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oliversrarebooks · 4 months

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what do your guys think about flowers? do they appreciate a nice bouquet? does lady jessica get roses from her love interests? has fitz ever had them be thrown on the stage after a performance? has anyone ever made lex a flower crown and told him to stop looking so sad and tormented? (if not, i will make him one.)

also, do any of them have a favourite flower with a special significance? i feel like the resident gays might have something sappy like that going on. like "ooo i got a bouquet of roses from fitz in 1897 and now whenever i see roses i tear up and spiral for 5 consecutive days"

also, lex seems like the type to enjoy nice, pressed flowers... he would 100% kill live ones. oliver wouldnt tho, i think. in my heart, oliver knows how to take care of little potted plants like he knows how to care for old books. maybe he could get some for lex's (i bet) sad and lifeless little manor. it needs the touch of a living person /j

sorry for the many questions, i suddenly got curious. as a parting gift, i stick a flower in fitz's gorgeous gorgeous hair, and i assure him he looks stunning (which he already knew). i also give miss lily a flower for being employee of the month at the thrall factory. ... i would like to give everyone a flower i think... they all deserve it... lady jessica for being so pretty and fun, lex for being so sopping wet and squishable, emily and oliver for being the best thralls... (jameson gets nothing, but the rats get a flower too)

This is a great ask, I love it

Lex would definitely love pressed flowers. He enjoys floral scents, as well, and often smells a bit floral due to using soaps and perfumes with floral fragrance. But you're right, he does not normally have live plants in his manor. Particularly when he's in a mood, he tends to lose track of the days, and is poor of taking care of living creatures. This is part of why it's good for him to have thralls that can attend to their own needs. He's had cats before, but they were allowed to free roam outdoors and so often took care of their own food by killing the numerous city mice.

Lex would also have books on flower language. Among the supernatural folk, flower language is mostly the realm of witches and faefolk, as they have strong connection to nature and plants.

The idea of Lex in a flower crown is amazing.

I think it's spot on that Oliver would enjoy houseplants. Keeping houseplants in the manor would be difficult because the windows are usually shut (to protect Lex in case he needs to get up during the day). He would keep plants in his own bedroom, where he usually keeps the window open for sunlight and fresh air.

Oliver would beam with delight at being given a flower for being the best thrall.

Fitz does indeed get tossed roses and flowers at his performances. He loves gaining flowers as a token of admiration, but could never actually take care of a live plant. He does have one very bad association with roses that will come up in the story. Lex would usually get him flowers other than roses for that reason.

Fitz grins and preens at having a flower stuck in his hair.

Lily doesn't have a particularly good or bad association with flowers. She's always busy and doesn't keep house plants. She does very often wear floral print dresses, though. And she'd be very amused to be named the Employee of the Month at the thrall factory.

Jessica LOVES flowers. She loves to get them from admirers and fills her house with them. She has both real and artificial flowers -- she tosses the real flowers as soon as they start to die, and tosses the artificial flowers as soon as they get dusty. Like many things in Jessica's life, nothing actually lasts very long. She also often wears floral corsages, and flowers on her hat and in her hair.

Emily likes the flowers in Jessica's house. It's one of the bright spots of her dismal existence, and once she gets some art supplies, it's one of her favorite subjects to draw and color.

Jameson thinks flowers are for women and children.

#ask #alexander #fitz #oliver #lily #jessica #emily #jameson #flowers

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yandere-fics · 1 month

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Mafia lapdog Eliza saves her darling. (I got so carried away, this is rancid)

"Read. The. Card." The man snapped, holding a gun to your head with one hand and a shoddily written note in the other. There were five men in the room, all of different size and statures, all wearing balaclavas to cover their faces. All a bunch of pricks.

"Or what? You'll shoot me? Good luck getting daddy's money then. I'll take my damn time" you hissed, grinning smugly. These idiots thought you'd just be some scared little damsel that'd cry and follow all their demands. Idiots.

"Is this your first kidnapping? It certainly isn't mine. I'll tell you what though, you bring me a martini and give me a foot massage and I might consider not making this your last kidnapping. If you catch what I'm saying?" You winked, earning yourself a slap to the face from the biggest man, it rocked brain around your skull, your ears were ringing and you saw spots in your vision. You raised your head to make another smartass comment before he brought his hand down again, briefly knocking you out of consciousness. These assholes might not be pushovers like the last ones. The world continued to spin until you heard one of the men scream. There was growling, gunshots, tearing of flesh, all sounds most people would not associate with hope. As your vision cleared you saw her - Eliza, your loyal guard dog, ripping out the biggest mans throat with her teeth. His scream sounded like a balloon deflating by the time she had ripped his vocal cords out. It made you smile.

"What took you so long puppy? I'm gonna miss my party tonight." You teased, grinning as the bloodstained wolf girl wandered towards you. However your smile quickly faded when you realised something was... off with her. She looked like she was in a trance.

"Hey uh, puppy? You okay?" You asked as she began sniffing your neck, inhaling your scent like your father inhaled coke. She got closer, and closer, burying her face in your neck and whimpering.

"You smell so good... you smell so nice..." she mumbled, you realised she'd found you by tracking your scent, and you'd been in this basement for a while... your perfume must have worn off. Your dad always told you to mask your scent with a shitton of perfumes, werewolves make loyal guards but strong smells can set them off.

"Hey, puppy, I know I smell good but- MMF" you let out a moan as she sank her teeth into your neck, moaning as she gnawed and bucked her hips, her tongue lapped at your exposed skin as she bucked her hips against you, causing the chair you were tied to to rock back.

"Puppy!!! Cut it out!!! If I get a concussion you'll be in big trouble!!"

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... you just smell so good... you smell so nice..." she whined, you looked down to see... oh. Her pants were around her ankles as she pumped her cock in her spare hand, whining into your neck as she got drunk on your scent. You didn't want to stare but... it was a little hot. A clawed finger soon made its way to your dress, tearing it off your body with frightening ease.

"Hey... puppy come on now, this is getting a little out of hand." You chuckled, hoping she'd snap out of her little episode any second, only to find her moving lower and lower, her nose burying into your panties.

"Hey now... what are you-"

"Found it!!" Eliza giggled, her tail starting to wag. Your mind raced with thoughts... how has she been tracking your scent? None of your clothes are ever worn enough to soak in any kind of stink apart from... oh my god. YOUR DAD GAVE ELIZA A PAIR OF YOUR FUCKING PANTIES?!

Your face flushed red before Eliza's tongue grazed your clit, her hands lifting you up from the base of the chair to shove her face in between your legs, your panties pushed to the side as she devoured you. Her tongue was long. Longer than you expected. Wetter too. She lapped at you like she'd been starved her entire life, only stopping to run her tongue along the stray droplets of sweat forming on your thighs. It felt... really fucking good.

"Puppy come on!! This is- mmf~ puppy this is silly!! At least untie me!!" You cried out, finding yourself bucking your hips against her mouth, this was far too hot for you to admit. So you had to at least act like you were putting up some resistance. She buried her face deeper and deeper, you felt yourself getting close, that familiar rising feeling building in your groin. It kept building and building until-

SNAP

You hit the ground hard, the chair breaking into pieces, sending you both crashing to the concrete floor. You found yourself lying on your back, Eliza's adorable, bloody face right on top of yours, your hands still tied behind your back, with her cock pressed to your hole, twitching and throbbing, begging to be let inside.

"C... can I..." Eliza asked, her tail swaying nervously

"Okay..." you whispered back, kissing her as she pressed herself inside of you. You moaned as she filled you to the brim, making your legs shake as she bucked into you. You locked your legs around her back as she continued to thrust in and out, your hips kissing with thick strands of her saliva connecting the two of you. She felt divine, huffing your scent and whining, pushing deeper and deeper inside, her cock throbbing as you found yourself getting closer and closer. The gross sound of her thighs clapping against yours echoed throughout the basement in harmony with your moans.

"Good girl. Good girl. Keep going. You're such a good dog. Just the best little puppy." You whined, with each thrust it felt she was going deeper, you felt yourself balancing right on the edge of the best orgasm you've had in years. You figured you'd pull out all the stops for this

"Breed me like a good doggy, put a puppy in me."

Her tail began wagging so fast you feared it would fly off, she fucked you so intensely you thought your body would turn to jelly, you moaned and squealed and finally you came, riding out your orgasm as she reached hers, pushing her knot deep inside you as she filled you. The room filled with both of your scents entwined, she stopped to look into your eyes, grinning as her tail wagged.

"Did I do good?!"

"Yeah. You did great puppy... can you untie me now?"

-girlfailure

omg I will be thinking about this all night.

#girlfailure anon

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mymarsmoonandstars · 1 year

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ONE THING I ABSOLUTELY LOVED about wakanda forever is how shuri never admitted to seeing killmonger in the ancestral plane. nakia asked her twice, and she disclosed not a thing. so i've been mulling over two questions: will shuri ever admit to seeing killmonger? and if so, who will she tell?

i was thinking of writing up a meta, but i saw the scene too clearly in my head. so i wrote a story, a short one, about 1.4k words. tw death mention. i call it, cat's got your tongue. i'm kidding. it's untitled.

i haven't written fanfic in years, until wakanda forever, apparently. the power of black women front-and-center on screen, eh?

anyway, i think yes, shuri will eventually admit to seeing killmonger. but to whom? well. . .

Even the loud cascading water of Warrior Falls could not mask the sound of footsteps on rocks. A perk of being the Panther. So when a certain former member of the Dora Milaje appeared behind her, Shuri did not have to turn and look back over her shoulder to verify. She remained sitting on the edge of a rocky outcrop, legs dangling over a crystalline pool of shallow water. "If you're here to vent about your new suit, Okoye, your very long list of edits is still underway," said Shuri, keeping her eyes straight ahead. The golden horizon made the reservoir shimmer.

"It is not my suit I am concerned about. At least, not today." Okoye went to Shuri's side, and this close, Shuri not only breathed in her faint, reassuring scent of steel and lotus flower, but she could hear her heartbeat. Another Panther Perk that felt less like an advantage and more of an annoyance. She heard not only the heartbeats of humans, but the ancient thrumming of elephants, the flitting ones of birds. Sometimes, she wondered what her heartbeat had sounded like to her late brother, T'Challa. She knew it couldn't be like Okoye's, whose heart's drum beat as resonant and steady as the tama, speaking to her in a powerful but welcoming rhythmic language only she could understand. For the first time in days, Shuri felt the tensed Panther Spirit inside her head ease.

"Then what is it, Okoye?"

"You. If you wanted to challenge for the throne, I'm afraid you are a few weeks late. Though still fully within your rights."

Shuri looked down, twisted the Kimoyo beads on her wrist. She had programmed them off so that no one, not even Griot could reach her. "I did not come here to challenge for the throne."

"Then why are you here?"

Shuri furrowed her brows. She did not know the exact reason. She hated Warrior Falls, actually. As a child, she'd always associated it with being forced to wear itchy ensembles or watch boring fights. That is, until a few years ago, when T'Challa fought M'Baku and N'Jadaka here. She now thought of Warrior Falls as the place her brother not only once, but twice nearly died in. So why did it beckon her so?

"Okoye. Do you ever think of your tribe? Before you left it?"

Okoye sat beside her. Being that she was not in her Midnight Angels suit and no longer a Dora, she wore casual Wakandan wear. A sight Shuri was still getting used to. "Of course I do. I come from a long line of shepherds and farmers. But do not be fooled, as The Border Tribe was and still is Wakanda's first line of defense. We obliterated any threat before they had a chance to even feast their terroristic eyes upon Wakanda's protective barrier. We've earned our bragging rights, as your Americans say." Okoye bumped her shoulder against Shuri's, teasing a small smile out of her. Okoye's voice softened as she sank further into memory. "My father used to grow the sweetest yellow yam. Better than W'Kabi's, but do not tell him I said that. And my mother. . . she sang me songs full of stories about the king's personal protectors, instilling in me the dream of becoming a part of the Dora. After their spirits answered Bast's call, I decided to make that dream come true."

I'm so sorry the dream doesn't exist anymore, Shuri wanted to say, but couldn't bring herself to. She blamed herself for Okoye no longer holding the title. But Okoye often assured that she had let go of the position and was ready to move on to the something more. "I do not understand, Okoye. Why must violence always be the price we pay for transformation? For progress?"

"Hm." Okoye tilted her head, thoughtful. For the first time in her life, Shuri saw shadows of black hair peeking through her tatted scalp. "Is this why M'Baku sits on the throne now, instead of you?"

"My father sat on the throne only to die. My brother sat on the throne only to die. And my mother, just the same. That throne is cursed." Shuri's voice was as bitter as heart-shaped herb tea.

"Cursed? I thought scientists such as you did not believe in curses."

"I've visited the Ancestral Plane. I—I have senses," said Shuri, struggling to explain the black-furred soul trapped in her mind, "that tread the world beyond physics. What I believe in, I am no longer sure."

Okoye turned and took hold of Shuri's hands. She rubbed her callused thumbs over Shuri's tattooed skin. "I've served under many Panthers, and from them I've learned that Wakanda's Protector is never alone. The herb is always there for you, if you are ever in need of ancestral guidance."

Shuri stood up, so quick, a cat alerted to danger. "Taking the herb is not an option for me."

Okoye stood with her, pose straight, electric, determined. "How, when it has been this way since Bashenga?"

"Because of who I saw, the first time I went there." Shuri swallowed hard. The first and only time she'd went there. She backed away from the rock's edge. The Panther Spirit growled, paced in its cage.

Okoye took hold of her arm. "And who did you see? What troubles you, Shuri?"

Shuri's dark eyes shone. She'd never admitted this to anyone, not even Nakia. "My cousin. I saw my cousin, and only him."

Silence. As deafening as the Falls. The wind blew at them. It was only until Okoye spoke that Shuri realized it was not a surprised silence, rather one where Okoye was waiting for Shuri to explain. When she did not, Okoye quirked an eyebrow. "And what have you learned from it?"

"I. . . learned?"

"Yes." Okoye circled Shuri. Even without her spear, she looked like a warrior. The water shifted around their ankles as if it, too, were intimidated. "I served Killmonger, once. Though it was brief, I have no shame in that. He taught me something valuable, that the throne matters just as much as whoever sits upon it. So. . . what did Cousin teach you?"

Ah. Shuri shut her eyes. So this is what she needed. Okoye's voice was not laden with pity or concern. But purpose. She did have a general's heart. And perhaps that's why she confessed to Okoye. They shared so much. Ramonda had stripped Okoye of her entire world; she understood what it was like to feel Queen Mother's rejection. And she understood what it meant to be pinned underneath Killmonger's sway.

Shuri recalled T'Challa once telling her that the Ancestral Plane was a very purple, but beautiful and fitting retirement. And for the most part, he had been right. The plane had been very purple, but also orange and yellow and red from the flames burning all around her and Killmonger. She felt a deep shame, seeing him. She regretted the words she told him. How he influenced her so quickly. And what type of leader succumbs in such a way? For the past weeks, a shamefaced Shuri had hid herself from everyone. They couldn't even find her in her lab. But the same compassion she extended to her enemy. . . perhaps it was time she offered it to herself.

Shuri's eyes opened, and they sparkled with renewed confidence. "I learned while anger is a valuable tool, vengeance is its puppeteer."

Okoye smiled, wide and beautifully. She stopped circling. "And you are no one's puppet." The corners of her smile faded, and she looked down at her deep blue dress, then out at the Falls. "Not even a puppet to tradition."

Shuri nodded once, understanding. She was never one for tradition, and she knew Okoye was slowly learning that about herself, too. "I will suggest to King M'Baku that we end Challenge Day. There are better ways to find a king or queen."

"Just bring with you a bowl of vegetables. He claims he cannot hear council on an empty stomach."

They laughed together. Okoye pulled her in for a long embrace. "Thank you," Shuri whispered in the former general's gold-cuffed ear, holding her tight. She and Okoye were both women who had shed old skin, who were finding their footing in newfound roles. They faced uncertainty. Restlessness, even. But they found stillness in each other, and through this, they would persevere.

The Panther Spirit leapt, bound, wind beneath clawed feet. Weight lifted. Free, at last.

#shuri fic #shuri fanfiction #x black reader #shuri x black!reader #okoye imagine #wakanda forever #black panther #shuri udaku #general okoye #shuri imagine #wakanda forever meta #shuri

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sothischickshe · 4 months

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Hi! For the Get To Know Your Fic Writer asks: 24. Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you?

Hey, ty! 😘😘😘

Idk if this was definitely the worst, but one that stuck with me as well intentioned but not super helpful was 'make it smellier' & the kinda cliché examples which came with.

sensory detail can def add important texture to scenes, and smell in't necessary primacied (at least in my here-now) the way say sight is, so it's a good one to make sure one considers, espec bc of its supposed association with memory.

that said, mentioning that the garden or perfume or dog smells of rain or bergamot or aniseed is, i think, kinda equivalent to saying the table is red or television loud. including sensory detail is dandy, and can be evocative, but often just gets done in this basic way, particularly re smell where ingredients or flora or whatever get listed, so this task can be crossed off. smellier writing can be v interesting where it relates to memory ('the garden smells of manure and honeysuckle, like her childhood one and she thinks abt xyz again') or establishes detail ('she always wears xyz perfume' / 'the room still smells of xyz perfume and he knows she must have recently been here; he has the killer's identity') or almost becomes a kind of metonymy, where a character or setting or situation can be referred to without name or similar allusion bc the(ir) smell/s have been established.

i don't find smell to be an easy thing to describe without nouns, maybe this is a limitation of english, or of mine (or both!). but i do find often in fiction such nouning can be overused, to the point of almost parody -- i don't know that i believe every random character has this super strong nose where they can identify the full bouquet of items included in their lover's toiletries! ofc how much this might bother you is going to relate to pov, but i tend to prefer stories with tight rather than omniscient pov, and certainly consistency abt this. specific pov + smell can be used to great effect, where it makes sense that the character has a strong sense of smell (much like painter pov describing visuals and emotionality in terms of brushstrokes, or a cook character tending to break others' personalities and situations they encounter etc into amounts of composite 'ingrdients') e.g., with the protagonist of the novel perfume who is a super-smeller, or dog-pov (like one of my fave gg fics, the goodest boy), but unless your characters have some reason to display such skills, it can kinda take the reader out of the experience i feel.

so rather than listing smells (or indeed other ~sensory deets), i think sprinkling specifiers in (e.g., 'the red table' as opposed to 'the table', espec if there's multiple tables and you wanna be able to refer to this important one!) but not letting descriptors overwhelm can be useful, but specifically with nouny smells, if it's not in service of establishing evocative scene or character deets (or yummy food mmmm), maybe the actual smell isn't that important. maybe what's more important is the (pov) character(s)'s relationship to it: so rather than 'his shampoo smells of xyz' it's 'his shampoo smells of x, which she loves cos it reminds her of mama's flowers and y which she's never liked but finds pleasanter on him and z which she can't identify, and wants to ask him about but is certain she'll never find the courage' or even simply 'his shampoo smells pleasant' or more interestingly 'his shampoo smells as pleasant as his hands feel', 'his hair smells different, something fancier than the familiar citrus, he must have changed shampoo now he's moving up in the world and she hates the reminder', 'he smells different now, he must have changed something, she hates this highlighting of how everything's altered, hadn't realised she'd memorised his scent' 'he smells exactly the same, it's as comforting as her mother's soup' etc etc etc etc etc etc etc

Ficcy asks!

#ty!!#writing #on writing #smells #writing advice #ofc tumblo has decided to break sfgfgfhfhfh

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timelessxmemories · 9 months

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OCs dedicated to Very Close Friends I consider family & My Beloved Partners <3

【 Please excuse my terrible OC skills. I tried to be as original & creative as I possibly could. 】

【 TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF CHILD ABDUCTION , DEATH , TRAUMA , THREATENED MURDER 】

Significant Character Mentioned: The Entity

Side Note: Started this at 10:00pm, ended at 5:57am. Managed to keep motivation throughout.

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1.) @cupid-beatricereden — Sylvia

Likes: Music (Classical & Jazz) , Reading graphic novels (Anything based around love) , Mystery & Thriller series (Books or TV shows) , The colour pink , Anything with hearts , Cheesy romance movies, DnD

Dislikes: Overly bright colours , Flashing lights (Epileptic) , Heavy Metal Music (Sorry heavy metal fans) , Dark Chocolate

Personality: Sylvia is incredibly sweet and gentle, she'd do anything to help anyone in need, she does get a little protective at times but she always means well. She's a little insecure, and needs a lot of validation, but would rather give the validation instead of receiving it. She's touch starved, someone please hug this poor girl.

Career: Violinist / Composer

Side Job(s): Volunteers at a homeless shelter on holidays such as Christmas, New Years, Thanksgiving, ETC. + Volunteers at a Children's Hospital for 3 hours every day. (EX; plays board games, teaching them how to play instruments, colouring with them, drawing little pictures, playing DnD with the older kids & some younger ones who want to learn how to play, playing the kids songs with her violin, ETC.)

Nationality: Dutch

Place of Living: The Netherlands

Aesthetic Attached To: Lovecore

Songs Associated With:

Can't Help Falling in Love ★ Elvis Presley

Fly Me To The Moon ★ Frank Sinatra

SMALL BIO SUMMARY:

Sylvia was born to two young women, one of which was a rather popular artist while the other was a popular jazz singer. For the majority of her life she grew up in a loving home until the day she tirned 6 and went to the park and never saw her parents ever again. A man led her away and ultimately ended up abducting her. This led to being touch starved and always helping others out. She doesn't want the same thing to happen to anyone else as it did with her. Oh, yes, she did eventually end up being found when she was 17 (about a year ago) and was safely returned to her moms who were overjoyed that their little girl was finally home after 11 years of being missing.

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@gmilfwhore — Dizzy

Likes: Upbeat music (Hyperpop & such) , Neon Colours , Clubbing , Horror Movies , Graphic Novels , Gaming , Sanrio , Jazz Music

Dislikes: Dull Colours , Classical music , White Chocolate , Overly strong perfumes & Colognes

Personality: Dizzy is very upbeat and insanely happy (They give heavy golden retriever vibes), Dizzy also tends to be rather optimistic and super positive despite their usual panic attacks. They wouldn't leave a person in need, they tend to have a bad habit of caring more for others rather than themself.

Career: A Cafe Barista

Side Job(s): Does being a college student count?

Nationality: Scottish

Place Of Living: Dublin, Ireland

Aesthetic Attached To: Hyperpop

Songs Associated With:

Roll With Me ★ Charli XCX

iLike ★ hidingthehurt

SMALL BIO SUMMARY:

Dizzy was born to a young woman who unfortunately died during labour, resulting in Dizzy being raised by their father who was now a single father. Their father never remarried. Their father was incredibly supportive of Dozzy and their decisions. When Dizzy cane out to their dad, their dad did everything he could to learn more. To this day their father is still very supportive.

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@dontopentheinside — Gabriel

Likes: Dark Colours , Horror novels , Gardening , Baking , Drowning in his own self pity/J , Heavy Metal Music , Hunting

Dislikes: His job (He's only doing it for the money) , Overly strong scents , chocolate , overly sweet things

Personality: Gabriel is a very manipulative and cold young man who takes his job VERY seriously. He won't hesitate to get into fights in order to protect a colleague or a friend, he also has incredibly low self-esteem and tends to have major panic attacks due to all the blood that's on his hands. Poor guy just needs a kiss on the forehead and a long hug :").

Career: Hitman

Side Job(s): N/A

Nationality: British

Place Of Living: London, England

Aesthetic Attached To: Grunge

Songs Associated With:

GOSSIP ★ Måneskin

The Other Side Of Paradise ★ Glass Animals

SMALL BIO SUMMARY:

Gabriel was in foster care throughout his whole life, constantly being placed back and forth one after another. He never truly had a home, which ended up in him running away at 17 years of age. He met a group of people who ended up offering him a jib as a hitman, when Gabriel tried to refuse they threatened his life, resulting in Gabriel accepting the job.

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@ghostlyplacetobe — Naomi

Note: She is Bisexual Aromantic. Meaning she can feel attraction to people, yes, but it's incredibly rare for her, it's only happened a few times.

Likes: Soft colours , Insects of all kinds , Reading , History , Jazz Music , Romance Novels + Movies , Building Lego , Collecting Ribbons , Tea , Cats

Dislikes: Yelling + Loud Noises , Horror Movies + Novels , Coffee , Anything to do with flames (Extreme pyrophobia)

Personality: Naomi is very timid and incredibly kind, she's also super oblivious when it comes to seeing the obvious right in front of them. He's strong willed and loves debating with people over particular topics as long as it isn't politics.

Career: Librarian

Side Job(s): Volunteers at the local animal shelter.

Nationality: French Canadian

Place Of Living: Quebec, Canada

Aesthetic Attached To: Dark Academia

Songs Associated With:

I'm Still Standing ★ Elton John

Yellow Brick Road ★ Elton John

SMALL BIO SUMMARY:

Naomi was born in Quebec, Canada to a set of parents who were pretty young at the time so she was raised mostly by their grandmother who cared deeply for her. Around the age of 6 there was a huge fire which resulted in his home burning down with her grandmother still inside. His grandmother died that day. This resulted in Naomi gaining an extreme fear of fire.

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@unidentifiable-body — Zeus

Likes: Making fancy drinks , Listening to music , 80s Music , Any kinds of chocolate , Gardening , Drawing , Rock Music , Heavy Metal Music

Dislikes: Soft Music (puts him to sleep) , Spiders (genuinely terrified of them) , Hunting , Romance Novels + Movies , Gaming (He doesn't understand them lmfao)

Personality: Zeus is very cold and distant due to his past trauma, he tends to have major trust issues and is suspicious of literally everyone he meets. However, if you do ever manage to Crack that shell of his, you'll find out that Zeus is actually a really sweet and soft guy!

Career: Bartender

Side Job(s): Secretly volunteers at a nearby Orphanage, but you didn't hear that from me.

Nationality: Greek

Place Of Living: California

Aesthetic Attached To: Punk-Rock

Songs Associated With:

Dead But Pretty ★ IC3PEAK

We Don't Have To Dance ★ Andy Black

SMALL BIO SUMMARY:

Zeus was born into a very wealthy family, however, his parents were never around much, neglecting him and what not, he was never properly taught to socialize as most of his life he was isolated. At some point his parents were killed in a robbery, leading into Zeus being sent into foster care, from there he gained severe trust issues.

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@otherworldlyoddities — Galaeth

Likes: Rock Music , Violin , Walking amongst the stars , Rebelling , Baking , Studying Humans , Studying Body Language

Dislikes: Soft Music , Large animals (They think they're scary) , Chocolate (Doesn't understand it) , Fans. Why. , Cieling Lights. Again. Why.

Personality: Galaeth is very easily confused by anything human as well as very unsure of anything human. It's new to her, give her a break, she's trying. She's also extremely cautious around humans and doesn't tend to trust them easlly. She also tends to rebel against her orders due to her not wanting to become a Guardian.

Career: Guardian in Training (Guardians are a type of star which is assigned a particular human and ordered to protect them.)

Side Job(s): N/A

Nationality: Xeo (A type of a higher being in the star universe)

Place Of Living: Star of The Sea

Aesthetic Attached To: Cosmic core

Songs Associated With:

Sorry About Your Parents ★ Icon For Hire

Circles ★ KIRA, GUMI

SMALL BIO SUMMARY:

Galaeth wasn't exactly born, they were more or less made from moondust by The Entity (yes, he's making a come-back, you're welcome), The Entity being the creator of sorts cared for them just like how a father was supposed to. However, due to Galaeth being a Xeo, they are destined to become a Guardian rather than staying as a regular Moonlit (A regular being made from Stardust). Galaeth however wishes not to become a Guardian, so they gained a habi of constantly Rebelling and doing the complete opposite of what The Entity told them to do. This doesn't frustrate The Entity, he actually gets a chuckle out of it as it reminds him of when he was a young Xeo.

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@the-arcade-doctor — Juniper

Likes: Ruling over her subjects , Practicing with her dark magic , Being alone , Using her skills of manipulation to her advantage

Dislikes: Anyone who disobeys her , The Lord of the Over Realm , Xeos + The Entity , Macha Tea , Avacados , Talks of Destiny , Her past being mentioned.

Personality: Juniper is very cynical and irritable. She really only cares for herself and only thinks about her own needs instead of her subjects. (Huh, reminds of something.) She tends to get angry quick and fast, and when she does it usually ends up in a burning of whomever drove her over the edge. She doesn't have a soft spot in her bones whatsoever.

Career: Lord of The Under Realm.

Side Job(s): N/A

Nationality: Demona (A type of demon in the Under Realm.)

Place Of Living: Under Realm

Aesthetic Attached To: Cryptidcore

Songs Associated With:

Rät ★ Penelope Scott

iNSaNiTY ★ CircusP

SHORT BIO SUMMARY:

Juniper was created by The Entity in the Star Realm, however, after realizing that The Entity created a different being of a different kind, he became fascinated and favored Juniper, until Jbniper turned her back on him one day and went on her own dark path. She ended up coming across The Under Realm who was being controlled by a different ruler at the time, Juniper gained everyone's trust eventually and once the ruler passed, she became the ruler.

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#{ cryptid ; ocs }#{ cryptid ; oc inf. }#{ cryptid ; dedicated ocs }#{ cryptid ; ooc }

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miqojak · 9 months

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14 Associations

Animal: All the ones she has tattoos of! I've gone on at length about just how meaningful her personas are, and how she has them all painted on her skin for the world to see... but loves tricking folks anyways - which probably ties in with her heaviest themes that are tied to the Jackal! So probably a jackal, at the core of it all.

Color: Black, gold, red, white.

Song: I have a really, really hard time picking just one of anything, thanks to my ADHD, so here's her whole playlist again! And since it won't let me link the song in-line due to Tumblr's formatting, I'll link one of the 'most' Jak songs from her list below!

Number: She has no such 'lucky' number, nor do I associate her with one at all!

Day or Night: Preferably day, being a sun cat... but crime is often best done in the dark, so she has a fondness for the anonymity of the night; but like any actual cat, she thoroughly enjoys the high energy of the long, orange shadows of dawn and dusk.

Plant: I didn't have any association with plants for her, but when I think of her homeland, I think of all the pink/red flowers that she remembers being so stark against the white sands, and how she thinks of it as being colored like 'the marrow in a bone'... and the most obvious red desert flower that comes to mind is 'the desert rose'! Bonus, it wouldn't just be native to her home, and something she remembers about it... but it's poisonous! She likely uses it in her home-made poisons she coats her blades in.

"Adenium obesum produces a sap in its roots and stems that contains cardiac glycosides. This sap is used as arrow poison for hunting large game throughout much of Africa and as a fish toxin."

Smell: She makes her own perfume/body oils! It's a spiced scent that's most similar in smell to things like Dragon's Blood (a potent, heady blend of sweet, spicy, and earthy notes that’s infused with cedarwood, orange, clove, and patchouli), and Egytpian Musk (containing blended scents of oils such as frankincense, myrrh, cedarwood, patchouli, and amber).

Gemstone: Absolutely no idea - her DRK soul crystal?! It's the only gemstone she needs. (I describe her green eye as being a pale jade, so maybe that?)

Season: Summer! Maybe also some early fall.

Place: anywhere hot - preferably desert-y places! She likes the sand, and the heat...and does not like forests.

Food: She loves red meat...and fish. So a lot of surf-and-turf type meals for her!

Eorzean Deity: She doesn't believe in them. If the WoL told everyone the gods were real, though, maybe Rhalgr bc he's from her homeland and destruction is what she'd like to wreck on this worthless world.

Eorzean Element(s): I've never given it a lot of thought, since she's not magical - but she's always had people associate her with fire.

Drink: No idea...she drinks coffee in the mornings, and has tried to be more careful with alcohol now that she's finally clear of her addictions, but an ex-lover knew she loved whiskey...and she's a spicy person, so he made a special spicy whiskey called Dragon's Wrath, that she's fond of...even if she'd slaughter the man who created it on sight.

Thanks for the tags @xmimiteh, @whimsyxiv, @dragonsongmakhali, @cactusxwren , and @wpip-raham

youtube

Anywho, here's one stand-alone song from her playlist that's a pretty good snapshot of her at any given point - she needs control! And wants to cut away the things that are holding her back, or preventing her from reaching her purpose/pinnacle.

Do this if you haven't done it! I'm very late in doing this, and don't know who hasn't done it yet! (Thanks again for thinking of me! And making me think...)

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #miqo'te #ffxiv oc #ffxiv writing #14 associastions #Youtube

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atticusbriggs · 5 months

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After. mentions @ephraimbriggs & @bloodyrhiannon & @ashxgray and pals tw: yall this is sad, death, questionable ideation

He feels it. He feels it when what must have been his sire dies and while he has an inkling through Rhia, through what he'd felt when he'd talked to that Asher guy. Whoever it was, whether it the curly haired vampire who'd told him he was blocking his sun or someone else, it'd still hurt. And he feels it when Rhia dies, less painful but still some twisting in his chest that's perhaps actually more excruciating. He knew her, she'd been one of the very few people he had that he trusted. There is blood connecting Ephraim and him, too. There always had been. The same blood didn't flow through them, but their blood had flowed through each other's mouths to become a part of them. And yet when that heartbeat he spent so long listening for in the facility finally gives out, when he can't follow the sound anymore, can only smell the scent of the blonde's shampoo and the Earthiness of the South, it hurts the most. It hurts the most to be pulling stones away from the rubble and knowing he was gone. That he was alone now. He hears of what happens to Raffaele in camp, how the sly witch had been practically fed to that thing. Zoey never came back. Neither did Dulce. Day after day, people died. He throws footballs with Zeke to keep from being completely catatonic but he can't help but think he should have died with the Overseer. He doesn't quite know what to do now, who to be. Which is why he goes to that damn facility alone and it's been so long since he'd set foot anywhere associated with the Eye. Fingers brush against bars of a cage that hadn't been his, but still stood just the same. He breaks them because he can. Because he keeps standing there, closing his eyes and picturing Ephraim coming to save him, the sound of his boots in dusty but somehow still sterile walls. There's creatures down there, Zeke was right. And he's not a match for them, even though he tries to fight back. But he's not a fighter, not really, never has been. He's a runner. And when he can't fight anymore, he hopes he gets to run into Ephraim's arms one last time. DEAD (but we know not really but for posterity this is how it happened).

#edit.#the end.

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night-unfurls-its-splendour · 1 year

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I really, really wanted to have Chapter IV of When the Longing Returns finished and ready to post on Valentines Day but life intervened and gave me an increased workload, sapping my energy and sucking up my time.

But I would like to share a sneak preview of Ch. 4 for the occasion, which I hope you will all enjoy...

He lifted her hand, unable to resist feeling the smooth skin against his lips again, and kissed it with every intention of doing so only briefly and then leading her on down the passage; but as he breathed in, he stopped.

Honeysuckle.

He had hit upon the impalpable difference about her this evening. "This scent," he said softly, running his thumb over the back of her hand. "This is different...." He inhaled again, subtly.

Christine's face became hot and she was sure that she could not hide the blush even in the lantern light. She had been so preoccupied with the prospect of Raoul perceiving the difference (which was needless, it turned out--he hadn't commented on it once) she hadn't considered that the Phantom would take notice of it as well. Which was rather foolish, as she was quite certain that he noticed everything about her.

"Yes," she said feeling herself begin to sweat as she paused, unable to think of how to continue. The silence rang in her ears. She felt almost as though she'd forgotten the lyrics in the middle of a performance. "I... it's my soap. I was using a lavender scent Raoul gave to me but, well I don't really like lavender so after... after yesterday... I decided to use my old soap instead..." she said at length, concluding rather lamely.

Now he understood. At the masquerade she had smelt of lavender, which he had noticed just at the same moment he'd seen that ridiculously vulgar ring hanging from her neck. In the cemetery the same scent had further provoked him to doubt her, but he'd forgotten about it when she'd pledged her faith to him.

Why, exactly, such a benign scent as lavender should have vexed him so he'd not been sure, but now, with this insight, it made sense. It was a change. A difference in her from when he'd last been close to her. One that didn't suit her. It was a common scent. Uninspired. Unartistic. Dull. Not at all appropriate for such a muse as she.

When she'd followed him to his home, this was the scent that had clung to her skin and hair. Fresh, clean, simple honeysuckle. It was so natural to her.

But of course Christine, always so eager to please, had used a scent she disliked for months simply to oblige her fiance. And of course the ignorant whelp wouldn't have noticed that it didn't please her. Oh, how he loathed that dunce; he could at least have made an effort to be a worthy rival for Christine's affectations.

He swallowed back the bitter flavor which the Vicomte's inattentiveness to Christine's tastes left in his mouth, and instead focused on how sweetly she was blushing. "I'm glad," he smiled--almost smirked. "I don't think lavender suited you. This..." he inhaled another pull of the sweet fragrance, "...this is much more fitting."

And for a moment, he wondered if she would allow him to kiss the inside of her wrist...

(I'd like to sincerely apologize to anyone who really likes lavender, because I know some of you do. Erik is always going to be a harsher critic, especially to anything associated with Raoul, so since the lavender is locked in this was kind of inevitable. If Christine liked it I bet he would sing it's praises lol)

#when the longing returns #poto fanfiction #christine x erik #erik x christine #eristine #e/c #poto e/c #christine daae #erik the phantom #phantom of the opera fanfiction #poto

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thefreelanceangel · 8 months

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FFXIVWrite2023 (#7 - Noisome)

Oh gods...

Years of practice kept Tara's face impassive as she desperately prayed to any and everything to remove her sense of smell. Immediately.

Any and every consequence would be endured. Welcomed, even, provided that those consequences came along with a removal of her entire sinus cavity.

Oh gods how am I supposed to get through a whole reading with her?

Slim, haughty, immaculately coiffed, the elezen woman reeked so badly that Tara felt bile rising in the back of her throat. What the hells??? She knew the smells of poverty, those were entirely acceptable. She knew the overperfumed reek of idiotic nobility, those were... endurable.

This, however...!

"I'm so relieved you were able to fit me in today, Madame Veil," she said, flapping her skirts as she sat, filling the room with the noxious odor. "I've no idea what's gotten into my husband of late and I'm desperate for answers!"

Could she even open her mouth without vomiting? Tara wore a veil in Ishgard, keeping with her absurd stage name, but the thin violet fabric couldn't block that... stench. She folded her hands over her veiled face, ears angling down, and breathed in the smell of sweet, clean silk. A few gulps, a few gasps of her own scent and she lifted her head. "Of course, my lady."

There, she'd gotten that much out cleanly. "Forgive me, I must open a window. The stars carry a strange miasma at times and I struggle to breathe." She rose with all the artificial dignity she could manage and swept rapidly to the window across the room. Tara flipped the latch and shoved it open, sucking in the clean, frigid air with a few desperate gasps.

"Ooo! It's dreadfully cold out today! I should've ordered a brazier for the afternoon, I didn't know you'd need the window open for a reading."

Tara gritted her teeth at the scolding tone leveled at her back and reminded herself silently that she'd been blackmailing this client's husband for several years now, he paid well, all she had to do was lie to the woman. Deep breath, deeeeeeep breath...

"My apologies, my lady, but the stars do as they will. I am but their humble servant," she said, turning around to face the pit of stench dressed up in olive brocade and dull brown fur. Who chooses her clothing anyway? Those colors are horrible on her.

"I just need a quick reading today anyway, it'll be fine," the woman replied, rearranging her hands in quick, sharp movements. "I just need to know why my husband is being so standoffish! He'd been handling his business trips as usual, but in the last fortnight, every time I enter the room to greet him, he makes a dreadful face and makes an excuse to leave!"

...odd. He damn well knew that if he wanted to keep his precious mistress in Gridania, he needed to play the doting husband when he returned home.

Tara opened her mouth to reply and caught the atrocious stench right on her tongue. It took every bit of self-control she'd ever developed to keep from screeching, and even so, she spun to the window and gasped in a few more lungfuls of clean air.

Wait...

She worked her mouth, spit discreetly into a handkerchief, and turned back to the impatient noblewoman. "My lady, may I ask, have you changed anything of your dress or routines in the past fortnight?"

"Changed an- Goodness, no! I'm always keeping up with the latest fashions. Fall colors, of course, as we're approaching that season. Oh! And I recently adopted a morbol seedling! They've become all the rage."

Oh, for f-

"I understand completely, my lady, but you must understand that I also read the stars for your beloved husband, and morbols are unequivocally bad luck for him. If he senses your close association with one, it only follows that he would flee the turning of his luck."

"Oh! I never knew! Oh, my goodness! Well, thank you, Madame Veil! And to think, you said the stars were under a miasma today! You're quite good to grasp the heart of the matter so swiftly!" She rose to her feet, dropping a small leather pouch on Tara's fortune-telling table, and smiled as the stench all but rolled off of her. "I'll rehome the poor thing immediately and see to it the household is properly cleansed of its influence! Oh, poor Augustine, he couldn't even bring himself to warn me! I'll do my best to welcome him home properly!"

Tara smiled and bowed, keeping her jaws clenched together. As the woman swept out of the room, still chattering gaily to empty air that paid her no heed, Tara's gaze met that of the woman's bodyguard. The white edge of a handkerchief protruded from his helm and he paused in closing the door to give her a look of profound gratitude.

When the door latched securely, Tara wrenched off her veil and spun to the window, gasping in as much clean air as she possibly could. Snowflakes whirled into the room, melting on the warmer surfaces within, and she shivered, cold but unwilling to leave the window until the lingering stench filtered out of the room.

Dad's right, she thought, daring a quick dash across the room to snatch a blanket from her cot and smother herself in it. The more money they have, the less wit they possess.

Who, after all, in their right mind, would ever want to keep a morbol as a household pet?

#Tara Inyanga #FFXIVWrite2023 #Fortune Telling for Fun & Profit #FFXIV

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aldbooks · 1 year

Note

17 for elucien (elain says this)

Angsty Prompts

"You're the last person I thought would hurt me"

I struggled a bit with this one, trying to come up with a scenario in which this worked. I could think of some silly ones but this is an angst prompt so....

Warning, if you're a Lucien Stan... he's not very nice in this one.

also, NSFW.

---

Elain blinked back the tears that wanted to form. It was useless to cry, silly even. They were nothing to each other and yet- everything. It did not matter that the bond between them had not been accepted. That it had barely been acknowledged. It did not stop the ache in her chest, the sting of betrayal as she stared at his cruel expression.

He was lounging in his bed in the tiny, rented room, utterly naked aside from the blanket he had draped carelessly over his lap, likely for the sake of her own sensibilities more than his. His hair was down and somewhat disheveled, hanging slightly in one eye, giving him a rakish appearance as he lazily swirled a glass of liquor in the hand draped over one bent knee.

The scent of the female who had just left when she arrived still lingered, along with the scent she had since come to associate with love making after living with her sister and her mate for so long. It made her stomach churn when she replayed to scene she'd walked in on...

She'd been too focused on the words she would say, the message she had been tasked to deliver as she made her way through the crowded inn to the room the proprietor had indicated Lucien was staying in to notice the tell tale signs. The soft thumping and groaning of wood; the slick, wet, slapping sounds; the moans and growls...

Despite how prone Feyre and Rhysand were to making love all over the house, they were usually surprisingly adept at preventing anyone from walking in on them. Nesta and Cassian were less careful, but she could count on one hand the number of time she'd witnessed them in the act, usually no more than a flash before bodies were hastily covered. Lucien seemed to have no such qualms.

She'd opened the unlocked door, walking in without knocking, something she deeply regretted now. A busty blonde was on her hands and knees, facing the door as she gripped the foot of the bed. Her back and neck were arched at a rather severe looking angle as her curls were wrapped around a massive fist, though she didn't seem to mind. Nor did she seem to mind the bruising grip the other fist had on her behind, or the punishing rhythm of his thrusts that rocked her generous breasts with every movement. Not judging by the blissful smile on her face and the number of time she repeated the word 'yes'.

Lucien had seen her as soon as she'd walked in, had smirked at her shocked expression and hadn't bothered to stop what he was doing as he continued to his completion before giving the lass a swat on the behind and telling her to get out. Which she did, giving Elain a wink and Lucien one last flirty smile as she walked past her, through the door, entirely naked.

Elain wasn't sure her face had ever been so red in her life. Normally, when she accidentally happened upon such scenes, she beat a hasty retreat, but she'd been rooted to the spot the minute she'd seen them. Like Lucien's gaze had held hers in some magical lock she couldn't break until he'd thrown his head back and groaned his release. Loudly. Her eyes had automatically wandered down his powerful body, noting every toned muscle and scar on his golden skin.

She also hadn't missed the fact that the blonde haired, blue eyed, curvaceous female was essentially the exact opposite of her.

She'd remained rooted in front of the now closed door and watched as Lucien tossed his hair over his shoulder and strutted to the bottle and glasses on the table near her, his still proud cock swinging between his legs. Cassian had always been careful to keep himself covered on the occasions she'd caught them, and in comparison to Graysen... Scorching heat flashed through her as she jerked her eyes to the ceiling.

He'd poured himself a glass and silently offered one to her which she refused and she watched him shrug and toss it back himself before returning to the bed and flopping down into his current pose.

She was dreadfully uncomfortable with the silence that ensued, though Lucien didn't seem bothered in the slightest. Finally he laid his head back against the headboard and asked, "Did you need something, Elain?"

Elain. Not my lady. It seemed all of his manners had abandoned him today.

The events of the last several minutes finally seemed to process in her mind and she sucked in a breath at the sharp pain in her middle that radiated from the bond. She truly did not know how to process any of this. As far as she knew, Lucien had not been with anyone else since they'd met. At least, not that any of her family had heard of. Not even Azriel, who she was sure would have gladly reported any perceived infidelity, had not said anything. The visions that plagued her of him at night certainly had not shown her anything.

"How-" she tripped over her words. "I- did not realize you were- seeing someone..."

He snorted, taking a sip. "I'm not. Rosie's always a good fuck. She and her friends like to keep me well entertained when I come through." The wink he gave her was downright lascivious and so unlike the male she knew. Not that she truly knew him, she supposed.

Clearly.

"Because you pay them well?" she couldn't help the petty shot and instantly wished she could recall the words when she heard the jealousy in them. She knew he heard it too as his smirk widened into a grin.

"Oh no. Rosie isn't a whore. She and her friends just like to have fun, though they're certainly skilled enough to charge for their services. Angelina has quite the talented tongue, Marius has the most delicious ass and Rosie... well, you saw her." She had to fight a wince as he watched her reaction to his provocative words, though her body flushed with both shame and desire, imagining him with these other people. Followed swiftly by hurt.

Each word hit her like a slap, just as they were meant to. She could see it in the hard glint in his eye as he looked at her. Despite the nonchalance he played so well, she could see the flicker of much deeper emotion. The question was, what had wrought this change?

Before, no matter how dismissive she was of him, he was always polite. Always kind. Was it simply because now, they did not have an audience of her friends and family here to protect her from his callous behavior? No, that was not it. Even then, she had seen in his eyes the hurt and disappointment, but never malice. Not like this.

"Why?" was all she said. The word was barely a whisper and she was horrified to realize she was crying.

"Why what?" he challenged.

She shook her head, unable to voice her thoughts aloud. Why are you doing this to me? Why do I feel like you're punishing me? Why now?

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to calm as she told him the reason for her visit. As she delivered the message from Rhysand, Lucien sobered somewhat, listening intently and nodding as he processed it. Until she told him that she had also been sent to join him on his next assignment in Summer. The very thought of spending the next several weeks with him after today... of possibly being forced to watch him with other females, other males, in the same way...

She swallowed the bile in her throat and began retreating towards to door to find her own room for the night. She paused in the doorway, and looked back at him, unable to resist.

"You're the last person I thought would hurt me," she breathed.

A sardonic laugh escaped him as he stared at the fire. "I could say the same to you," he said cryptically before flicking his finger. The door sprung upon, a silent dismissal and she left him, tears running down her face once more as she pondered the meaning of his words.

#anon ask #ask box #angst prompt #elucien angst #elucia de lute ima #lucien x elain

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moongurl95 · 11 months

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welcoming a long weekend ahead and hopefully get to contribute the Prologue from my first written fanfiction 🤞 so here's the last of my OC template for now:

Quick take on Beatrice Hayes

credits to @/iguanentapioca for this layout from Twitter

Color - Blue: for the simple reason that it calms her. Curiously enough, it's not exactly her favorite color at first as she initially associated with the ruby red of her birthstone, though she now finds it comfortably cozy to be surrounded by her chosen House colors.

Flower - Blue Larkspur: a flower associated from her birth month. In general, these tiny blooms on tall stalks symbolize dedication, sincerity, positivity, and an open heart. Though the colors of the different larkspur flowers also traditionally holds varying inherent symbolism, with blue larkspur flowers associated with grace and respectability. Plus yes, Beatrice has grown a soft spot for the color blue after all.

Animal - Long-eared owl: with feathers blending in the dark of night, as her vigilant green eyes watches over the Highlands, flying off to further explore the surrounding magical communities freely, as far as her wings could take her. Ironically enough, when long-eared owls come out to hunt, they're often heard rather than seen.

Scent - Toasted Mallows: not one who likes the cloying fragrances of artificially made perfumes, Beatrice mostly steers clear away from having a signature scent. That is until she started carrying a few handfuls of Mallowsweet leaves in her pockets, ever since she'd made it her personal mission to solve every Merlin Trial she'd come across in the Highlands. Combine it with the fiery spells she uses against the dark forces she usually encounters in her many adventures, she almost always leaves smelling just a tad bit sweeter. much to her chagrin

Song - Go The Distance (cover by annapatsu): on a personal take that I thought of this particular song when creating Beatrice's character because despite being aware that Magic exists, she's been left orphaned with no one to talk about it, long enough that she's blindsided with having to quickly adjust to the Wizarding World she's now been introduced to-- Down an unknown road to embrace my fate, when I go the distance, will I be right where I belong? And at the end of her 5th year, after all's been said and done-- to look beyond the glory is the hardest part, for a hero's strength is measured by their heart.

Feeling - cozy bed weather: she's strived for a better future since being orphaned at 11, and still continues to try to stay afloat starting school at a considerably older age in the Wizarding community. At the end of the day, Beatrice dreams of a time she could just stay in and enjoy a shred of peace, cozily tucked in as the cool weather gently lulls her into a dreamless sleep.

just love my baby B and previously made more on her Character Creation and Reference Sheet here 💙(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

#hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy characters #hogwarts legacy oc #hl oc #hl mc #ravenclaw #oc character #character concept #character creation #beatrice hayes

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lunarlxdy · 1 year

Note

“ are you alright? “ (Wukong)

"Are you?"

Barely does her intense gaze shift over to him, bangs hanging infront of her eyes provides a shadow, contrasted only by her bright silver eyes casting an almost sparking glow beneath, if only just faintly enough. What takes front stage and center is the brightly glowing bow made from a clutter of moondust and starlight. With a glittering arrow still notched, the string pulled tight as her forearms faintly tremble. She's not sure she had it in her. To take a life. Even one that had hurt someone she cared about, while Sun Wukong could be as chaotic as they come. There are lines you do not cross, his rage at the celestials was well warranted for she too had been on the receiving end of their 'punishments' and she had been of their very court. She'd walked amongst them. Breathed the same air as them, sat at the same table, been at those mockeries of a feast. She knew well their views and as someone who no longer associated herself with the likes of heaven, not that she ever could ever again, she could sympathize with the intelligent stone monkey.

But she did not have the struggles he did, he may have tried to escape the death grip the world of misery and fighting had on him but no matter what he tried its jaws always sank into him. Countless times she's watched from the moon as day after day him and many others are stuck in a cycle of torment. Nothing could sicken her more (having suffered this cycle herself) than this, enough so that when a demon had challenged the man, had hurt him infront of the people (monkies. Didn't matter, those were his people) she'd finally drawn her weapon for the first time in centuries. The power alone frying her nerves, it felt like she was constantly touching a burning stove.

She knows well enough that now, having appeared as she is, a trembling mess as she has already rendered the foe unconscious from the arrow pinning them against the tree through the shoulder. Even still as even she can smell the scent of blood, can see as it coats the other's fur a bit near his arm. He asks her if she is okay and her retort is almost immediate. Gaze softening as she lowers the bow, staring at the rather ugly wound that had been torn into the other's shoulder. Her weapon dissapears into nothing but the essence it was made from, her concerned gaze unwavering despite the residual trembles still going through her frame.

"That...needs to be looked at."

#mobile #siixkiing

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moa-broke-me · 1 year

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Here are my headcanons for some PJO character's favorite dessert flavors, some of them I've thought out, some of them are just based on vibes.

Annabeth: Strawberry, because nostalgia for CHB's strawberry fields, and peppermint, because peppermint is a natural bug repellent and is especially effective against spiders, so her subconscious associates the scent and taste of peppermint with safety.

Frank: Orange and mango. He just radiates those vibes, and you can't tell me otherwise (also, can we talk about that time everyone went out for ice cream and he just had a freakin apple because I think that was a little mean-spirited, like damn at least offer to get him a slushie or something)

Hazel: Caramel. I think she'd like sweet potato pie and gingerbread a lot, too. And not the hard stale gingerbread you make houses out of, but good, soft, chewy gingerbread. She also strikes me as a root beer or cream soda kind of girl, definitely worships at the altar of the PSL, and we love her for it.

Jason: Green apple and lemon lime. Refreshing and simple if not a tad basic, just like him. Also peach, because he eats those brownies with peach preserves. On the subject of chocolate, I think he's the kind of guy to not go for it normally unless there's something to tamp the taste down a little (like the peach preserves) because he was raised by wolves, and even though he knows nothing bad is gonna happen if he eats chocolate because he's not a wolf, he still isn't too keen on it by itself.

Leo: Chocolate (I think this is actually canon, it's at least canon that he prefers hot chocolate over coffee), also cinnamon flavored anything, not just because cinnamon = fire in my head, but also as like, a nostalgia sort of thing because a lot of Mexican desserts have cinnamon in them.

Nico: This is gonna be controversial, but I'm gonna say black licorice. Also adores caramel just like his sister, as well as chocolate (but only the very dark stuff), cream cheese, coffee flavored anything, and hazelnut flavored stuff too, because it reminds him of his sister. Like, he's always got a little hazelnut brittle in his bag, puts hazelnut creamer in his coffee (when he stops drinking it black out of a desire to look tough and manly, that is), he's a little obsessed but that's ok. One last thing, y'know how everyone thinks of McDonalds as one of his comfort foods? Well, so are oatmeal cream pies. In fact, I like to think that's what ambrosia tastes like to him now.

Percy: I mean it's pretty much established that he's going after whatever's colored blue, and I also think cookie dough ice cream is an automatic yes for him. This isn't very hard.

Piper: Marshmallows, and oddly enough, lemon lavender flavored anything. Also watermelon juice, but not watermelon candy because it dries out her mouth.

Reyna: I don't think she's the type to indulge her sweet tooth very often, but when she does, you bet your sweet ass it's those queen anne chocolate coated cherries that look really fancy but you can get them at pretty much any CVS.

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ukdamo · 1 year

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Bb is for book. Cc is for cleaning.

One of mine

Me and cleaning.

We're acquainted, you know; we meet in the street, there's a nod of recognition - but we don't put our shopping bags down and chat for five minutes. Still less, adjourn to Costa for coffee and tiffin. It's not that I'm dirty. Or lazy. Or enjoy mess. The nexus of our tenuous connection isn't to be found there. 'It's complicated', people inevitably say of irregular relationships. So say I about me and cleaning. If I was pushed to name names, I could legitimately point the finger of blame at mum. Not that she was a slattern, you understand.

Our house was ever spick and span. The ancient hoover used to rumble and clatter from room to room, and clunked on each and every step of the stair (there were thirteen to the landing, then a turn, and another one). The cupboard under the sink was full of relevant paraphernalia. We stocked Lanry, Vim, Brillo Pads, Windowlene, Swarfega, Pledge, and a forgotten tin of ancient lavender funiture polish. Dusters were ever old pillowcases, torn up - but there was a purpose-bought floor cloth. And there were always J-Cloths for kitchen messes.

I've mentioned Vim. Now there was a product. It scoured everthing scrupulously clean – and left a film of white residue on every surface it touched. What on earth was that about? I think it was deliberate. You had to use another product and wipe everything over in order to get rid of the residue. In effect, you had to clean up twice. There was the Protestant Work Ethic and the Capitalist Profit Motive writ large, in bold, and underlined. That we were Catholics and Socialists didn't alter the outcome – we still had to clean up twice.

Next to the Brillo Pads (in the old, handle-less, cream and gilt-patterned teacup) were the donkey stones. One yellow, one white. They've been consigned to history now, along with most of the other products and mores of my childhood. God forbid, back then, that your backyard wasn't swilled and your front / back steps not mopped and donkey-stoned. Not to have that chalky white or yellow edge marking on each step was tantamount to admitting you lived in a hovel. Our donkey stones were sourced from the rag-and-bone man (also consigned to history). Periodically, this affable character would jingle along back streets on an old, wooden, flat-bed cart, pulled by a comfortingly-scented horse, and give out a timeless call; “Aag-Bow!”. You could hear him half a street away, which gave your mum time to rummage about and find some booty. You gave him whatever salvageable detritus you had and he'd give you a donkey stone. It was a sort of anti-bacterial barter arangement. Everyone was a winner. He had stuff to recycle, you got rid of clutter, and your mum was not labelled a brothel-keeper.

You might think I'm undermining my assertion that mum is responsible for my ambivalent relationship with cleaning, since I've given a long litany of cleaning products and house-proud moments worthy of an article in Lancashire Life. But no. Not so. She is the prime culprit.

She encouraged me to read. You know – Aa, Bb, Cc: the alphabet, books… She was a reader herself – she'd always have a magazine or book to read in the evening after dad had gone to bed. Her magazines were of the era: the People's Friend (with its watercolours of Scotland); the Reader's Digest; or a slim novel. Later in life, her reading was more devotional and always included the Daily Office for the Secular Franciscan Order. I associate mum with magazines, books, puzzles: word searches, crosswords, arrow-cross. She kept her brain exercised long after she'd allowed her body to take more ease: ever a force to be reckoned with if you watched Countdown together. Switched on to the very last, mum.

So, there was mum with her familiar pile of books and magazines and there was dad, saying goodnight and heading off to bed (being a wagon driver, he had to be up early). Now, as I cast my mind back, I see that he had a hand in my aversion to cleaning, too. Not that he, too, was a reader: I can only recall him reading three books in my lifetime: The Robe, Lloyd C Douglas; Cherrill of the Yard, Fred Churrill: and a book about the Border Regiment's campaign in Burma (that was his war)* Dad made a more subtle contrbution: the morning routine at 89 Napier Street was built around his need to be up and out early. That routine was instrumental in binding me indissolubly to books.

But I started the story with mum and the fact that she signposted me to the written word.

Not a sporty child, not interested in sport (except for Wimbledon fortnight), I was a devotee of Hollywood musicals, and books. The literary devotion started early. I was a member of the local public library as soon as I could hold cards in my own right. I held six in my name; I was voracious. I was one of the (few) kids who learned to read using the ITA system – the idea being that you if you taught children to read using a phonetic method, where words were written as they were pronounced, it would speed up learning. Then, at age seven or so, you'd switch to regular spelling and ditch the ITA alphabet. Some adults schooled in ITA, I have read, have never been confident spellers, as a consequence of not using the standard alphabet at the beginning of their schooling. As you can see, that is not my story. But, I digress.

September, 2020; update. A diligent online search and the cooperation of local library staff resulted in me finding a copy of that same book. If you want to read a first hand account of (part) of dad's India / Burma campaign (the author was wounded and invalided home prior to the Burma offensive), check out “B Company - 9th Battalion, the Border Regiment” by Raymond Cooper.

I'd walk down to the library almost every Saturday morning, scooping up books before heading home to devour them through the coming week. When I was eleven I sat the 11+ exam. I was one of the last kids to do that (it was phased out in the late 60's and early 70's as Comprehensive Schols supplanted the Grammars and Secondary Moderns). Having pased the exam, I was enrolled at St Thedore's RC High School in Burnley, and the shape of my life was definitively cast.

Mum and I would sit up and read late in the evening, after dad had gone to bed. Then, in the morning, I'd read before getting the bus to St Ted's. Dad would wake me at about 6:15am, as he left the house. (Thinking about it now, I have no idea why he didn't wake either of my elder brothers. Well actually, I probably do – they would have been unrousable. They didn't need to be up, and would have resisted any attempt to stir them into premature activity. I was more pliable.) My job then, by default, was to get up, light the coal fire, and wake up the rest of the household at the appropriate times. The bus I used to reach school was BCN Transport's 60. It wended its way from Nelson to Burnley via Halifax Road, Hill Place, Marsden Road, Briercliffe Road, and Eastern Avenue. I used to get on at Hill Place:if I left the house at 8:10am, I could reach the stop in good time. I'd be joined there by Andrew Thornton and Keith Haydock - classmates at St Ted's.

So, now you see me - solidly located in the 70's, on any given weekday morning. Dad's up and gone, the fire's lit, and I am aged eleven and I have nearly two hours to fill before I go for the bus. What is there to do but read? No such thing as Breakfast TV back then. Nowadays, when there is breakfast TV, I still prefer to read. In fact, I get up 90 minutes before I'm due at work so that I can read. By doing so, I invite another snag: I can't put the bloody book down! I'm usually 'last minute' or marginally late, arriving at work. But we're talking books… What can you do? The setting conditions for my literary efflorescence were present throughout my adolescence: mum was promoting literary explorations and dad was affording me ample opportunity to stick my nose where it belonged.

All of this may appear to be but tangentally related to my allergy to cleaning up but the two are, actually, inextricably bound. In my universe, Books and Cleaning are binary stars; suspended in the vacuum of space, locked in an eternal embrace.

The incomparable Quentin Crisp had an unique perspective on cleaning. He said, “There's no need to do any housework at all. After the first four years, the dirt doesn't get any worse”. Now, that's a sterling silver quotation – great to deploy if the Aggie and Kims of this world ring your doorbell, step into your home, and proceed to look snootily down their noses at you, whilst pinching their nostrils firmly closed. So, thank you, Quentin.

But don't think this lets you off the hook, Quentin. I haven't forgotten how you died the night before I was scheduled to see you on stage in Manchester, in November, 1999. You owe me for that lack of consideration. When we meet in the heavenly (diabolical?) Cage aux Folles in the sky, I expect you to obtain a corner table for our exclusive use, with mood lighting. If push comes to shove, we can always drape one of your pink chiffon scarves over the table lamp. I'll stand us drinks but I anticipate, from you, a cavalcade of hilarious and outre anecdotes. Don't disappoint. Though I appreciate Quentin's contribution to the debate, we're not allies. We may both be Friends of Dorothy but I don't subscribe to his philosophy of detergence. I like clean and neat. I like minimalist.

I am my mother's son, after all. She liked elbow grease and order, and knick-knacks were strictly regulated; few in number and of weight and moment. We're similarly constituted, she and I. I readily confess that this outlook on the house beautiful lends itself well to spick-and-span, clean and calming. I sign up to that: I love it when my space is elegantly muted, crisply orangised, dust-free and soft-sheened. But the truth is, my impulse to clean always defers to my impulse to read.

Some people say that when food whispers to them, Eat me, they are helpless to resist. I sympathise. Books, I tell you, are equally invidious.They beckon, invitingly. They murmur, insistently, Read me. I try to be motivated by hoovers and mops. I urge myself to be excited by Mr Sheen. It'd be great if Cilit Bang raised my blood pressure. But it doesn't. I struggle. Even the most jaundiced comentator will acknowledge that Descartes' aphorism states Cogito, ergo sum not Expurgo, ergo sum. Still, I'm no slothful coward. I am not one to admit defeat easily. I've devised a graded cleaning routine to spur me to action.

I'm not one to boast, but the USA has adopted something similar to grade their national preparedness to defend against threats: they call it DEFCON. The Yanks and I share an ordered sequence of alert settings. You can find theirs on the internet. For simplicity's sake, I decribe mine below.

DEFCON 4: There's visible dust on flat surfaces. Response: SCOWL DISAPPROVINGLY OVER THE EDGE OF THE BOOK

DEFCON 3: Visible dust, an assortment of specks / crumbs on the carpet. Response: CONSIDER HOOVERING, at some future date

DEFCON 2: As above, plus fluff balls near skirting boards. Response: QUICK HOOVER and a bit of DAMP DUSTING

DEFCON 1: Imminent arrival of guests (particularly transatlantic ones) or, threat levels as detailed above, plus shower cubicle and bathroom sink clouded by soap scum. Response: BLITZ EVERYTHING

Sometimes, for reasons I don't quite understand, the C-in-C seems to initiate DEFCON 1 without adequate justification. I mean, if book precedes clean in the dictionary, by how much more does it precede deep-clean? Ah well. Fits of absence of mind have been know to happen. Or maybe it's the breath of God blowing through me - a burst of genuine enthousiasm? Of course, it's possible, too, that (in the depest bunker of my brain) there is some unimagined Stellar Intelligence Service that continually monitors the binary stars Book and Cleaning and detects perturbations in their orbit. Once an aberration is discovered, the agency leaps into action to rectify any threat to the creative tension that holds them in equilibrium. A bit like NASA, but with Marigolds and a pinafore. If so, it's effective.

The upshot of DEFCON 1 – however it's triggered - is a mad two hours; every resource is allocated. There's a burst of frenetic activity which I sustain until, sweat dripping off my nose end, I have successfully transformed my homely abode into a showpiece. I must admit, the sense of statisfaction arising therefrom is a natural high. It's lush. I beam, inwardly. And what is it that I do next, when I hit this high? I'll tell you.

I make a pot of tea, get comfy on the sofa, and pick up my current book.

#damian's writing #books #reading #cleaning #domesticity #motivation #house proud #literature #mundane tasks #housework

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marvel-vision · 2 years

Text

First Life

Summary - Part one of five. The first life of many with your soulmate.

Warnings - Death.

Words - 3k

All Parts

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The sun streaming through the window of the stone walls lit up Wanda's face in a way so magical it left you breathless. It always did. Whether she was wide awake or in a deep sleep her beauty always kept all of your attention. You couldn't pull your eyes away even if you tried, not that you wanted to. As with most people, it was like you were under the witch's spell.

Raising a hand, you traced the features of her face. Your fingers danced along the curve of her hairline, around the tips of her ears, down against the sharpness of her jaw. They rested there as you studied her, admired every part of her face. You couldn't do anything to prevent the thought that she was yours. Out of all of the people she could have, she wanted you and you only.

A large sigh of air from the woman beside you pulled you out of your thoughts and pushed you to continue your exploration of your wife, as if you hadn't done this millions of times before. Your finger gently smoothed over the column of her neck and finally rested on her chest. The slow rise and fall never failed to put a smile onto your face.

The peaceful silence lasted for what felt like an eternity, until Wanda's eyes fluttered open and she shifted ever so slightly further into you. Her being awake didn't deter you from your studying in the slightest, it just gave you something new to admire. Her eyes. Her smile. Everything about her pulled you in further and you were powerless to stop it.

Neither of you spoke, you didn't need to, just gazing into eachothers eyes like you did on the rare mornings you got to yourselves. Wanda grabbed your hand that was still pressed against her chest and held it in her own, turning over onto her side she rested her head against your shoulder and curled into your body.

"Morning, my love, how did you sleep?" The deep, gravelly sound of sleep clung to Wanda's voice.

"Perfectly, with you by my side."

She hummed in response, a blinding smile taking over her face as she burrowed her head into your neck. You let a short chuckle escape you at the way the woman got shy at your words, it was like a routine by this point. You'd say something sweet and she'd shy away as if she couldn't believe that you would say that to her. You turned your head slightly so you could press a light kiss to the crown of her head.

"I love you." You whispered against her hair, inhaling deeply, drowning in the overwhelming floral scent that you only associated with her.

"Always?" She matched your tone to keep the calm atmosphere. Her voice no longer shook when she asked that question, years of asking and you reassuring had eased her doubt that you would leave her. Now it was more of a ritual, a way to affirm that you were there for eachother and always would be.

"Always."

She raised her head so that she could look you in the eyes. You thought she was going to say something, instead she gave you a short kiss and sat up, stretching her arms above her head and releasing a satisfied groan at the feeling of tension leaving her joints. You couldn't draw your eyes away from the way the muscles in her back moved with her every motion. That was until she swung her legs over the edge of the bed preparing to get ready for the inevitably long day ahead.

"No," you whined, "If you leave now we won't have a moment to ourselves until the evening. Just stay with me a little longer, please." You pouted at her when she turned her head to look at you. You offered your hand out to her, hoping she would stay in the warmth of your bed, even if it was just for a few minutes more. Any time you got to spend with her was a treasure in your mind.

She smiled that smile that got the butterflies in your stomach fluttering, and grabbed your hand, readily letting you drag her back down on top of you. "Only a few minutes, we have things to do today." She muttered as she relaxed further into you. She shivered when she felt your fingers trace random shapes on her bare back.

"We have things to do everyday, my love, so just take some time with me. Our tasks will still be there waiting for us by noon."

She puffed out a laugh, that was more of an exhale, at the image of you undoubtedly rolling your eyes at the mention of your always busy schedule. She loved The Captain and the rest of his merry band of misfits, they were her family, but sometimes she wanted to give it all up to live a peaceful life with you.

That would never happen though. She knew that if the Avengers were to disband, the warlords from countries across the sea would jump at the chance to attack. It was already happening, the tyrant Thanos was gathering his armies to take over the lands you protected. You still had time though. The last anyone had heard he was still making idle threats of war.

As if you had read her mind, you started to speak. "Once this whole Thanos thing has blown over, I think we should leave. I'll build us a lovely wooden cabin in the middle of the forest."

Wanda looked up at you, a content grin on her face. "Oh yeah. What else?"

"Well, I was thinking we could live off the land, grow our own vegetables. That sort of thing y'know. And maybe, once we've settled properly, we could have a few children." You tore your gaze away from the ceiling to look the woman you loved in the eye. The love in her gaze made you want to turn away but you didn't. "What do you think about that?" You whispered unsure. The Avengers had become her whole life, yours too, but you longed to settle down away from the fighting and the chaos.

"I long for nothing more than that future with you."

You leaned down ever so slightly and captured her lips in a gentle kiss. Wanda hummed against you, practically vibrating with happiness at the future you had put into her head. Before anything could proceed further, you broke apart at the loud banging against your door.

"You two get up. You can continue whatever you were doing later, Steven needs us in the war room." The voice of your friend Natasha called through the door.

"If we ignore her and pretend we aren't here will she fall for it?" You breathed into Wanda's ear.

"I can hear you, y'know. Get up, don't make me come in there and drag you away from one another." Natasha threatened. Damn her and her stupid assassin training.

Muttering out curses, you sat up, grabbing a shirt from the side of the bed and pulling it on. The banging on the door hadn't stopped, so you shouted out to her in mock irritation. "We're coming, Gods Nat, have some patience."

She finally stopped her infernal racket and left with a final hit to the wood separating you. You rolled your eyes at your bestfriends childishness as Wanda crawled up behind you. Wrapping her arms around your shoulders she deposited a tender kiss against your temple. "Will you two ever grow up?" She spoke into your ear.

"No, I don't think we will. Now come, if Steven is calling for us already he may have some news on the Thanos front."

Wanda sighed but still moved to get ready. Pulling on a pair of trousers you turned in time to see your other half finishing getting ready. You offered your hand out to her once again and walked down the halls of the castle, hand in hand, to the war room.

Entering the room, you were greeted by The Captain, Steven Rogers, the leader of The Avengers. He looked serious, more serious than normal, something must be happening.

"Y/N, Wanda, glad you could join us. Sorry to disturb your morning but Thanos is making moves earlier than we anticipated." The Captain informed you both when you sat down.

You glanced around the table. Every seat was full, which happened less often nowadays, with some members constantly being gone on missions, each one longer and tougher than the previous.

Right across from your seat was Steven, standing at the head of the table. Beside him was Anthony Stark, the Mechanical Genius, he built the best armour in all of the land. On Steven's other side was Thor, the actual God of Thunder and beside him was Clint Barton, The Master Archer. Naturally Natasha sat between you and her other best friend. Wanda sat alongside you with Bruce Banner, The Giant neighbouring her. The eight seats finally full for the first time in months.

Stood next to Steven was King T'Challa of Wakanda, the kingdom you were currently aiding in their fight against Thanos. If he was to take over the country he would be near unstoppable in his pursuit to take over the world. The advanced technology of the Wakandans was something that almost everyone was vying to get their hands on. The King had been generous enough to lend you some of their vibranium to use as weapons and armour for yourselves.

"Some of my border guards have seen Thanos and his armies advancing toward us. We think he plans to attack today." T'Challa spoke up, commanding the rooms attention the way a King does.

You tightened your grip on Wanda's hand when you heard what he said. You had full confidence in your team, you always did, but that didn't stop the unease settling deep into your bones. It was obvious that everyone around you felt the same, glancing around at eachother with what could only be described as terror on their faces. You might have been ready for an attack, you all knew it was coming, but none of you thought it would be this soon.

"I know we weren't prepared for a war so soon but we can do this, we're The Avengers, we haven't lost before and we're certainly not going to lose now." He looked into the eyes of those around him as he gave his speech. "Now are you with me? Will you fight by my side as we have done hundreds of times before?"

"Of course we will Cap," you grinned at the man. "This'll be no different to what we have already done."

"Well then what are we waiting for," Anthony spoke up, "Let's go add another win to our tally."

With that everyone rose from their seats and made their way to the weapons room. You hung back slightly, catching the glimpse of fear and worry on your usually confident leader's face. As quickly as it had appeared it was gone, replaced by a determination that inspired your own, and he was on his way to change into his gear.

Out on the large expanse of field you joined your family, watching as Thanos' army grew with every second it got closer. You took a deep, steadying breath and looked over to your wife, an effortless smile taking over. "You ready?"

"To take him down and live out our future? Absolutely." She said it with such confidence that all thoughts of failure left you.

You turned your head back to the approaching army, waiting for the signal that they were close enough for The Captains liking to begin your own advance forward. Clint and part of the Wakandan army were already firing arrows, dropping people left and right with their immaculate aim.

On Steven's shout you all rushed forward, clashing with the enemy soldiers in what felt like a practised ease with how many times you'd rushed into battle. Using the staff in your hands you fought off anyone brave enough to go for you, a few of Thanos' army falling under your control thanks to the powerful stone at the point of your staff.

You caught a brief glimpse of red out the corner of your vision and stooped for a brief second to marvel at your wife's magic taking down multiple people with one sweep of her hand. She was without a doubt one of the most powerful of your little team, her magic rivalling that of Thor's Godly powers.

The fight was long and tough, a handful of soldiers getting well placed hits on you before being stuck down. Somehow Thanos had managed to separate The Avengers from the main fight in a secluded patch of forest.

His hulking figure approached slowly, taking his time as if he had all the time in the world. Bruce was the first to gather the nerve to attack him, summoning some hidden bravery the usually timid doctor never had. He ran straight for the imposing Warlord ready to deal some damage but the mad tyrant threw him away into the ground behind him. You couldn't see Bruce moving from where you were but you had hope that he was fine.

Steven was next, running full speed towards the man, shield at the ready. He had just gotten close enough when the man struck him down into the dirt. The King went for the attack, jumping high into the air to strike down his adversary. He was caught midair by the towering man, who held him tight by the throat, you stood back in shock, seeing The Black Panther be punched into the ground lifeless.

Trusting in his armour Anthony rushed forward. He stepped out of Thanos' reach when the man grabbed for him, and swung his sword at his head. It barely grazed Thanos' face as he had already grabbed a hold of Anthony and crumpled his armour with him still in it, as if he was nothing he was thrown off to the side. Natasha sprinted at the man, twin daggers in hand, seeing the damage Thanos had done to her family giving her a burst of energy after the long battle. She had barely got close enough to him when he cast her off to the side as if she was nothing. She could barely move tangled in the trees.

Clint tried to get a hit in from the side using his bow as a weapon but the Tyrant stepped back just in time for Clint to stumble past him and into the dirt.

You hadn't even seen The Captain get back up, ready for round two before he was sliding in front of the threatening force taking you all down. He got a few hits in on the towering man before he too, like T'Challa was punched into the ground. You could hear the thud of his body making contact.

You ushered Wanda behind you, knowing she could protect herself better than you ever could, but still trying nonetheless. Seeing his family be beaten so easily Thor flew forward with the force of his Hammer, striking Thanos and pushing him back. It would have been an amazing sight, someone being able to withstand the full force of Thor's Hammer hitting them, but in that moment it was terrifying. An impressive display of what you were really up against. You very quickly realised how futile this fight really was, if he had put down the majority of your team with his bare hands you had no hope.

You turned to Wanda, the fear unmistakable in your eyes and she knew too. She shook her head. "Don't," She pleaded. But you had to, this was what you signed up for when you joined the team. What you signed up for when you married her, all you wanted to do was protect her.

You could hear Thor struggling behind you. If he wasn't fairing well then this was the end. You lowered your head, preparing yourself for what you were about to do. "I love you" you whispered to your wife before you turned on your heel and sprinted towards the fight. You raised your staff, the sharp end pointed right at Thanos. Being too distracted with Thor, Thanos didn't realise you were advancing ready to strike until it was too late and you pierced his shoulder. The pain seemed to fuel his fight, however, and he batted Thor away into the trees.

He turned to you, a fire burning in his eyes when he saw you, still holding the end of your staff. He grabbed your neck and lifted you off the ground and above his head. You could hear the scream Wanda release seeing the love of her life struggling for air. You just got a glimpse of her before the Warlord snapped your neck and dropped you to the ground. Wanda no longer cared about the fight, she rushed forward and collapsed next to you, cradling your head in her lap. She tried not to look lower than your face, seeing your neck bent in an unnatural way would push her over the edge further then she already was.

She pushed your hair out of your eyes hoping to catch sight of the light inside them but they were dull, lifeless. "Always?" She choked out, wishing you would answer. Praying to the God's she didn't believe in that you would say it back. But you didn't.

She slumped forward, sobbing over your body, rocking back and forth. She didn't even flinch at the feel of Thanos' large hand against her hair. "Please," She begged. Whether that was for you to wake up or for Thanos to hurry up so she could join you, she wasn't sure. She closed her eyes at the feeling of Thanos' hand moving from her hair to her throat, welcoming what was to come. She barely felt it when he twisted her head and she stopped breathing.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #my writing

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