#watercolor patern

[oxfordsxbrogues]

oops hand slipped

There's a "women want him fish fear him" joke to be made abiut Martin because "Fear want him" but I can't figure out the other part. Men fish him Fear want him. I don't know. I've been thinking about this for weeks

[kaurwreck]

OH YOUR VERLAINE AND RIMBAUD POSTS AND THE TENDENCY OF ASAGIRI TO FLIP FLOP THE MENTOR/MENTEE OR ADMIRED AND HOW RIMBAUD WAS THE YOUNGER ONE BUT IN BSD VERLAINE WAS SOCIALIZED BY RIMBAUD

With Rimbaud and Verlaine, it's worth remembering that bsd!Rimbaud is Verlaine. His skill is Illuminations, but he gave Black #12 his birth name, Paul Verlaine. bsd!Verlaine was not originally named Rimbaud, but his youth, passions, and duality are Rimbaudian, while bsd!Rimbaud's more coddling temperament, at times paternal and at times impassioned, and last sentiments for bsd!Verlaine, are seemingly references to irlVerlaine's poetry about irl!Rimbaud. (Such as Watercolors: Green, an English translation of which I shared in a separate post.)

Notably, Verlaine published Illuminations on Rimbaud's behalf and influenced the content and arrangement that was published. His legacy is often related more to his relationship with and publication of Rimbaud than his own poetry, according to the journal articles I've been reading. bsd!Verlaine's Brutalization incantation also comes from Arthur Rimbaud's Les Sœurs De Charité.

But the bsd iterations of Rimbaud and Verlaine aren't wholly distinct either, each carrying fragments of the other, sometimes blurring together. That, too, is a homage to the philosophies of the irl!poets. For example, Rimbaud, at times, writes from Verlaine's perspective in Une Saison en Enfer.

Rimbaud's poetry is also marked for its dialogic perspective-shifting, and he wrote through and lived within a philosophy of ambiguity, duality, and self dissection (at least during his youth):

irl!Verlaine, too, had a dual personality at times:

So, I don't think Asagiri flip/flopped Rimbaud and Verlaine's roles; I think he's commentating on, illustrating, and interpreting where their poetry, legacies, and passions became thoroughly entangled, as filtered and processed through bsd's themes. I think Asagiri enjoys plucking tragedy from reality and asking, "What would it have taken for them to have found reason and purpose absent any?"

That said, I also don't think Asagiri is ever really inversing mentor/mentee roles, even in regard to Akutagawa and Dazai. irl!Akutagawa was not irl!Dazai's mentor, he was a profound influence who lived and wrote just prior to the era of modern Japanese literature in which Osamu Dazai made in his name. I think Asagiri is commenting on (i) where they were deeply alike in mind and heart, which is why Dazai found solace and reflections of himself in Akutagawa, and (ii) on the stylistic dexterity Dazai could have lent to Akutagawa had he been in the position to do so, specifically regarding the way Dazai intepreted the I-novel genre through perversions of the truth as a means for expressing sincerity and gut-wrenchingly raw autobiographical candor without flaying himself apart the way Akutagawa seemed to when bullied into confessional literature by the cultural zeitgeist.

(Akutagawa was criticized for his sharp brilliance since the era was consumed with confessional literature, in comparison to which Akutagawa's stylistic precision seemed to many distant and aloof. Parasocialism is older than Christ, and BookTok is a descendent, not the progenitor, of corrosively vapid takes.)

The choices in bsd are playful but sincere inquiries into + conversations with the works, legacies, emotional turmoils, and overwhelming humanity of the referenced authors. But, while I think there's immense profundity in call and response, especially across eras, literary cultures, and artistic mediums, I also think Asagiri is more consumed by revelations than reflections.

I'm also not so sure whether we can call Rimbaud socialized by any contemporary connotation of the word—

[ram-bam-writes]

The Highlight and the Shadow pt.2 [Graves x NB Reader]

A/N: And they were roommates… :>

Summary: You've moved into the grand house that your brother had found you. A kind, older man was renting it out to you, and good lords was the man attractive. Not just physically, but emotionally. He loves your pets, he takes care of you, and he somehow knows whenever you're dealing with a sketchy person. And now he's asked to join you at the cafe you always go to. What could go wrong?

CW: None really. Flirting, Phillip being a silly snake daddy, creepy bar guy (little detail), reader being a dumbass, no beta we die like soap, etc

Word Count: 2598

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3]

All things considered, you are pretty damn lucky.

Being a broke college student living with your parents was nice. They fed you, let gave you a house, and listened to most of your rambles. But… you were still shackled to your family duties. Chores were still very much a thing, and that’s not counting how much you take care of your younger siblings. You had an older brother, someone you looked up to, but he went off and joined the military, leaving you with the family responsibilities. You loathed him for that, even if you still keep in contact.

But he’d found a place for you, something real nice for an amazing price. You chatted with the landlord numerous times, finding yourself relieved to know he wasn’t some cringey, icky guy looking for a housekeeper.

In fact, Phillip was incredibly paternal. You’d expected to be thrown out the moment you brought up the sweet babies that were Fett, Tulip, and Tiki. After all, not many people liked snakes. But Phillip was different. And the chores? You’d do your dishes, he did his. He’d periodically sweep, and every now and again you’d organize the bathroom. There was a special kind of flow that just… worked.

It was easy. You don’t know how your brother had found such an amazing place with such an amazing guy. Maybe he was a little old for you, but you could always just… not think about it. 

Besides, you’ve got a lot to focus on. Romance just isn’t in your books.

Or… it wasn’t. Not until this motherfucker started making the tastiest southern dishes you’d ever had. And, hell, at one point he’d even gotten a bath ready among other items — you try to ignore how he’d bought new sleepwear in your exact size — the moment you’d gotten home from a long, exhausted day. You hadn’t even told your roommate you were getting stressed, but he seemed to have a sort of sixth sense for that kind of thing.

——

Your hands flow across the page, eyes focused on the thick paper pad in front of you. Watercolor was something you loved, even if it was a bit frustrating at times. But it was forgiving, too. 

With earbuds in your ears, you hadn’t heard your roommate get home. Phillip mentioned that he’d be busy for a few days, and you hadn’t seen him since last Tuesday. 

You nearly jumped out of your seat when he rests a hand on your shoulder.

“Jesus— fuck—!” You gasp, nearly throwing your earbuds out of your ears. “Don’t scare me like that, fucker!”

Phillip offers you a boisterous laugh in response, that sweet, bright grin ever-present. 

“Sorry, hun,” he says, walking over to the fridge to grab a beer. “You’re always with those damn headphones. Someone’s gonna break in onnea these days and you ain’t gonna be prepared for it.”

Your eyes narrow immediately, head tilting forward and to the side. “You’re lucky I know your hands. My older brother taught me a thing or two about hand-to-hand.”

Phillip grins broadly at your statement. Over the past few months he’d come to learn you could slit a bitch when needed. He leans back casually against the counter, eyes half-lidded and observant. He liked to do that, you noticed. He’s an observer, always watching.

He sets down his beer on the counter, crossing his arms.

“How are the babies?” He asks casually, expression curious.

“Tulip’s throwing a fit…” You stand up, pulling the small snake from his spot on your lap. “I changed his soil and he doesn’t like it.

Phillip’s brows immediately furrow, and he takes quick, long strides over. With little warning to you, he scoops up the lavender hognose, raising the baby over his head and looking him in the eyes.

“Is your mean owner changing things y’don’t like?” He coos, baby babble fully enabled. “Does my little flower boy need his soil returned to normal? Should I scold my tenant until they get you something nicer?”

Your expression falls unamused, but you can’t deny the warmth that fills your heart at the sigh of Phillip’s sweetness towards your pets. “Don’t enable him. He needs this soil.”

Phillip hugs Tulip defensively, expression faux irritated. “How dare you! He can get any damn soil he pleases.”

“Phil—“ You reach for your snake, unable to suppress the grin creeping on your face.

“Nope!” Phillip swats your hand away playfully. “If you won’t be a good parent, I will.”

You try to swallow down the wave of warmth that floods your body when Phillip sticks his tongue out at you, making a point to hug ‘his child’ close to him. 

“Where are my other babies?” Phillip’s eyes meet the clock on the wall. “It’s feeding time. They’re starving.”

He waltzes his way to your room, pushing open the door without a care in the world. 

You immediately rush over to your room. It’s a game the two of you started playing a few weeks ago — a rush to whoever can feed them first. Phillip had started it when he’d been in a teasing mood. It was easy to tease a frazzled student that sometimes lost track of time. When he saw how worked-up you’d been, he’d picked up the bag of defrosted mice and shook it. You’d met his glimmering eyes with your own widened ones, and he took off running to your room.

It’d be easier if the man didn’t block the doorway with his shoulders, but are you really complain about the sight? No, not really.

You lean up against the frame of your door, smile soft and gentle as you watched the sweet Commander drop each mouse in the different enclosures, setting Tulip down in his own. 

Fetti, still being a young hognose, jumped away and spasmed, flailing for a few moments before laying on his back, tongue hanging out. Phillip laughs, leaning down to look at the sweet boy.

“No, no, Fetti, baby… You gotta eat the food, not let it eat you. Flip over, hun, it’s okay…” As he cooed to the baby, your belly fluttered.

“Fetti isn’t gonna get over the fear of his food any time soon, Phil.” You say gently, stepping closer to look at the arctic hognose. “You know he’s still young.”

“Tulip’s young, too! And look! He’s already swallowed half his mouse.” He pokes the container Tulip is in, which elicits a murmured hiss from the snake.

“They aren’t the same snake.”

Phillip blinks for a moment, then sighs. A low grin is on his lips, but his cheeks are flushed and his brows are slightly upturned. “Yeah, yeah… you’re right…”

He attempts to flip Fetti over a few times, but each time the baby rolls back onto his back. “For a dead guy, you’re quite animated, baby…”

——

Fuck that man. Fuck him.

It’s not fair. It’s so not fair. He has no right, no right at all. No right to be that much of a sweetheart. No right to be so protective.

He’s got an arm wrapped around your waist, a low glare in his eyes. He pulls you just a hair closer, growling at the man in front of you. Specifically, some creep at the nearby bar the two of you had gone to.

Correction: the nearby bar you had gone to. Alone. Up until a creep started talking to you, and somehow the man in shining denim appeared right next to you.

“Leave. Them. Alone.” It shouldn’t have been that hot. He’s just being a good, decent guy. 

But lords, when his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, the slight twitch in them telling you he’s not trying to hurt you, but too far gone in anger to not grip you tight, you can’t control the slight whimper that falls from you lips. 

That was a mistake on your end, because it only fueled the irritation that Phillip is dealing with. Because to him? You sound scared of the man in front of you. You weren’t! You have your several younger siblings, some of which are feisty little girls who love to stick up for themselves and get into a little too much trouble at times. You learned very quickly how to deal with a man larger than you — you could take the bitch.

But there was something so good about Phillip standing up for you. Maybe it was because he isn’t in front of you. He’s beside you. He’s your equal. He knows you’ll cut the boy up. Maybe that’s why his grip is tight. Maybe that’s why he’s so receptive to your whimper. 

He’s holding you back.

Fuck.

At this point, you just wanted to kick the creep’s ass so you can rip your landlord out of the bar and into your room. But you knew you couldn’t — not yet. You got zero indication that your roommate wanting anything more than the strange, familiar friendship you currently share. You didn’t even know a lot of his past — he’d kept that shit under wraps tighter than you did the black sketchbook hidden under your mattress. 

“Get out of here before things get worse.” Phillip’s words pull you from your thoughts. “You don’t want to know what I can get away with.”

That threat alone made the creep second guess himself. He glared at you both, cursing you out before storming off to a different part of the bar. 

He quickly turns to you, offering a lazy smile. “Before you say anything, I know you had it covered.”

You raise na entertained brow. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I just wasn’t lookin’ to bail you out.”

You roll your eyes, but based on the current circumstances, you know you probably would have fucked the creep up more than what was necessary. So you just smile at the Commander, leaning back against the countertop in the bar.

Your brows then furrow.

“Hey, what are you even doing here?”

You swear you just saw the man take in a sharp breath, right?

He shrugs. “I wanted a drink.”

Your eyes narrow. Phillip lost his accent whenever he lied. He spoke more formally, as if to be convincing. But it didn’t work on you.

“Wanted, huh?” You cross your arms. “Were you stalking me?”

His eyes narrow. “Strong word for it, hun. I call it being protective of the young twenty-somethin’ that’s givin’ me money.”

The grin that spreads across your face is nothing short of wild. You take two quick steps forward, poking his chest and puffing up your own.

“You were! You think I’m helpless!” You knew that was a lie, but something in you compelled you to taunt the man.

“Wrong.” He simply states, leaning down a little closer to you, his eyes glimmering with entertainment. “I wanted to see you.”

Your cheeks flush a bright pink despite how hard you tried to repress it. He wanted to see you? You? See you? See you, see you?  

“I…”

He leans closer, breath fanning across your face. “Your rent is due in 2 hours.”

You smack the man’s arms, harsh enough to make him jump back with a loud laugh. He tosses his head back, eyes grinning down at you.

“You asshat!” You yell in the crowded bar, wiggling your way through different people. You weren’t upset by any means. You knew he’d follow after you.

As expected, his arm wraps firmly around your wrist, not squeezing at all but certainly keeping you from wiggling any further away. 

“Don’t be that way…” He purrs. “I did wanna see ya. I was bored, n’ when I saw your note, I figured the bar wassa good place t’go. Promise.”

You raise a brow, making a show of thinking long and hard. Your finger taps at your chin, lips pursed to the side. You let out a happy hum, eyes finally meeting his.

“Alright, fine. I believe you.”

He doesn’t need much more from you, quickly dragging you back to where the two of you originally were. He orders the both of you a few drinks, settling himself into the stool next to yours.

“So, hun, you gonna get that rent in?” 

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your own alcohol. You didn’t drink often, but it was nice for the time being.

“Obviously. Not like you’d kick me out though, huh?”

“No, but it’s fun t’tease.” You try not to focus on his lips as they press against the bottle. “Anywho, what about school? That goin’ well, hun? I can’t say I can help much, but I reckon that I can offer some insight where I can.”

You ponder this question for a while. Most classes you are taking are simply general education classes. Math, English, Science, and History. The offer was sweet, and maybe it’d be a good opportunity to get close to him. But how would any of those topics be something a Military CEO knows? 

“Well, not really…” You swear he looks almost disappointed. “Unless you know anything about the literary analyses.”

You didn’t want to admit how much those frustrated you.

“They’re annoying as hell… Why do I need to find other peoples’ opinions on a piece of literature to form my own? I mean, that’s kinda pointless, ain’t it?”

Phillip’s brows furrow a little. He pulls his lips to the side for a half-second, clicking his tongue before shrugging.

“Maybe so you can see all angles?”

You blink.

“I’m not an English Major by any means, but I reckon it’s like an OPLAN, right? I think my boys would kill me if I didn’t confer with the General’s recon to know what we’re up against.” He stretches back in his seat, biceps pressing against the all too tight tee he wears. “So… maybe it’s good to form an opinion when you get different sides of it. Maybe you missed something.”

What. The. Fuck.

“Alright, Mr. Know It All, you can shut your face.” Your cheeks burn as you take a sip of your drink to hide your flustered state, earning a laugh from the Commander.

“Aww, seems like the youngin doesn’t know everything, hmm?” His eyes glitter. “The youngin needed my opinion to figure out his own opinion…”

“Shut up!” You hiss, a mix of mirth and genuine irritation in your eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

He rolls his eyes, smile light and easy. Something about the way he looked at you made you feel fuzzy. There was just a sort of fondness in his eyes each time he saw you. Maybe the man was a mystery, but his emotions were always true. Not to mention how much he just… entertained himself. He wasn’t worried about being some strict commander — for Shadow something, you think? He was just a guy. An easy going landlord roommate fling. Thing. 

“You gonna go to the cafe tomorrow? Tomorrow’s Tuesday.” Phillip asks, looking around the bar. “Care if I join?”

“I… yeah, I was gonna go.” You breathe through the butterflies in your belly from his knowledge of your schedule. “Yeah, you can join. Just… don’t be a distraction. I’ve got classwork.”

Phillip grins at you, sitting up a little more attentively. “Me? Interrupt you? Never.”

You deadpan the man, only to receive his loud belly laugh in return. But there was nothing to be done about the thoughts that spin in your mind. Joining you for coffee? Like… like that, or…? You shake your head of the thought, sipping your alcohol to keep your hands and face busy.

Besides, it was just coffee. Nothing to overthink. Nothing.

[littlemisskittentoes]

get to know kittentoes!

this is such a fun way to strengthen connections around the little pod of us that interact in the same fandom space! so a MASSIVE thank you to @happiness-of-the-pursuit for thinking of me to tag!

without further ado, get to know me better under the cut!

First Set

Last Song: Valerie by Amy Whinehouse

Last Film: the new Mean Girls movie!

Currently Reading: okay, this is kind of like, a two part question--

fic-wise: the PJO AU (by Rhys, Manu, and Beas ! and i'm also doing an in-depth portfolio crawl through Sarah's ao3 !

outside of fic: i'm working my way through volume five of Lore Olympus, and reading Local Woman Missing by Mary Kubica, and of course, i fall asleep every night to the RWRB audiobook, so that's a constant bip

Currently Watching: i've been informed that i'm supremely late to the game, but i just finished season one of True Detective! and, of course, i'm staying tuned for the weekly episode release of PJO

Currently Consuming: some good old h2o! the last thing i ate were some sugar snap peas!

Currently Craving: an aunt of mine makes these really really tasty salads with different sprouts and seeds, fresh tomato and cucumber from her garden, some avocado, and her own dressing. an Aunt Paula salad would slap right now

Second Set

Were You Named After Anyone?

Yes! Sarah comes from my paternal great grandmother, my middle name comes from my maternal great grandmother!

When Was The Last Time You Cried?

Mmm, two or so weeks ago i got into an altercation with one of the feral cats i take care of while trying to capture them to go to the vet. it did not go well, and i felt awful that i scared him

Do You Have Kids?

i do not! i was in a four year relationship where i took on a kind of 'step parent' role from the time the child was a newborn onward. so, i do occasionally see her. but outside of that, no. and i'm not someone that ever pictures themselves changing that

What Sport Do/Have You You Played?

sigh alright, so i played soccer as a very young child-- not great at it. tried basketball for a bit-- also terrible at that. went for volleyball-- gave a girl a concussion trying to serve overhand. FINALLY, i started cheerleading and ended up as cheer captain for a number of years!

Do You Use Sarcasm?

i think so! i'm pretty sure i use some dry humor occassionally

What's The First Thing You Notice About Other People?

probably smile, or if they have a more general welcoming aura/body language!

What's Your Eye Color?

brown!

Scary Movies or Happy Endings?

as much as i'm an absolute hopeless romantic, my go to is actually horror! i'm an adrenaline junkie and LOVE to be scared! i can easily be pursuaded into a romance movie though

Any Talents?

i'm actually a very confident public speaker. i still have some of my cartwheels and splits from my cheer days. and i'm decently okay at keeping up my score during jeopardy! lastly, i'm pretty good with some watercolor paints and a micron pen

Where Where You Born?

Northern US!

What Are Your Hobbies?

i help run a local poetry open mic night, i'm fairly active in my local bdsm scene, and i have a constant revolving door of hobbies i entertain for about a week and completely forget about (most recently it's been crystal 3d puzzles, painting book edges, and making shrinky dink earrings)

Do You Have Any Pets?

so many... i live with my parents at the moment, and they have one dog and eight cats! we also care for a colony of feral cats that live on our property

How Tall Are You?

5'3 (1/2)" ! am smol gorl

Favorite Subject in School?

english! i was also a massive studio art nerd though

Dream Job?

you know, all through undergrad and my master's program, i always said that i would have loved to have been a manuscript editor. i even had an internship helping edit poetry chapbooks! but now that i've found myself in a sphere where I get the privilege of beta-ing for a handful of friends, it feels like that skill set is already able to be used and stretched. so, i'm not super sure! maybe something with animals?

alright!! sending out a no pressure tag to some of my beloveds @inexplicablymine @read-and-write- @affectionatelyrs @gayrootvegetable @anincompletelist @leojfitz @leaves-of-laurelin @matherines @wordsofhoneydew @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @user-anakin

[ladyyomiart]

This is the entry I drew for DeviantArt's "The Holi Mandala Contest". 🏵️✨ I was inspired by the three following things to draw this mandala:

👉My indigenous heritage: My great-great-grandmother, Petrona, was a descendant of indigenous people. She wore her hair in an ankle-length braid and used to tie it over her head to smuggle things across the border, lol. She liked to smoke chala leaf tobacco and her great-grandchildren say she was extremely serious, silent, and that I'm very much like her in appearance. 😊

👉Some of my favorite tarot cards: My paternal grandmother used to read them when I was little and I continue the family tradition since then. 🔮 The cards featured in this mandala are: The World, The Wheel of Fortune, The Sun, The Moon, The Devil, The Magician, The Star, and Death.

👉My meditative practices: I've been meditating for about 20 years and the color palette I picked for this mandala corresponds to the colors of the human Chakra/Energy Centers. 🌈 The Hindu prayer mala beads that appear on it were also inspired by my own set of mala beads, which first belonged to a tibetan monk, and that I was gifted by a kind Tumblr user many years ago. 📿

🧿.🧿.🧿

I've been drawing mandalas since I was a teenager because I've always been fascinated by Hindu culture (the best meditative techniques I've learned come from Hindu and Tibetan cultures) and mandalas are also super relaxing to create and decorate. 🌼

Mandalas are used as a tool for contemplation and meditation, so here's a little explanation of the meaning behind each symbol drawn in the different "gates" (circles/sections) of this one:

🕉️1st Gate (center): The World Card. The Universe. The third eye chakra. The eye that perceives the universe so it can exist. Throat chakra. The power of speech and thought. I think, therefore I am. The chakra at the top of the head. The connection to the whole. The separate individual. Identity. The Self.

🕉️2nd Gate: The Wheel of Fortune Card. Time. Seasons. Inevitable changes. Growth. Movement. The solar system. The Gods of my ancestors. Emotions. Luck. Opposites coexisting as part of a whole.

🕉️3rd Gate: The cards waiting to be turned over. Destiny. The future. What is hidden.

🕉️4th Gate: The flames of Spirit. Creativity. Inspiration. Creation. Destruction. Purification. The sparkle of life.

🕉️5th Gate: My ancestors. The Devil Card. Protection. Strength. Support. Slaves who break their chains and raise their hands from the abyss, setting fire to the darkness. Survival instinct. Determination. The will to carry on.

🕉️6th Gate: The Magician card. The Star card. As above, so below. Manifestation. The morning star appearing in the sky at sunrise and sunset. Liminal spaces. Healing. Miracles. Achieving the impossible. Guides pointing the right way.

🕉️7th Gate: Feathers symbolizing freedom (flying high like a bird) of the mind and spirit (indigo and blue) and feathers symbolizing freedom of the body (red and orange).

🕉️8th Gate: Death Card. Material world/physical plane. Inevitability of change. Transformation. Humanity. The planet earth. Unity. Equality. Connection. We're different, yet we're all the same.

🕉️9th Gate: The laws of nature. Balance. Nothing can exist in the absence of its opposite. Cosmic protection and order. Containment. Harmony between instinct and reason. The Hindu prayer mala beads start the universe in the tassel section and end it when it completes its turn. Ouroboros, the snake that bites its own tail. The cycle of reincarnation. The beyond.

🧿.🧿.🧿

🎨Materials used: Sheet of plain paper, black needlepoint rollerball pen, and "Caran d'Ache" + "Faber-Castell" watercolor coloring pencils.

⏳Drawing & coloring time: 28 hours.

[isfjmel-phleg]

Random OC facts: Marela Dalscu

Younger daughter of King Viorel and Queen Catrafina of Norin but, along with her elder brother and sister, was raised by her paternal grandmother until age ten.

Out of all of her siblings, bears the strongest physical resemblance to her Otionovian mother. Perhaps this was why her grandmother was more distant toward her than her elder siblings and treated her appearance as something to be corrected and compensated for.

Despite (or perhaps because of?) her grandmother's detachment from her, was attached to her and heavily influenced by her way of thinking. Consequently, she does not have a very warm relationship with her mother.

Her brother Viori is the charming and wayward mess, her sister Elisavina is the intelligent and well-behaved one, so Marela gets noticed for being a needy complainer. It's not fun, but it works.

Is closest to Viori, who has always looked out for her. He can joke her out of a bad mood, and she can get away with calling him out on his nonsense.

Is the owner of a cat, whom she is very gentle and affectionate with.

Has never cared for her music lessons (classical music is frightfully dull, thank you very much) but enjoys dabbling in art more than she'll admit. Her watercolors are surprisingly cheerful-looking.

Reads a lot because she generally has nothing better to do, but there are very few books that she actually likes.

Enjoys some outdoor activities, like tennis and bicycling, but is very particular about the circumstances under which she will do them, i.e. only when alone or in the company of a few select people.

If asked, would say that when she grows up, she wants to move to a house high in the mountains and never have to put up with people ever again. This is not as true as she thinks it is.

[calciumcryptid]

Elseworld 64 | Jocelyn Jackman

Jocelyn Jackman is the illegitimate daughter of Mark Mardon, and the wife of Nora Allen-West. She is a respected artist, and works as a gallery attendant in Central City. Jocelyn is the host of two altars. As Misty Mardon, she is the criminal Weather Witch. As Auretta Allen-West, she is the hero Watercolor.

HISTORY

After a one-night stand, police officer Julie Jackman discovered she was pregnant. Nine months later, Jocelyn was brought into the world. For the first five years of her life, she was raised with love.

At five years old, Jocelyn came across the body of her mother who had been murdered by a cult. The moment caused her latent mutant-gene to awaken, and unknown to the people at the time her first altar.

After a paternity test, social workers were shocked to discover Jocelyn's father was Mark Mardon.

Upon discovering her existence, Mark Mardon kidnaps her to dissect her to better understand his own powers. Fortunately, the other rogues strong-armed Mark into properly raising her so Mark renamed her Misty Mardon.

He came to appreciate this as Misty proved to be as powerful as him and used them to aid him on crime sprees. The media took to calling her Weather Witch, which she took in stride with great pride.

Though the Rogues started to slowly notice something was off. Misty would flicker between wanting to commit crimes to wanting nothing to do with the lifestyle. She'd show an interest in painting, only to ruin the canvases the next day. There was a difference in whether or not she could use her powers as well, including which powers she used.

It culminated in Misty running away, but when they tracked her down she was using her powers sporadically which went against her careful training. She didn't respond to her name, instead Jocelyn and how she wasn't sure why she was kidnapped by the Rogues but she wanted nothing to do with them.

Despite the immense power she held, the Rogues managed to talk her down and explained everything much to Jocelyn's disbelief. Mark had no interest in this side of his daughter, but Roy G Bivolo took the reigns and taught her art. Under her mother's maiden name, Jocelyn slowly started to build a reputation as an artist and got a job at the local gallery as a tour guide.

One day, while working as a tour guide in her teens, the gallery was attacked by another rogue. Nora Allen-West was the speedster who answered the distress call, and encountered a woman named Auretta who used her knowledge of the gallery to help. The two ended up taking the rogue out together, which cemented a crush on one another though they were unaware of each other's identities.

Later, Nora attended the gallery to ask about Auretta only to be told there was no one with that name that had worked there.

PERSONALITY

Jocelyn Jackman is an elegant and mature woman, who is highly intelligent able to navigate the art world and the upper elite. She has invested in keeping the life she built for herself intact, carefully utilizing the eccentric artist narrative to her benefit.

Misty Mardon is a chaotic and fun-loving gal, who uses her powers openly and sporadically. She loves experimenting with them to the detriment of the environment around her. She has an impulse to steal art but doesn't know why, so she always returns the pieces at the end of the day. She is openly flirty, particularly with Timestream.

Auretta Allen-West is compassionate and kind, though she comes off as more bashful and self-conscious in comparison to the elegance of Jocelyn and the will of Misty. Auretta has an intense moral code, and will selflessly put herself in danger to protect others even at her own detriment.

POWERS

Weather Manipulation: Just like her father, Jocelyn has the ability to localize weather, creating hail, lightning, and other destructive forms of weather. She can produce blizzards, summon lightning bolts, fly using air currents, produce fog, and generate winds. Essentially Jocelyn can produce any type of weather pattern imaginable, as well as another phenomenon such as tornadoes. For a good chunk of her life, each altar could control a different part of the weather with Misty controlling storms, Jocelyn controlling air, and Auretta controlling water.

ABILITIES

Art Appraisal: Jocelyn can examine paintings, sculptures and antiques to determine their market value by identifying the quality of art.

Gardening Proficiency: Misty is a skilled gardener, as similarly to her father she used it as a way to master her weather powers.

Painting Proficiency: Jocelyn is skilled in all associated painting skills and techniques.

TRIVIA

Important Note: This is my first character with Dissociative Identity Disorder, so feedback is immensely welcomed.

All three are trans women. This is a nod to her being a gender-bent version of Joshua 'Josh' Jackman, who was a comic canon son of Mark Mardon and Julie Jackman.

Due to Elseworld 64 Mark Mardon being asian, they are biracial.

In Elseworld 64, Mark Mardon is a metahuman who uses a wand to channel his power rather than being the source of his power.

@insomniac-jay

[silascody]

tattoo masterpost.

‘aka fuck knows he has too many and this is gonna be hell to explain from a mun standpoint without a frame of reference i can link to’

‘why are we here’ – back of his right thigh.

die young + skull in a whiskey glass – front of his right forearm.

‘it’s all a blur’ – back of right arm, just above the elbow.

large snake – wrapping around his left forearm with the head finishing on his left hand. 

1991 – on his abs just below his pecs, @jordanmitchell's birth year.

‘why not?’ – just below his right v-line. 

a rose – beside the crease of his index finger and thumb of his left hand. commemorating his 2 week post prison bender with a woman called rose raleigh.

D-I-C-E –  tattooed on his fingers from index to pinky on his left hand dice is the name he uses for dealing. loves to keep that ring finger bent to his palm so he’s throwing up a D-I-E, signature picture pose.

‘bulletproof’ – back of his right hand where it meets his wrist.

‘k’ – right wrist, matches the q tattoo @jordanmitchell has.

large geometric lion – on the inside of his right bicep for his dead brother jack who was a leo. 

skull in a panama hat – left pec. previously hatless but he had the panama added as a tribute to his best friend jasper and their misadventures.

large cannabis leaf – front of his left knee. 

large realistic red knife slash wound – on the left side of his chest, just below his heart. got it 17 when his mother told him the wrong son died to signify that she ripped his heart out. 

503 – top of his left arm. oregon area code. 

hands reaching out from the gates of hell – covering the entire back of his neck to the bottom of his hairline. 

eye in the centre of a spider web – front of his right knee. 

wall of text – near his right ribs. paragraphed collection of various texts @jordanmitchell sent him that he never wanted to lose pre-prison. only legible if he lets you close enough to read them. 

large compass dripping down his spine with red watercolors – his says ‘no-one, nowhere’ in typescript where reference pic says wanderlust.

feather – right shoulder. he doesn’t remember much of his paternal grandmother but she always said falling features brought luck and that stuck with him. 

LUCK in black lettering changed to FUCK! (F + ! in red lettering) – right pec. the red was done in the time that elapsed between his arrest and being sent to prison. he thought it was funny. 

stick and poke knife tattoo – just above the scar on his right shoulder blade from where he was stabbed during his second year in prison. he wanted it to look like he was being stabbed again but his cellmate wasn’t very artistically inclined. he’s glad he doesn’t have to look at it much. 

anarchist symbol on red brick wall – on his stomach. 

dragon – covers most of his right hand.

‘strange boy’ – just above his left heel.

oscar the grouch – inside of his right thigh. got called trash once and said bet. 

forked lightning strike – left ribs.

falling man – just below his left elbow.

born with horns – side of his right forearm. gets drunk and tells people it says born horny.

ak-47 – side of his right calf.

‘dead man walking’ – left shoulder blade. 

skeleton giving two middle fingers – back of his left calf. he likes to be permanently flipping people off when wearing shorts. 

1990 – just above his right foot.

skeleton climbing out of a coffin to do coke – back of his left thigh. 

‘SMOKE WEED DRINK BEER STAY HIGH DON’T THINK’ in black lettering with D, I and E specifically in red – left hip.

a pair of lips – left collarbone. an impression of @jordanmitchell's

‘fuck off!’ – along the side of his right hand. flashes at people in the form of a salute when he’s too tired or high to actually say it. 

[silascodyarch]

tattoo masterpost.

‘aka fuck knows he has too many and this is gonna be hell to explain from a mun standpoint without a frame of reference i can link to’

‘why are we here’ – back of his right thigh. 

die young + skull in a whiskey glass – front of his right forearm.

‘it’s all a blur’ – back of right arm, just above the elbow.

large snake – wrapping around his left forearm with the head finishing on his left hand. 

1991 – on his abs just below his pecks, @jamesmitchel birth year.

‘why not?’ – just below his right v-line. 

a rose – beside the crease of his index finger and thumb of his left hand. commemorating his 2 week post prison bender with @chefraleigh.

D-I-C-E –  tattooed on his fingers from index to pinky on his left hand dice is the name he uses for dealing. loves to keep that ring finger bent to his palm so he’s throwing up a D-I-E, signature picture pose.

‘bulletproof’ – back of his right hand where it meets his wrist.

‘k’ – right wrist, matches the q tattoo @jamesmitchel has.

large geometric lion – on the inside of his right bicep for his dead brother jack who was a leo. 

skull in a panama hat – left pec. previously hatless but he had the panama added as a tribute to his best friend jasper and their misadventures.

large cannabis leaf – front of his left knee. 

large realistic red knife slash wound – on the left side of his chest, just below his heart. got it 17 when his mother told him the wrong son died to signify that she ripped his heart out. 

503 – top of his left arm. oregon area code. 

hands reaching out from the gates of hell – covering the entire back of his neck to the bottom of his hairline. 

eye in the centre of a spider web – front of his right knee. 

wall of text – near his right ribs. paragraphed collection of various texts @jamesmitchel sent him that he never wanted to lose pre-prison. only legible if he lets you close enough to read them. 

large compass dripping down his spine with red watercolors – his says ‘no-one, nowhere’ in typescript where reference pic says wanderlust.

feather – right shoulder. he doesn’t remember much of his paternal grandmother but she always said falling features brought luck and that stuck with him. 

LUCK in black lettering changed to FUCK! (F + ! in red lettering) – right pec. the red was done in the time that elapsed between his arrest and being sent to prison. he thought it was funny. 

stick and poke knife tattoo – just above the scar on his right shoulder blade from where he was stabbed during his second year in prison. he wanted it to look like he was being stabbed again but his cellmate wasn’t very artistically inclined. he’s glad he doesn’t have to look at it much. 

anarchist symbol on red brick wall – on his stomach. 

dragon – covers most of his right hand.

‘strange boy’ – just above his left heel.

oscar the grouch – inside of his right thigh. got called trash once and said bet. 

forked lightning strike – left ribs.

falling man – just below his left elbow.

born with horns – side of his right forearm. gets drunk and tells people it says born horny.

ak-47 – side of his right calf.

‘dead man walking’ – left shoulder blade. 

skeleton giving two middle fingers – back of his left calf. he likes to be permanently flipping people off when wearing shorts. 

1990 – just above his right foot.

skeleton climbing out of a coffin to do coke – back of his left thigh. 

‘SMOKE WEED DRINK BEER STAY HIGH DON’T THINK’ in black lettering with D, I and E specifically in red – left hip.

a pair of lips – left collarbone. an impression of @jamesmitchel

‘fuck off!’ – along the side of his right hand. flashes at people in the form of a salute when he’s too tired or high to actually say it. 

[acacia-may]

Rill Boismortier Mixed Bouquet [Friendship, Family, & Romance HCs]

As part of my Rose Garden Headcanons (Valentine's Day) Event 🌹, here is a bouquet of Yellow Roses (Friendship Headcanons) 💛 Pink Roses (Family Headcanons) 💗 & Red Roses (Romance Headcanons)❤️ for Rill below the cut!

Gosh, I absolutely love him so writing these headcanons was so much fun! I hope you will like them too. 🥰 Thank you so much for the ask and for reading!

Y3. Have they ever had a best friend? Was there a specific moment when they knew this person was their best friend?

Rill was a little isolated when he was growing up so as a child he used to tell Walter he was his best friend (and he genuinely meant that). When he got older and joined the Magic Knights, he built a very close friendship with Fragil Tormenta which began at their Magic Knights' Entrance Exam. They sparred against each other and, then, were both selected for the Deer. They only grew to become closer and better friends the longer they worked together until eventually they were really like brother and sister to each other, which is a very meaningful relationship to Rill who always wanted a sibling when he was growing up. Fragil can appreciate his more wild and creative moods, but she is much more practical, responsible and down to earth than he is so she often helps him keep his feet on the ground and not get too carried away when he needs it. Whereas Rill helps her to loosen up and have fun every once and a while since she can often be pretty serious.

Rill is not particularly self-aware at times so he likely had never really given much thought to the idea that Fragil was his best friend until he referred to her as such in an offhand comment one day. It just sort of slipped out without him thinking about it (something along the lines of "Oh I was visiting my best friend, Fragil..."), and afterwards when he realized what he said, he gave it a moment's thought of "Oh, yes, I guess she really is my best friend" and then carried on with whatever he had been doing before. He did, however, decide that the realization merited a painting so he made some art of them together and gave it to her. 😊

Aside from Fragil (and Walter), I also like to think that Rill and Charmy became very good friends while training together in the Heart Kingdom, though again being as oblivious as he is, Rill probably hasn't really given much thought to the concept that Charmy is also a best friend of his. He certainly considers her a friend, but he doesn't spend a lot of time thinking about those qualifiers like "best friend" versus just an acquaintance. Friends are friends to Rill, though he is closer to some than others (even if he doesn't really think about it that way).

P2. What is one of their fondest family memories?

One of Rill's most treasured memories is when his mother bought him his very first set of paints. Lady Boismortier had taken up watercolors and painted the flowers and plants in their garden, and Rill used to stop playing and running around outside just to watch her with awe and curiosity (and ask a million questions about what she was doing and if he could try too, of course) so his mother bought him his own set of paints. He wanted to use them just like his Mama so she set up an easel for him in the garden and they painted side by side. He painted a few bunches of flowers before he painted a portrait of his mother to thank her for the art supplies. Lady Boismortier was so touched and so impressed by her son's artistic ability that she gushed over Rill's painting and hung it up in the house, eventually having it framed. This instance really inspired Rill to become an artist.

P5. Do they want a family/children of their own one day? What kind of parent would they be, and how would they express love to their children if they had them?

Rill would like to have a family of his own one day. It's not a deal-breaker for him or something he thinks about too much, but he does have a paternal streak and could see himself as a father someday. Unlike most heirs to noble houses, Rill has never really viewed having children as a duty or obligation and, to him, the idea of having a family one day has always been synonymous with falling in love. Rill's parents, the Lord and Lady Boismortier, had a genuine love and affection for each other and were very happy together, so Rill's mother has always hoped for the same kind of experience for her son and made sure that Rill understood even from a young age that he should aspire to marry for love rather than for diplomatic, financial, or inheritance reasons. (This is the main reason why Rill has not been promised in an arranged marriage as well). As the House of Boismortier is towards the middle to lower class of Clover Kingdom nobility (A/N: there is definitely a caste system of noble families too), Lady Boismortier is (reasonably) imagining that Rill will meet someone in the magic knights (most likely a fellow noble around their family's same level of prestige and influence), fall in love, and get married to someone he has chosen for himself. [A/N: She would likely be accepting of anyone Rill loved, even if he decided to marry someone below his social station. She really just wants him to be happy like she was with her husband before he passed away].

Since Rill has never really felt that pressure to make an advantageous match and to have an heir to continue the noble line of Boismortier, having children is very much a wish for him (especially when he falls in love and imagines spending his life with his beloved). He would be a wonderful father who is extremely supportive of his children and all of their interests. For instance, Rill is definitely the sort of dad who would ooh and ahh over his toddler's scribblings like he was in a fine art gallery and hang them up around the house to show his friends. I can also imagine that he probably cheers louder and more boisterously than most of the other parents (luckily none of his children are of the personality that would be embarrassed by this). Rill is a very involved and hands-on parents as well so he always makes a point to spend time with his kids, participate in what is important to them, and show up to their events (even if they aren't supposed to have spectators, he will find a way to be there to cheer them on). He definitely falls under that "fun parent" umbrella so he can struggle a bit at disciplining sometimes, but he cares very much and is always looking for fun and creative activities his family can do together (including multiple games that he has invented himself). His children never doubt that their dad is their number one fan and biggest cheerleader and that he will be there to support them no matter what.

R1. Are they a particularly romantic person? What do they consider to be the ideal romantic gesture?

Rill can definitely have a romantic streak at times--maybe not in the more classic flowers and chocolates sense, but he does want to make things very special for his beloved so he always tries to come up with very elaborate and creative date and present ideas. Naturally, most of Rill's grand romantic gestures involve art--if Rill is in love with you, you will become his artistic muse and the subject of many, many paintings (and possibly some life-sized murals if Rill can find a free wall somewhere 😁). However, he has been known to try other kinds of romantic gestures if he knows they are particularly special and meaningful to his beloved (i.e. related to personal hobbies or interests). Ultimately, any romantic gesture by Rill will be a bit over the top and probably a little out of the box as well. His ideal romantic gesture shows how much he cares while also being original, creative, and interesting (the last thing he would ever want his to bore his beloved by being cliche and/or predictable).

When it comes to romantic gestures that Rill would like to receive, he is not particularly picky (and, truthfully, is the kind of person who would rather be giving the grand romantic gestures anyway). That said, Rill loves surprises and adventures so planning an unexpected outing to a new and exciting place would be a great romantic gesture for him. He'd also never say no to more art supplies, particularly if his beloved suggests they use them together and make some art for each other. Even if his beloved wasn't much of an artist, Rill would treasure anything made for him. I can just picture him running around excitedly showing anyone who will listen a little stick figure drawing of him because it was made by someone he loves (i.e. "Walter! Walter! Look it's me! Isn't it wonderful? [Insert Significant Other Here] made this for me!") Everyone in the Aqua Deer has seen it at least twice, and Rill has also shown the other Magic Knight Captains, the Wizard King, every shopkeeper at the market, some of the local farmers near the Aqua Deer's base, a random man he ran into in the street... [A/N: I think in music a lot so I'm imagining it's a bit like "Everybody Knows (Except You)" by The Divine Comedy (YouTube) and he's just telling literally everyone]. He even showed Finral and had him portal him to the Heart Kingdom to show Potrof and Queen Lolopetchka. The drawing is eventually framed, and Rill shows all of his house guests too. (Hopefully his beloved is not too self-conscious...😅)

R3. What do they look for in a romantic relationship? What would make them feel the most loved and supported by a significant other?

Rill never really gave much thought to what he would look for in a romantic relationship beyond the very basic: someone he loves who loves him in return, and on that point, he is definitely the sort who just ends up stumbling his way into love somewhat on accident. He isn't fickle about it, however, and has no trouble with commitment. It's just not something he actively goes out to look for, at least at this point in his life (A/N: if that makes sense?). Since Rill isn't the most self-aware person, he doesn't have a concrete idea of the type of person he is hoping to be with either, but he does really appreciate people who march to the beat of their own drum and aren't afraid to be a little quirky, different, or creative so he would likely be hoping to find a significant other who had those traits. Also, he would look for someone he could have fun with and who wouldn't be a stick in the mud or extremely stern and serious all the time [A/N: Tying back into Y3 if anyone is curious about that, this is one of the reasons he doesn't/couldn't see Fragil in a romantic way. He cares about her very much, but she's way too serious in his opinion. The feeling is mutual on Fragil's end, but for the opposite reason (i.e. Rill struggles to ever take things seriously)]. Most important though is finding someone who he truly loves and who he loves being around and would want to spend every day with for the rest of his life. He may not be super serious all the time, but he is very sincere and would prove to be very committed to his beloved. He's very excited about the idea of getting to spend his life with someone he loves [A/N: Am I allowed another song? "The Idea of Growing Old" by The Features (YouTube) really reminds me of Rill's attitude in this respect💕].

Spending quality time together, especially if it involved exploring, adventuring, or showing an interest in each other's hobbies would make Rill feel the most loved and supported. He absolutely loves to spend time with the ones he loves the most, and if his beloved showed a genuine interest in the things that are important to him such as his art, Rill really couldn't be happier. He also absolutely loves thoughtful surprises "just because" (though he can be a bit dense about them sometimes--bless his heart). (A/N: But I suppose that just makes him especially easy to surprise so maybe that isn't a bad thing...)🥰

[cjsmalley]

Damian Paints:

“Whatcha doin’, squirt?” Jason asked, seeing Damian drawing Dick who was up on his silks.

“Studying Richard’s movements,” Damian replied, easily, “I am planning a portrait and have found him adequate for studies.”

“Only adequate huh?”

“He does not have wings,” Damian explained, pausing to flip to another page to reveal studies of bird wings, “thus he falls short of my needs. However, his movements are smooth and agile so I shall make do.”

Jason looked over the boy he would have called a brother, noting the charcoal smudged fingers and the sure artistic motions he made to give shape to his studies.

How he recorded Dick’s musculature and height, his range of movement and flexibility. All in black, white, and grey.

“You know, we know people with wings,” Jason said casually.

“Yes, Richard said as much,” Damian nodded, back to drawing, eyes on Dick, “however, I do not wish to bother Uncle Bruce’s colleagues.”

“I’m sure the Hawks wouldn’t mind.”

“It is alright, Jason. The limitations will be a test of my creativity.”

“If you say so. So, what’re you painting?”

“A very Catholic scene,” Damian answered seriously.

“Aren’t you Protestant? And your mother Jewish?”

“I do not subscribe to any belief, but we have many faiths in the family.”

“So why Catholic?”

“I am painting the patron saint of abandoned children and then the patron saint of adopted children. I feel that both have a place in the family regardless of faith or belief.”

Jason thought this over and then nodded, “Yeah, I can see that. You do know Bruce would have—”

“Taken me, no questions asked, yes,” Damian agreed, “Uncle Bruce has said so many times. Father and Mother feel terrible that they did not know my paternity and could have at least given Uncle a chance to raise me.”

“Yeah. Well, at least you have parents that love you and aren’t a little assassin.”

“This is true. Uncle Bruce has told me of my birth situation. I am glad I was Sold to Father and Mother.”

“So are we,” Dick called down, before landing on his feet like a cat, “we wish we could have had you but we’re just happy you’re away from the al-Ghuls.”

“What’re you guys doing?” Tim entered.

“Dami’s prepping for a painting,” Dick chirped.

“Really? I didn’t know you painted, Damian.”

Damain pinked slightly, “I dabble, Timothy.”

“Now we know that’s a fib,” Dick chided gently, pulling out his phone, opening his pictures, and handing it to Tim.

Tim who scrolled through the photos of Damian’s paintings, making genuine appreciative noises and comments before saying, “These could go up in a show, Damian. B knows some galleries that would die to have these paintings. Babs, you listening in?”

“Always,” came the electronic voice, “what’s up, Tim?”

“Can you copy Dick’s gallery to the mainframe? Please?”

“All of it or just the paintings?”

“Just the paintings.”

“Got it. Uploading now. Tim’s right, Damian. People would love your work. What’s your medium? Oils?”

“Yes,” Damian was fully blushing now, “my brother Neville does watercolors.”

“We’re not talking about Neville though,” Jason reminded gently, “seriously, Damian. This’s some show quality stuff.”

Damian went quiet, thoughtful before he nodded, “I will ask Father and Mother first, but yes I would like to show my work.”

“They’ll probably say yes,” Dick agreed, having met them.

They adored Damian and were very proud of him. No doubt if he truly wanted to do a gallery show they would let him.

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

Chat Noir and Catwoman Meet:

The gallery was packed with everyone from Gotham’s elite to school art teachers; Damian and his paintings were the stars of the show.

Damian bore the attention remarkably well, used to the ghostly Court and their less than positive opinions on the King’s living wife and wards.

His parents and uncle Bruce stood beside him, thus deflecting any personal questions from him to them, as his cousins and older siblings mingled with the crowd.

“Bruce!” a woman with blonde hair and startling green eyes came up, classy black gown hugging every curve needing it, came walking up.

“Selina,” Bruce greeted with a genuine smile, “Damian, this’s Selina Kyle. Selina, my biological son, Damian Fenton. His mother adopted him out illegally.”

Selina knelt with a friendly though not patronizing smile, unlike some people that night, holding out her hand, “Pleasure to meet you, Damian.”

Bruce bent down and whispered, “Selina shares your older brother’s love of cats.”

Damian understood immediately and shook hands.

Selina Kyle was Catwoman.

“Your older brother hmm?” Selina nearly purred.

“Ah, yes, Adrien Fenton does so appreciate felines,” Damian said with a straight face, “though his girlfriend is rather tired of the puns during their working hours.”

Selina’s eyes widened briefly and they knew she caught the message, ‘My older brother’s a cat themed hero’

“In fact,” Sam said, spying her eldest son, “here they come now. Adrien, come meet Selina Kyle. She’s a fan of cats too.”

“Oh really? How pawsitively pawsome,” Adrien did purr.

Marinette rolled her eyes, “Forgive the puns, Miss Kyle. Especially that one.”

Selina laughed, taking in the young man; her eyes narrowed in on the pawprint shaped cufflinks and the lucky cat tie clasp. His black suit was flawlessly tailored to his body and his scarlet shirt matched his date’s red and black gown and earrings perfectly.

“My Marinette made our outfits for tonight,” Adrien explained proudly, causing said woman to blush and sigh.

“Oh, darling,” Selina narrowed in on the designer, “I absolutely must have something from you then. If you wouldn’t mind, that is.”

“We don’t live in Gotham,” Marinette warned, “we’re based in France.”

“Even better.”

The trio disappeared into the crowds with Bruce warning, “Behave, Selina!”

He got a rich laugh in return.

Bruce shook his head wearily.

Wished Away 4

Do The Research (or, How to Sell Your Sister's Soul):

The Ghost King paused, blinking, “You’re not actually trying to sell her soul?”

“No!” Buffy shouted, “I want to sell my soul for her!”

The King blinked some more, “But the ritual sells Dawn’s soul, not yours.”

He stopped floating and poked at the ritual circle, pointing out, “You used the right runes to sell her soul, not yours.”

“I wanna sell my soul,” Buffy assured, almost desperately.

“Okay, time out,” the King made the motions needed, “why are you trying to sell me souls? What for?”

And so Buffy explained and the King listened attentively, asking questions as needed and obviously already planning an offense.

The King, Danny, clapped his hands, “Okay, so here’s how we’ll play this. I’ll accept Dawn Summers’ soul—ah, ah, ah, hear me out, Buffy—like I said, I’ll take Dawn back with me to my dimension while we all work together on this Glory situation. After the dust settles, I’ll send her back. I don’t actually want her soul. So I’ll technically own her soul but we’ll do…shared custody? If that’s okay with you?”

He thought some more, “I’ll also pay her bills; like child support.”

The Scoobies boggled.

“That’s it?” Xander finally asked, “you wanna…adopt Dawnie?”

“Yes? That’s how we treat any kids I get sold. Adopted. Ours. Dawn would be my fourth child, second daughter…although I would probably just act as her uncle in this case. Her care and keeping would still fall to me.”

“Buffy,” Anya spoke up, “take the deal. I don’t think he’s lying.”

“But—”

“Slayer,” murmured Spike, “he isn’t lying. Bloke’s bein’ honest. Take the deal, protect the Nibblet.”

“What do we tell everyone while I’m gone?” Dawn asked.

“That you went to yer wanker of a da,” Spike answered quickly, “he took ya away from Sunnyhell, finally answered his phone after yer Mum died.”

“We’ll pack some things, make it look good,” Willow added, “we’ll pack a lot of your things, like you really are moving out.”

“Everyone will be upset you’re gone,” Tara agreed softly, “so it’ll be an easy charade.”

“I do want copies of her medical records,” Danny spoke up mildly, before asking, “So, Buffy Summers, do we have a Deal?”

“Dawn?”

“If he can help with Glory—”

“If I can’t, I can find someone who can.”

“Then I’ll go with him.”

Buffy nodded, squared her shoulders and said, “Then we have a Deal.”

Danny nodded, “Well, then Dawn Summers, welcome to the family.”

Within the day things were packed and the needed files were gathered.

The Scoobies met Dawn’s new family, or, well, part of it.

Who quickly absorbed the entirety of the Scoobies into the family, very few questions asked and most of them about allergies and favorites.

Even Spike was accepted, though the King’s parents had questions for him about his biology.

Eventually, though, it was time to say goodbye and Dawn was taken through a portal.

Danny and his eldest son—who refused to give any other name than ‘Chat Noir’, or, in English, the Black Cat—stayed behind as the atmosphere shifted into something decidedly more…tactical.

[lauracaballeroprints]

Indigo Shibori watercolour pattern collection Beautiful hand-painted ethnic boho pattern collection.

Included:

6 watercolour patterns. High-quality 300ppp JPG files. 4000 x 4000 px

DOWNLOAD NOW!

[ateliersaro]

Sketchbook pages 

[unfortunate-arrow]

𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐚 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 | hphl character profile

warnings: mentions of illness, deaths, and premature birth

✧ IDENTITY ✧

Full Name: Georgiana Reva Parsons

Nicknames: Georgie, George

Name Meanings: Georgiana → English, “farmer” ; Reva → Hindi river name or Hebrew, “rain” ; Parsons → English, “the parson’s son” or “the parson’s servant.” 

Date of Birth: January 31, 1881

Gender: Female ; she/her

Sexuality: Bisexual 

Blood Status: Muggleborn 

Nationality: Irish, South Asian heritage 

Residence: India (birth to 8) ; the Parsons family’s Townhouse, Dublin, Ireland (8 to 21) ; TBD

✧ APPEARANCE ✧

Faceclaim: Simone Ashley 

Height: 5’10”

Build: Average but on the slimmer side 

Hair: Black hair that’s often pulled back and tends to make her look older than she is 

Eye Color: Brown

Scarring:

Childhood & Hogwarts: Georgie has a small y-shaped scar on her upper right arm and a small jagged, diagonal scar on her right knee. Both were the result of a tumble out of a tree and into a bramble bush when she was ten and was trying to retrieve something for her sister.

Adulthood: None

Modifications: (glasses, piercings, tattoos, etc.) Georgie’s ears are pierced. 

Other Distinguishing Marks: None 

Clothing Style: Darker colors ; jewel colors ; dresses ; tights ; slippers ; cardigans ; skirts ; blouses ; boots 

Accessories: Necklaces ; bracelets ; a claddagh ring from her paternal grandmother ; bangles 

What’s in Her Pockets: Wand 

What’s in Her School Bag: Textbooks ; quills ; ink ; parchment ; gloves ; a novel ; a miniature painting that her sister did of her beloved corgi, Bertie 

✧ SPEECH & LANGUAGE ✧

Voiceclaim: Simone Ashley 

Accent: Irish

Dialect: Dublin English

Languages Spoken: English, some Hindi terms of endearment

Languages Understood: English, some Hindi

✧ PERSONALITY ✧

MBTI Type: ENFJ — the protagonist 

→ ENFJs are idealist organizers, driven to implement their vision of what is best for humanity. They often act as catalysts for human growth because of their ability to see potential in other people and their charisma in persuading others to their ideas. They are focused on values and vision, and are passionate about the possibilities for people.

Enneagram Type: 1w9 — the idealist 

→ Enneagram Type One wing Nine personalities have all the main characteristics of the Type One, but also resemble the Type Nine in some ways. These Ones are generally calmer than other Type Ones and they possess a strong sense of right and wrong. They are more open to new ideas and perspectives than a typical One. They may appear quieter and more withdrawn than other Type Ones as well. Like Type Nines, this type seeks peace and avoids conflict. 1w9s are drawn to careers in psychology, social work, journalism and politics.

Positive Traits: Intelligent, kind, friendly, open-minded, reliable, altruistic, charismatic, responsible; outgoing, organized, courageous, practical, hardworking, diligent

Neutral Traits: Idealistic, stubborn, reserved about her personal life, can be intense, empathetic, persuasive, rather serious, straightforward

Negative Traits: Bad with her own emotions; struggles to put herself first, can be indecisive, self-sacrificing, can be rigid about certain things, can be overprotective

Common Stressors: Her responsibilities ; during exams ; when her sister is sick ; when work piles up 

Comforting Things: Bertie ; Being with her sister ; watching snow fall ; watching the waves break on the beach 

Interests & Hobbies: Reading ; embroidery ; scrapbooking ; horse riding ; croquet ; watercolors

Description: A kind and intelligent woman, Georgie has a tendency to put everyone else in front of herself, especially her sister. In addition, Georgie is incredibly stubborn and can sometimes be prone to grudges. However, she tries to see the best in everyone. She enjoys being around people, but keeps her personal life very private. Georgie doesn’t mind confrontations, but doesn’t seek them out and she refuses to keep her opinions to herself just to avoid a confrontation. She has a big heart, which is often noticeable.

✧ MAGIC ✧

Wand: Georgie’s wand is made of larch wood with a dragon heartstring core and it is 10 inches with an unyielding flexibility. 

→ Larch wands had a reputation for instilling confidence and courage in the user. The celebrated wandmaker Garrick Ollivander found that larch always created wands of hidden talents and unexpected effects, which likewise described the master who deserved it. It was often the case that the witch or wizard who belonged to the larch wand might never realise the full extent of their considerable talents until paired with it, but that they would then make an exceptional match.

Other Magical Abilities: None 

Patronus: Chestnut mare 

Patronus Memory: A walk in a Dublin park with her sister, father, and corgi shortly after the family moved there. It was the first time that Georgie felt a modicum of peace after the death of her mother. 

Boggart: The pale, thin, and consumption-ravaged figure of her sister or her love interest 

Riddikulus: The consumption-ravaged figure turns out to be a butter cookie person

Amortentia:

Georgie smells like thyme, lilies, lemons, and peppermint.

Georgie smells cinnamon, chocolate, leather, and cologne. 

Mirror of Erised: Georgie sees herself with her parents and sister smiling together, her mother without the ravages of consumption.

✧ HOGWARTS ✧

House: Gryffindor 

OWL Classes:

Astronomy — Acceptable 

Charms — Outstanding 

Defense Against the Dark Arts — Outstanding 

Flying — Acceptable 

Herbology — Acceptable 

History of Magic — Outstanding 

Potions — Exceeds Expectations

Transfiguration — Exceeds Expectations 

OWL Electives:

Care of Magical Creatures — Acceptable

Study of Ancient Runes — Outstanding 

NEWT Classes:

Charms — Outstanding

Defense Against the Dark Arts — Exceeds Expectations

History of Magic — Exceeds Expectations

Study of Ancient Runes — Exceeds Expectations

Transfiguration — Outstanding 

Extracurriculars: Prefect from her fifth to seventh year ; charms club ; ancient runes club ; quidditch for one game

✧ EMPLOYMENT ✧

Affiliations: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry ; The Law Offices of Baxter, Bones, and Livingston ; The Ministry of Magic, Department of Law Enforcement

Professions:

Age 16 to 18 - Seamstress 

Age 18 to 26 - Clerk in a law office

Age 26 to 30 - Apprentice lawyer 

Age 30 to 73 - Lawyer and barrister

✧ FAMILY ✧

Father: Kiran Rohan Parsons [deceased, 1854-1897]

Kiran was born in 1854 in Dublin, Ireland to George and Sonia Parsons. He was their only surviving child as his younger sister passed away as an infant. George and Sonia weren’t the wealthiest, but they had a stable wealth which allowed them to have a few luxuries. Unfortunately, in 1870, when Kiran was sixteen, his mother contracted typhoid fever from her workplace. It miraculously missed Kiran and George. Sonia’s fatal case of typhoid fever would be the first of three diseases to define Kiran’s life.

The next illness came just three years later, when Kiran was nineteen. His father was diagnosed with cancer. Kiran paid a substantial sum for a surgery to remove the cancer. Unfortunately, like many surgeries of the time, it was quite unhygienic and George Parsons passed away from surgical complications. With little money left after his father’s death, Kiran decided to take a position on a merchant’s ship that was to sail west to the Americas and then east to Asia.

When Kiran was 24, his ship landed in a port city in India. Purely by accident, Kiran stumbled upon his future wife, Priya. He fell hard and fast, quickly offering to buy her a bauble or sweet. Five months later, Kiran and Priya were married. They spent their first six months of marriage learning about one another. The next eighteen months were defined by Kiran’s attempts to find a new shipping job that required less travel and their struggles to have a much desired child.

At the age of 27, Kiran’s eldest daughter was born five weeks prematurely on January 31, 1881. Kiran and Priya christened her Georgiana Reva Parsons, in honor of Kiran’s late father. Shortly after that, Kiran nicknamed his daughter “Georgie” and it stuck. Two years later, at the age of 29, Kiran’s youngest daughter was born on September 13, 1883. Kiran adored his daughters, and his wife. He worked hard to provide for his family, but always made sure to dedicate time to spend with his daughters.

The third and final disease to marr Kiran’s life was tuberculosis. In the summer of 1885, his wife was diagnosed with consumption. Her remaining two years were stressful, but Kiran kept an optimistic face, even as things were starting to fail. Eventually, his wife passed away and Kiran was devastated. Ten months after Priya’s death, Kiran moved his daughters back to Dublin. He threw himself into his work, often at the expense of spending time with his daughters as he refused to fully accept his wife’s death. He left his daughters to fend for themselves, with the exception of the governess he hired for them. 

In April of 1897, when he was 43, Kiran was involved in a fatal shipyard accident. He died of an infection two days after the accident. 

Prior to her mother’s passing, Georgie was quite close with her father. She really looked up to him. Sadly, their relationship began to disappear after her mother’s death as Kiran began spending more and more time at work. Georgie loved her father fiercely, though. It was a love that lasted up until, and beyond the day that  he died. 

Faceclaim: Himesh Patel

Mother: Priya Nishet Parsons [deceased, 1857-1888]

Priya was born in India in 1857 to Navin and Madeline Carter as their only daughter. She had a stable childhood and knew what her parents expected of her, even after they died suddenly in an accident. However, it was that event that led Priya to meeting her future husband, Kiran Parsons, when she was 21. They married five months after their first meeting. 

On January 31, 1881, when she was 24, Priya's eldest daughter was born five weeks prematurely. Those first few months with Georgie were quite stressful, as Priya and Kiran were always on edge with the fear of losing their new daughter. Thankfully, they grew more comfortable with their daughter and two years later, on September 13, 1883, Priya's younger daughter, Divya, was born. Priya adored both her daughters and wished for more children, but was told that it would be unsafe by a midwife. Therefore, she doted on her two daughters, lavishing them with love. 

Sadly, Priya was diagnosed with consumption in 1885. She tried her best to fight the disease, even trying a TB sanatorium for six months. After determining that the sanatorium wasn’t very helpful, Priya spent the remainder of her life at home in quarantine in a separate building. She communicated with her daughters through the windows and doors, while her husband visited once a week. Eventually, though, Priya succumbed to consumption in 1888. 

Georgie was close to her mother and held mostly good memories of her mother, even during her illness. She loved her mother and Priya never forgot to remind her daughters how much she loved them. After her mother’s death, Georgie tried her best to emulate her mother to the best of her abilities. Priya was Georgie's version of the perfect mother. 

Faceclaim: Shelley Conn 

Sister: Divya Kamilah Parsons @endlessly-cursed

Born on September 13, 1883, Divya is the second daughter of Kiran and Priya Parsons, two years younger than Georgie, and a Hufflepuff. Georgie is very close with her little sister. However, she does take on a bit of a parental role with Divya, especially after the death of their mother. Georgie gets along quite well with Divya and they rarely fight. However, when they do fight, it can get quite nasty and bad. 

Faceclaim: Charithra Chandran 

Pets: 

Childhood: A corgi named Bertie 

Adulthood: A corgi ; an owl 

✧ ROMANCE & CHILDREN ✧

Love Interest(s): Angelo della Rovere (by @potionboy3)

→ Story details are TBD, but their relationship can be characterized as rivals to friends to lovers.

Son: Giovanni Deangelo “Gio” Rovere-Parsons

Hufflepuff | Keeper | Prefect | Demisexual | b. March 7, 1909

Georgie has a good relationship with her eldest son. In many ways, Gio is probably the child that takes after her the most, personality wise. This does cause some friction between mother and son, but they have a good relationship. Georgie is very proud of Gio and tries to support him in everything that he does. She loves him very much and wants to see him succeed and be the best version of himself. 

Faceclaim: Ali Hadji-Heshmati 

Son: Enzo Roy Rovere-Parsons

Slytherin | b. November 13, 1912 

Georgie has a good relationship with her younger son. She is very proud of Enzo and tries to support him in everything that he does. She loves him very much and wants him to succeed.

Faceclaim: Aidan Gallagher

Daughter: Reva Kamilah Rovere-Parsons

Hufflepuff | Prefect | Heterosexual | b. February 25, 1916 

Georgie has a good relationship with her daughter, and they are, perhaps, a little closer than Georgie and her sons. Reva takes after her father more in personality, but has Georgie’s desire to take the world by storm and show them what she can do. Georgie is very proud of her daughter and tries her best to support Reva in everything that she does. She loves her daughter dearly. 

Faceclaim: Swayam Bhatia 

✧ OTHER RELATIONSHIPS ✧

Best Friends: TBD

Close Friends: TBD

Friends:

Ivy Anders ; Oliver Gerard ; Siobhan Llewelyn (by @kc-and-co)

Albert Burke (by @madelineorionswan)

Carmine Elderberry (by @potionboy3)

Vinnie Wakefield (by @gaygryffindorgal)

Acquaintances: TBD

It’s Complicated: TBD

Hogwarts Dormmates:

Anouk Fairchild (by @hufflefluffs)

Seraphina Hopper (by @thatravenpuffwitch)

Eleanor Parkmoore (by @ellie-e-marcovitz)

AVAILABLE

Rivals: TBD

Enemies: TBD

✧ HISTORY & BACKGROUND ✧

Place of Birth: A port city on the Western coast of India 

Hometown: A modern townhouse in Dublin where Georgie, her sister, and her father moved after the death of her mother

Childhood: 

Georgiana Reva Parsons was born five weeks early, on January 31, 1881 to Kiran and Priya Parsons. Due to this, the doctor believed that Georgie would not survive as she struggled to breathe in those first hours of life. However, a midwife with her own knowledge of childbirth and infants believed otherwise and her parents credited that midwife with saving Georgie’s life.

The following two years were uneventful but Kiran and Priya were quite protective of their elder daughter and her health. Then, on September 13, 1883, Divya Kamilah Parsons was born. Given that Divya was born without any complications, Kiran and Priya relaxed a little and their lives fell into a routine.

However, that routine ended when Georgie was six and her mother was diagnosed with consumption, or tuberculosis. This meant that Priya spent her remaining two years in quarantine to avoid infecting her beloved daughters and husband and even spent six months in a TB sanatorium. Her daughters kept contact by shouting to her through the windows. 

In the wee hours of the morning as a thunderstorm raged, Georgie snuck out of her bedroom to see her mother. The pale, thin, consumption-ravaged figure would haunt her for the rest of her life. However, it wasn’t until a DADA lesson on boggarts that she truly remembered the horror of that figure. Sadly, Priya Parsons passed away in 1888, when her daughter was seven.  

Her father was devastated, but buried his grief and sank into his work. Unfortunately, this left Georgie and Divya alone and they grew self-sufficient. Then, ten months after their mother’s death, Miran decided it was time to move back to his home city of Dublin. He had better career opportunities there, all of which offered more money and he took a job there in an attempt to escape the crushing hand of grief. They moved there when Georgie was eight.

As a gift, her father allowed her and Divya to adopted a pet. Georgie chose a corgi puppy, whom she named Bertie. Aside from that, nothing major happened during her childhood in Dublin. Her father immersed himself in his work, often leaving the girls in the care of a governess. However, Georgie took on a maternal role towards her sister and also took on a lot of the household roles normally held by a wife. She became very self-sufficient and tried not to rely on anyone else. 

On her eleventh birthday, Georgie received her Hogwarts letters. 

Hogwarts Years:

Upon arriving at Hogwarts, Georgie was sorted into Gryffindor. At Hogwarts, she made good friends, temporarily joined the house quidditch team, and became a prefect.

In the April of her fifth year, Georgie’s father was killed in a fatal shipyard accident. Stunned and numb, Georgie pushed aside more of her own emotions and began to deal with her new responsibilities. During that summer break, Georgie took on a job as a seamstress for a local dressmaker. The job didn’t pay much and it was very demanding. However, Georgie was determined to ensure that she and Divya were not kicked out of their home until they were ready. She kept that seamstress job until she graduated from Hogwarts and got a job as a clerk in a law office. 

Adulthood:

After graduating from Hogwarts and quitting her seamstress job, Georgie was employed as a clerk at the Law Office of Baxter, Bones, and Livingston. She clerked for eight years before convincing her bosses that she should become an apprentice and work towards becoming a lawyer. At the age of 30, she finally achieved her goal of becoming a lawyer and barrister. She argued many cases, although she would only be remembered for three cases. Nevertheless Georgie was one of the first women to successfully succeed in the field of law.

In addition, Georgie married Angelo Della Rovere at the age of 26. Together, they had three children. Their eldest son, Giovanni Deangelo “Gio” Rovere-Parsons was born on March 7, 1909 with their second son, Enzo Roy Rovere-Parsons being born three years later, on November 13, 1912. Their youngest child and only daughter, Reva Kamilah Parsons was born on February 25, 1916.

Old Age:

At the age of 73, Georgie retired from her long and successful career as a lawyer and barrister, although her career would only be remembered for three extraordinary cases. She spent the next forty years doing some advocate work. 

Death: 

In 1994, Georgiana Reva Parsons passed away at the age of 113. She died painlessly in her sleep. She lived a long and fulfilling life.

✧ MISCELLANEOUS ✧ 

Favorite Color: Purple 

Favorite Food: Ice cream (specifically chocolate)

Favorite Drink: Ginger beer 

Favorite Weather: The sun is out, but it’s fairly cool 

Favorite Season: Autumn 

Dislikes: Bullies ; rakes ; meat pies ; lightning ; thunder ; quidditch 

Trivia:

Georgie was named after her paternal grandfather, George Parsons.

Georgie’s beloved corgi, Bertie, was supposed to be a show dog. However, he got sick as a puppy and then, he was considered unsuitable to show.

During her time at Hogwarts, Georgie played in one quidditch game. She promptly discovered that she hated and quit the team the next day. Luckily, she was only a reserve chaser.

In her first year, Georgie attempted to smuggle Divya into Hogwarts. Her father found Divya before the train could depart from the station and Georgie was quietly reprimanded.

Georgie doesn’t let the world or the era she lives in dictate who she is. When she decided to become a lawyer, she put her all into it and even though it took many years and setbacks, she never gave up. She doesn’t mind that she’s hardly remembered by history. She knows what she achieved and so does her family. 

Important Links:

Georgie’s tag

More information on Georgie’s children, Gio, Enzo, and Reva

[silascodys]

tattoo masterpost.

‘aka fuck knows he has too many and this is gonna be hell to explain from a mun standpoint without a frame of reference i can link to’

‘why are we here’ -- back of his right thigh. 

die young + skull in a whiskey glass -- front of his right forearm.

‘it’s all a blur’ -- back of right arm, just above the elbow.

large snake -- wrapping around his left forearm with the head finishing on his left hand. 

1991 -- on his abs just below his pecks, @jordanmitchell’s birth year.

‘why not?’ -- just below his right v-line. 

a rose -- beside the crease of his index finger and thumb of his left hand. commemorating his 2 week post prison bender with @raleighrose 

D-I-C-E --  tattooed on his fingers from index to pinky on his left hand dice is the name he uses for dealing. loves to keep that ring finger bent to his palm so he's throwing up a D-I-E, signature picture pose.

‘bulletproof’ -- back of his right hand where it meets his wrist.

‘k’ -- right wrist, matches the q tattoo @jordanmitchell has.

large geometric lion -- on the inside of his right bicep for his dead brother jack who was a leo. 

skull in a panama hat -- left pec. previously hatless but he had the panama added as a tribute to @jjaspr​ and their misadventures.

large cannabis leaf -- front of his left knee. 

large realistic red knife slash wound -- on the left side of his chest, just below his heart. got it 17 when his mother told him the wrong son died to signify that she ripped his heart out. 

503 -- top of his left arm. oregon area code. 

hands reaching out from the gates of hell -- covering the entire back of his neck to the bottom of his hairline. 

eye in the centre of a spider web -- front of his right knee. 

wall of text -- near his right ribs. paragraphed collection of various texts @jordanmitchell​ sent him that he never wanted to lose pre-prison. only legible if he lets you close enough to read them. 

large compass dripping down his spine with red watercolors -- his says ‘no-one, nowhere’ in typescript where reference pic says wanderlust.

feather -- right shoulder. he doesn’t remember much of his paternal grandmother but she always said falling features brought luck and that stuck with him. 

LUCK in black lettering changed to FUCK! (F + ! in red lettering) -- right pec. the red was done in the time that elapsed between his arrest and being sent to prison. he thought it was funny. 

stick and poke knife tattoo -- just above the scar on his right shoulder blade from where he was stabbed during his second year in prison. he wanted it to look like he was being stabbed again but his cellmate wasn’t very artistically inclined. he’s glad he doesn’t have to look at it much. 

anarchist symbol on red brick wall -- on his stomach. 

dragon -- covers most of his right hand.

‘strange boy’ -- just above his left heel.

oscar the grouch -- inside of his right thigh. got called trash once and said bet. 

forked lightning strike -- left ribs.

falling man -- just below his left elbow.

born with horns -- side of his right forearm. gets drunk and tells people it says born horny.

ak-47 -- side of his right calf.

‘dead man walking’ -- left shoulder blade. 

skeleton giving two middle fingers -- back of his left calf. he likes to be permanently flipping people off when wearing shorts. 

1990 -- just above his right foot.

skeleton climbing out of a coffin to do coke -- back of his left thigh. 

‘SMOKE WEED DRINK BEER STAY HIGH DON’T THINK’ in black lettering with D, I and E specifically in red -- left hip.

a pair of lips -- left collarbone. an impression of @jordanmitchell’s. 

‘fuck off!’ -- along the side of his right hand. flashes at people in the form of a salute when he’s too tired or high to actually say it. 

[valhallanrose]

Belle Fleur

The journey to Venterre, the start of an apprenticeship, and the beginning of the end.

5.3k. Cautionary CW for blood mention if you have any medical squicks. 

Title from Belle Fleur by Stevie Nicks 

The very first time Zelda had been asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, she had been six years old, and the question had been asked by an elderly woman who frequented the Olenev doorstep for salves to ease the pain in her joints. Harmless, though Zelda hadn’t noticed Tamryn roll his eyes and mouth a “she’s six” to their mother, and apparently, neither had the elderly woman in question.

In the moment, Zelda had just shrugged, clinging to the back of her father’s leg and peering around his thigh to answer the question with the characteristic honesty of a child her age. 

I don’t know. She’d said, smiling a little as Galen ruffled her hair. But I like to help. 

It was a sentiment that rang true through most of her childhood - up until that day in the garden, when she expressed the same healing magic that her father had, when it took on new life. 

Tamryn took after their mother in a thousand ways, not even accounting for how they looked alike, but one of the most apparent had been in the way his magic had come to be. Evalina never learned to make her magic take a specific shape - her magical pool was malleable, like water, confined only by the vessel of her imagination for her to channel as she pleased. She had chosen to take that gift and apply the principles of alchemy, joining magic and science to create the beginnings of her mechanical constructs. This had become her life’s work, the focus of her research since Tamryn was young, and his puzzle-loving mind felt challenged by the mechanisms at hand every time Evalina let him take a crack at a problem she was working her way through. 

On the other hand, Galen’s gift was that of healing, an ability that had evidently passed through several generations of his family - Zelda nor Tamryn ever met their paternal grandparents, due to a conflict that predated even Tamryn’s birth - but he backed it with a medical degree from when he’d studied in Galbrada in his youth. Though he had studied modern medical practice, he saw no harm in blending in the traditions he had been raised with, which was where the roots of his apothecary had planted themselves in the back garden of their home. 

Never had Zelda felt, even after learning she had the same gift as her father, that she had to follow that path. Galen nor Evalina had forced their children to choose the same career paths or life goals they themselves had pursued. It had been a simple fact that their passions for what they did had runneth over, and in turn inspired Zelda and Tamryn to follow in their respective footsteps. 

She had been learning since that day in the garden how to harness her healing ability, first in small ways, chasing knowledge until the day would come that she could officially start her apprenticeship. And when her paperwork came in - bearing with them an ID card recognized across near every country as a marker of her status as a healer’s apprentice, a sort of universal pass to access any place that her father was permitted into as a doctor - she had made such a shrill sound that she was a little hoarse the next day. 

This is it. She’d thought, near crushing the papers to her chest, pressing them against her heart as she felt the arms of her parents and brother wrap her up in a joyful embrace. It’s finally happening. This is all I’ve ever asked for, all I’ve dreamed of. And if it’s a dream, please, I beg of you, don’t wake me up. 

So when the time came to divide and conquer, so to speak, the pain of separation was at least somewhat eased by the knowledge that she was finally on the path towards her own future, that dreams too could become a part of her reality. The time had flown by, Zelda rising with the sun as it painted the sky in watercolor hues and partaking in the merriment with other passengers. Nevivon had only been the ship’s second stop - first in Rosafearn at the mouth of the Strait of Seals, and afterwards, Hjalle, Macawi Port, and Sirenia before it had sailed into the open Salty Sea. 

It was on the third day of their week-long journey that a group of passengers had brought out their instruments, and the deck was filled with music, laughter, and dancing that helped pass the time from morning to night. During all of it, her father - who, out of all of them, had always been the family dancer - pulled Zelda out of her seat despite her laughing protests. It set the tone for the rest of the journey, which flew by, until the ship finally came to its port of call in southern Venterre. 

Galen had laughed when Zelda stumbled off the ship, unconsciously swaying as if the sea still had a hand in her movements, catching her around the shoulders and taking her bag from her as they made their way towards the inn that would be their home for the next few months. 

*     *     *     *     *

The clinic the following morning was organized chaos, people rushing about at a near breakneck pace, the door hardly getting the chance to fall shut before the next person passed through it. 

Zelda was only half listening as she handed over her documents, her father taking charge of most of the check-in process as she took in the sight of it all. The flurry of motion was infectious, leaving Zelda bouncing idly on the balls of her feet as she waited for her next set of instructions from the clinic staff. 

“As I live and breathe, Olenev, is that really you?”

Both Zelda and Galen turned, looking upon the older woman - a little shorter than Zelda, with deep crow’s feet and smile lines and her hair nearly as white as the snow in Nevivon - and Galen seemed to near instantly recognize her, a smile breaking out across his face as he opened his arms to her. 

“In the flesh, Rowena.” He laughed, her hand clapping soundly against his back before they pulled apart, his hands resting lightly on her upper arms. “What’s it been? A decade, hasn’t it?”

“Longer than that.” She snorted. “Your son was freshly eight when I last saw you, and I believe you were getting ready to head home before your second was born.”

“I think closer to sixteen years, then.” His arm fell around Zelda’s shoulders, giving her a light squeeze as he urged her forward. “The second in question. Rowena, this is my youngest, Zelda. She’s starting her - Zelda, this is Rowena Duchdenwald. She and I have been assigned to a few of the same areas by the Medical Coalition in the past, though Rowena tends to linger in the southern parts of the world.”

“Not a fan of the heat, personally.” Rowena smiled as she extended a hand to Zelda, which she took with some surprise at the strength of the elder woman’s grip. “Pleasure to meet you, honey. I’d love to stay and chat, but as you’ve probably both noticed, it’s a bit of a madhouse right now.”

Zelda perked up a bit as her father ruffled her hair. “Is something happening?”

“Ah, a passenger ship came limping to the docks. Captain reported injuries, so the harbormaster sent word for us.” Rowena tucked her pen into the base of her ponytail, eyeing Zelda for a moment as she began bouncing again - something she sheepishly stopped once she noticed. “You know, Galen, it’d be a good chance to get her feet wet. I imagine if they let you start this young, your father’s been teaching you for a while. How are your sutures?”

“Daddy says my continuous would make a tailor jealous.” She grinned a little when Rowena laughed at that. “I’m definitely better at surface sutures. I haven’t had much opportunity to practice my buried ones, we don’t get a lot of big wounds like that in Nevivon.”

“You will in time, but I’m hoping nothing that severe is on our radar today.” Rowena mused, raising a brow towards Galen. “Well?”

Galen hummed in thought for only a moment, two at most, before he nodded his agreement. Zelda had to contain herself before she threw her hands in the air in sheer excitement at the small victory. 

“You’ve got your suture kit and your cards?” He asked, and when Zelda confirmed she did, he looked to Rowena with some amusement. “Never a moment’s rest, is there?”

“In this field?” She laughed, setting a hand on Zelda’s shoulder. “I’ll go ahead and take her with me, show her some of the ropes. Go ahead and throw your bag in the office they gave you and grab what you need, and we’ll meet you there.”

Rowena had given Zelda a kind smile before they made haste towards the docks, boarding with little trouble - the seafoam green haired Navy sailor stationed at the bottom of the gangway spent quite a few moments longer squinting at Zelda’s IMC identification card than Rowena’s, but eventually let them pass - and Zelda followed Rowena’s direction to join the group of apprentices sorting injuries by least to most severe. 

The medical field wasn’t one to get cocky, at least not the way Zelda was taught, which meant she was more than comfortable stepping aside when more experienced apprentices came in to tend wounds she’d not yet had the training to do so herself. Several of them, however, were more than fine with letting her observe once the more critical patients had been attended to. 

Perhaps that had been why she was so startled when a hand landed on her arm, grabbing her and pulling her away from the vertical mattress suture she’d been watching before she’d realized anyone had even come up behind her. 

The woman who’d grabbed Zelda spoke too quickly for her to understand - her Venterran was good, but not that good - but she didn’t need to understand to know that her tone indicated something of a sense of worry. She followed after a moment, asking to be shown, hoping that might provide some clarification that Zelda herself could not seem to obtain. 

They crossed to the other end of the ship, to a small group near the stern that Zelda knew to be the group of the most mild injuries, and the woman took a breath before addressing her again, pointing to an individual with her words this time much clearer. 

“Can you help them?”

They rolled their eyes, removing the blood-soaked gauze that had been pressed to their brow, gesturing loosely with one hand as they spoke. 

“Viviana, they said they’d come back, that it wasn’t serious -”

“Then why was it bleeding so much?” Viviana huffed, grabbing their chin and turning their head to get a better look. “It looked bad, Alessi, I just wanted to be sure you’re okay.”

“Wounds on the face do tend to bleed more.” Zelda said after a moment, drawing both of their attention as she pulled her bag off her shoulder. “It’s because there are more blood vessels in the head that are a lot closer to the surface of your skin. I’m sure it is only minor, but I can still take a look if that would put you both at ease?”

Viviana nodded, but Zelda looked at Alessi, raising a brow in search of their permission, which she received with a nod of their own. She would stick out a hand in introduction, digging one hand into her bag to find her identification, but both of them waved it off when she tried to extend it to them. 

“Zelda Galenovna Oleneva.”

“Alessi de Soller. This is my older sister, Viviana.” They said with a smile, and Zelda returned it before she excused herself to wash her hands and make sure all her tools were sterile. 

There was a neat laceration to Alessi’s face, narrowly missing their eye and stretching up towards the middle of their forehead, but the worst of it was at their brow - still, though, not as bad as it could have been, and very minor compared to the cuts others had that had come from flying debris.  

“It certainly looked worse with all the blood than it was.” Zelda mused. “Bleeding stopped, probably because you had pressure on it for a good while. How’d you get this, anyway?”

“The deadeye caught me when I tried to help some of the others with the rigging during all the chaos. It just came loose and clocked me right in the face.” Alessi laughed. “I’m just glad it didn’t hit me in the mouth. I’d rather have a scar than busted teeth. Not as roguish.” 

Zelda cracked a grin at that, and Viviana snorted her own laugh behind her, shaking her head slightly when Zelda glanced at her out of her peripheral vision. 

“Busted teeth would be quite out of my repertoire.” Zelda reached for her things, finding the small jar of numbing cream and showing it to him. “I’m going to put a few stitches in your brow to close the wound, but it’s pretty superficial at your forehead, like the deadeye was moving away, so that should close well enough on its own. Does that sound alright with you?”

Alessi nodded slightly, and Zelda began to carefully dot the cream over the area, readying her needle driver and forceps while she waited for it to take full effect before she began her sutures. 

She wouldn’t notice - not until a little while later, when she’d finished sterilizing her tools again and packed them up to find either Rowena or her father - that he had been watching her, leaning against the opposite railing of the ship with arms folded loosely across his chest while the chaos had died down around them and cleanup had begun. Relaxed brow, chin up, broad smile, the gleam in his eye…

Pride. 

Beaming, Zelda would approach him again, tucking her suture kit into her bag again as her father wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze.

“Good start, ladybug.” He murmured, nudging her forward after a moment. “Let’s go help clean up. Finish the first day strong, yeah?”

*     *     *     *     *

About a month into their stay at the Bee and Bard, Zelda would flounce down the stairs in the early morning, planning to check for mail while her father slept in a little longer - the weeks were long, and he had enough sleep troubles to earn the extra bit of rest. 

“Morning, Niccolò!” Zelda called as she slid in front of the counter, greeting the older gentleman as she set her chin in her hand and elbow on its surface. “Anything for us today?”

“The day’s barely begun and you’re already looking for mail.” Niccolò chuckled, pulling out a small box from under the counter to sift through it. “Who are you waiting for letters from, hm? A secret admirer? Do I need to keep a secret from your father?”

Zelda laughed, shaking her head as she hopped up onto the stool beside the counter. 

“No, no, not at all. My mama and my older brother are in Prakra right now, and they said they’d write. We sent a letter when we got here, but we haven’t heard back yet. We’re sure they’re just busy but we don’t want to miss a letter when it comes.”

“I understand why you and your father are so eager for your mail, then.” The innkeep mused, then let out an ‘ah-ha’ as he presented a few envelopes to her. “Here we are. One for you, Zelda, and two for your father.”

She could tell just by the way the address was written that two were penned by her mother - both envelopes a little thicker, undoubtedly carrying messages from her brother and mother for each of them - but she frowned at the third, her father’s full name in unfamiliar handwriting, with an official-looking crest embedded in the wax seal on the back. 

“Something wrong?” Niccolò asked gently, and Zelda snapped back to attention, shaking their head and giving him an appreciative smile. 

“No, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t think papa was waiting for another letter, but he’ll figure it out. Thank you, Niccolò. Is the kitchen open yet? I’d love to bring breakfast upstairs.”

Near twenty minutes later, Zelda bumped the door open with her hip, hands full with the tray from the kitchens - laden with ricotta pancakes and fresh fruit, the letters tucked beneath each plate - and would have dropped it as she turned the corner, had her father not met her halfway and caught the front of the tray before it tipped. 

“Well, good morning to you, too, bug.” He chuckled, setting the tray on the counter and grabbing for the edge of his nightshirt to wipe the leftover shaving lather away from his neck. “You’re up early. Couldn’t sleep?”

“Too many thoughts.” Zelda shrugged, passing him his letters and his plate. “Mama and Tam wrote, finally. And there was another letter for you, but I don’t know who it was from.”

“Well, it’ll be easy enough to find out. But first…” He waved the letter in Evalina’s hand, an almost boyish grin on his face, and Zelda laughed as she sat down on the couch with her tea and her own letter in her lap.  

She had been right in that there was more than one in the envelope - one from her mother, checking in on her progress and asking how the first month had gone, telling her about what had been going on in Prakra with Tamryn, though she’d left much of the details up to her brother. Tamryn’s letter, more than likely dictated through their mother, had been humorously longer, explaining the process by which he’d been learning braille and orientation with his new cane as if he was trying to write her a tutorial.

Zelda had only just begun to examine the slip of paper Tamryn had included - he’d giddily explained that he’d written each of their names in braille and sent it so she could see how it worked - when her father swore loudly, startling Zelda enough for her knee to jostle the table her teacup was on and knock it over. 

“Son of a -”

“Daddy!” Zelda said, a note of complaint to her voice as she tried to blot up the liquid that had spilled on the edge of Evalina’s letter. “A little warning, please?”

“I’m sorry, bug, but not now - I need my reading glasses, have you seen them?”

“Didn’t you have them? You should have been wearing them if you were reading your letters.”

“No, I was squinting. Yes, yes, I know, the hypocrisy of me being a doctor and not listening to medical advice, but I want to make sure I’m reading this right.” Galen had rushed to the desk situated in the corner, nearly throwing papers around the surface to see if his glasses had become buried beneath them the night before. 

Zelda would snort, getting up to check around the room, shaking her head in amusement as she found them tangled in the blanket he’d draped over his lap. 

“We’re getting you a glasses chain at this rate…” She started, but trailed off as she spied a familiar letterhead at the top of the pile. 

Why were they getting letters from the International Medical Coalition?

That was the organization that had approved her healer’s paperwork and sent her her ID card - recognized in all countries that held membership - and the same that had sent Zelda and her father to Venterre for their six month contract. But as far as her father had told her, everything was ready to go, and her evaluation wasn’t supposed to be for another few months…

Distracted, she set his glasses aside, picking up the letter to take a closer look for herself as her father approached. 

Galen Artyomovich Olenev, 

This letter is to notify you that as of the first of this month, the nation of Venterre has agreed to suspend all regional contracts with the IMC in favor of distributing all capable healers to areas considered utmost priority within its boundaries. One such area lies south of your assignment, known as the Red Lazaret, or Lazaretto Rosso in the language of your locality. 

You have an extensive record with our organization. Since you first registered with us upon graduation from the medical program at Sephin Citadel, you have spent a cumulative fifteen years out of your nearly thirty year career on assignment, working internationally in areas with a dire need for medical personnel. All individuals contacted in inspection of your medical record have spoken highly of your expertise in pediatric surgery and general medicine, including those who supervised you during your residency, who still praise your technical skill. 

“Rather than suspend your program, the International Medical Coalition has reassigned you and your apprentice to the Lazaretto Rosso, in order to aid in the efforts to contain the epidemic presently known as the Red Plague for the remainder of your contracted time in Venterre. We understand your relocation will be an endeavor, and have coordinated new accommodations and passage in addition to updating compensation to reflect this change. If we do not receive alternative information, we will advance with protocol and notify your documented emergency contact, Evalina Zadrożna-Oleneva…”

Zelda’s head snapped up to look at her father, who had slowly sat down one of the armchairs, elbows resting on the arms and hands steepled as he had listened to her read the letter aloud. He looked…contemplative, yet resigned, the sides of his fingers pressed against his mouth. 

“Can they do that, daddy?” She asked, waving the letter in a vague sort of gesture. “Just tell you to get up and go elsewhere at the drop of a hat?”

“They can in times of public health crisis, which the Red Plague has been considered for a while.” Galen sighed, raking one hand through his hair. “I was afraid of this happening. There had been murmurings at the practice last week that there’s been a spike in cases at the quarantine.”

Zelda set the letter in his outstretched palm, lowering herself to kneel beside the arm of his chair as he glanced over it again, glaring at it as if trying to will the ink to move and create a different letter altogether. 

“So…are you going to go?”

“I don’t see a way I can’t. Legally, no, nothing can make me go, not even the Medical Coalition - but I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself if I turned my back on this.” Galen sighed after a long moment, closing his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m going to tell your mother. I’ll have to coordinate your passage to Prakra, let your mother know you’ll be joining her and Tamryn, though at this rate you’ll probably arrive at the same time as a letter would…”

“Am I…” Zelda’s brow furrowed as she reached for the letter to examine it again. “Daddy, the letter said that they want you and your apprentice to go.”

Eyes as green as her own shot to her, and Galen’s brows lowered - not angry, but firm, as he stuffed the letter back into its envelope and pushed himself out of his chair. 

“You should know better than to ask me that, Zelda. It’s not up for discussion.”

The heat of frustration crept up Zelda’s neck, and she followed after him, hot on his heels as he crossed the room to toss the letter on the desk and pour himself a glass of water from the decanter. 

“Don’t you and mama say everything is up for discussion if you still have something to say?” Zelda insisted. “If we got reassigned together, why shouldn’t I go with you? I don’t understand why you’re telling me no without even explaining why.”

“This isn’t about that anymore, and you know that.” Galen set the glass down, and his hands came to rest on her shoulders, holding firmly enough to keep her from turning away from him. “This isn’t about you as a healer, this is about you as my child, and it is my job as your father to protect you. How can you ask me to bring you with me and expose you to that, to take the risk of you getting sick with something there is no cure for?”

There was a moment of pause between them, where they stared at each other for a long, long moment, and Galen sighed, turning to rummage through the desk drawer again. It took Zelda another minute to find her words, but when she did, they didn’t come out with a tremor - which surprised her, given the way it felt like her jaw was trembling in her growing anxiety. 

The drawer thumped shut as Galen pulled out their travel documents, sifting through them to find Zelda’s and setting them aside - presumably to take them to the docks and arrange for a ship to Prakra like he’d said. 

“I am your father before everything else, Zelda. If I’d foreseen the possibility then I never would have even agreed to an assignment here, the last thing I ever wanted from this was to put you in any sort of harm’s way.”

He said it without meeting her eyes, something heavy visibly weighing on his face, and on a whim - a particularly emotional one, admittedly - Zelda lunged forward, snatching as many of the papers as she could off the desk to deter him and taking a few steps back, a few scattering to the floor between them in her haste to sweep up as many as possible. 

“I don’t want to go, Daddy, I am absolutely terrified of what could happen to both of us if we do this!” Zelda’s eyes were hot with unshed tears, the papers crinkling as she squeezed them tighter to her chest. “I’ve heard the stories, I’ve read them in the libraries we’ve visited, I know what the Red Plague is and how devastating it can be, and I am afraid. But you are telling me to defy everything I have ever known with you as my father and my mentor, and I don’t understand how you can ask me to go as if nothing you have ever taught me mattered. I was raised by a father who taught me that he saw his own medical career as his way to abide by the mitzvah, that we are commanded to take every action we can that is necessary to protect not only our own lives, but the lives of others. And I hold that same standard to myself because of you, because I believe in the very same thing and I have an obligation to go, no matter what I may or may not want.”

Galen tried to cut in, but Zelda raised her voice - one of the few times she ever had raised her voice to her father - squeezing her eyes shut and feeling paper rip beneath her fingers, as if not looking at him would somehow make it easier to say what she wanted. 

“As a mentor you have told me since I was fourteen years old, old enough to understand, that patients don’t get a choice in what they’re diagnosed with, that if I wanted to become a healer, I could not flinch because I was afraid - that we have an obligation to treat everyone whenever capable no matter how it scares us. I don’t understand, how can you ask me so easily to just abandon what I’ve held so close for so long? How can you ask me to live with myself knowing that you wouldn’t be able to if you ran from this? It’s not a matter of what I want, it’s a matter of what’s right, even if we’re both afraid.”

She didn’t realize she’d begun crying until she heard her father hush her quietly, gently pulling the papers from her hands and setting them down on the nearest surface - what it was, she couldn’t say, as her vision was too blurry with tears to tell - and he brought her into a hug, rubbing her back lightly as he set his chin on her head. 

“I know you’re afraid of taking me there, papa, but it’s not fair for you to try and have it both ways. You can’t teach me one thing and then tell me none of it matters when it’s convenient. How can you just ask me to leave you behind like I’m not worried about you, too?”

“I know you are, bug, I know.” He murmured, voice thick with his own unshed tears before he kissed her brow. “Suddenly I understand why your mother calls us bullheaded. I thought it was because we were Tauruses.”

“I’m also a stubborn asshole like you.” Zelda sniffed, burying her face in the soft fabric of his shirt, finding something soothing in the scent of his homemade aftershave; sandalwood, eucalyptus, and chamomile. “I’m not leaving you alone. I’ll find a way to go with you anyway, you know that.”

Galen huffed a laugh into her hair, shaking his head slightly at her words, but surprisingly not scolding her for swearing like she thought he might. 

“I do. I’ve always loved your persistence, though I suppose encouraging it has backfired on me now. I see your point, however.” He said, swiping his thumb under her eye when he leaned back and cupped her cheeks in both hands. “If I’m going to entertain this, I need you to promise me something. If at any time I come to a point where I believe your physical well-being is in danger, you will take the first passage to Prakra, to your mother and brother, and remain there with them until I am able to leave or an alternative plan is in place. You will not question me, you will not argue with me, you will not try and stay to convince me otherwise. Do you understand me, Zelda?”

Zelda nodded slowly, stepping into his embrace to give him a tight squeeze - one that normally would have made him playfully complain about hurting his back, but this time he didn’t seem to mind, holding her nearly as tight for a little while longer. 

“At least now you won’t have to train another assistant.” She tried, and Galen snorted, shaking his head slightly as he let out a long sigh. 

“Trust you to find something optimistic about all this.” He said, kissing her brow one last time before he released her completely. “Go…go start packing your things. There’s a carriage due to pick us up tomorrow morning to take us further south. I’ll join you in a bit. I have to figure out what I’m going to write to your mother.”

She nodded, turning to walk to her room in the silence, the weight of the room so much heavier than before - so much so that when she turned back to look at her father from the doorway, he seemed…so much smaller than she ever thought he could be, weighed down by sadness and something else she couldn’t name.

“Papa?” She called, and he looked up, the space under his eyes clearly wet even as he tried to swipe his fingers beneath them to cast the tears away. “I just…wanted to tell you I love you, that’s all.”

“I love you too, Zelda.” She heard him say, voice quiet, yet thick with emotion barely held at bay. “I love you, too.”