the earth had been a few minutes ago. When he put a hand on the small of her back to steady her, she recoiled with a hiss, though there were no signs that the dark magic had invaded there.

“My body… It’s burning!” came the hoarse whisper. Her face scrunched up in pain and she fell to the side, collapsing against Gray. As their skin met, he could feel the sweat that had already coated her paling body.

“It must be a rebound! Natsu’s demon magic is trying to overtake her body…” Happy cried as he nervously fluttered around the panting Celestial Wizard. Gray held her tenderly, knowing that his touch was sending shockwaves of pain through her feeble body, and pulled a few sweat-slicked strands of blonde hair through her face. Just as he was about to take the magic pen from her, she gripped tightly onto Gray’s shoulder and sat herself up.

“Lucy! Don’t overexert yourself!”

“I can do this,” she responded. The strength had returned a little to her voice, but it was still very obviously strained. “I just have to finish re-writing this section, and I think I can change Natsu’s fate.” She swallowed before raising her arm again, and her hand began to twirl about as she once more began scribing with the magic pen. Gray watched her with a mixture of concern and pride. Lucy’s strength never ceased to amaze him; it was different than the strength of those like himself and Erza and Natsu… A quiet, unassuming one, but a strength nonetheless, one that blazed when their own strengths failed… one that enable Lucy to do things they could never dream of doing. A faint smile ghosted his lips. Well, there’s something I can do for her at least. He conjured up a small sphere of swirling wind around them to cool the air and hopefully stave of the burning heat that was poisoning her body. In a matter of seconds, she relaxed, a look of mild peace pervading her features. “Thanks,” she said, tossing him a gentle smile.

“You got it. Now let’s save our idiot.”

They sat in silence as Lucy continuously reworked the magical text. Gray watched in discomfort as the curse crawled further and further up her arm, its thin tendrils branching up over her chest to seemingly entangle her heart. Gray knew that he could draw out the magic with his demon-slaying arts, but it bothered him because he knew that it was excruciatingly painful. Even with Gray’s maelstrom of cooling air, Lucy was still sweating profusely and drawing shallow, labored breaths. Her expression grew increasingly more exhausted until it seemed that she was struggling to keep her eyes open. Finally, when he thought that she couldn’t take any more, she slumped over with an agonized groan and dropped the pen.

“I did it… It’s done…” she wheezed. The letters, now completed, spiraled back down into the book and it flipped shut of its own accord. Lucy took a moment to catch her breath, doubled over with her hand clutching at the area over her heart, before she weakly looked up towards the book. “It’s disappearing!”

“Does that mean it didn’t work?! Is Natsu-?” He didn’t finish the thought. Happy and Lucy both began to cry at the implications.

“I don’t know…” she admitted with a frightened sniffle. “I did all I could… Now we just have to wait and see…” With shaky arms, she pushed herself back up, and Gray rushed in to help her back into a sitting position. Her head flopped back against his shoulder, her sweaty locks streaking his skin in the salty liquid. He didn’t care, though. Once more, he swept hair from her face and smiled softly down at her.

“You did great, Lucy.” She returned the sentiment with a serene, tired smile just as the book vanished. He only took his eyes off her for a second to watch the last bits of light from the tome twinkle out of existence… and that second was all it took for it all to go absolutely, horribly wrong.

A strained gurgling noise left Lucy’s throat. When his gaze shot back to her, both her hands were pressed against her chest over her heart, and her brown eyes were wide, wider even than the moment the dark magic gripped her body upon attempting to write in the Book of E.N.D. “Lucy?!” he cried and shook her violently. Her body limply jostled at his touch, like she was lifeless, her arms dropping to her sides. Happy’s breath caught in his throat as Gray began to mutter her name under his breath, his voice gradually rising in pitch as she did not respond. He laid her down on her back, unsettled by the lifeless gloss in her unblinking eyes, and he ripped the bandages off his right arm. The demon-slayer magic blazed up his skin like black ink flooding paper, stretching up to his eye before becoming complete. He gripped Lucy’s wrist and held it up. Her hand just flopped lifelessly in the air. “Hold on, Lucy, this’ll fix you!” he whispered before forcibly drawing the magic out of her. The blood red stain on her skin receded as his demon-slayer magic gobbled it up eagerly like a monster devouring prey. However, even with the last dregs of the vile magic drained from her system, Lucy did not wake. She just laid there… Like she was dead.

As the thought his mind, Gray gasped and immediately pressed his ear to where her heart was. Instead of the steady beat of the organ drum, he heard nothing, just deafening, terrifying silence.

“No, no, no, no, no!” he cried as he shot back up and flipped his leg over her to straddle her waist. All measures of propriety and implications were aside, replaced by the cold rush of sheer panic. He leaned over and began frantically compressing her chest, trying to get her heart to start once more. “Come on, Lucy, you can’t die on me now!” he shouted at her. Happy was standing above her head crying pitifully, which was bouncing up and down a little as he pushed hard into her sternum, over and over and over. Gray paused for a moment to lean over and grab her face, pushing her lips apart before covering them with his own and exhaling deep into her mouth. He then flew up and began pumping her chest again. “Come on, Lucy!” he grunted, already beginning to sweat with exertion. How long had it been? Thirty seconds? A minute? He knew she couldn’t survive long without getting her heart going again.

“Come on! Come on! Come on! COME ON!” he screamed at her as there was no response. He wasn’t sure when he began to cry, but very soon he was aware of the painful stinging in his eyes and the wetness rolling over his cheeks. “Don’t die. Please, don’t die,” he begged her and again leaned over to breathe into her mouth. Instead of getting up to start compressions again, he lingered against her lips for a moment, near his breaking point. “I love you, Lucy, please don’t leave me!”

He was an idiot. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner? Of course he loved her. It was so obvious, in the way his heart pounded when he saw her, in the flutter in his chest when she smiled, in the way he thought her voice was pure music. He loved her, and now she was gone, and he would never have the chance to tell her. With a broken sob, he forced himself to sit back up and began laboriously attempting to resuscitate her though it was agonizingly painful to do so. Every breath he drew stung his heaving lungs. Every push made his muscles scream in protest. Yet he kept on, in the feeble hope that it would work. He repeated her name like a mantra, a chant that might instill life in her. His strength began to fail and he half-leaned, half-flopped over to give her one final breath.

Suddenly, she heaved under him, and he felt her mouth drawing in a deep, desperate breath. Her back arched as she began coughing and moaning in pain, but Gray was beyond stupidly relieved to notice. As he sat back up, he held his arms around her in a tight hug and pulled her up with him and buried his face into her golden hair as he began to sob quietly.

“Lucy… Lucy…” It was hard to get her name out with how intensely his voice was breaking. His body thunderously quaked, still facing the aftereffects of the fear that had gripped him only a few seconds ago. Lucy’s hands weakly slipped up his back up to his shoulder blades.

“G-Gray…” Almost as if to reassure himself, he put his hand on her neck. Sure enough, he could feel her thudding pulse in her carotid artery. “Gray… I’m okay… I’m okay…” she whispered in his ear. He could tell just by the thickness in her voice that she was crying too. He pulled back, his sobs transitioning into relieved laughter. Sure enough, there were glittering tears streaming down her cheeks. She was giving him that soft, sweet smile that made his heart melt. He swept a fingertip down her cheek, then traced her jawline, before his thumb gently swept across her lip. She parted them slightly, as if giving him permission.

And Gray sure as hell took it.

His hand snapped to the back of her head to jerk her forward. His lips smashed against hers in a passionate, desperate, sloppy kiss; if Lucy hadn’t been short of breath already, he sure as hell would’ve swept it away. She fell against him, and he could feel her chest moving against his as she fought for breath, so caught up in the intense kiss. One of her hands snaked up to the back of his neck to tangle her fingers into his messy strands of dark hair, while Gray’s migrated to her waist, fixing her in place as he pushed the kiss deeper. He drank her in, all her beautiful essence, and nearly got drunk off of it. Though he could have spent all day kissing her, the lack of oxygen began to burn his lungs, and he broke off the kiss, leaving them both panting hard. He only pulled back a few centimeters to gaze intently in her glittering brown eyes.

“I love you, Lucy,” he murmured, again caressing her face. He felt the heat appear in her skin as she blushed.

“I-I love you too, Gray.”

“Great, now that that’s established, can you two stop making out?”

“NATSU?!” The two of them screeched in unison and whipped around. Sure enough, the pink-haired fire wizard was standing there a few feet away, beat within an inch of his life and very much alive. He was glowering at them, apparently very uncomfortable at their open display of affection. Happy was clinging to his best friend’s leg nuzzling him tenderly. Identical blushed painted Gray and Lucy’s cheeks as the romantic mood was immediately murdered by Natsu’s arrival. Gray climbed of Lucy and stood, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. When he did, he stubbornly held her hand when she tried to pull it back. She blushed further, but made no move to resist further.

“Glad you’re alive.”

“Thanks, you too, asshole,” Natsu sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He flashed Gray a cocky grin. “Now that this is a thing, you know I’m obligated to tell you to take care of her or I’ll kick your ass, right?” Lucy began to admonish him for his rudeness, but Gray just grinned in return.

“’Course. Can we finish the ass-kicking at hand, first, though?” Natsu gave a big sigh and put his hand behind his head, toeing the cobblestone street.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get goin’- and I better not catch you two sneaking off,” he huffed with a playful smirk. Lucy went red to her ears and began yelling at him for his indecency, while Gray just smiled and turned to press a kiss into her hair. She instantly deflated into a gushy mess. Natsu cackled like a demon and whirled around to begin marching off toward the battleground.

“Hey, Lucy?”

“Hmm?”

“I meant that, y’know. I’ll take care of you,” he told her with a confident grin. She smiled happily back in response and nodded.

“I know- and I’ve got your back, too!” she grinned while holding up her fist. That was his Lucy, strong as ever. He chuckled and he intertwined their fingers before pulling her along in Natsu’s direction.

“I know. Now let’s finish what we started, eh?”

He tugged her along after the dragon-slayer, and for a brief second, swept his thumb up to her wrist to once again check her pulse. There is was, strong and steady. Gray would make sure that it would stay that way, because Lucy’s heart belonged to him now, and he wanted it to beat for him forever.

Just like his would for her.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to perusemy Tableof Contents!

#fairy tail #graylu #grayxlucy #lucyxgray #gray fullbuster #lucy heartfilia #book of end #book of e.n.d.#romance #drama #fluff #cutesy #fanfiction #fanfics #fanfic #oneshot #oneshots #oneshot collection

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ultravioletproxy · 5 years ago

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[Sona] Hine Cross (Proxy OC)

I've finally done it. I finally finished an actual sona reference up as well as finally completing a updated digital reference of HINE! I'm so very pleased with this and how my art has progress since his original reference, all those years ago... I actually was able to get up the energy to go fully in depth with his information and soon I'll get to his backstory comic going.

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Personality/ Mental State:

Basic summary; Hine is a VERY complex character. He has many layers to his personality which I'll try my best to explain. He is a quiet person with a lot on his mind, constantly bombarded with various thoughts which makes it hard for him to keep track of all that's going on around him. Hine "Zones/ Spaces Out" occasionally and does not realize that you're talking to him, he might even not respond to you in the middle of a conversation. All of these things may come off as rude; but he really doesn't mean to be. Later on in his timeline/ as he grows up, Hine becomes much more of an unstable person, laughing a little too loudly at things (and volume control in general), walking off in the middle of conversations, and tends to get a bit unhinged...

Hine has several mental disorders that can effect his personality:

⊗-Autism: Doesn't pick up on social cues, and it takes him a while to think of a response when in a conversion, in turn he pauses and stutters. With autism comes anxiety, if in a high strung social environment or decision, Hine may have a break down (Sitting down and grabbing his shoulders tightly), He does not let people see him break down, he will go to a private area to try and cool down before coming out into view and acting perfectly fine. This luckily, doesn't happen often as he's trying to cope with his social anxiety. During a conversation Hine may accidentally say something that he doesn't mean, like a mess up of words(Saying something unintentionally mean as he just didn't think how it would sound when spoken or combining two words together.)

⊗-Compulsive liar: He doesn't ever mean to lie, a lot of the times he feels as though a lie is safer than telling the truth and before he even knows what he's done, the person has accepted the lie as truth and he's too afraid to tell them that his response was false. This stemmed from abuse during his life at the orphanage. He currently is trying hard to pull away from this.

⊗-Minorly a Paranoid Schizophrenic: Sometime this disorder makes him feels like everything and everyone has an ulterior motive, even though the thought is completely irrational. Hine mentally beats himself up for having these kinds of thoughts as he feels like he's betraying his loved ones/ friends. The thoughts themselves tend to be of a violently disgusting nature as they try to convince him that everyone is lying. He rarely witnesses hallucinations, mostly just little shadowy things in his peripheral vision.

⊗-Hypochondriac: Do to being mixed with a Slender, and his fear of dying, he constantly feels like his body will just give out on him, or that any sickness no matter how minor will end up killing him in one way or another, he's very paranoid of random aches and pain, irrationally telling himself to accept the fact that he's just going to die.

⊗-Sociopathic Tendencies: Hine has a hard time grasping that other people are just like him and have emotions, thoughts, and a consciousness. He tries quite hard to convince himself that other people are essentially sentient like him.

⊗-Unintentionally Manipulative: When living in the orphanage Hine was treated poorly due to his lack of social abilities and therefore was mostly ignored by the caretakers and fellow children. He desperately tried to figure out ways in order to be able to get a break from the constant chores and duties that he was given since he would not participate in being social with the others. He(not exactly intentionally) developed ways to read people in order to get what he wanted, again, not in a particularly malicious manner. More of just a way of survival.

Habits/ Quirks, Likes, and Dislikes:

⊗-Quirks/ Habits: Hine has quite a few funny little habits. One being collecting, he just adores collecting various things from silverware, to plushies, to seashells, really anything he finds the least bit intriguing and holding sentimental value. He is a little bit of a pack-rat you could say. He also has a bit of a compulsion to essentially "preen" or "groom" himself. For instance; cleaning under his nails, picking fuzz off a shirt, or even idly pulling hairs. He also has a lot of trouble finishing hot drinks, particularly coffee as he tends to forget about them, they get cold, and then he's too lazy to heat them up. Hine is mostly nocturnal as bright lights make him disorientated. Another not so good habit include Stress Smoking developed from watching a certain Slender and a friend smoke and seeing how it relaxed them. He occasionally delves into cannabis (Once Mr.KittyKitty comes around) due to the many medical benefits it has, such as anxiety relief, being more talkative, painkillers, motivation, or to calm him down.

⊗-Likes: He loves long walks alone in nature, particularly next to streams/ rivers either in silence or with music. He loves listening to the wind through the pines, the birds chirping, the sound of rain hitting the underbrush, and classical music. He loves pickled foods/ the taste of vinegar, as well as eating, and cooking in general. He tends to be rather indecisive about his favorite foods as he likes way too many, although salt and vinegar chips, popcorn, pomegranates, and cherries are a few of his favorites. His favorite drinks are Earl Grey Tea and Shirley Temples. Animals he adores are Bears, Raccoons, Ferrets, Ravens, Barn Owls, Coral Snakes, and Cats. He absolutely loves to draw, he makes his own characters and story lines, he also delves into other artistic feats such as crafting, painting with water colors, and sewing. A good book/ movie in the supernatural or horror genre will keep him content for hours. He loves dark humor, and coming up with ridiculous jokes(Blaming that on L.J.), and has a penchant for spouting the most random of facts. He really loves to talk to others and tries his best to keep up with them even though he has a hard time figuring out a response a lot of the time. Lastly, he has a weird enjoyment for the smell of disinfectant chemicals and has a particularly strange fixation on tornadoes...

⊗-Dislikes: He very much dislikes crowded areas, physical interactions, cities, thunder/ loud noises. He's not too fond of overly cutsie things. He can't stand highly sweetened foods or drinks (Candy, Cakes, Chocolate); once in a while/ a craving is fine, but he'd much rather take a bite of fruit. He doesn't care for baking all that much except for making breads at which he's none too shabby at. He doesn't care for bright colors unless they're mixed with dark ones.

Relationships:

⊗-Significant Other: Is in a delightfully happy relationship with flannelRaptors's Character, Johnny.

⊗-Slenders: When he was young, Hine ran away from the orphanage, he found his way into the forest where lovely Splendorman welcomed him with open arms and tendrils. Soon after, Slenderman himself took interest in Hine and became some sort of a strange father figure to him. The other Slenders joined in with helping take care of Hine. Trender helped his practical artistic side, while Splendor helped him understand his emotions, social cues, and tame his wild mental health state, Slender was his stable rock, and Offender schooled him in street smarts and how to deal with the "real" world.

⊗-Other Creepies: As a quiet person, Hine mostly sticks to himself, however if the opportunity presents itself, he absolutely loves talking to and learning about other people's pasts, Likes, etc.

Basic Background Summary:

⊗-Past: When Hine was young his parents were murdered by a trusted family friend they’d met from the church they attended. This person in turn, kidnapped and tortured Hine for quite some time, until Hine was eventually freed. However, as a mentally scarred young boy, shipping him off to an orphanage didn't really bode too well and he eventually ran away to join the Slenders' care and eventually became a "Proxy" to Slenderman.

Basic Background Summary:

⊗-Appearance: Hine has many abilities as shown above, however there are a lot more details and catches than what's written on the reference sheet. As the acronym may explain, Hine does not have any eyes. In an accident in which Hine almost died, Slenderman gave Hine an essential blood transfusion. The Slender blood, being incredibly aggressive, took over a good chunk of Hine's DNA giving him not only Eyeless vision, but also tendrils, an extra set of blood vessels, and a whole new horrible form.

Slender Affected Abilities:

-Hine can still see, but he now has what is called "Slender Vision" which is a 360-degree sight range, meaning he can see in all directions at once, ultimately maddening when first getting used to it. This is one of the reasons why Hine is constantly distracted. The range of sight and focus can be altered however it is rather difficult to do so as he was not born with the ability. Most of the Slenders can see a good mile or so around them while Hine has a shorter, about 50 ft range. Hine, not used to his new vision, rarely turns his head to look at objects that he is focusing on, due to there not being a focal point of eyes, therefore he tends to come off even more blank and emotionless than he really is.

-Hine's tendrils are hidden beneath his skin in what are called "Ports". Hine has a total of eight "ports", 4 on each side of his back. The tendrils can painfully be pushed through his skin at will, ultimately piercing through his back. He's supposed to constantly leave them out so the holes can seal up around them (much like a piercing would), but to do that he would have to keep out of sight from all other non-slender beings, as him being half slender is a well-guarded secret. The tendrils can lengthen and split apart to form thinner smaller pieces due to their "braided nature". However, in the early stages all of Hine's slenderification, his abilities are all INCREDIBLY clumsy.

-Other attributes Hine’s gained include, but are not limited to: heightened versions of all the senses, Moderately increased strength and speed. A bit of an iron stomach (ex: can eat raw meat), and more advanced healing rates (the less severe the slower it heals).

-With all these benefits came quite a few negatives. For instance, until he gets used to it, Hine's depth perception and hand eye coordination is completely off. His two blood types sometimes mix and therefore cause him to become incredibly ill for short periods of times, his varying blood colors also result in a pale yellowish grey complexion. Hine’s body has an unnatural slimness to it; he experiences continuous, nonstop increase in height in addition to having disproportionately long and lengthened arms and legs.(He has to make his own custom clothing.) Due to these things Hine suffers from minor growing pains as well as occasional cravings for human meat/ flesh. (Inherited from the dietary nature of the Slenders)

I applaud you if you read this all! Here's a TLDR version of this massive piece:

Hine is a mentally and physically scarred orphan who grew up with all the Slenders as his family. He came close to death at some point, but Slenderman saved him by transfusing his own blood into Hine, resulting in a well-hidden secret. Hine got really cool abilities with a few pretty bad side effects and is now an official Slenderman Proxy.

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Artwork, Concepts & Character © to RoneOmbre

⊗-Terms of Service-⊗

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softforcal · 5 years ago

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OC Masterpost

Monte Carlo

Celeste (post) (fic)

-She’s a model

-Loves chicken and waffles

-a bubbly drunk

-She hates making decisions and would rather just go with the flow, even if it sends her over a waterfall

-a sweet soul but a bit messy

************

Something Like Love

Penelope (post) (fic)

-Penelope is smart and driven

-she’s a sugar baby but still wants to be self-sufficient

-a very graceful honey, good at listening, wants to learn

*****************

Band Baby

Claire (post) (fic)

-Claire is a recently graduated English student and poet

-She lives with Luke

-When she finds out she’s pregnant from an ex, she decides to keep the baby

-She’s a strong survivor, with a bit of an anxious streak

-She constantly questions herself and her self worth... but then she finds someone who proves to her how important she is to him :)

***************

Rapture

Beatrice Becker (post) (fic) (her tumblr aesthetic)

-Bea is a princess with a bratty side

-She’s used to luxury and getting what she wants

-she’s stubborn but has a big heart

-It can be hard for her to know what she wants sometimes, but once she does, she’ll go out and get it

**********

Ethereal

Harley (post) (fic)

-Harley is an ex stripper

-she’s a little lost right now but that’s okay

-she has a stage persona that’s very confident, but the real Harley is much more anxious and unsure about herself

-she underestimates herself a lot and has self worth issues

*****************

Dulcet

Bedelia Blue (post) (fic)

-She’s a certified Cosmetologist

-she’s had followers on youtube and insta for makeup tutorials since she was 18

-she has her own line of makeup

-she’s very honest and genuine and sweet and gentle, also just a tad anxious

*********

Tumultuous

Ren (post) (fic)

-Ren grew up with a rough life and she’s super strong and family oriented because of it

-She’s super open and honest and isn’t used to letting her feelings get the better of her

********

Opaque

Jasmine (post) (fic)

-She’s super chill, trying to figure herself out, cautious.

-She’s a model.

-Her name ‘Jasmine’ is the national flower of the Philippines.

-She’s half Filipina.

Grunge!Cal (post) (fic)

-lead singer for a grunge band.

-Usually does hookups but has always desired something more.

-He’s intense but chill at the same time.

-He’s a genuinely good guy.

Model!Luke (post) (fic)

-Doesn’t love modelling but it pays really well.

-Just wants love.

-He’s not great at making big decisions and putting himself out there.

**************

Trouvaille

Valentina Armani (post) (fic) (her tumblr aesthetic)

-soft, thoughtful, quiet, caring, kind of awkward.

-An opera singer.

-Is Italian and can speak Italian.

-likes plaid pants, belts, dusters, turtlenecks.

Artist!Harry (post) (fic)

-Moody, socially awkward, thoughtful, artsy.

-He can be sort of wild with the way he talks to people, a little socially weird.

-Super passionate about his work with a fine attention to detail.

-Not a relationship type, never thought he’d find love.

*******

Cromulent

Chlo Sterling (post) (fic)

-Driven, Intelligent, knows how to work the system.

-She’s a popstar and knows how to act in the lime light.

-Can be hard to get to know, has a lot of walls built to keep people out.

****

Floral

Tattooist!Calum (post) (fic)

-Quiet, driven, talented, respectful, guarded.

-he’s young and successful, runs his own shop, is known world wide.

-Hesitant about love, never wants to overstep.

Lily (post) (fic)

-Soft, artsy, quiet, anxious, bad ass.

-She’s equal parts soft/anxious and bad ass. with a super steady hand, she tattooed on herself to practice tattooing while in art school but when it comes to talking to others she’s super shy.

-She has a very grunge style with her blonde hair usually up in a bun with a scarf in it.

*****

Bro Code

Ostara Irwin (post) (fic)

-Sweet, responsible, funny, adorable.

-She knows her duties as a Princess and will do them but she won’t be happy about it.

-She goes on dates with Princes because she has to but she doesn’t think she’ll actually find someone she likes.

Prince!Calum (post) (fic)

-he’s quiet, respectful but has a bit of a hot head that gets him into trouble sometimes.

-Not a fan of the Prince life and the expectations.

******** Noise

Annabelle (post) (fic)

-strong, smart, stubborn, opinionated.

-psychology major

-A bit of a trouble maker, soft inside, never backs down.

***********

Gang AU

Puppy (post) (fic)

-strong, confident, realist, chill but set in her ways, loyal.

-Puppy is strong willed, she’s a working woman and she knows the harshness of the world and doesn’t let it bring her down.

-she is fiercely loyal to her family and if you betray her once, it’s going to take a while to get her to trust you again.

Birdie (post) (fic)

-soft, kind, sweet, naive, innocent.

-Birdie is a bit naive at times, she’s super sentimental about the little things (scrunchies, lollipops, ice cream etc...) but she really is the glue of her family, she’s always ready to forgive and play peacemaker.

-an English major with a thing for the classics (Jane Austen, Lord Byron, Shakespeare)

Dove (post) (fic)

-bad ass, cold, quiet, controlled.

-Dove was a street rat as a kid and went in and out of the foster care system, she ended up in a gang and was known for her ruthlessness, easily climbing the ranks and taking advantage of people underestimating her.

-she learned from a young age to put herself first, self preservation is important to her.

-she’s never really had a family and can be a bit weird when it comes to meaningful interactions with others.

Olivia (post) (fic)

-art baby, passionate, level headed.

-Olivia is an art major, she feels things passionately and falls in love easily, she likes looking at the fine details of things and can get obsessed with finding art in people.

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camilaelisalvarez · 5 years ago

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accessing file . . . CAMILA ELIS ÁLVAREZ

UNREDACTED CASE FILE NO. 479002-BXQ. records show that agent terra, given name CAMILA ELIS ÁLVAREZ, was last seen in madrid on december 18 2018. psych eval describes them as adaptable and vengeful but otherwise fit for service at the firebird agency. at twenty-three, they have been recruited as a junior agent for the past three years. associations include: bruised and bloody knuckles bandaged for secrecy , the misleading facade of amusement in neon lights and how the skies begin to turn grey at the edge of an impending storm. end of file. - ananju dorigo, cisfemale, she/her

CHILDHOOD

camila was born on an ordinary spring day in which the sun glared ay everything and everyone but the breeze provided enough cool air to stop anyone from going into complete panic mode from the heat

she was born to ricardo and paloma alvarez, her father was this successful businessman for a company in new york city and her mother was just his assistant

camila was conceived from an affair, her father was already married and as soon as her mother found out that she was pregnant, her father threatened her and forced her to quit her job and so she moved back to Brazil

she was raised by her mother and her grandmother in a small house in a the small town of Santa Cruz de Minas, as a kid she was always seemed level-headed and always strong-minded, she wouldn’t let anyone talk her down or bully her physically or mentally (but really she just put on a brave face, she was just as affected as the next person)

she constantly asked about her father but received no answers from her mother and her grandmother, this only fuelled her curiosity and she made a vow to her younger self that she would find her father and find some answers

YOUTH

camila never really excelled in academics, she was more street-smart than book-smart, her teachers always said that she had a lot of potential in the academic sector but she always concentrated on sport and art, she was more in touch and in harmony with her emotions and that was obvious in her art

she wanted to be an artist for the longest time, at night she would sneak out with some friends and graffiti some of the town walls with a profound message or a sentimental illustration

she was also really good at running, long-distance particularly, she won a lot of marathons, received lots of trophies and medals and it was something that came to her naturally but she kept working at it so she got better, her teachers even suggested it as a career but camila was set on becoming an artist

socially she was adored by her peers to some extent because she was a bit of a rebel, she always spoke out in class and interrupted lessons with a sarcastic yet rudimentary and only slightly offensive comment

ADULTHOOD

as soon as she turned eighteen she moved to new york, partly because she wanted to kickstart her career as an artist and she thought there would be more opportunities there but also because she really wanted to find her father and get to the bottom of her history

she finally found her father by the time she was 20, rocked up to his house, the door was opened by his wife, her father got super angry and completely brushed her off and also since her father is this crazy person who’s so obsessed with keeping up appearances and maintaining his reputation (for his business etc.) he sent out someone to ‘deal’ with camila and her family

she learnt the news of her mother’s death a week after the visit to her father’s home, she was told she died from influenza and a week after that, she got news that her grandmother had died from a heart attack

she moved back to Brazil for the funeral but then discovered that her mother and grandmother were actually poisoned, camila’s always been quite vengeful and her emotion always tends to get the better of her

so she trained really hard and got all the intel on her father, waiting and training till the right opportunity, before she could do anything though, an agent on another mission took notice of her and she was recruited

which brings us to the present day !! mila is 23 years old and she’s been a junior agent for three years and is working her butt off to be a field agent asap

PERSONALITY

she’s very ambitious, she really wants to be a field agent and is always complaining about how she’s ready etc. etc. and always trains super hard so she has like no social life, she’s always in the training room and she’s always focused on her missions which tends to cause in some relationships (both platonic and romantic) to be sacrificed

she’s loyal right down to her core, once she’s established that you are her best friend then she’ll right about give her own life for you BUT it takes a long time for her to reach the best friend stage with someone, she doesn’t open up easily and she often just has a facade of sarcasm and quick-witted comebacks but it doesn’t actually tell you anything about who she really is

she would probably be known to be seem super cold-hearted and distant from everyone but once you get to know her, she’s really thoughtful and a real nerd but she is quite guarded and doesn’t trust anyone easily

she tends to spend her free time training (duuhhhh!) but besides that she loves her movies so she’s probably out in the cinema (by herself) or in her house with a thousand blankets and netflix on the tv

sometimes, she takes the mission personally and it affects her performance, there’s always some bits of the mission that will remind her of her history and its just something that she won’t be able to forget so sometimes she gets too heated during missions and thats when she fails

RANDOM HEADCANONS

constantly have bandaged hands

always have bruised knees

can’t do anything with computers or technology

water bottle is always in her hands

speaks Portuguese when she’s angry

lowkey has nightmares but quite rare

she can speak : Portuguese, Spanish and English

WANTED CONNECTIONS

*note* all of these are just really brief, kinda default ideas, we definitely can hash out something much more specific !!

junior agent buddy / best friend: both started at the firebird agency at the same time and built a friendship through their trainings and missions and tasks etc.

senior agent mentor : someone that has taken her under their wing *note* she probably would have been very stubborn at the start and tried to do everything her way , this is also the agent who she would have to accompany during any missions

training partner : they have lots of friendly banter and get it out through faux-fighting each other in the training room

little sibling : someone who she sees as her little sibling and absolutely adores them

confidant : her rock, someone who she tells all her insecurities too and its one of those friendships where they just call each other up or meet at a 24/7 diner when they can’t sleep and its like they just pour their hearts out but then they pretend that nothing happened the next day

frenemies : someone she has lots of FRIENDLY banter with and is very competitive with this person

roommate : someone that she had to share a house with and they could hate each other and are only civil towards each other

hook up buddies : someone that she probably spends the night at his place to relieve some stress but they don’t know each other, its strictly friends with benefits but this could definitely develop into something more

drinking buddy : someone who convinces her to go out and try to have a social life through parties and stuff

study buddy : someone who helps her with more of the smart stuff, like intel and stuff cuz she’s kinda dumb

ex-boyfriend

unrequited crush

OOC

hey guys it’s N again, you know the drill !! like this to get something going between our characters !!!

#vhq.intro #i. go among the stars ; while i fall among the sand ╱ about

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chiseler · 5 years ago

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“A Slot Machine for the Solitaries”: On Joseph Cornell’s Films

In 1936, the artist and romantic urban scavenger Joseph Cornell discovered a warehouse in New Jersey that was selling off old film reels as scrap. Most buyers presumably intended to melt them down to recover the silver nitrate, but Cornell instead recovered and recycled the images. For a pittance he bought a complete print of a 1931 B movie called East of Borneo, starring Rose Hobart, cut it up and reassembled it as what may be the first collage film, Rose Hobart (1936).

In this modest, 19-minute experiment Cornell managed to say more than any number of critics and theorists about the essence of the cinematic experience; about how even bad actors can transfix, and why even tired, shoddy Hollywood programmers contain flickering spells of cinematic power. With a pair of scissors he neatly filleted the movie of its plot, leaving only a hallucinatory sequence of fragments. Rose Hobart sleeps, she wakes, she parts curtains, she enters rooms. Mostly, she gazes off screen—at what, we never know. In a dramatic film, her unchanging, hypnotized expression would surely result in a boring, unconvincing performance. But here, stripped of context, she is enigmatic and mesmerizing. She keeps appearing in different costumes, a masculine tailored safari suit one moment, the next a flimsy white evening gown through which you can see her ribs. Her thin frame, bony face and cropped hair give her an androgynous look; in the blurred and battered print, her luminosity bleeds into the air around her. She is isolated, constantly framed at the center of the screen, like a pinned moth with its translucent wings spread open. She seems to withhold some unknowable secret. Thus, a forgotten actress of mediocre looks and talents becomes a celluloid goddess, embodying that hieratic power of the gazed-upon and gazing woman over the camera and the audience.

Cornell interspersed the close-ups of Hobart with jungle scenes from East of Borneo and also unrelated footage of a solar eclipse. The astronomical event, with its visual echo of a camera lens opening and closing—a slow-motion enactment of the process that creates the illusion of moving pictures—becomes the mysterious heart of the movie, the subject of Hobart’s reveries and silent conversations.

When Cornell screened Rose Hobart at the Museum of Modern Art, projecting the film at a slow speed through a piece of blue glass and accompanying it with repetitive, rhythmic Brazilian music, it was chiefly met with perplexity. One audience member had a violent reaction, however—Salvador Dali erupted in jealous fury, knocking over the projector and hurling insults at Cornell. He announced despairingly that he had dreamed of making just such a film, and though he had never spoken of it, he felt as though Cornell had stolen his idea.

The shy and reserved Cornell was mortified by the incident, and avoided publicly screening his films again, though he put together private soirees for his friends, at which he showed favorite movies and his own experiments. He made other collage films, though none with the sophistication and coherence of Rose Hobart, crudely splicing together old footage of vaudeville performers, children’s parties, ethnographic and travel movies, science films. In his iconic boxes, Cornell assembled astronomical drawings, engravings of ballerinas, scraps of French books, Dutch clay pipes, marbles, painted wooden birds. But here the pieces follow one another in time, rather than forming a single image perceived at once. The sequences are connected in the mind, not in the eye. Time passes and the abraded images slip away, not preserved in the bright eternity of the shadowbox.

A man grips a chair in his teeth, with a girl sitting in it, and climbs a flight of stairs. A seal balances a ball on its nose while perched on a rolling barrel. The ghosts of tightrope dancers, trapeze artists and knife throwers perform their feats. Children waltz in party dresses, clown and bob for apples. Dutch women in clogs hang laundry on lines; young men in felt hats browse the bookstalls along the Seine. Amoebas ooze through the dark, glistening like galaxies; a caterpillar chews through a leaf. These images salvaged from the junk-heap, murky and silent, randomly strung together, whisper of penny arcades and nickelodeons, peepshows and lectures in dingy classrooms. These are the attics of cinema, the bargain basements, and Cornell the committed surrealist revealed rather than disguised the oddness and illegibility of lost and found images.

He kept the same dedication to chance and spontaneity in his original films, collaborations with cameramen (Rudy Burckhardt, Stan Brakhage) who did the actual shooting. Filmed in the streets and parks of New York, the films often follow solitary women as they wander through urban spaces, watching pigeons, studying the stone carvings on fountains, moving through the crowds in a melancholy, enchanted reverie. The women (Cornell cast young actresses and dancers of his acquaintance) are both stand-ins for the artist as urban observer, and embodiments of the kind of unattainable feminine beauty and grace that inspired so much of his art. The films are sentimental about stone angels and autumn leaves, but they also take in city life—shuffling bums, the neon sign of a Horn and Hardart automat, a male dwarf in an overcoat crossing Union Square, a cigarette between his fingers. The camera follows pigeons in their swooping flight, a scrum of little boys roughhousing, dead leaves scudding in circles on the pavement.

Cornell wanted the films to just happen—he disapproved when Rudy Burckhardt edited footage they had shot into a finished film, What Mozart Saw on Mulberry Street, because he thought Burckhardt had made it too tidy, polished and controlled. The Mulberry Street footage, which uses as a touchstone a bust of Mozart in a shop window, is beguiling in any form: a symphony of rain, umbrellas, black and white cats, dark-haired girls chewing gum and holding hands, little boys in plaid coats and caps with earflaps shooting at storefronts with bows and arrows, dolls and mannequins in shop windows, graffiti on scuffed grimy walls. “The city is a vast image machine,” Charles Simic wrote in his book about Cornell, “a slot machine for the solitaries.” Pictures spin and freeze, and the prizes come unexpectedly in silver floods.

by Imogen Sara Smith

#Imogen Sara Smith #The Chiseler #Joseph Cornell #Rose Hobart #Rudy Burkhardt #Stan Brakhage

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busyfish · 5 years ago

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i keep making this rambling nonsense post about the last few days’ musings but i delete it over and over.

so bullet points:

1. My drawing pen is dead

2. I slept for like 85% of Monday and like 65% of Sunday

3. Despite that I am feeling completely weak and incapable.

4. My health in general is declining but it’s really my own fault because

5. I keep forgetting to take my medication.

6. My birthday is in less than a week now and i could not be less enthused.

My existence is pretty lonely.

I seemingly have these extinction events with friends and i have to completely reboot the slimmest of social ties i have every so often.

Honestly it’s just like, the older i get the more and more alienated i feel from just about everything.

It’s difficult to navigate a world that isn’t just not meant with you in mind but at times it seems like people are actively working towards and advocating to rid society of people such as myself.

Another thing i’ve been sort of thinking about a lot lately is that as a youth i’ve been “othered” by just about everyone in any sort of space i can think of.

Even when people aren’t being out right mean or something (though i did hear a few “get back on the boat” and stuff growing up) it was always alienating to have people sort of immediately identify me as someone who was in their mind a “foreigner”.

You know how many times i’ve been asked where my people are from?

the funny part of that though is i used to be friends with these korean baptist kids who lived down the street from me.

and despite knowing the language and having cultural ties i got “oh which one of your parents isn’t korean”

though the times i’ve been to korea were actually incredibly swell i was there as a visitor and on top of that visibly disabled and was treated with an exaggerated amount of respect.

i like korea, it’s a nice place but my real longing is to go back to japan.

I’d not only like to return to visit but i’d eventually like to live and work there. But as i think about it, i’d again be just another foreigner.

I just feel like i am constantly going from place to place, friend circle to another being the odd one out, being a foreigner.

So why try?

(i’m not like giving up or anything but it’s a fleeting negative thought i do have to combat)

lastly, i did want to somehow do this without embarrassing anyone by like publicly calling them out but that’s what they get!

i am not really a sentimental person in a very traditional sense so i feel like i have in the past neglected to really express my appreciation and stuff for people because i don’t really outwardly and personally express my “emotions” often OR well.

But i did want to say thank you to @nitrozem @sarcasm-the-toad and @anodyne-kisses for being very consistently supportive of me and my art lately.

I appreciate everyone but i don’t know, actually, is it even appropriate to apologize for recognizing a few people specifically?

Anyway, you guys have been like kind of huge for me lately and i just wanted to say, thank you.

You guys are talented folks and i am happy to know you.

Anyway yeah, there’s the catharsis i was looking for.

I’m surprised i actually just put my head down and got this all out without being a total prat about it.

お休みなさい

#long post

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inevitably-johnlocked · 6 years ago

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hey steph. i’m going through a really tough time right now and i’m wondering if you have any fics that deal with grief? preferably none that are too long. thank you

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: hello! love your blog a bunch, and read a lot of your fic recs! i have to ask, do you have any sherlock fics on sherlock grieving, and john helping him out?? thanks so much and have a lovely day! H

Hi Nonnies!

First of all, BIG HUGS to you both, and especially to Nonny One, I’m sorry you’re having a rough go

GRIEF AND / OR MOURNING

Please see these lists for some additional Grief and Mourning:

Reverse Reichenbach

Reunion Fics and Other Post TRF Fics

The Empty Hearse-Related Fics

Letters from Sherlock After the Fall

John During the Hiatus

A Quiet Reunion by ShipAddict (K, 851 w. || Reunion, Angst, Sentiment) – Two years after Sherlock’s faked death, he enters 221B Baker St. to see the man who grieved for him.

Dismantle the Sun by Mount_Seleya (T, 965 w. || John Whump, 3G, Angst, Grief) – After a gunshot leaves John in critical condition, Sherlock holds vigil beside his hospital bed, slowly unravelling as the night progresses.

Yet What I Can, I Give Him by a_big_apple (G, 1,391 w || Fluff, Kisses) – This Christmas is much improved over the last–mostly because Sherlock isn’t dead–but it isn’t so simple for John to recover from his grief, and he finds comfort in likely and unlikely places.

Yorkshire Gold by Tammany Tiger (K, 1,467 w. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Open Ending, Grief) – Mycroft may not mourn Sherlock’s death-but even if he knows his brother lives, he’s not without his own grief. It ain’t easy being The British Government. But at least he’s got good help. Set between the Fall and the Return.

Spectrum of Mourning at the Funeral of a Solitary Man by TheBookshelfDweller (T, 1,956 w. || Angst, Grief, Friendship, First Person POV, Introspection) – Because each kind of love produces its own kind of grief, a long-ignored voice tells the story of five mourners of Sherlock Holmes, a man who in the end, was all but solitary.

Thief by KendylGirl (M, 2,430 w. || Rev. Reich., Heavy Angst, Regret, Grief / Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Implied Drug Use, Self-Flagellation) – John has been gone for four months, and Sherlock is not dealing well with it. When he finds a personal item of John’s, the situation reaches a crisis. Part 3 of When to Let Go

The Battersea Bridge by pininglock (M, 2,585 w. || MCD, Angst, Grief, Unhappy Ending) – A life without John Watson isn’t a life worth living.

You Paid Me Well In Memories by Ballykissangel - (K+, 3,149 w. || Heavy Angst, Hurt, Comfort, Grief) – It’s Sherlock’s birthday and John is not doing well. No matter how hard he’s tried to keep on living, he knows he is going to give up soon and he isn’t going to make it. Today is his last and only chance to visit Sherlock’s grave to talk and give him his gifts: His dog tags, a book full of notes and memories and the meaning of love as Sherlock watches on in grief.

Nothing Quite So Spectacular by Kerkerian-Horizon (K+, 5,762 w. || Drama, Hurt / Comfort, Post-TRF) – How John Watson grieves after Sherlock Holmes’ alleged suicide, and what happens when the detective returns home. Set post-Reichenbach, two parts.

The Tip Over Into The Inevitable by ivyblossom (T, 6,894 w. || Grief, Cuddles, Insomnia, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers) - When his father dies, Sherlock avoids sleeping. Then discovers he can’t sleep at all. John finds a way to help.

Survival Instinct by shirleyholmes (T, 7,162 w. || Post-TRF, First Kiss, Schmoop, Nightmares, Fluff & Angst, Grief, Idiots in Love) – After Sherlock’s “comeback” John starts obsessing with constantly making sure he’s alive (checking his heartbeat etc.)

Checkmate to a Castled King by LaSuen (T, 18,290 w. || Friendship, Hurt / Comfort, Sick Sherlock) - John dies. Or at least everyone thinks he does. (REVERSE-TRF, FAVE)

The Homecoming Series by sussexbound (M, 51,744 w. across 12 stories, WIP || Domestics, PTSD, Love Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling, Jealousy, Family Issues, Cuddling) – Sometimes home is all you need. After three years of horror, betrayals, and crushing loss, John and Sherlock find their way back home to one another, and together find new footing in a world that has changed forever.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w. || Pining, Love Confessions, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock POV, Eventual Happy Ending) – “For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face.” Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

The Quiet Man by ivyblossom (E, 157,369 w. || Post-TRF, John First POV, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Present Tense, Imaginary Sherlock) – “Do you just carry on talking when I’m away?”

Unkissed Series by 221b_hound (T to E, 184,168 w. across 46 works || Established Relationship, Ace Sherlock) – Sherlock returned from the dead a year ago. John returned to Baker Street six months ago. They’ve been in a couple since then. or at least, not NOT a couple. For two smart men, they sure can be dumb. Luckily, an art thief tries to drown Sherlock, Sherlock has a fever dream and things are about to change.

MARKED FOR LATER

A Home for Us by sussexbound (NR, 3,440 w. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,505 w. || Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes & Funerals, Angst, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression and Insecurity, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,822 w. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”

The Men Who Talked Between the Words by Odamaki (E, 463,024 w. || Parentlock, UST/URT, Pining Sherlock, Grieving John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Slow Burn/Build, Case Fic, First Kiss / Time, Implied/Referenced Suicide & Drug Use, Slow Burn, Sherlock Whump, Panic Attacks) – John expected to be a father some day; he expected to have the house, and the wife and the nice suburban job. Sherlock never expected to have children, in part because he never expected to make it past 30. As it turns out, you don’t get a choice. Crammed into Baker Street with a baby, John struggles with single-parenthood and his own fears, while Sherlock treads the fine line between doing too little and saying too much.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #grief fics #my fic recs #Anonymous

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blackphoenixalchemylab · 6 years ago

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Lilith’s Winter Travelogue: New Perfume Blends

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In winter of 2017, we used our savings, blew our collective airline miles, and maxed out our credit cards on a trip to Paris, Salzburg, and Berlin so that we could attend a Krampuslauf, visit the Christmas markets, and help Lilith practice her French in realtime. I’m pretty sure that we’ll be paying off that trip for the next decade, but it’s all worth it. We travel with our daughter Lilith as much as we can; we take her to conventions and business trips and trade shows, we take her on road trips and weekenders, we have taken her to as many cities, states, and countries as we could manage.

I want her to meet people who are not like her. I want her to hear voices that are not like her own. I want her to see history alive and vibrant surrounding her. I want her to see, hear, touch, and understand. I think she could stop here and do miracles. The following collection is a perfume scrapbook of these warm family memories, which we set aside to share during the coldest winter months. Lilith and Brian (our Doc Constantine!) have contributed scents and stories to this series. You can find Ted’s scrapbook of the trip there, too!

++ LILITH’S WINTER TRAVELOGUE

A BALMY 26 DEGREES

These three are far braver than I am. It was snowing buckets and the wind was whipping across the Fuschlsee, but these maniacs still went into the outdoor hot tub.

A wintry spa scent: green tea, aloe, eucalyptus, icy lemon, and French sage.

ARC DE TRIOMPHE CARROUSEL

Once the site of a guillotine that rolled the heads of thirty-five people during the Terror, now the site of a triumphal arch dedicated to Napoleon’s military victories of 1805.

Also: my family is ridiculous.

A sharpened blade, a pinch of snuff, a blast of gunpowder, and a pop of strawberry bubblegum.

AT THE KRAMPUSLAUF

I know I’ve talked about Lilith’s experiences with Krampus for years, so I hesitate to reiterate them here. She loves Krampus. Her love for Krampus easily equals her love for Santa, so in 2017, we took her to the Gnigl Krampuslauf in Salzburg (which we memorialized in our 12 Lashes From Krampus and Perchtenläufe series). She was enraptured. She was charmed by the wee little kid Krampuses, the Perchten, the switches, and the chains. She loved the snow and icicles, the roadside cider vendors and the bitterly cold air. I love this photo; it really seems to encapsulate her joy that night: the sparkle in her eyes and her bursts of laughter.

Ice, leather, and snow warmed by a steaming stein of children’s glühwein.

BEARS OF BERLIN

Even in utero, Lilith had a full head of hair. She looked like a Monchhichi when she was born, and from the moment I first saw her, I called her Bear. She’s my Baby Bear, Bunnybear, Bearington, Beanie Bear. I made up bear bedtime stories for her – we still tell each other bear jokes all the time. Every time I see a bear video or meme, I save it for her, my little Princess Bear.

While we were in Berlin, we made a point of taking photos with as many Buddy Bears as possible. They’re intended to symbolize peace, tolerance, and understanding between religions, nations, and cultures worldwide, and Lilith knows how important that is – especially now.

Sweet buttered rum, brown musk, wildflower honey, tonka bean, labdanum, and clove.

BEWARE: PICKPOCKETS!

Brian: “Lilith is always up for staging a hammy, fun photo. Here, I’ve found a Distracted American Child at Weihnachtsmarkt am Alexanderplatz and am very subtly and skillfully picking her pocket.”

Lilith: “We saw a sign on the ground that said Pickpockets! – and me and Unkie decided to pose like what the picture looked like. He let me pickpocket him for real after we took the picture and he let me keep the money.”

Neon pink grapefruit, lemon peel, petitgrain, and peppermint, all crunchy with sugar crystals.

BYE, AUSTRIA!

Lilith: “Nooooo! I don’t want to leave Salzburg!!!! I loved how it snowed, and I loved the food. I piled up on bread, mostly, but the bread was really good. And honeycomb. And bacon and sausage and eggs. I loved the outdoor hot tub thingymajigger. Being in a spa when it’s so cold outside is fun. I love the Christmas markets and I got unicorn and bat stuffy heat packs which is so cool.”

Brian: “I agree with Lilith’s sentiment on this. All the cities we visited were great, but Salzburg was the most charming. I loved the Christmas markets in Berlin, but Salzburg was… – quainter? I loved the gruff and distant replies we got to questions we posed to locals. I LOVED THE KRAMPUSLAUF. You can’t beat a Krampuslauf. Plus, I got a fancy hat. A legit fancy Tyrolean hat. I love that hat.”

This scent? Sachertorte.

C’EST ICI L’EMPIRE DE LA MORT

Our trip to the Catacombs was bittersweet. Lilith was touched by the beauty and poignancy of the experience, but also horrified by the stories of people getting lost underground.

Lilith surrounded by the ghosts of six million Parisians: damp black moss, grey sandalwood chips of bone, and winding sheets of balsam, ambergris, nagarmotha, and frankincense.

CATHEDRALE NOTRE-DAME DE PARIS

Lilith meets the Gargoyles of Paris: stone and ancient incense, beeswax and lavender smoke.

CREPE AUX FRAISES

Lilith’s first genuine Parisian crêpe!

Strawberries, whipped cream, confectioners sugar, vanilla bean, and orange zest.

DIE JUNGFRAU

Brian: “She’s my Mini Me.”

Lilith: “This was me and Unkie posing for a picture with a play thing going on in the background at the ice rink in Alexanderplatz. I didn’t understand it because it was all happening in German, but it was fun!! I love my Unkie so much. He’s like my older twin. We have the same birthday and we are both year of the Rat. Mom is a stinky ol’ Tiger. Anyway, I just love him so much.”

Virgo’s sacred lavender and mosses with thyme, chamomile, lemon balm, and fig.

ELLE EST HEUREUSE

It was pouring rain and bitterly cold, but this smile kept me warm.

Wrought iron lattice and sparkling amber lights.

FIRST MORNING IN PARIS

We were exhausted, hungry, and batty from travel, but Lilith made herself right at home. She’s a born traveler, and takes just about everything that happens on a trip in stride; she’s as comfortable in a hotel, hostel, or airport floor as she is at home. Just before dawn on our first morning in Paris, I tried to talk Lilith into putting on a coat and watching the sun rise with me, but she’s didn’t bite.

Burgundy oudh and crushed velvet musk with a misting of lavender.

GALERIE DES GLACES

Lilith in the Hall of Mirrors: marble and gilded bronze, Venetian mirrors and a drop of poison.

GORDIAN HAIRMOP

Brian: “It’s something we always do when we’re on a trip, ever since she was really little. She complains constantly about how Beth brushes her hair, and I honestly enjoy the challenge of brushing her mop. It’s like that knot Alexander had to undo, except on my niece’s head, and I don’t have the option to cut it. Plus, her hair looks really nice when it’s done right.”

Lilith: “Every time we’re on a trip together, Unkie brushes my hair for me. I hate brushing my hair. Also cuz mom says I don’t do it thoroughly and I miss parts in the middle. I think there are pictures of him brushing my hair in every city we’ve ever been together. He brushes my hair way better than mom does.”

A warm scent, mahogany-dark: spiced teakwood, coffee bean, bourbon vetiver, styrax, tobacco, and oakmoss.

HELLO, SALZBURG!

Inspired by the deep purple hues of the night we arrived in Austria: icy air, plum musk, and blackberry with a beam of amber light.

HOHENSALZBURG FORTRESS

An absolutely stunning view of the Baroque historical district from high atop the Festungsberg.

A shiver of iced chocolate and white amber.

LA BASILIQUE DU SACRE COEUR DE MONTMARTE

Perpetual adoration of the Blessed Sacrament has been continuing uninterrupted since 1885, and I wanted Lilith to see the monstrance where the Blessed Sacrament is held.

An incense for the Maid of Orléans: red rose beads, frankincense, lily of the valley, iris petals, red labdanum, and steel.

LA JOCONDE

There is nothing mysterious or enigmatic about my kiddo’s smile. Her joy, laughter, and good cheer radiate delight and are impossible to eclipse, even when she’s jetlagged and exhausted.

Bright Italian bergamot, pink grapefruit, sweet California sage, and glittery white musk.

LE CARROUSEL DE MONTMARTRE

Spinning merrily at the foot of Sacré-Cœur, this is one of twenty permanent carousels scattered around Paris. Just down the road, Lilith watched street hustlers play Three-Card Monte and ply the old gold ring scam.

A swirl of color against a rainy backdrop: golden amber and blackberry oudh with pineapple, tobacco absolute, cinnamon leaf, bay, sweet vetiver, and red apple pulp.

LILITH DE MILO

A lesser-known work of art in vibrant 21st century polychrome: vanilla cream, coconut, fossilized amber, and white sandalwood.

LILITH’S FIRST ICICLE

The only icicles we get at home happen when we have a fridge malfunction.

Plucked from the walls of Hohensalzburg Fortress: a glassy frozen snowdrop with whipped cream and glacial musk.

MOMMY’S LITTLE M16 AGENT

Lilith learning the art of spycraft at Deutsches Spionagemuseum.

A pre-teen superspy’s secret identity: white pear, apple pulp, golden musk, and fossilized amber.

MORNING AT FUSCHLEE

Salzburg is so goddamn beautiful.

Chilled white tea, freesia, and bergamot blanketing skeletal branches. Winter wind brushing across still waters.

NEPTUNBRUNNEN

Brian: “No one else would come out onto the rink. It was just Lilith and me skating, and Beth and Ted were trying to get pictures. I was trying to teach Lilith to skate while dodging penguins and other tourists. There’s a pretty funny photo of Lilith falling and me lunging to catch her, and the funny part is that it’s angled in a way that almost looks like I’m pushing her down. We skated together a ton that night, and she insisted that we go back again the next night.”

Lilith: “I’ve ice skated before when I was littler with a thingy, but this is the first time I really learned how to ice skate. Unkie helped me when I wasn’t using the penguin and he skated me with a lot and helped me learn how to do it. I fell down a lot, but that’s fine.”

Sugared chestnut and powidltascherl.

OU SONT LES JOUETS S’IL VOUS PLAIT

Lilith’s French teacher is a lovely, kind, radiant human being, and always so generous with her time. Before Lilith left for Paris, she helped Lilith put together a cheat sheet of phrases that Lil knew she’d need for the trip.

Où sont les jouets, s’il vous plaît? French vanilla, strawberries, and raspberries.

OVERLOOKING THE GARDEN

While we were at Versailles, there was a bomb threat on the premises, and we were unable to see the garden due to the evacuation. It’s difficult to convey how challenging and heartbreaking it has been to explain things like this to Lilith, from shooter drills at school to bomb threats in palaces. We live in difficult times.

A perfume of hope for a brighter tomorrow: sun-dappled amber, yesterday’s rain, and fresh-cut grass.

PANTHEON!

All right, so we only saw the Panthéon for a moment because Lilith wanted to hurry the hell up and get some crêpes, but I can’t with this smile. It’s THE BEST.

An incense for Sainte Geneviève, patroness of Paris: iris root, frankincense, and violet leaf.

PERSPECTIVE

Lilith’s guide at the Louvre was attempting to explain the difference in perspective between Medieval and Renaissance art by utilizing paintings of the Nativity and the Adoration of the Shepherds from both periods, and it fell a little flat when he assumed that she knew what the paintings depicted and she hadn’t a clue beyond the fact that they were paintings of a lady holding some baby.

Oops? Sorry, mom!

The scent of failing to pass on a Catholic education to the next generation: spilled sacramental wine, a splatter of vermillion paint, Bible leather, and a puzzled cherry chypre.

POTSDAMER PLATZ TOBOGGAN

Brian: “Now this shit was fun. When we arrived in Berlin, we stopped by the Potsdamer Platz market for a few minutes on our way to the hotel, but we didn’t stay for long because we were all exhausted. We check into the hotel, and I open the curtains in my room and Lilith and I see the lights of the market… and this ride, this alpine slide, that we must have walked right by in the dark. Lilith and I knew we had to do it first thing in the morning.”

Lilith: “There was a humongous slidey thing where you sit in a pool thingamajiggy and slide down it. And you have to carry your pool thing up the stairs. Ok, so DAD had to drag it back up the stairs for me. Anyway, I went on it a bunch with my Unkie and my dad, and mostly mom took photos. AS USUAL. This was one of my favorite things in Berlin!”

A tube of black rubber sliding wildly down a whoosh of white musk and white oudh.

SCHEITERHAUFEN VOM BOSKOP APFEL

Okay, this isn’t a photo of Lilith, but it IS a photo of a dessert I had on the first night in Salzburg. It was delicious and amazing and perfect, and it gets its own scent.

Baked apples in cinnamon cream, with a blueberry and raspberry garnish.

SNOW BEAR

Lilith put on my boots to run out into the snow this morning in her pajamas. Ich wünsche dir einen guten morgen!

Pink cotton candy snow, tuberose, plumeria, melon blossom, green tea, lavender, and a shiver of white musk.

SNOW OF THE GRAVESTONES AT PETERSFRIEDHOF

Lilith at Petersfriedhof, the oldest cemetery in Salzburg. As the bells of Stift Sankt Peter tolled around us, we wandered through the graves and the catacombs that date back to Late Antiquity.

Benedictine incense drifting on a frost-chilled December breeze.

SNOWFLAKE-SHAPED SNOWFLAKES

We’re such ridiculous LA rubes. We were standing outside our hotel laughing, oohing and ahhhing, and taking photos of snowflake-shaped snowflakes, when an Austrian fellow walks up to us and says, “Snow.” I told him that we’re from Los Angeles, so snow is super exotic to us.

He nodded and walked away.

The awe and wonder of a couple of Angelinos marveling at the snowy snowness of the snowflakiest of snowflakes: golden amber, California sage, white tea, and sunny Matilija poppy speckled with snow.

SQUELETTE ET FANTOME

My two favorite spectres, haunting the apartments of Paris: white musk, graceful lavender, blackcurrant, teakwood, and cacao.

SWING CAROUSEL

Brian: “I’m not afraid of heights, but I am reasonably afraid of landing, and I have what I feel is a legitimate concern about rickety old carnival rides. I kinda hate carnival rides, but I’ll do it for Lilith.”

Lilith: “Mom says this ride is called a Swing Carousel, but she also calls it a Barf Ride. She wouldn’t go on it, but my dad and my Unkie did. We went on it, and it’s pretty much where you’re sitting in a flying seat. When we were stopped, I couldn’t reach the ground with my feet. I love this ride. The swing is kinda like one of those baby things you have at the park, with the bar for the babies. It’s like those swings, but crazy and way up high. We ate cheesy hot dogs and got hot chocolate right next to the ride, too.”

Bright orange peel and osmanthus with polished cedar, rings of burnished amber, sweet incense, and gingerbread.

THE HOHENZOLLERN CRYPT

Beneath the Berlin Cathedral lies the Hohenzollern family crypt. It is the final resting place of many of those who shaped the history of Berlin, and is one of the most important dynastic burial sites in Europe, with roots reaching back through centuries.

The memory of an 18th-century perfume from the royal houses of the Holy Roman Empire drifting through marble-white walls: white bergamot, clementine, lime peel, grapefruit, blood orange, neroli, lavender, thyme, and tobacco.

THE UMBRELLA INCIDENT

Travel brings educational experiences that you just can’t predict. We visited the German Spy Museum in Berlin on a whim, and Lilith learned all about the history of espionage, data encryption, cryptography, and cypher machines, poisons and truth serums, and the strange and clever artifacts of Cold War spycraft. For me, the most interesting part was the Stasi’s collection of scent samples of German dissidents. For Lilith, the best part of the museum was dodging beams in the laserparcours, full Mission Impossible-style.

Here, Lilith is inspecting the poisons exhibit after watching a reel about the Bulgarian umbrella.

Leather shoe phones, the gleaming metal of a M-125-3 Fialka cipher machine, a femme fatale’s heady, dark perfume, and a breath of castor bean accord.

THUTMOSE’S NEFERTITI

While we were at the Ägyptisches Museum und Papyrussammlung, I desperately wanted to see the Nefertiti bust and share the moment with Lilith. There’s a story behind why the bust is so important to me, but that’s for another time. Suffice to say, I was overwhelmed with awe and joy, and a kind docent told me that we could take a photograph from the doorway as long as we didn’t use flash. This blurry mess is my best attempt!

Myrrh steeped with cardamom, cinnamon, and sweet wine, streaked with lines of labdanum kohl, and gilded with crushed ambrette seed, a copper oxide musk, and accords of lime spar and iron oxide.

TRAVEL BUDDIES

Brian: “Here, we’re en route to Frankfurt Flughafen and then off to Berlin. It’s always fun to travel with Lilith. We’ve been on a lot of trips together, going all the way back to her first trip out of LA when she was 1. We went to New Orleans that time. We’ve traveled for work and we’ve traveled for fun, and everything is a little bit more interesting when I’m with this kid.”

Lilith: “I remember being in a t-shirt in the freezing cold here because I took my jacket off in the airport because it was so hot. I love travelling with my Unkie.”

A reinvigorating travel survival oil containing essential oils of frankincense, lemon, eucalyptus, peppermint and rosemary. Leave it to the Virgos to have a practical oil here.

UBI BENE, IBI PATRIA

Lilith once told me that home is wherever her loved ones are. My sweet girl, may you always be surrounded by those who love and support you.

White musk and lavender, frankincense and amber incense, sugar cookies, rose petals, and Florida Water.

VIRGO SNOWBALL

Brian: “Our first morning in Salzburg, I wake up to the sound of something thudding against the window. I look outside, and Lilith is out in the snow throwing snowballs at our door. So, I put on all my snow gear – mittens, hat, boots, overcoat, the whole pile of stuff – as fast as I can, and I go outside and I realize this kid is in her just in her long johns and her mom’s snow boots, standing in the snow laughing. Beth comes out yelling for her to put her snow clothes on and to get out of Beth’s boots because she was getting snow in them. She gets changed, and we run around snowball fighting.

“There’s another story – an inside joke – that if my feet get cold wherever we are, we have to go home. But I’ll save that for another time.”

Lilith: “You can’t tell in the picture, but I’m in my jammies here under my coat and stuff. Me and Unkie had a snowball fight. We tried to build a snowman, but it very much failed. Unkie got me a lot with the snow, but I got him back!”

A scent the color of the sun rising over Lake Fuschl: a joyful lemon ginger cologne with a touch of bay leaf and white tea.

WEIHNACHTSMARKTE

The first Christmas market that we visited in Berlin was at Potsdamer Platz. We were completely wiped from the day of travel from Salzburg, but we were stubbornly determined to at least step into the market before collapsing into bed.

The scent of brightly frosted lebkuchen, warm mutzenmandeln, and chocolate-drizzled, marzipan filled schneeballen.

YULETIDE AT HEATHROW

Honestly, there are a lot of smells in any given airport that I probably shouldn’t translate into a perfume, but this particular scent was inspired by this radiant ribbon tree at Heathrow and the joyful little girl standing in front of it.

Sparks of snow-white musk dotted with shining bulbs of blackcurrant, plum, and lavender.

ZONKED IN PARIS

Even the most intrepid adventurers get sleepy.

Coffee, coffee, and more coffee for the grownups, and vanilla ice cream to en’sugar the kiddo out from her stupor.

#perfume #winter perfume

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