#the silversmith of it all has absolutely gone to my head

[clicksarts]

made a little silver fishy today!!

alongside, my process!!

[romance-and-revolution]

Romance and Revolution boyfriend headcanons: Team USA

George Washington

Yes, he’s the leader of an army and the OG Captain America, but secretly he’s a dork.

Seeing you nearby makes him grin like an idiot.  

Totally the kind of guy to bring you flowers just because he saw them and remembered they’re your favorite color.

Loves watching you play with his dogs.  Teach them tricks and he’s an absolute goner.

“Hamilton look she’s so smart and pretty.  Hamilton. Hamilton, you aren’t looking.”

Also really likes quiet moments with you.  Fighting a revolution is hard.  Sometimes he just wants to relax by the fire with his favorite girl curled up next to him.

He’s super clingy in private.  Gotta have his arm around you.  Like all the time.

Loves to listen to you talk about your day.  Tell him about non-army things, no matter how silly.  Like how you saw some neighborhood kids trying to catch frogs near the creek.  Or about the stray cat you pet earlier that day.  The little things remind him of what he’s fighting for.

Thomas Jefferson

Leaves notes written on bookmarks for you.

“I found this argument idiotic.  Please tell me you agree with me.”

“I thoroughly enjoyed this book.  I hope you like it too.  The heroine reminds me of you, in a way.”

“Don’t bother with Chapter 18, dear.  I hated it.”

Loves to tell you about his ideas, show you his inventions.  His face lights up like nothing else.

“No no, just sit here.  Look! It’s a chair, but with wheels!”

 Swivel chair races down the hall

Let him teach you about something.  A science, a language… he’s a smart boy and a patient teacher, and it means a lot to him that you’re interested in learning from him.

Tries to act extra-cool when you’re around.  It doesn’t always work.  Historically he broke a wrist while trying to jump a fence to impress a girl.  

Oh good god did Hamilton see me just now.  I hope not.

Loves simply existing in the same room as you.  Reading a book while you’re writing a letter.  Tinkering with something while you’re having a cup of tea.  Quiet co-existence.  

��Alexander Hamilton

King of PDA. Like seriously.  A kiss on the cheek in passing, hand-holding, you name it.

He loves parading you around to show you off.

“Take that, Jefferson, I got the cutest girl in the colonies and YOU didn’t!”

And the LOVE LETTERS.

SO MANY.

Man, the man is NONSTOP

May need to set some boundaries with this one before he starts tugging you into nearby closets for makeout sessions.

“What?  I can’t serve my country without kisses. You’re not donating to my cause?”

Will absolutely use horrible pickup lines on you just to make you laugh.

“You’re under arrest for stealing my heart, you minx.  I guess you can keep it, though.”

“Could I borrow a map?  I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

Will write a joke pamphlet “On the Important Subject of Why MC Is Far Better than Any other Woman in the Colonies”

Marquis de Lafayette

Whispers sweet nothings to you in French.  Just because he can.

Tbh they might not always be sweet nothings.  He may be just rattling off a grocery list.  But he knows you don’t understand French at all, and he also knows you turn red whenever he does it.  Major guilty pleasure.

Totally forgot that Jefferson speaks French once and was idly murmuring to you about what he’d like to do with you later… Thomas didn’t make eye contact with either of you for days afterwards.

Total prince charming.  Treats you like a princess.  Opens doors, pulls out chairs, doesn’t let you lift a finger to do anything.

The man’s super rich, so expect presents.  He would think it appalling if you DIDN’T have nice things.

“What?  Do you not like the dress?  I can have another one made in a different color, it’s no trouble.”

“It’s called an Ocelot.  Look at its little spots!  Don’t you just love it?  Look, I had a leash made for it so you can keep it close.  You should name it Bonbon.”

I never said the presents were all practical

10/10 will talk shit about people behind closed doors to make you laugh.  He’s been in French courts.  He knows ALL the details.

So. Many.  Pet names.  ‘mon cherie’ ‘mon tresor’ ‘mon chou’… you kind of wonder if he’s forgotten what your actual name is sometimes.

Paul Revere

Will swing by to visit whenever he has spare time.

Rivals Hamilton in PDA.  He loves to see how much you blush after he plants a loud kiss to your forehead or cheek. Often has an arm around your waist or a hand on your back when you’re together.

Wanna go out on the town?  Of course you do.  He knows all the best spots.

Wanna stay home instead?  He’ll have a buddy of his bring some food by his place so you two don’t have to go anywhere.

Colonial Grubhub.

As a silversmith, he sometimes has a little extra stuff lying around.

“Ok look, I know it’s not that great, I don’t do jewelry very much, but I wanted you to have it…”

Grins like an absolute fool when he sees you wearing something he made.

Would take you for rides on Sweetheart, but only once in a while.  His second-favorite girl is temperamental.

10/10 will use you as a model when making an engraving.  He thinks you’re the most gorgeous thing alive, so why not?

“It’s gonna be Venus rising from the waves.  You may need to undress for this one.”

“Paul, you’re making an engraving of Sybil Ludington.  Nice try.”

“…couldn’t hurt to undress tho.  For science.”

“PAUL.”

Nathan Hale

Oh this precious bean

You’ve gone from childhood friends to lovers, and he can’t imagine anyone better.

He’s just. So comfortable around you.

Will walk up behind you and drape himself over you to see what you’re working on.

Will also lift you up to help you get things off of tall shelves even if you don’t ask him to

Sometimes he’ll just plop his head down in your lap so you can play with that curly hair of his.

Because you’ve been friends for so long, though, he knows how to push your buttons.

He’ll tease you until you’re ready to throw something at him, then come in with apologies and big hugs.

He gives THE BEST hugs, btw.  Almost too tight, super warm, super comforting.

Sometimes he’ll just sit and hold out his arms and wait for you to come sit with him. Good luck trying to get up for the next hour or so!

Loves listening to you talk about anything and everything.

Whenever he has to go on a spy mission, he always tries to bring you back a little souvenir, whether it’s a cool-looking rock or a little wooden figurine or an Indian arrowhead.

He’s best friend and boyfriend rolled into one big loveable ball.

[fearfilledvirgil]

Ivity and Anx: part thirteen

Summary: Patton has an internal struggle. Since he is bent on not remidying it himself, Roman gives him a way to solve the problem.

Warnings: abandonment issues, crying, self-depreciating thoughts, lowkey guilt tripping, pondering on thoughts, song writing

Word Count: 2708

Paring: Slowburn Prinxiety

A/N: I love how vauge I can make my summarys, okay? But. This is it. This is where things get interesting. Sort of. Sorry for the long wait again! I now have chapters written and planned out, so there won’t be a long wait again. Enjoy! (Taglist under the cut)

masterlist

Taglist: @rileyfirstname @verymuchanidiot @definentlynotjustanotherlemon @silversmith-91 @kanejandkruge @sander-fander-sides @lovecrazyjennybear @the-incedible-sulk @hexdream18243 @crows-with-hats @monikastec @definenormalifyoucan @i-am-absolute-fandom-trash @applecannibal @cats-with-blogs @bubblycricket @gay-girls-do-it-better @bunnyartie @quietlypondering @elusivefalsehoods @hghrules @royallyanxious @quietwords-loudthoughts @squishynonbinarytwink @sortablue @illogical-anxieties @savingshae @a-fander-named-skittles @thelowlysatsuma @ughthatsprettygay @im-so-infinitesimal @certifiedtrashxx @karmels-stuff @littlelogicstillcounts 

The most practical next step of action was simple. Patton understood that. It was very easy to understand, but for the most idiotic reason, he couldn't. It wasn’t logical at all, but then again, logic was never his department. It was always Logan’s, and Logan was the problem. Not him himself, but he was heavily involved. The real culprit was time and education, although it was bad to blame anyone for the current situation. Patton liked to place blame, whether it be on himself or something else, because then who was right and who was wrong could be clear. In this situation, though, no one was at fault, so maybe that was the very problem.

Another sinking feeling in Patton’s chest made him open his mouth ajar, almost gasping for a breath. The sensation twisted itself into his gut, prompting Patton to screw his eyes shut, clench his jaw, and shake his hand. No, the problem wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t cut and dry. It was Patton, sitting criss cross on the floor of his bedroom in the dark with his phone in his hands, lit up, with his thumb hovering over Logan’s contact.

Patton felt a prick of pressure begin to build behind his eyes, the pressure traveling into his sinuses and making his nostrils flare. He didn’t want to cry, but here he was with his phone screen blurring. It was silly, really. Logan had only been gone for a few months or so, but the contact that the younger had with him tapered off into something nonexistent. The sinking feeling reared its ugly head once again, this time traveling farther into his throat instead of his stomach.

He really needed to get a grip on himself, considering that as he had this thought, his sleeved hand moved to his mouth to cover a sob. Patton was not good with change, nor was he good with people leaving him. The therapists called this “abandonment issues,” but Patton’s negative thoughts just told him he was insufferably clingy. That’s why he had let his and Logan’s texting routine die. He didn’t want to be a bother. Like Patton had thought before the waterworks started, this all could be stopped by sending a simple text. It was currently early morning where Logan was living in his dream collage, so it wouldn’t be a problem. Logan was such an early bird, always sending “Good morning, Patton. Was your sleeping satisfactory?” texts at 8:30 a.m. on the dot. The thought of those texts and the conversations sprung from them made a smile come to Patton’s face.

They would talk about how they slept after that: how many hours, if it was deep sleep or not, and if either had any dreams. Logan never had dreams, but he loved to hear about what crazy dreams Patton had during the night. The younger always loved those conversations, mostly because he loved to baffle the older. Patton thrived off of the confusion, having laugh attacks frequently. When he tried, Logan was absolutely hilarious. That wasn’t even mentioning how endering his fun facts were, nor was that statement saying how adorable Logan got when he was passionate about something. Patton let himself give a bittersweet smile between the heavy breathing that came with crying.

Patton didn’t know why he was reacting in such an extreme way. It wasn’t like he was dead, or like he didn’t have the power to text him at any moment. The problem, though, that was still very present was the fact that it was extremely hard for Patton to reach out first. He felt too clingy when he did that. It was the actual, real problem here. Not Logan, not time and education, not no one being at fault, and not even Patton fully. No, the problem was not talking to Logan anymore, and it was ripping a hole in Patton’s chest. It hurt the younger more than he could imagine because in the end, he knew Logan would leave eventually along with everyone else. Except Roman, apparently.

An incoming text shook Patton out of his mind spiraling down into the deepest, needist part of his mind. He blinked a few times, trying to get the remaining tears to get out of his eyes. At the same time, he furiously wiped the tears away with his sleeve. He sniffed, pulling down the notification window on his Android phone. He and Logan always had that in common, while their friends had iPhones.

Prince Roman: Padre? You good? You didn’t respond and I know how you worry

Pappy Padre Patton: I’m diddly darn dandy!!!!!

Prince Roman: You know I know that 5 exclamation points means a cry for help What is wrong, mi hermano más cercano?

Pappy Padre Patton: Logan and I haven’t talked in a few days

Patton was already feeling a bit lighter, now that he was starting to talk about his issue. Roman knew full well his “abandonment issues” that sprouted from being in the foster system, so he was probably going to pick up on his current conundrum fairly quickly. A small smile presented itself again on Patton’s lips when he did a quick translation of what Roman said in his head. My closest brother. His friend was such a sap, but the younger absolutely loved it.

Prince Roman: Text him!! If you don’t, I’ll give you a reason to text him

At that comment, Patton got very confused very quickly. What was Roman going to do, kick him out of his life? Do something so stupid that even Patton needed help on how to tell him he was wrong? There was so many possibilities and ways that the sentence Roman just sent could go, so Patton decided in about 0.001 seconds that it would be best to ask.

Pappy Padre Patton: What do you mean??

Prince Roman: I’ll write an angsty song and post it Without asking the label

Pappy Padre Patton: Roman!! That could get you into serious trouble! Think about the contract! You already follow it to a T. They are already waiting for a chance to reprimand you so no! Do not!

Prince Roman: I won’t if you talk to Logan

Roman was a dirty, dirty negotiator. He never tried to compromise with people he didn't know, just for the reason that he didn’t have leverage on them yet. He would find what his friend is most worried for him about, then use it to his advantage to get something he wanted. Luckily, the usually chivalrous boy did not use these powers for evil, but only used them to motivate people into doing something that they should be doing. Most of the time, that is.

Pappy Padre Patton: Fiiiiiiiiine You are a dirty negotiator

Prince Roman: You know you love me

Pappy Padre Patton: Te amo hermano always!

Patton smiled softly to himself, silently hoping that he didn’t mess up the translation of saying ‘i love you, brother.’

Prince Roman: That makes me happy Now make me happier by texting your Logan?

Pappy Padre Patton: Ok ok I def will!

And then he didn’t. Roman knew for a fact that his friend didn’t talk to Logan after their conversation, because there was a very specific series of events that happened after the two talk. It would start with Patton sended Roman many exclamation marks, then would turn into an explanation of the punctuation. Usually it would be something cute that Logan said, but sometimes it would be because Patton said something odd himself. Then the younger would go into the conversation in more detail, highlighting the cutest moments and becoming very flustered when Roman would ask questions about his feelings. It was routine, and Patton was not one to stray from routine since he started talking to Logan.

That was why as the sun started to get low in the sky, Roman got his guitar from it’s holder and his writing notebook from his desk. He splayed them out on the floor, sat down, thanked whatever was out there that his moms weren’t home, and began to brainstorm for a song. Brainstorm meant a very specific thing for Roman, as he was finding out. He was sit criss cross on the floor, his elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He would string his hands through his hair, rarely pulling on it when he got upset enough with this odd part of his creative process. He would collect his thoughts, focus on what he was feeling, and then go and do one of two things. The first would be to go through his notebook and see if there was any one liners or small sections of lyrics that he could expand on. If none of these felt correct to do in the moment, then he would ponder some more and write something completely from scratch. Latter options rarely happened.

Roman was feeling frustrated, to say the least. He wanted to talk to someone about anything, but he knew that Patton was off the grid for the moment. Anytime that boy faced a problem with texting someone, he turned off his phone and hid it under his many pillows. Patton was the soul person that he could talk to about these kinds of emotions anymore, considering that Anxiety had completely shut him out. Anxiety was honestly the main reasons for most of these emotions. Roman was sad that he was gone, mad at himself for all that he said to Virgil, and just generally frustrated with the whole situation. It would have been so much easier if he never signed up for the Sarrahs Project, but then he would have missed out on the amazing late night conversations that he and Anxiety had. Now that those were over, there was a empty spot in his chest that was waiting to be filled by confiding in Anx again.

It wasn’t fair that Roman had been lead astray to ridicule Virgil and make him feel like he had to be someone he wasn’t. Then again, Roman felt that way a lot of the time too. That’s why Anx and Ivity worked so well together, but it’s also why it hurt so much to not have each other around anymore. Roman wished that he could tell Virgil all of this, and just unload all of the truth onto him, but he understood that the other wanted distance. It was hard to put the pride that Roman always wore as Princey aside and let Virgil see that Ivity wasn’t a lie. That none of it ever was any kind of fabrication.

Roman breathed deeply, taking his hands out of his hair and looking down at his notebook. With all his feelings and emotions inside sorted, he could now try and sort through the one liners he already had written in his book. Rough, calloused fingers reached out for the leather notebook, ready to search to his heart’s content. He unbound the elastic holding the large and old book together, beginning to search through its yellowing pages for the lyric to make the next Princey single. Most of what he passed used too many masculine pronouns, but he passed those for a reason. Some name-dropped Virgil, and Anxiety, so those were also a line to stay away from. After pages upon pages of searching, Roman finally came to a halt.

“Can you be psychic for me? Please? That would make this easier on both of us.”

As soon as he saw the lyric, a million different words and emotions flooded through his head. Roman stared at the words for several more seconds, trying to process the sudden influx of ideas. It was rare that he had this many ideas at once, and even rarer so that they were all about mostly the same thing. Roman grabbed a water bottle that was sitting nearby, chugging half of the available liquid before grabbing his pencil. Upon further inspection on the page, there was also a few gems like “If you were in my mind, some scary things you would find (yes that rhymes score)” and “If only 2x or 4x (or something x).”

After Roman got all of the lyrics squared away, he put the book down flat in front of him. It was always easier to start out with lyrics, then add a chord progression, then work out the melody. At least, it was to Roman. Some would disagree, but they weren’t the ones writing songs all by themself getting into the Top 20 Hits. Momentary peddiness aside, Roman now had his ‘67 C-O-Classic Gibson guitar resting on his leg. He took a moment to run his left hand up and down the neck, then his right over the face of the body of the guitar. It was his grandfather’s guitar, the one he learned to play on by the same man before he died. The label tried to get him to play a different guitar, a newer one with “better sound,” but he couldn’t give up the sentimental value of this one. Especially with the emotion fueled lyrics of this one, Roman needed a guitar that he knew better than the back of his hand. Roman knew and understood this guitar better than he understood himself, and playing it brought emotions he harbored to the surface for him to handle. This guitar had gotten him through a lot, and it would get him through this night as well.

Roman started out with strumming a few simple chords, changing the order of three different ones, adding a fourth, removing two, and just generally playing around with chords until he found a good sound. Eventually, after he started fiddling with a good picking pattern, he narrowed it down to three combinations. While playing the different options, he sang the “If only” bridge that he wrote into the song. He tested the waters with a few different tunes and combinations for a while. Before he could comprehend it, the sun was set and he had a solid picking pattern and chord progression. He could hear his grandfather saying that technically the chords weren’t actually chords because he wasn’t playing all of the strings. A sentimental smile tugged on Roman’s expression of concentration, but he shook it away quickly in favor of attempting to sing over the song.

Surprisingly, Roman was able to get through the song he just wrote with few complications. He stumbled a few times, and stuttered on the lyrics occasionally, but it was overall a good first try. After, he tried again, making the wobbly parts in singing more and more stable. He was proud of himself for that, as sometimes there could be parts where he couldn’t get down until the fifth or sixth try. Luckily for Roman as of right now, the song which he was mentally calling Physic was an easy one to play and sing. Roman never said that the song he would be posting was a difficult one, but then again, he didn’t realise that it would be this emotionally powered.

As Roman placed his guitar steadily on the ground again, he pondered what the lyrics actually meant. While he attempted to balance himself on numb jelly legs, he went line by line and evaluated what he meant by each. It was clear to him as he grabbed his camera equipment that this song was obviously about Virgil. It was so clear that it was painful. There wasn’t any cleverly masked words or heavy emotions only hinted at in a word or two. This song was putting himself out in the open, bare and stripped of all the fancy editing that the studio does. This song would be a plea for help, a cry for someone to come and tell him that everything will be alright. It was a question, a desperate ask for Virgil to let him explain. If the dark and lovely one didn’t let him after this, then maybe all that time with Anx actually was a waste. And Roman desperately didn’t want it to be.

The Prince set up the camera and it’s microphone quickly and experienced, ready to make the worst–or best–decision of his lifetime.

next part

[shapoodle]

Could u write romantic prinxiety or plantonic moxiety

Well, I guess it’s about time I tried my hand at something romantic. Hope this goes well!

Pairings: PrinxietyWarnings: A little bit of angst, but everything gets rectified!Words: 1,247

As the ending credits of the movie rose up Roman attempted to stifle a yawn. Like every Friday the sides had marathoned a series of movies after dinner, sometimes there was a theme, but most of the time it was Logan trying to argue that a documentary was a movie and everyone groaning tirelessly when Roman selected another Disney film.

Roman felt movement to his side, he turned to see Virgil rolling his hip back and producing his own yawn “You can put on another movie if you want.” He mumbled.

“No… I’m too tired to make such a long trip” Roman relaxed into the back of the sofa “All the way over there to the television.”

Virgil let out a snort “You’re such a dork.”

“If it displeases you so much, you can put on the next movie.”

“Nope.”

“and why’s that?”

Virgil brought the blankets closer around him “It’s too warm here to leave. I’m a cold-blooded beast”

The two shared a chuckle, though it soon dissipated into awkward silence as they began appreciating the music to the credits.

It was at this point Virgil became painfully aware of how alone they were. Patton and Logan had retired to bed during the fifth movie and, after a long debate with Deceit involving Virgil having to explain ‘If you’re telling me you’re not tired that means you’re absolutely exhausted. Now go and sleep you bowler-hat-while-in-your-pyjamas-wearing freak’, their scaly friend sunk out at the end of the sixth.

Virgil shifted uncomfortably, the anxious feelings bubbling in his stomach couldn’t take him being so close to the prince.

“Uh…you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to…y’know” Virgil stated shyly, head turned away.

Roman tilted his head in confusion “Why would I not want to?”

Virgil’s mind began racing with all the self-deprecating ways he could answer that question, but knowing that he needed to learn not to think like that, he played with his sleeves as he tried to think of an excuse.

“Well… I mean if you’re tired you don’t have to stay up. We all know I have a shit relationship with sleep…so don’t feel you need to stay up for my sake.”

‘Wait, was that slightly self-deprecating? Godammit.’

Roman paused for a second before he leant forward, now sitting at the edge of the sofa and placed a hand on the anxious sides’ shoulder.

“Virgil.”

Virgil jumped slightly at the strength of his voice and instinctively swivelled his body to face him.

“You know what Patton said about keeping your real feelings inside. Tell me the truth.”

‘True feelings. Yeah, I could totally tell you about those.’

“Why do you want me to leave?”

Virgil jumped at the words once again. The realisation that he may have hurt the prince’s feelings took control and he began to speak without thinking

“What? No no no. It’s not I don’t want you here. It’s just that…I assumed that…thatyouwouldn’twanttostayinthesameroomasme.”

Roman narrowed his eyes and raised his eyebrows, questioning slightly why Virgil had decided to speak so fast. Soon enough, he was able to translate Virgil’s rambling and answer.

“I want to spend time with you, why wouldn’t I want that?”

Virgil brought his head down, understanding now that he really didn’t have much of a choice than to speak “I..I know that we have been getting closer, and our arguments have been getting… less venomous? But deep…deep down I can’t.” He looked up at Roman “I can’t bring myself to think that you actually like me.”

Roman gasped, he felt his heart, his entire being crack and split in twain. “Virgil, that’s not-“

“I know. I know I’m being…too…harsh on myself but… there was so much hate there before, how can that change so drastically over the space of a few months.”

Roman brought his head down, formulating his words before he whispered, “I never hated you.”

“Of course, you did.” Virgil smiled sadly “I was always in your way, bringing up the negative. For someone like you…who’s always so happy and full of life and adventure, I was your worse nightma-“

“I NEVER HATED YOU THOUGH!” Roman shouted, he brought his head up to Virgil, streams of tears were now cascading down his face, and the sight caused Virgil’s own tears to begin. “I…No. It was never hate, I… just couldn’t understand you.”

Roman shuffled again, kneeling on the sofa cushion as he faced Virgil, he placed both hands on either one of his shoulders, forcing the other to look at him “I couldn’t understand why someone wanted Thomas to hide under his covers all day, to not go out to the world and explore. But that wasn’t your fault. That was me being ignorant to your true purpose. To make the happier times the happiest we need to appreciate the sad, we need nerves so when that end goal is met we can feel elated.” He squeezed Virgil’s shoulders “I meant it that day we came to find you. You make us better.”

This only caused the tears to fall tenfold down Virgil’s cheeks “Roman, I-“

“No.” Roman interjected, “I’m not done.” He looked down and took a deep breath. In his mind, he chuckled a little, all his plans to reveal this to Virgil in an extravagant fashion, a huge bouquet of roses, an adventure through the imagination, a confession on a hill under a starry night, all gone out the window. But they both need this right now. Roman continued “Over the past few months, I’ve been able to get to know you more and I like to think you’ve gotten a little more comfortable around me.” Virgil nodded “I’ve learnt so many new things. Like how you have all those sci-fi novels in your room, that you like to write poetry, you like to play the flute! I now have someone to discuss music and fantasy with, I have someone who is more inclined to watch 8 Disney movies in a row with me than the others!” Virgil brought his head down and began chuckling a little. Roman smiled, warmth filling his eyes.

“I like your laugh.”

Roman leaned closer.

“I like how you’re smart enough to retaliate Logan’s wit”

Virgil lifted his head, his eyes softened.

“I like how you care so much about Patton and try to get to the core of what he’s feeling.

Virgil shortened the gap between them.

“I like how you ground me.”

Roman stared down at the other boy’s lips.

“I like you, Virgil.”

Roman could feel the electricity run through his body as their lips finally connected. The first kiss was brief and sloppy, but so concentrate in love that it felt like they had kissed an entire lifetime away.

After a few moments of continuous kisses, Virgil pulled away slowly, his hands cupping Roman’s face as his eyes began to water again.

“Fuck. I can’t believe I’ve fallen for such a dork.”

Roman huffed “If you though this was eccentric then you don’t want to hear how I was actually planning to confess.” He shrugged “I guess I’ll have to file those plans under ‘first date’ instead.”

Virgil felt a blush creep onto his cheeks before he began to laugh. Roman joined in too, though he was soon stopped as he felt a weight crash into his front. He smiled sweetly and brought one of his arms to wrap around the Virgil, the other slowly stroking the boy’s hair.

“Thank-you” Virgil whispered, “For not hating me.”

Hope you enjoyed! I’ll just add my general taglist to this as well: @loverofalltobuscus @fuck-spock@urtrashhq @milomeepit @captainhadeslover @asterias-confused-writings @yep-another-fander@pattson @lala-the-rebel @artistictaurean @ironwoman359 @ab-artist@mytrashlifeistrash@wicked-rosie @mockingjaysinger @seriouspeople–necktie@superarrowholockian @virgil-the-virgin @fun-with-colors @trash-can-so-do-i @anastasialestina@extroidparodox @inferablossom@bi-sappy @midnighteclipse98 @silversmith-91 @awesome-and-unique-username @pattons-second-cookie @harboring-hatred @thepoolofthedead@creativenostalgiastuff @iamthe90smom@sadb0tt @today-only-happens-once@thelogicalloganipus @monsterfalls9 @mantha-has-fallen@averaillisa @nightmarejasmine@emeraldfoxface @peanut0303 @hissesssss @the-anti-social-one @emo-sanders-sides-loving-unicorn @areyousirius-noheisdead @twettypuff @bubblycricket@6tick6tock6, @moybelle@littlespacefin @flatnotesraven @thesanderspals @your-username-is-unavailable @callboxkat@fancydelusionluminary @awesome-and-unique-username@theonebornoffire   @pinkeasteregg@louvrejpeg @i-will-physically-fight-you  @justabookworm39 @seas-space-and-stardust@theinsanem @baileystarsketches @punch-you-with-friendship@alix-the-skeleton@jadephantomhive @slytheringillian @crimsonshadow323@rileyfirstname @osnapitzbc@daughterofsomnus @leesacrakon @lesliealiceinwonderland @theresneverenoughfandoms @sleepyssnail @unikornavenger

[xxsparksxx]

Aside from Ross and Demelza (I assume) what'a your favorite relationship (romantic or otherwise) of the novels and show, if they'really different.

Sorry to take so long to answer this, anon.

Apart from Ross and Demelza, my favourite favourite favourite relationship in the books is Demelza and Jeremy, after the time jump in the later books.

They’re adorable and kindred spirits and Jeremy knows his mother so well, and Demelza knows that she doesn’t know everything about Jeremy, but she loves him and hides his secrets and protects him and it’s just so perfect. They’re just so perfect.

Favourite extracts/quotations to illustrate the perfection that is them, under the cut to save people who don’t want spoilers. Don’t read if you don’t want to know. Seriously.

Also, this is long, because all the extracts are ones I love far too much to omit, and they all just show so perfectly just why I love them so much.

Okay, this is from The Stranger From the Sea, and it’s just full of love and communication and the sympathy between them:

‘I wonder how your father will think of it.’‘Of privateering?’‘Yes. And Stephen. Stephen’s a great charmer . . . But I knew his first story was not true.’‘Why not?’‘There had been no storm for fourteen days before you picked him up.’‘I can’t remember the weather so far back. How do you? I scarcely remember what it was like yesterday.’Demelza helped herself to the port. She was getting light-headed as well as light-hearted.‘Well, there it is. He says he will be detained in London a few more days – your father, that is – but will return at the earliest possible moment. I wonder if he will see Clowance? They cannot know he is safe returned because he is not staying at his usual lodgings. He is stopping with Mr Canning. Is there a Mrs Canning? I hope they meet. I mean Clowance and your father. Maybe they will cross coaches, as I was afeared to do. Thank God he is back in England. It is hard to stop worrying; you can’t turn it off sudden like a tap. I heard of a man once who survived the most utmost perils and then slipped on a banana skin.’‘Mother,’ said Jeremy.‘Yes, my handsome?’‘Did you send Clowance because . . .’Demelza said: ‘I didn’t send Clowance. She went.’‘It is unlike her.’‘Yes, it is unlike her. But people often do things that are unlike themselves. What is being true to oneself, I wonder? I never know. Sometimes there are three people inside of me, all wishing different. Which is me? What are you like inside, Jeremy? Are you like that? I never know. Sometimes you worry your father. Is there something special you want to do with your life?’‘Maybe.’‘Is there? Do you know what it is?’‘Not exactly. I’m not sure . . . Are we a trouble to you, Mama?’‘Just a little. Just a small matter troublesome. Dear life, what it is to have a family! . . . As for Clowance, you must give her leave to be wayward. She is growing up.’‘We all are.’‘Alas.’‘Why?’‘Why what?’’Why alas?’‘I think I like you all at a certain size. Like hollyhocks. Before the rust starts.’‘Well, thank you, Mother. Your compliments fly on all sides of me.’

Two spirits sort of...sounding in sympathy with each other. They’re so comfortable together. And Jeremy loves her and is proud of her and this next extract (from the same book), in reference to his beloved Cuby and her family, the Trevanions, shows that so absolutely clearly. He’s aware of her remaining insecurity and he makes it absolutely crystal clear that he doesn’t care where she came from and anybody who slighted her, he would refuse to know:

Demelza said: ‘But one thing, Jeremy. Never forget you are a Poldark.’Colley was becoming restive at the prospect of exercise. Jeremy stroked his nose.‘Little likelihood of that.’‘I mean – ’ Demelza hesitated – ‘think of your father’s family in this matter, not of mine. It would be distressful to me if me being a miner’s daughter should hinder your chances.’ So now it was out.Jeremy looked out of the stables, his eyes still blank. ‘You take me to church now and again. We go as a family half a dozen times a year, don’t we?’‘Well?’‘It says there “honour thy father and thy mother.” That’s a commandment I happen to obey. Understand? And no trouble. Not half of it but the whole of it. It gives me no trouble at all. If anyone should think to teach me different, it should not be you.’‘I only mean . . .’‘I know what you only mean. Now go about your business, Mama, and leave me to go about mine. No girl . . .’ He stopped.‘It may not be her. It may be her parents.’Jeremy looked at his mother and smiled wryly.‘That us’ll see, shann’t us.'

I think if there is anybody in the world who loves Demelza as much as Ross does, it’s Jeremy - though in a different way, of course. She is loved and beloved by all her children, and by her friends, but her relationship with Jeremy is special.

When Demelza is pregnant with her fifth child, in The Miller’s Dance, Jeremy is as concerned for her as everyone else (’Did your father send you?’ ‘Concern for your well-being, woman, is not confined to one man. The whole family shares it.’) but I think his present to her, when his younger brother is successfully born, shows just how much he knows her:

...during the days before he left Nampara he had managed to get a wisp of Clowance’s hair, a curl of Isabella-Rose’s, and, with no difficulty at all, a sample of his own. These he had taken in to Truro to Solomon, the silversmith, and had bought a silver locket for £8 and had asked the old man to fit these pieces of hair into the inner compartment of the locket, leaving room at a later stage for a fourth sample. He hadn’t quite known what to buy his mother at this time.

...

‘Mama,’ he said, ‘I have bought you a little present.’She blinked. ‘My dear life. But why?’‘Should I not? You have just most notably added another another Poldark to the world’s population. Isn’t that a cause for celebration?’‘I’m not at all sure! But . . .’Jeremy fumbled in his pocket and took out the silver locket. She accepted it and unwrapped it from its tissue paper. She turned it over and presently pressed the catch.‘My dear life,’ she said again. ‘Jeremy, my lover, it’s so kind . . . I don’t know what to say . . .’‘Say thank you,’ he suggested.‘That I’ll do double-fold. Jeremy, I can’t just at this very moment . . . think of more . . .’She reached up and he kissed her. ‘I was hoping the new boy would be a redhead,’ he said. ‘Add to the colour in the locket. For a change, don’t you think.’ Her vision was blurred. ‘I don’t want a change, Jeremy. Thank you. It was so thoughtful.’

Her children are so important to her, and Jeremy finds the perfect present for her - a present that no doubt she treasures all the more, in later years, after Jeremy’s death.

They’re just so in synch. Even when Jeremy doesn’t tell her what’s happening in his life, and what he’s done - by which I mean, of course, robbing a stagecoach with Stephen Carrington and Paul Kellow - she knows something has happened and gently makes sure that he knows he can talk to her.

‘What happened last Christmas?’‘Christmas?’‘About then. About the time Harry was born.’He turned the flower of a pansy. ‘Something has eaten this one.’‘A caterpillar, it look more like . . . Yes, there it is. Such a little one, too.’He said: ‘You see too much, Mother.’‘It isn’t only caterpillars.’‘I know.’‘But will not tell?’‘Cannot tell. Don’t let it worry you.’‘It does. When my eldest son suddenly seems to – to go adrift. Is it still to do with Cuby?’He flushed. ‘Earlier, yes. I became very disgusted with the way my life was leading, and out of the disgust grew – other things. Now . . . I think I am just going through a bad patch. Give me a little time.’‘You don’t even care so much for Wheal Leisure now, do you.’‘Not as much as I did.’ He changed his tone. ‘But don’t ee fetch on so. Tis no more ’n a touch of the spiritual mulligrubs.’ He patted her on the bottom. ‘All will be well.’‘Not that way.’‘Well, look what you were like when you were carrying Harry! We’ve just spoken of it.’‘But you’re not carrying Harry, my lover. What are you carrying?’There was a plop as he at last found a snail and dropped it in the water.He said: ‘Even in spite of everything, I can talk to you better than anyone else. I wonder why.’‘I can’t think.’‘Wasn’t Father lucky!’ ‘Oh, ho, thank you.'

Of course Demelza finds out, or guesses, about what happened. A combination of Ben Carter bringing her his random find of a loving cup, a newspaper clipping among Jeremy’s papers in his room, and vague warnings away from ‘Kellow’s Ladder’ - plus Demelza’s intuition when it comes to her family - mean she finds out, and the finding out about it is hard for her to bear. She gets drunk:

She said: ‘Are we good parents, Ross? I sometimes wonder. Are we too easy, too easy-going, too sloppy. No discipline, no example, come as you please, go as you please. That’s us. Maybe the old way is best. The strap and the birch and the slipper. Stand in a corner, lock you in your room without supper.’ She swallowed hard, and coughed. ‘Maybe children really love you better that way, look up to you, respect you, listen to what you say. Animals – they’re animals really, are they not. Animals never mind a beating so long as they know what they’ve done wrong and where they stand.’‘Shut up and tell me what has gone wrong!’‘Nothing’s gone wrong.'

She never tells Ross. Not even after Jeremy has died, after a letter from him is delivered to her confessing, finally, the truth. She never tells Ross, and she gets rid of the loving cup, and has already burned the leftover papers and sacks, hidden down Kellow’s Ladder. She protects Jeremy even after his death. She would do almost anything for him, and it’s agony for her to discover that he’s broken the law in such a big way, but they are so close to each other, he is so beloved by her, that to do anything other than protect him is unthinkable. And she and Jeremy never speak of it openly, either, though it’s alluded to, and after his death a letter from him is delivered to her confessing the sin that she had already known.

His death almost cripples her. It ages her and destroys her and she is never quite the same afterwards.

Demelza took to walking across the beach and back, not to get rid of the deadly sickness and the emptiness and the aching – for there was no way out of that – but simply to tire one’s muscles, to exhaust one’s body, so that something was registered on the mind besides grief. Dwight gave her tincture of laudanum at night, but it always wore off at dawn when life was at its lowest and coldest. Then she would stand by the window and cry alone for the loss of her son....All the beauty had gone from Demelza’s face. Perhaps one day it would return, but at present few of her friends in Paris would have taken her for the vivacious, comic, ebullient young woman they had known in February and March.

It ends in tragedy and pain, just as Jeremy had come in a time of tragedy and pain for Demelza. But in between there was so much love, and laughter, and kinship. I don’t think Demelza is as close to any other of her children, though she loves each of them and is close to each of them. There’s just something particularly special about her and Jeremy. Perhaps it’s that he’s the oldest surviving child; perhaps it’s because of when he was born and how important he was to her happiness in his first few years. Perhaps it’s just because somehow they were two people in harmony with each other.

But they’re perfect. Utterly perfect.

So yes, anon. That is my very, very long-winded explanation of why I adore Demelza and Jeremy. SO DAMN MUCH. I cried when he died. I don’t often cry when reading, but I cried when he died.

[clarencebells]

Creature Feature: Niffler

The Other Slytherin (Series)

Masterlist

Newt Scamander x Reader

Summary: Ladies and Gentlemen, The Niffler.

It had been a few weeks or so since Newt moved in and your life had changed quite drastically. First and foremost you had to get used to sharing your space with another human being, so that meant changing how some things were placed and organized. You and Newt fought a bit on where certain objects should be placed since you were more partial to organization, while Newt was partial to efficiency.

You also had to set some rules around the house when you learned that Newt was the ‘organized chaos’ type. He knew exactly where everything was, except they weren’t done neatly. You, however, were the neat, ‘everything-has-its-place’ type. It drove Newt mad that you were so particular on placement but he complied when you argued that you compromised with having several and possibly dangerous plants inside your home. You would have preferred to keep all plants on the balcony outside, which you had been doing before Newt moved in, but Newt insisted that some plants thrived better indoors, he even switched out your fake vines for real ones.

Both of you had made an extra effort to teach Dougal about all the plants inside the flat, from those he could safely nibble on and those that he was absolutely forbidden to go near. Dougal picked up on anything he was taught quickly, so it made things easier.

You and Newt were finally getting into a natural rhythm as the days passed, but one day, something quite peculiar occurred. 

“What in the world...” You muttered as you stared at the empty drawer that was supposed to be filled with your silver utensils. You checked the other drawers to see if perhaps Newt had moved them again, but you were baffled when each drawer you opened was either empty or had things missing. 

You could feel your breath quicken and your heart start to hammer in your chest as you even checked your cupboards for any of the silverware, only to realize some of your pots and pans were missing too and then something even worse occurred to you. You ran to your china cabinet opening it gently, despite your haste and opened a large, ornately decorated box. When you saw that all contents of the box were missing too, you screamed.

Newt came rushing from his room, wand at the ready as he had Dougal cradled in one arm, he nearly tripped over himself upon entering the living room. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Newt asked in a slight panic as he walked to your side. 

You couldn’t even form words as you just shook the empty box in front of him.

Newt stared at the box, unsure of what you were trying to convey, “Is it a boggart?”

You gave him an unimpressed look as you shakily told him, “My spoons, Scamander. My collection of decorative spoons, given to me by my grandmother, all of them, gone! All our silverware is gone! Even some of the pots and pans are gone! We’ve been robbed!”

“That’s impossible. Your wards are practically impenetrable.” Newt tried to reason, and that’s when you realized, that he was right. You made sure that no other human, muggle or wizard could enter your home unless they were invited in and you wards easily reflected simple spells, such as a summoning charm. You narrowed your eyes as you looked around, replacing the box back into your china cabinet.

“No human being can get past my wards and summoning charms are virtually null, so that can only mean that some manner of creature stole my spoons!” You angrily declared as you took out your wand and quickly revised your wards to prevent any creature from entering or leaving. 

“Do you think whatever stole from us is gone?” Newt asked you as he looked around, seeing if anything else was stolen.

“No, whatever stole them is still here. There’s an enchantment on one of those spoons that prevents it from leaving my vicinity without my knowledge. My initial panic made me forget about it, but it’s definitely still here in the flat.” You explained.

“You must really love these spoons,” Newt observed.

“They are family heirlooms, Scamander. Passed down from generation to generation, each spoon made by the current matriarch of our family. Reminding us of our humble beginnings as silversmiths.” 

“I never would have thought spoons could have such a rich history. So how do you plan on tracking down this mystery creature?” 

You turned to Newt a bit perturbed at his question. “Track? There is no tracking needed.” You waved your wand effortlessly as you cast a spell, “Accio, Regalia Spoon!”

Within seconds something came hurtling towards you and Newt was quick to react, shielding you as he encased the object in a bubble. However, it was no object that was caught in his bubble. It was a creature as you had guessed, a black, fluffy creature with a long snout and webbed, clawed feet. It tried to escape the bubble to no avail as it simply kept bouncing off the walls. It tried to run, hoping to roll the bubble with it but it remained stationary. Soon enough it grew tired and just stared back at you and Newt.

“Aww. It’s fluffy.” Newt cooed.

“It’s a thief!” You growled, scowling at the creature; it shook in fear of your furious tone and demeanor. “Return what’s mine, little thief and perhaps I’ll consider not turning you into a purse!” You threatened the shaking creature as it quickly dug deep into a pouch on its belly and began to dump the contents. You and Newt were gobsmacked at the number of items that kept coming from the creatures pouch, some of them weren’t even yours. There was even several hundreds worth of galleons and jewels that could even make the Queen of England envious.  “Merlin’s beard! It’s a criminal!”

“I think I actually know what this creature is,” Newt said as he continued to stare in fascination at the creature who was still emptying his pouch.

“Are you being serious right now? You are more concerned with the kind of creature it is, rather than the fact that it is literally dumping millions worth of stolen property on our floor!” You exclaimed in incredulity as you watched the pile of treasure at your feet continue to grow.

“It’s his nature, he can’t help taking such things.” Newt calmly explained.

“He? And what do you mean ‘such things?’” You asked as you waved your wand, commanding the pile to organize itself. Seeing the mess irked you and you made sure to return what belonged to you, back to their proper places. Everything else organized itself from coins, jewels, miscellaneous kitchenware, small weapons and what you could only guess to be potion ingredients.

“Shiny things. This creature is a Niffler. I’ve seen them before in Gringotts. Furry little creatures, notorious for being attracted to anything glittery.” 

“If this thing came from Gringotts, then we should return it to them, along with this mess.” You said indicating the pile of items that now occupied your floor. As if understanding your words, the Niffler began to shake his head furiously as he made begging motions with his paws.

“I don’t think he likes that idea.” Newt interpreted. 

“Why ever not?” You asked, indulging him.

“Maybe they treat him poorly?” Newt guessed, to which the creature nodded in earnest. The creature then turned to you and widened his eyes, making them shine with crocodile tears as he repeated his begging motion.

“What’s it doing?” You asked Newt, a bit perturbed at the creature's actions. 

“I think it’s begging you not to turn him in,” Newt replied, the creature nodding again as it pleaded with you. “Aw. He’s apologizing. Can’t we keep him?”

“Keep him? What, like a pet? Oh, absolutely not! That thing--”

“Niffler.” Newt corrected.

“That niffler, stole from us!”

“But he’s sorry! See? Look at that face, how can you deny that face?” Newt pouted along with the creature as they both looked at you with doleful eyes, even Dougal, who had been a silent observer to the entire thing, mimicked them. 

Your eye slightly twitched in frustration and soon enough you sighed exasperatedly. Newt tried to contain his smile at your wordless acceptance. You turned from the three of them and returned to the kitchen to continue what you had been planning on doing before the entire mess began, to start dinner. 

Newt smiled at the little Niffler as he popped the bubbled it was encased in and carried it and Dougal to Dougal’s playpen. 

“That mess better be cleaned up by the time I’m done the cooking, Scamander! Or so help me, I will turn the both you into decorative baggage!” You exclaimed and Newt winced at the threat as he looked towards the assortment of items. There was no real way to return them all to their rightful owners so the only thing he could do was to submit everything anonymously to the Ministry’s Lost and Found.

A/N:  Shiny! Watch me dazzle like a diamond in the rough, strut my stuff; my stuff is so Shiny! *dances to the beat* something a little less adventurous and more comic relief lol

@sinuhmyn-apple @myrtus-amongst-the-stars