#haven: darkened legacies
Text
Haven: Darkened Legacies - First Chapter.
I have decided to post the first chapter of Darkened Legacies for visibility/promotion. Darkened Legacies is the prequel to the first book in The Hampnear Legacy, Twinstone. Those of you who haven't read Twinstone can read the first chapter on my website, as well as purchase a pay-what-you-want PDF of the book via Ko-Fi. However, if you don't mind mild worldbuilding/relationship spoilers, you can read Darkened Legacies even if you haven't read Twinstone.
Darkened Legacies is being written for Kindle Novella. This is mostly for visibility and to further expand my audience outside of Tumblr (you know, real-world people). Same reason I used Kindle Self Publishing for Twinstone. Because Novella offers 10 chapters of a story for free before credits are used (because why would they not?) I have decided to post the chapters/episodes on my website, until I reach chapter 10. Afterward, I will create a ko-fi tier (in which the cost will be next to nothing) and post the chapters there. Because of the limitations of Kindle, the chapters for this will be shorter.
I think that's all the rambling I have for now. Make sure to like/reblog/support/help me get my work out there! I want to eventually be able to quit my job and write as my living (big dreams, I know).
xoxo,
Paige
"I could possibly be fading
Or have something more to gain
I could feel myself growing colder
I could feel myself under your fate."
Mazzy Star Into Dust
I am no longer certain what it is to be human.
On certain days, a subtle flicker of emotion or the distant echo of memory may stir within me, like a gentle breeze brushing against my skin. But it's only temporary, fading away as quickly as it came. It's strange to live in a state of forgetfulness, disconnected from the intense vibrancy of being alive. To pass through years, decades, or perhaps centuries without questioning the path we've chosen or perhaps one fate or circumstance that has been chosen for us.
But then, when we chance upon one person who ignites a flicker within us, we understand the emptiness that has always resided in our hearts. The gaping void that their existence can only fill. Every time they gaze into our eyes, a thousand stars have aligned and ignited a fire within us. We feel complete as if their touch has mended all the pieces of our shattered souls. And in those moments, we know this person is the missing piece we've been searching for all along.
It's a strange feeling to be brought back to life.
─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉┈◈◉◈┈┉
The ancient deities were the guardians of the forest. Their presence was felt in every rustle of leaves and whisper of wind. For centuries before modernity dawned, before humankind claimed dominion over the world and its creatures, these gods ruled with primal power. As a child, I grew up in a village near the edge of these woods, where the people revered the forest as a place of immense magic. The veil between the living and the dead was thinnest here, offering glimpses into realms beyond our own. And so we worshiped these fickle and mysterious beings, born before time itself and not bound by human rules or understanding.
Few memories are left of those early days of my life, scattered remnants of a life long gone. My first memory is of my mother, her swollen belly creating a comfortable nook for me to rest against as she rocks in a worn wooden chair. Her voice is soft and soothing as she sings an old tune, her slender fingers threading through my hair. The surrounding room is warm and cozy, the fire casting dancing shadows on the walls and the aroma of bubbling stew filling our senses. I close my eyes and try to hold on to this moment, knowing it will soon fade away like all my other memories.
They named me Leonidas. My father hoped this name would bring me fortune and glory, a gift from the wise woman of our village who had seen my fate in the stars. But the fickle ways of the old gods cannot be predicted. On the day of my christening, rain fell from the sky and did so for a week straight. A bad omen, or so my father was warned.
It was a bad omen, but not for the reasons he believed.
─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉┈◈◉◈┈┉
At the tender age of eighteen, I married a healer woman. It was not a love match but an arrangement made by our parents and the gods before we could comprehend it. Our village was nestled in the heart of the ancient forests, surrounded by towering trees whose thick canopy blocked out most of the sunlight. We lived following the rules set forth by the old gods, and we worshiped devoutly. As a man in our society, my role was to produce offspring - sons to carry on my name and continue our legacy. And so it happened, in due time. Our first son came into this world with a fierce cry, and I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride in my chest. A few years later, we were blessed with another child, solidifying our family and bringing us more joy.
Our lives, though simple, were filled with laughter and camaraderie. We led a simple existence dictated by the change of seasons and the gifts the earth bestowed upon us. The women tended to the children, prepared meals, and sewed clothes while men like me toiled under the sun or ventured into the deep woods, hunting for game or collecting wood for fire. Our evenings were spent feasting on whatever bounty we had that day; our bodies huddled around the fire for warmth as we shared stories about our ancestors and their exploits.
And all these years later, I see the cruel irony life has dealt me. In my naivety, I had once believed the gods were smiling down on me, and that my predetermined path would lead to a future filled with wonder and beauty. But now, as memories flood, I realize how wrong I was.
With her sharp tongue and cold heart, my wife was a wicked mother in every sense of the word. I can still feel the sting of her scolding for being too soft with our sons. She constantly reminded me they were not delicate girls but strong, capable men who needed to be molded into warriors. "You are too soft with them, Leonidas."
Yet, despite her harsh teachings, they were still just boys to me—full of innocence and vulnerability.
We instilled in them a deep reverence for the wild, the earth, and the ever-changing skies. Above all, we taught them to value one another, work together, share, and set aside their differences. But I also granted them moments of freedom - allowing them to run off and go fishing while I picked up their slack for the afternoon. As their leader, it was my duty to prepare them for what lay ahead in life, but I also wanted them to experience the carefree joys of childhood.
What exactly that sense of freedom meant, at that moment, I couldn't say. Perhaps it was the exhilaration of exploring the woods without a care. Or maybe it was simply the feeling of being alive in nature's embrace.
As I ventured into the woods alone that day, just before sunset, on a mission to gather herbs and appease the nagging woman who always demanded more from me, little did I know I would never return home. She had asked my son to accompany me, but he had refused. He would come to regret his decision for the rest of his life, though he could not have known it then, and neither did I.
─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉┈◈◉◈┈┉
How mortals get themselves into trouble is still something beyond me now that I have all the understanding I do. But maybe I can see the forest and the trees better now.
But I couldn't back then.
The memory of the day I met him is etched into my mind forever, every detail as vivid as the first moment I saw him. It was a balmy summer night, the air thick with the scent of earth and herbs. My arms were burdened with various plants for potions that the witch-woman had requested. I trudged through the dense forest, feeling annoyed and resentful that I had been tasked with this errand while there were countless other things I would rather have been doing. The sun sank below the horizon, its golden rays fading into a deep, inky purple.
And in that expanding darkness, I tripped along the river bank somewhere beneath the mountain. My foot snagged on a hidden root, and before I knew it, I was tumbling headfirst into the indigo abyss. I tried to reach out, grasp anything firm, but the world spun and twisted in dizzying circles. The last thing I felt was the sharp bite of a jagged rock against my temple as I plunged into the icy depths of the river. My lungs filled with icy liquid. Panic set in. Struggling against the weight of my heavy clothes and numb limbs, I fought to reach the surface for air. But as I swallowed more water and my body grew weak, a sense of resignation washed over me. Maybe this was meant to be my end. Death didn't scare me, not really. Perhaps this was the will of the old gods, for I had been raised on stories of their wisdom and mercy, taught to trust in the natural order of things. They were the protectors of our land, the arbiters of life and death, and I trusted in their divine will to guide me through the darkness.
But just as I was about to give up and let the water claim me, strong arms grabbed hold of me and pulled me upwards. Gasping for air and coughing up water, I was aware of every ache and pain coursing through my body. My eyes flew open to meet the piercing silver orbs staring back at me.
The man who had saved me spoke urgently, his voice laced with concern. "I need to save your life," he said. "Will you let me?" At that moment, it didn't matter who he was or how he had found me floating in the river. All that mattered was survival, and I nodded weakly in agreement before everything faded into darkness again.
#twinstone#novel#orginal writing#publishing#original writing on tumblr#writing#authors of tumblr#original writing#self publsihing#haven#haven: darkened legacies#vampires#gothic horror#horror books#vampire books#dark romance#gothic romance#paranormal romance
1 note
·
View note
Text
The Alluring Darkness Of War
The Alluring Darkness Of War
https://ift.tt/abSXmzg
by cpaigem
Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, the wizarding world is a place of deep scars and darkening horizons. With Harry Potter's fall casting a long shadow, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny cling to each other amidst the ruins, striving to stitch together the fragmented society they once cherished.
As Ginny teeters on the brink, drawn to the seductive power of the dark arts, and Ron battles his own demons, haunted by the loss of his best friend, Hermione finds herself increasingly isolated. Her forays away from their haven of St. Bees grow frequent as she shoulders the weight of their collective grief and the responsibility for their future.
It is on one such venture that fate twists anew, and Hermione is ensnared by Draco Malfoy. Her capture marks a pivotal shift, not only casting her own convictions into turmoil but also threatening to tilt the fragile balance of the post-war world. In the clutches of her old adversary, Hermione must navigate a labyrinth of old enmities and emerging affections—a dance that could alter the course of the war's legacy and the heart of the world they are fighting to rebuild.
Words: 5566, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Categories: F/M
Characters: Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Bill Weasley, George Weasley, Fleur Delacour, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, Astoria Greengrass, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Lord Voldemort
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins
via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/IveYAUE
November 15, 2023 at 11:16PM
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Book Review: Unleashing Fire (Fallen Legacies #3)
Book Review: Unleashing Fire (Fallen Legacies #3) by #JulieHall
4.5⭐️'s // Why does it have to be over 😭
#bookpost #bookblog #bloggerswanted #bloggerstribe #bloggingcommunity #bookish #bookreview
Title: Unleashing Fire
Author: Julie Hall
Pub. Date: July 22, 2021
Pages: 464
Pub: Not Listed
Genre: Paranormal Fantasy
Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.5
Goodreads
The Forsaken hunger for vengeance, leaving Steel and I with no choice but to follow Camiel to the only place strong enough to protect me — Eden, an ancient, hidden city darkened by my family’s secrets.But Eden isn’t the safe haven I expected, and…
View On WordPress
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
BASICS OF ISLAM : Allah ( God Almighty ) : The Truth , Rights and More. Part3
Human rights were comprehensively defined with the advent of Islam.
•These rights, which were expressed in earlier religions only in general terms, or left latent as allusions that needed explanation with independent reasoning, were established once more by the very clear style of the Qur’an and the Prophet’s practice, without leaving room for deviation.
The Holy Qur’an has outlined human rights in detail in an utterly unique language.
•One can see a great emphasis on the protection of these rights in the Qur’an, which declared certain sanctions according to the conditions in question. The lawgiver Prophet clearly delineated these rights with the transactions he carried out himself. He warned insistently that these rights also pertain to the rights of God, and being in full compliance with them is necessary.
*In Islamic terminology, all rights originate from God’s will, and each are a blessing entrusted as a sign of His grace even if out of our will (jabri-lutfi) to humanity.
Rights, therefore, are granted to every human by creation and they cannot be:
- purchased or traded,
- reduced,
- increased,
- exchanged;
*They cannot be passed on to the discretion of the sovereign nor can they ever be used as a commodity.
•The greatest assurance of rights is when members of a society and the respected and honest authorities embrace this definition of rights wholeheartedly, and make it a part of their nature, honor it like their own souls, and strive for its protection.
This perception of rights is only be possible in a society that recognizes these rights as gracefully bestowed by God Almighty, a society that is appreciative to all the blessings of the Divine, a society that proceeds straightforward with an extraordinary refinement, believing in the fact that they will be held accountable tomorrow for what they do today, a society that upholds the truth and respects all rights.
•It is not possible to talk about human values and human rights in the truest sense of the word among masses who have no faith in God and the Day of Judgment, masses who do not follow scriptures or acknowledge messengers—they do not value rights nor do they show respect to truth.
•They have no appreciation for essential matters of belief; they give the impression of having some kind of faith, but a faith of their own, which revolves around sensuality.
•For them, it is not faith if it does not give way to their carnal desires; it is not science if it does not comply with their wishes.
•Those who are not from among them cannot be a scholar, and—when completely lost in delirium—they consider everyone other than themselves ignorant and every believer reactionary.
•They defame those who do not think the same as outdated, and in classifying individuals they divide society into camps. Indeed, their thoughts do not stem from common sense, and their behavior is bigoted.
•The satanic intellectual legacy they have inherited is an overused, worn-out conflictual dialectics that is deceptive. The crude power they employ against truth is a desperate, diabolical product of impotent reason; when they fail intellectually, it is customary for them to resort to demagogy or conflictual dialectics, a method implemented for the first time by Satan at the mysterious order of God to prostrate to the Prophet Adam. Thus, Satan can be considered as the inventor of conflictual dialectics; its later subcontractors have been the abusers of power who failed against the truth.
Muslims always strived at the highest of their capacity to observe human rights in the most scrupulous manner, not least during the Age of Light—the time of the Prophet. Their firm faith in God and the Hereafter, their well-settled spiritual conviction for the superiority of the rule of law, and their determination to continue on the straight path required them to act in harmony with the nature of their being.
*A genuine aspect of their condition was to be in sincere servanthood to God Almighty.
•They painstakingly fulfilled what was expected of them, and remained upright by their inner inclinations, which were shaped by the consciousness of “perfect goodness,” or ihsan—consciousness that God is All-Aware and All-Seeing.
•They did what they did because they were ordered to do so, aware of the fine line between obedience and disobedience. They welcomed all the orders and advice of the Prophet, the Master of the Law, wholeheartedly; during his time, opposition was limited to a small circle of hypocrites. None of the Prophet’s words were left floating; whatever he said reached its target and went far beyond mere semantics.
•When the Prophet honored Medina, he meticulously observed the stipulations of the Charter he signed with a diverse community of different faiths, worldviews, and ethnicities.
*Regardless of religion, race, and social rank, the law was equally implemented for everyone, and the city of Medina became a safe haven for each community.
•It was a golden age and the town of the Prophet was like a garden of Paradise.
Those who remained close to this age have been close to God and to fellow human beings, while others who failed to strive against their carnal desires and ambitions and darkened their centuries have turned to dust.
#allah#god#islam#muslim#quran#revert#convert#convert islam#revert islam#reverthelp#revert help#revert help team#help#islamhelp#converthelp#prayer#salah#muslimah#reminder#pray#dua#hijab#religion#mohammad#new muslim#new revert#new convert#how to convert to islam#convert to islam#welcome to islam
1 note
·
View note
Photo
NAME. Laila Renaud
AGE & BIRTH DATE. 36 & May 9th, 1984
GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her
SPECIES. Werewolf
OCCUPATION. Tranquilitea
FACE CLAIM. Dichen Lachman
BIOGRAPHY
Their father was a crooked French Canadian. This story starts with a man who had a strong chin but weak morals, a gentleman who wasn’t gentle at all— save for when he grinned at you from behind a half filled glass of whiskey. Patrice Renaud had very little doing in his children’s upbringing, save for the firm hand that he had the habit of slamming onto the table when it came to following his rules. Their mother, a wisp of a woman, swallowed up in obedience and duties; loved him wholly, (or so she promised) regardless of how she threw him out once a month, locking the door behind. Laila was always her father’s child, a girl who grinned with all teeth, who clutched at the world as though it was all going to be taken away. Their lives were beautiful, tucked into a small home in Gatineau; every sunny day was linked to the next with the sweet hum of a French lullaby and the passing of terribly starry night.
Three girls outgrew that home, none like the other. Laila, the second oldest, tumbled into each room with skinned knees and tangled hair, brandishing sticks as swords. There was a ferocity that burned in her tiny chest like flame, only death could snatch away her spirit and she would fight until every child in the playground had received a wallop from her makeshift weapon. Spirited, they’d call her, her father perhaps loved her best; whispering words by the tiny shell of her ear, calling her a warrior, his legacy. These are the memories that she has forgotten, replaced by violence, raw and unmarred, always trailed by empty amber bottles leading to her mother’s room. Laila hated her for her smallness, her inability to snap back— her anger at attempts to intervene; as she grew older her love for her mother was twined so deeply with her distaste that the walls of that small home shrunk further down, suffocating her. When the girl was fifteen, she moved out.
She didn’t go far, a stone’s throw away where her bitterness welled deeper, darkening her heart. Anger seemed to follow Laila, snapping at her heels and prodding at her sensitive spots. Her sisters found the lighter spots in her, reminded her how to laugh, but as time passed she tried to leave them behind as well, curving invitations with shitty excuses, sending birthday cards shoved full with cash she didn’t have instead of visiting. Perhaps they would have been alright if things had stayed this way. Two years working in a gas station at the edge of town had her worn down, she felt grubby— a waste as her younger sisters went on to seize the world around them, to reach beyond the bars that Gatineau placed around them. That year, she accepted the invitation to the family’s last Thanksgiving celebration.
Most of the night is a blur, rubbed out of Laila’s memory like a bad dream, time carries away the worst parts of it. She remembers it in flashes; the gore that trailed from the kitchen, splattering up the tiles and over the feast that had been prepared, the misshapen prints that lead into the yard and the shining, silvery remains of yesterday’s full moon. The creature that stood over what was left of her mother was less human than it was beast, but it didn’t belong wholly to either; with the shot gun that was always stowed by the screen door, a seventeen year old Laila put a bullet into the beast.
A month passed, her father had disappeared, her mother was declared dead at the scene. The eldest Renaud took up her place as head of the household, running it as smoothly as she could with slapped together peanut butter sandwiches and apple juice. It was the point in November when the frost killed grass and the leaves were starting to wither, the moon took it’s perch in the top of that starry sky and shrugged off it’s cloud cover. Every bone in Laila’s body broke, her heart shuddered to a stop; the last of her screams were finished with a horrible howl. Her sister, Adeline rushed in, terrified as they saw the last of her sister, twitching to life as a terrible dark beast. She lashed out, an instinct (she’d claim), teeth sinking into the older girl’s shoulder.
A sisterhood of werewolves was born that night. From bloodshed rose the beasts, gnashing teeth and curved claws, they gouged marks the hard packed earth around their home. They knew no rules, followed no laws. The two people that had any footing in the world that they now belonged to had been buried; their baby sister awoke hours later— unmarred and alone. A month later, she too, buried two empty coffins. Gatineau was no longer safe for the young wolves, not when their striking features were so recognizable. Like those bearing the devil’s mark, they began their nomadic mark towards a place to call home. It was Adeline who discovered Red Creek, their travels westward had hit the small town and that was when they caught the trail of something that wasn’t rabbit or deer. A scent, entirely like their own— they followed it into a pub in town and since that fateful drink, they’ve stayed.
Like all good things, her fairytale life in the safe haven burned to the ground. Adeline— tired of her sister’s selfishness and actions, escaped in the blaze, leaving Laila to her own devices. She doesn’t blame her sister, for the life that she herself has chosen is not one for the living; for nearly a decade now she has lived the life of a nomad- wandering the earth in search of something to tether to. Drawn across the globe, Laila found herself in Greece, in a town where she doesn’t speak the language but can feel the same tug that brought her to her first safe haven. There are other wolves here, she can feel the strength in their stability and age, but she lopes around the outside, only vaguely aware of the other supernatural creatures that also make residence in Corinth.
PERSONALITY
+ loyal, fearless, confident
- selfish, impulsive, unconstrained
PLAYED BY SAM. EST. She/Her.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
It’s been a bit. Here’s half of the new Elemental chapter (because no, I haven’t abandoned it).
.
Erza Scarlet was known, among other things, for the many outfits she donned. From suits of armor to the most extravagant dresses, she was rarely seen in something out of fashion. Her style ranged from imposing to seductive in her younger years, but currently she seemed far more enamored with the less flashy. More sensible.
Her most recent armor update suited her just fine most days. While it wasn’t too flashy or expensive, it had a formal look to it. Not all would see it, but whenever she caught her image in the mirror, she felt as if she’d finally once more transitioned into something else, transformed, perhaps, now into her final form.
She was the Master now. Of the most elite guild in the land. The one she’d been raised in and raised up to the level it now proclaimed. Fairy Tail belonged to her and while she still held her former placement in her heart, she was finding, as she approached a year of being Master, it meant far more.
There was, however, an unfortunate amount of busy work that she found herself stuck with at times, things that she would have never considered when first coming into power. She’d always seen Master Makarov or Laxus sitting around mostly, drinking or snoozing, but this usually took place because they were choosing to be derelict on their duties. In the former’s case, shirking them off on Mirajane and, in the latter, her daughter.
Master Erza didn’t wish to leave that sort of legacy. Memory. She hoped to always been seen busy and that meant taking care of paperwork, looking over the bar, and dealing in petty drama that most masters would balk at.
But this wasn’t to say that she didn’t rely, at least somewhat, on an assistant of her own. Marin was already well versed in most Master duties, as she’d more than walked her father through them for the past few years, and while Erza would never place so much on the teen’s shoulders, she did expect much of her protege.
Which is why it was harder than the swordswoman would have thought, to be without her for those few days. Marin was always up at the bar, as much a fixture as the wrought iron gates, and seemed to enjoy the tasks that her new master gave her. They’d become quite the pair as, in some ways, they both found themselves adjusting to their new lives.
Marin didn’t fully replace what Erza had lost, in Ravan and Kai, of course not. And she was certain she did little to ease the young woman’s thoughts in relation to her own strained family ties. But they’d formed something of a bond themselves, over the past few years, and there was some comfort that was gone now, without her being around.
It was silly, Erza knew, as she’d been the one to send Marin off on her very first job. Not to mention she’d only been gone for a day. But that second one, when she arrived at the bar with only Kinana there to open, she did find herself frowning a bit more than usual.
Still, she was sure, it was a good thing, Marin being gone. Of course it was. Pretty soon, she’d fall in love with the concept of adventure and using her magic to aid in this, and would hardly ever be around. She was certain the feeling would take hold of the teen. To have such power as Marin possessed, and to waste it away at the bar…
She was glad that she’d sent the girl away, off on her first real job, and yes she was now doing paperwork all alone, but it was just as well.
If Marin really did find herself tangled up in mage work, she’d be alone a lot more often.
She was seated in her office that morning, looking over some papers and considering things, when there was a sharp knock at the door. It was Kinana, calling out in a rather tense voice that Mirajane had arrived home from her trip and was inquiring about Marin.
It was something she’d prepared for, in the past few days. In her time keeping something of a mentorship over Marin, she’d known the teen’s parents to be...apprehensive over most things. While the two were quite accomplished, Mirajane and Laxus had seen how power could corrupt and usually sought to keep Marin far from it.
So Erza wasn’t expecting much of a warm response to her news. From either of them. And while tussling with Laxus was far from something she was looking forward to, she was also aware that the man seemed to avoid the hall like the plague in those days, mostly, and it was for the best.
His wife was always far easier to reason with.
Honestly though, the couple had been going through a lot the past year (if not the decade) and Erza was thankful, anyways, to see Mirajane seeming so upbeat, though perhaps a bit concerned. She’d arrived knowing that her daughter should have been around. For Kinana to require Erza to explain Marin’s absence, well…
“Mira,” her technical Master now, Erza, remarked as she came to stand before the woman at the bar. “How was your trip?”
“Good,” the other woman remarked slowly. “But Marin-”
“You look well,” Erza offered with a nod. “Well-rested. You know, since becoming Master I haven’t had a chance to travel myself, but-”
“Master,” Mirajane cut her off and the word felt odd, it had the entire year, as it fell off her tongue. There was a period in time where it was one she frequently found herself utilizing, in a rather endearing tone (usually), but that had died off under her husband’s reign. To now use it once more, in reference to someone who was once her rival/equal felt sacrilegious. “Where’s Marin?”
Rather than look off, Erza met the other woman’s eyes as she said simply, “In your absence, a simple task presented itself for her to assist in and, as a show of faith towards her recent prowess, I chose to send her off to complete it.”
Not exactly deflating, but at least being relieved a bit to find nothing had befallen her youngest, Mirajane questioned simply, “Is it something...difficult?”
“I wouldn’t think so, for her, no,” Erza replied carefully. “Just escorting a rather low level individual from one place to another. An Exceed.”
“O-Oh.” Mirajane let out a slight sigh of relief. “Just one of the Exceeds? Well, I wish she’d have waited until her father and I were home, but-”
“She’s groan now,” Erza offered simply. “There’s not much you can do.”
“No,” Mirajane agreed, “I suppose not.”
It should have been fine from there. Erza could go back to sorting through paperwork and Mirajane could take over worrying about when her daughter would return home, but unfortunately there was someone waiting back there for her. Someone who’d spent an equal amount of time anxiously awaiting a daughter’s return as he had shirking paperwork duty onto someone else.
“Marin coming by for lunch?” Laxus asked in what may have sounded disinterested, but Mira could tell from his tone that he was certainly optimistic. He was where she left him, unpacking their bags in their bedroom, but dropped what was in his arms ads he looked to his wife in anticipation.
They’d grown far closer, in recent times, he and his youngest. She’d always been distanced from him, in a way that his oldest, Haven, wasn’t. Marin was reserved and meek, which was hard to rectify in his eyes. His childhood had been tumultuous and difficult, making it hard for him to always connect with her.
But that had all changed that following summer, when all of the turmoil in their family had come to a head. Marin now saw him frequently, multiple times a week, just to visit, and he thought of these times as some of the best currently.
Marin had always been the baby of the family, both in the technical sense and how they treated her overall, and though she was now rather self-sufficient, Laxus was perhaps overindulging in all that he’d lost out on.
He wanted to be around her. To listen to her. To just see her. As often as he could now. Sober now. In the moment and aware. He’d lost so many years to feeling sorry for himself; he wanted all of the ones he had now.
Which is why when his wife tried to calm him, after failing to inform him of their daughter’s recent trip in a way that wouldn’t incite him, the man was far too agitated for her typical techniques. There was no amount of rubbing at his shoulders or speaking a hushed tone was going to bring him back down.
It had been a bit, since the slayer had been a frequent, haunting figure in Fairy Tail. A good decade of him drinking himself to death had preceded now and, while some of the newest of members only knew him as the defamed former master, all were sure to keep their thoughts to themselves when he came barreling into the hall that day.
Maybe it had been a long time coming.
For him and Erza.
He’d left the guild in her care until his return, but upon his return, had balked at reclaiming what was his. There had been an expected blow out and perhaps even a premature taking of sides, but that winter when the slayer showed his face, there wasn’t so much as a scuffle and the idea faded from most’s minds. If anything, as Laxus and Mirajane spent more time at home, their presence and factoring into daily guild life ceased to exist.
But everyone knew who he was and what it meant as the clouds darkened that late morning to the darkest of black and perhaps a bit of thunder could be heard, roaring in the distance as he threw open the guildhall doors.
Laxus was pissed.
In a way he hadn’t been since a year ago, when the hall looked a little different and was run even more so. His wife was hot on his tail, hissing at him now, in a way that she hadn’t either, in a year, and an uneasy hush fell over the bar as everyone feared they were the one that the veteran mage was looking for.
Everyone except for Ajax.
He’d been very busy bragging up some of his accomplishments to some of the slightly too old for him ladies in the guild, trying to win their favor, but as everyone’s gaze fell to the storming in slayer, he felt a bubble in his chest.
“Uncle,” he called out as he rushed right over to where Laxus was cutting through the nearing noon crowd, coming to bounce in front of him. Even as he aged, the man was a brute, especially now that he’d begun a training regimen once more, and though Ajax could hold his own against the other teens, his uncle had no reason to stop for him. Other than the fact he was his only nephew, one of the very few people he could tolerate. “What’s up?”
Laxus wasn’t in the mood for the teen though and only shoved right passed Ajax, continuing on until he was at the bar.
“Erza,” he growled, loudly, and others were rising to their feet now, ready for the fabled battle between two titans of the guildhall, for the fate and future of the guild the prize.
The woman emerged with her head held high, not quaking in fear at the sight of the slayer’s dark eyes. In fact, she met them with her own, though not angry, still having that hard steel look to them.
“Laxus,” she greeted with a nod. “It’s rare to see you in the hall today. If there is something you wish to speak on-”
“You sent my daughter out on a job?”
“I was presented with someone who wished for the presence of a Dreyar on their job,” Erza replied simply. “You were out, your oldest daughter is gone, and Marin is the only one left baring the name.”
“Marin,” he retorted, “is a goddamn child who’s never been out on her own before. And yet you-”
“Laxus,” Mira cautioned. “You really shouldn’t-”
“Marin is an adult. In ever sense of the word.” Erza did let out a slight sigh then, though not necessarily one of understand. More of pity. “And she has been for quite some time.”
“You know what the fuck I mean,” Laxus said with a snort. “Don’t play dumb.”
“Then you do not do so either. No one knows Marin better than I.” Turning from him slightly, Erza looked up as she remarked, “Of course I would know when she was while
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
How To Find The Finest Places To Visit In India?
A place where there is stunning decent variety, India Travel fills all the faculties with amazement. From its old legacy and customs to its eminent design and staggering scenes, the nation offers something for each sort of voyager. Here are probably the best goals to design an occasion in 2018.
Kasauli A Place Tha Has Romance In Its Air
Kasauli is one of the most peaceful and lovely goals of Himachal Pradesh in the Solan Valley. Monitored by the snow-topped mountains, blossoming streams, splendid greeneries, knolls and canvassed in the cover of thick timber wood timberlands, the goal has got everything. The antique old amazing Victorian houses standing erect in the bumpy surroundings under the quiet condition give the goal an appealing delight as though plunged directly from paradise. And all the words I am having right now for its depiction is a direct result of my ongoing outing to Kasauli Tourism in the most recent end of the week. It was enchanted to such an extent that during the whole excursion it kept me suffocating in its excellence. Entertain yourself with the beautiful
Rajasthan A Place Of Culture, Fairs & Festivals
From fantasy castles and epic strongholds to brilliant celebrations and natural life experiences, Rajasthan, the Land of the Kings, is India at its dynamic best. Various strongholds and castles, including Jaisalmer's fantasy dessert station, Amber's nectar tinted fortress royal residence and Jodhpur's forcing Mehrangarh can be seen all through the state. Staggering crafted works and expressive arts were created and supported through support by the maharajas. Numerous vivid celebrations, from pompously enriched mounts at the camel and elephant celebrations in Pushkar and Jaipur, individually, to the rainbow blasts of Diwali and Holi, are praised over the district.
Get Visited Mesmerizing Karnataka
A staggering prologue to southern India, Karnataka is a prosperous, convincing state stacked with a triumphant mix of urban cool, sparkling royal residences, national parks, antiquated remnants, seashores, yoga focuses and unbelievable hang-outs. At its operational hub is the capital Bengaluru (Bangalore), a dynamic city renowned for its specialty lager and eatery scene. Taking off of town you'll experience the evergreen moving slopes of Kodagu, specked with flavor and espresso ranches, the grand quality of Mysuru (Mysore), and wildernesses abounding with monkeys, tigers and Asia's greatest populace of elephants. Head to the counter-social enclave of serene Hampi with loungers, hallucinogenic nightfalls and stone were strewn ruins or the happy, for all intents and purposes immaculate coastline around Gokarna, favored with excellent inlets and void sands.
The Appealing Himachal Pradesh
With fabulous cold pinnacles and plunging waterway valleys, lovely Himachal is India's open-air experience play area. From trekking and moving to the boat, paragliding, and skiing, it very well may be done here. Tangled geology of interlocking mountain chains likewise makes Himachal an awesome spot basically to investigate, by transport, vehicle, motorbike, jeep or foot. Towns roosted on stunning inclines captivate with fantasy design and their kin's agreeable warmth. Slope stations bid with an occasion air and frontier echoes, while explorer magnets draw with their delighted out vibe and mountain excellence. Such is the wealth of the Himachali jigsaw that in McLeod Ganj, the Dalai Lama's home-away-from-home, and in Lahaul and Spiti, with their hundreds of years old Buddhist societies, you may even think you've unearthed Tibet.
A Place Of God Kerala
For some voyagers, Kerala is South India's most peacefully delightful state. A thin waterfront strip is formed by its layered scene: practically 600km of wonderful Arabian Sea coast and seashores; a slow system of sparkling backwaters; and the flavor and tea-secured slopes of the Western Ghats. Simply going to this swath of soul-extinguishing, palm-concealed green will ease back your subcontinental walk to a pleasured out to wander. Kerala is a world away from the free for all of somewhere else, as though India had gone through the Looking Glass and turn into an out and out increasingly laid-back spot.
A Captivating Kashmir and Ladakh
The territory of Jammu and Kashmir (J&K) unites three unimaginably various universes. Jammu and Katra, in the south, are the state's rail center points and a significant draw for residential explorers. Kashmir is India's Switzerland, drawing in swarms of nearby voyagers looking for cool summer air, elevated view and Srinagar's sentimental houseboat settlement. And afterward, there's the Himalayan place where there is Ladakh, which for most outsiders is the state's most noteworthy fascination. their immortal cloisters are set between parched gulches and taking off pinnacles, while emerald-green towns settle photogenically in good country deserts.
Get Visited The Attractive Uttar Pradesh
There are not many states more quintessentially Indian than Uttar Pradesh. The subcontinent's noteworthy and strict roots – Hindu, Buddhist, Islamic and common – interweave right now holy waterways and immense fields, showing insights vital. Beside famous Agra, UP is home to Varanasi, India's holiest city, acclaimed for its incineration ghats and lively services along the Ganges River. Stories disclose to us that Krishna was conceived in Mathura, while Rama was conceived in Ayodhya. Buddha gave his first message in Sarnath and passed on in Kushinagar, presently peaceful journey goals. Also, the Mughals and the Nawabs made their imprints too, abandoning structural and gastronomic artful culminations – especially in Lucknow (and obviously Agra).
Get Visited Madhya Pradesh
The spotlight doesn't hit Madhya Pradesh (MP) with a remarkable same brightness as it sparkles on increasingly commended neighboring states, so you can encounter travel wealth positioning with the best without that sentiment of simply following a vacationer trail. Khajuraho's sanctuaries bristle with probably the best stone cutting in India, their lovely sexual figures a simple cut of the compositional marvels of a locale exceedingly blessed by the gods with castles, fortresses, sanctuaries, mosques, and stupas, most wonderfully in the towns of Orchha and Mandu. Tigers are the other large news here, and your odds of recognizing a wild Royal Bengal in MP are on a par with anyplace in India. Journey cum-explorer safe houses, for example, Maheshwar and Omkareshwar on the Narmada River are injected with the otherworldly and relaxing vibes for which India is famous.
A Ravishing Place Tamil Nadu
Tamil Nadu is the country of one of mankind's living old-style civilizations, extending back continuous for two centuries and particularly alive today in the Tamils' language, move, verse and Hindu religion. Yet, this profound South state is as powerful as it is drenched in the convention. Fire-loving fans who smear tikka on their foreheads in Tamil Nadu's broadly stupendous sanctuaries may surge off to IT workplaces – and afterward, loosen up at a stylish evening frequent in quickly modernizing Chennai (Madras) or with sun greetings in bohemian Puducherry (Pondicherry). At the point when the hot the disarray of Tamil sanctuary towns overpowers, getaway toward the southernmost tip of India where three oceans blend; to the awesome chateaus sprinkled across parched Chettinadu; or up to the cool, woods clad, untamed life sneaked the Western Ghats.
Heavenly West Bengal
A bit of fruitful land running from the tea-hung Himalayan lower regions to the sultry mangroves of the Bay of Bengal, West Bengal offers an exceptional scope of goals and encounters. In the tropical southern regions, the ocean washed village of Mandarmani strives for consideration with Bishnupur's fancy earthenware tiled Hindu sanctuaries and castles. The striped Bengal tiger stealthily who swims through sloppy rivulets in the beautiful Sunderbans. while a lot of European phantom towns line the banks of the Hooghly (a part of the Ganges) further upstream as tokens of the state's sea prime. In the cool northern slopes, the 'toy train' chugs its way up the enchanting British-period slope station of Darjeeling worshipped for its ringside perspectives on enormous Khangchendzonga. West Bengal additionally flaunts a lively craftsmanship scene, flavorful cooking, and a truly accommodating populace.
A Stunning Place Upper East States
Tossed over the most distant scopes of India, darkened from the more prominent world by ever-enduring backwoods and considerable mountain goes, The Northeast States are one of Asia's last extraordinary characteristics and anthropological havens. Offering outskirts to Bhutan, Tibet, Myanmar (Burma) and Bangladesh, these remote wildernesses are an area of tough magnificence, and a crash zone of ancestral societies, atmospheres, scenes, and people groups. Right now, swashbucklers, chilly Himalayan waterways spill onto Assam's huge floodplains, confidence moves mountains on the hazardous journey to Tawang, rhinos munch in Kaziranga's swampy meadows and previous talent scouts gradually grasp innovation in their tribal longhouses in Nagaland.
1 note
·
View note
Link
A/N: @iron-man-bingo, square: Panic Attacks
Fandom: Marvel, Iron Man
Characters: Tony Stark, James Rhodes, Howard Stark
Chapters: 1/3, Words: 2.113
Tags. Friendship, Panic Attacks, Angst, Howard’s A+ Parenting
Summary:
MIT is Tony's safe haven, at least until Howard visits and threatens all the good things Tony has built there, mostly his friendship with Rhodey. Giving into the panic building inside him is only the first step down a slippery road he is not sure how to recover from.
---
The door opens loud enough to make Tony’s fingers itch with the need to throw something at it. There is exactly one reason that stops him – which, coincidentally, is the same reason why he is currently feeling like he is losing his mind.
Jarvis has called, barely half an hour ago, and warned Tony that Howard is coming. He climbed into his car already livid, barking for the plane to be ready. It is unlikely to assume that his temper will have cooled down by the time he arrives on Tony’s doorstep, ready to deal with all of Tony’s failings since their last meeting. Which are numerous, of course. Tony has never quite managed to art of not being a constant disappointment.
He is overreacting, he is aware of that. There is no escaping Howard, so he should man up and make the best of it. MIT is his safe place, though, or as close as it can be. Professors still compare him to his father or remind him of his father’s accomplishments, and he is sure some of them report back to Howard too. But. He has Rhodey here, he does not get smacked around for being too loud or too lazy or too stupid, he has room to think of the future.
Tony really does not want Howard to come here and destroy this little piece of freedom he has claimed for himself. He just knows things will take a turn for the worse after this. They always do.
“Tony,” someone asks behind him. The voice is familiar, safe, and still he takes a long moment to realize it is Rhodey. He is not relieved. In fact, he needs Rhodey to leave, immediately. “We’re going to be late for –”
“I’m not going,” Tony cuts him off, voice sharper than is fair between them. “Take notes.”
The short silence that falls between them presses like a physical thing against Tony’s skin. With effort, he keeps his eyes on the papers in front of him. It is last minute work he is trying to get done before Howard comes here, an attempt to appease him before they delve right into their usual destructive dance.
Rhodey clears his throat, obviously thrown. “Why are you not coming?” He should be used by now to Tony’s moods and shortcomings.
“Gotta work,” Tony explains shortly. “I’m behind on some stuff.”
He is not just behind, he has done the bare necessities for months now, feeding Obie and R&D just enough to keep them off his back. Usually, Howard does not like to involve himself with what Tony is doing, other than when complaints get back to him. Tony wonders who ratted him out. There are a number of people down in the labs who do not like the fact that Tony has been better at their job than they are since before he has started college, and at an unbelievably young age at that.
“Yes,” Rhodey draws out the word, voice full of disbelief, “because you can’t do all of this in your sleep – if you ever slept.”
Looking up briefly, Tony frowns. When he realizes that Rhodey is talking about their classwork, he swallows a laugh. How much he would give to worry just about whatever simple work the professors expect them to do for class. He would manage that four times over by the time Howard got here. His father is not interested in how Tony is doing in his classes as long as he does not do permanent damage to the Stark name. No, he is interested in usefulness, and Tony has always been lacking in that regard.
“It’s not for school,” Tony says and keeps his tone carefully even. “My father’s coming. I’ve been slacking off.”
It warms something in his chest to see Rhodey shake his head. “You’ve never slacked off in your life,” Rhodey dismisses easily. “Come one. Professor Elton will be mad at us.”
There is worry creeping into the corners of Rhodey’s eyes. It is still a miracle that anyone would care enough to worry about Tony – other than Jarvis who, in his defence, is paid for it. For the first time, though, Tony does not want Rhodey to care.
He looks up, focuses his eyes directly on Rhodey, and says, “I need you to sleep somewhere else tonight.”
Distantly, Tony is aware that he is doing more damage than good, merrily burning all his bridges. He needs Rhodey gone, though, needs to protect the only friend he has ever managed to make from Howard’s poison. Selfishly, he admits, he also wants to protect himself. He does not think that Rhodey would believe what Howard is saying about Tony, but there is some truth to it, and he does not want Rhodey to look at him differently, to see what a mess he really is.
“You – what?” A scowl is now etched deep on Rhodey’s face. It has Tony desperately wanting to take back his words – if he did not think they were important.
“It’s just that my father, well, he’s –” Tony is feverishly thinking of a viable excuse. Something that will get Rhodey to leave but not destroy their friendship.
“He has something against black people,” Rhodey fills the silence with a dry and unimpressed tone, staring at Tony as if he has never seen him before.
“Yes,” Tony exclaims, almost relieved, despite the shadow crossing over Rhodey’s face. That is such a simple explanation, he should have thought of it himself.
though, for all his failings, Howard does not think black people are worth less than others. He is generally only prejudiced when it comes to politicians, stupid people, and his own son.
“So,” Rhodey’s expression darkens further when he sees that Tony continues nodding, “I’m an embarrassment to you?”
Time crashes to a standstill as Tony is left to gape at his best friend. “What? No,” he protests, turning around to better look at Rhodey. He can see that, no matter what he is going to say, it is only going to make things worse. “It’s just that it’s better not to poke him when he’s already going to be mad.”
“Because you didn’t do some work you were apparently supposed to be doing,” Rhodey sneers, clearly not believing a word Tony says, “and are rooming with a black guy you never told him about?”
Tony has told Jarvis and even his mother once when she deigned to listen to him. He has spent long evenings holed up in the kitchen with hot chocolate and cake telling stories about their adventures. He has pleaded Jarvis to make sense of this for him, of this friendship he does not want to lose for anything.
Still, Tony shrugs, both grateful and miserable that he has such good control over his expression. “That’s kinda it.”
How can he explain the raging storm that is Howard Stark to someone who has never had the misfortune of being in his way? How is Tony supposed to tell Rhodey that it will only make things worse if Rhodey tries to defend him in the face of Howard being, well, himself?
Before him, Rhodey takes a step back, looking for the first time in over a year like he had when they first met, annoyed and full of disdain at the kid daring to infiltrate MIT and being a complete human disaster while doing so.
“That’s low,” Rhodey says with that quiet kind of anger Tony fears because it is so different from Howard’s, “even for you.”
The words hit like a punch. Worse, because Tony knows how to brace against physical anger.
“Rhodey?” he pleads. “What –”
“No, thanks, Stark.” Rhodey says his name with as much disgust as Tony sometimes feels, but it is different like this, harder to swallow. “I’m done. Have fun with daddy while I’m looking for somewhere else to sleep.”
Not waiting for an answer, Rhodey turns around and storms out of their room, his steps long and heavy with angry purpose. Tony thinks about calling after him, but then Rhodey is already gone, never looking back.
As soon as the door swings shut, the floodgates open. Tony jumps to his feet as if it is possible to run from the sensation creeping up on him, and almost falls over again right away, his knees are so weak. He catches himself on the corner of his desk, clenches his trembling hands around the flimsy wood.
He knows this feeling, this helplessness in face of the world spinning out of control. He knows it like he does DUM-E’s code. Yet, he has no idea how to fight it, how to resume control over his body and his thoughts.
Tony is vaguely aware that he is breathing too fast, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Over the rushing in his ears, it is impossible to hear anything, however, and when his vision darkens, black spots appearing in front of him, he almost gives in, just like that, without a fight.
Rhodey’s face swims before him, even more contorted in his memory, sneering down at him. That hurts more than Howard’s disdain ever did. He is not sure whether he can withstand both their judgement in one day.
It always ends like this, with Tony messing up and turning all he thought was good into a ruin. He got the Stark legacy to uphold but mangles it further with every clumsy attempt he does at living up to it. He found a friend but pushes him away the first time things threaten to get ugly. His hands are supposed to build and yet he only ever manages to tear things down.
Minutes or hours pass while Tony is caught in the unforgiving spiral of his thoughts, every now and then gasping for air that burns inside him.
Once he has calmed down enough to register again what is real, Tony finds himself sitting on the ground in front of the desk, back pressed against the hard wood. When he dares to look around, the room is empty. He has half expected Rhodey to be there again, to kneel in front of him and coax him back to reality by talking about mindless things. Instead, Tony is left with the ungrateful task of putting himself back together all on his own. Perhaps he has bitten Rhodey’s helping hand one too many times now, finally leaving him free from Tony’s horrid influence.
He sits for long minutes and stares at the door. Every minute that passes is more time wasted, he is painfully aware of that, but he cannot move, can barely breathe. His whole body feels incredibly heavy and hollow at the same time. The thought of Howard coming closer makes it only worse.
Why does Howard always have to ruin everything? A laugh falls from Tony’s lips, sharp-edged and entirely without humour. Howard can be blamed for a lot of things, but Tony is an expert at leaving only ruins in his wake himself. That might just be the only family tradition he keeps up without any effort.
Finally, Tony manages to push himself back up, using the desk to keep himself stable. It is ridiculous how weak he is feeling. He can only imagine how bad it will be once Howard is gone again. He always takes so long to feel even remotely human again after hearing all of his failings recited to him.
His thoughts are running away from him as he feverishly tries to get at least some of the work done he neglected over the past weeks. He could not help himself, too caught up in the experience of feeling at home somewhere, of not being alone. He guesses he will not have any problems with that in the future.
Time both drags on and flees as it often does when something inevitable is up ahead. Tony recognizes the steps long before the door is pushed open without knocking. His insides are already knotted up with dread.
“Anthony,” Howard bellows. There it is, the eternal disappointment already written all over his face.
The air rushes out of Tony’s lungs even as he gets promptly to his feet, spine straight, ready to be judged.
The well-known panic he has just managed to push down, back to where it is always simmering inside his bones, wells up again. This time, he does not let any of it show on the outside. He allowed himself one moment of weakness and even that was too much.
Starks are made of iron. Panic has no room here.
He is sure he will give into it again later. He always does.
#iron man bingo 3000#marvel#tony stark#rhodey#mit era#panic attacks#friendship#howard's a+ parenting#my writing#ao3
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Wild West Experience: Part 1
Basically, this began as a joke. Really. But in the Haven Discord server there was a point where I came up with a short story idea of the server as a town in the Wild West. Thus, I present, two full Google Doc pages and 29 very small notebook pages of writing. My usual tags are after the cut as well, I do have a new KoFi button on my page :)
Okay so I don’t really know where else to put this, other than my Kofi and my website. AO3 is mostly for Fanfiction, which this isn’t, so until I have a good space, this is it.
The sheriff was annoyed. It had not been a good day, from start to the moment he sat back down in his chair in the office. His deputy had announced his retirement, first thing. Jones had been an excellent deputy, but, the sheriff grumpily reasoned, he was old and damned broken by now. Then around noontide the local page boy had delivered a message from the sheriff’s wife Mary, telling him she had something to discuss with him.
This worried the young sheriff. The two had been married for almost three years, but Mary had never ceased to make him feel as nervous as the damned blushing page boy. She was easily the most beautiful woman in their town of Haven; the sheriff still hadn’t quite worked out how he had managed to marry her. Dumb luck, he assumed. Mary was usually so direct, it wasn’t like her to be so cryptic or secretive. Then again, the last few days she’d been ill, so perhaps that was the reason. In any case, he would have to put it under his hat until Jones relieved him at sundown.
The sheriff lifted up his hat and wiped his brow with his kerchief. He always had the same style, deep royal blue with silver stitching. Mary was an exemplary seamstress (as well as accomplished at organizing a household, decorating, managing her own dressmaking shop and balancing their household checkbook). Haven was unusually hot for March, and even with both doors of the sheriff’s office wide open it was hot as blazes. He rocked back in his chair, rolling up his sleeves. He gazed around, fighting how sleepy the heat made him.
The office was a small, two story building with two rooms on each floor, located in the center of Haven. As with nearly every other building, a porch lazily wrapped around the front, where horse posts were sheltered under a pulley screen Mary had designed and the sheriff had built himself. His own horse, Gigi, noisily snorted. She was a bit old to be a working horse, it was true; but she refused to be rusticated and went so far as to follow the sheriff to work if he used another horse. Through the mosquito netting on the doorframe, the sheriff saw her shake out her black (and slightly grey) mane. He smiled, glancing at the photograph on his desk of he and Gigi standing out the back of he and Mary’s homestead. Mary bought and learned to use a camera as soon as they were settled, and used him an Gigi as her first models. The sheriff had dug her a basement darkened room for her plates. Mary had taken this particular picture as well, writing underneath it;
Gigi and Gio, Jul. 1876
The sheriff’s mother had been Italian, and thus his name was his grandfather’s legacy, Giovanni. He just said Gio, or Sheriff, almost all the time. He knew if he were any other town he would have grown up another foreign street urchin. But he was Haven’s sheriff. They had taken the family in when his father had passed and his mother had no means of survival on the plains. The town had adored her and her boy, and he had risen as high as they all knew he could. He would always work hard for them.
Sheriff flipped open his pocket watch. Quarter after three. Nothing had happened today, except the heat. Surely, he thought as the hat slipped down his forehead, just a small nap...only ten minutes…
BANG
The sheriff launched his chair over backwards as the page boy came bashing through the door.
“Lord Almighty, Sam!” Sheriff yelped, getting to his feet an snatching up his hat. “What’s got you so worked up now?”
The boy was practically vibrating. “Sh-sh-sheriff, I was just running out to the Jacobson’s with a message, when all of a sudden this lady - though I’m a bit afeared of callin her that - races up on a horse and falls in the road.”
The sheriff jammed his hat back on. “What happened, Sam?”
“SHe begged me to hide her in the cornfield and take her horse. She said she don’t trust nobody but you, sheriff.”
“And did ye?”
“Yessir, but sheriff, she was dressed like a cowboy, with dungarees and boots and a big linen shirt. She has yellow hair, and the prettiest eyes I ever did see, and -” here the boy stuttered to a stop.
“And what, Sam?”
“Guns,” the boy whispered. “A big pistol on her hip and a shotgun strapped to her back. She gave me a whole dollar, sheriff - no one but you.”
Sheriff yanked the cord that raised the horse screen. Gigi tossed her head as he and Sam hurried back out the door and he shot the deadbolt into place. A fine appaloosa had joined her.
“Alright Sam, I’ll take Gigi and follow you on her horse. Then you run on to the Jacobson’s. Not a word about this to anyone, Sam, alright?” Sam nodded vigorously. They mounted and galloped out of Haven, towards the corn fields to the west. Due to the heat, no one was out in the streets so they didn’t encounter the usual “Where’s about you headin, sheriff?” He lead the sheriff out abuot half a mile from the main town, where they dwarfed by the corn stalks.
Sam finally pulled off to one side, where a smear of blood was dried in dirt. “Right here, Sheriff. Want me to get her?”
“Please Sam, if you would.” The boy disappeared into the corn, almost without a sound. Sheriff waited, Gigi and the woman’s horse stomping the dirt. The strange horse whimpered, pricking its ears toward the corn.
Sam reappeared, supporting the woman with her arm around his neck. She lifted her head, and the sheriff’s eyebrows shot into his hat. She was quite fetching, blonde ringlets to her hips and green eyes. She was wearing exactly what Sam had described, which surprisingly suited her very well. Sam had also been right about the weapons; a Colt revolver hung from her waist and the shotgun dangled off one shoulder. She herself was bleeding from her waist, her shirt stained red and brown with blood and dirt.
“Sheriff,” She rasped in a deeper voice than he’d anticipated. “I am an outlaw but I beg you to give me sanctuary. I have heard of Haven and of you, and I know a fair trial and hearing is your policy. I am unfairly persecuted and have been riding hard for months. I have been shot a day now and unless you help me I will surely perish.” She slumped against Sam, who’d gone white as a sheet.
Sheriff took a deep breath. “Well ma’am,” he said. “Welcome to Haven.”
Buy me a coffee at https://ko-fi.com/badgerpride
For more Content, check out @contentcreatorshaven or www.contentcreatorshaven.com , or join the Discord Server! We are a creator collective dedicated to helping each other make it in this very crazy world.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Have I ever told you guys that I love big man Gladio Lots-of-love Amicitia? Well, I do. Like, a lot. So I had to do a special for him where we can explore more of his character that the game unfortunately never did.
There’s no distinct time for this short, but it does at least happen after Chapter 6.
Tagging @insomniasix @theyearofdiamonddogs @zoeyredbird1 @seal-pai @ffxv-ocs-unite
Legacy
The group had stopped at a haven, deciding to call it a day and set up camp for the night. It had been a long day of fighting, driving, running and general overactivity. Everyone had a collective sigh of relief when they came upon the blue sanctuary glyphs, ready for a moment to relax after a hard day. Not to mention eat; everyone’s stomachs had been growling for a while and the sight of a safe haven had only made their hunger intensify. Ignis was more than happy to rectify this, preparing a meal as soon as their gear was set. By the time they had finished dinner and were settling in the sky had been overtaken by the night. The stars and moon creating a pleasant blue light, a comfort from the creatures of the dark.
Ignis and Artemisia were cleaning up after their meal, cleaning the plates and whatever pots and pans were used as they conversed amongst themselves. Prompto was distracting himself with a round of King’s Knight, though he promised he could keep an eye on the fire at the same time. Ignis had a bucket of water at the ready just in case.
Gladiolus had dragged Noctis off for more training, despite the young man’s protests. Lately, Gladiolus has been very adamant about the new king’s combat training, carrying him off at any moment they had available. Noctis was obviously annoyed about it, usually arguing with his Shield before he caved. At the end of every sparring session though, the two would come back with sweltering bruises and drenched in sweat. Noctis would usually have the worst of it, with not only horrible bruises but with dirt all over his skin and cuts everywhere. Their sparring matches were usually more brutal than anyone else's with the way the two egged each other on, but Gladiolus wasn’t giving Noctis the recovery time that he desperately needed and Noctis’ irritation was turning into obvious frustration.
Which was why it wasn’t so surprising to see Noctis stomping his way back to the campsite, alone and fuming through his gritted teeth. He was covered head to toe in dirt and welts and had pebbles sticking to his skin. Along with his general haphazardly appearance, the bruises that were already forming on top of his healing ones hinted that this session was particularly brutal.
“Whoa buddy, you okay?” Prompto looked at his friend with concern, stepping out his way as Noctis made a beeline for the tent.
“I. Am. Done.” The beaten royal growled. “He’s insane! Before I was joking but now I really do think he’s trying to kill me.”
Ignis stopped his fuming companion before he could disappear into the tent, lightly grazing his injuries. “While I doubt that’s Gladio’s intention, I will admit that this is a bit excessive.” Noctis hissed when Ignis touched a fresh cut on his forehead. “We’ll have to disinfect these.”
Artemisia watched as the others gathered around Noctis, who continued to rightfully complain. She looked down the path that her battered friend had come from, deducting a general idea of where he left Gladiolus. Slipping away quietly from the others, she hopped down from the elevated campsite and walked into the darkened forest. Most daemons stayed as far away as possible from a haven, wanting to avoid the cleansing light of the Oracle, but Artemisia kept on guard as she searched for her companion in the night. Her hand ready to summon her crossbow at any sign of danger.
She jumped slightly when she heard a loud crash, her mind immediately thinking of what monster could be nearby. Only when she recognized the deep, baritone noises from the site did she relax. Weaving around trees, many of them covered in sharp cuts from a heavy blade, she found Gladiolus in a small clearing. A tree had been broken from the trunk and Gladiolus stood before it, his broad shoulders heaving with every deep pant from him. His back was to her but Artemisia could see the shine of sweat going down his body and strands of his hair clinging to his drenched neck.
Gladiolus was always a bit rough with training, never holding back with his opponents -- and, to a degree, that was his way of showing respect -- but even this was beyond his usual extreme. The cuts embedded in the trees were deep, the emotion behind them was obvious. He was angry.
No, he was upset.
Artemisia approached him, making sure to make some noise as to not startle him. Gladiolus stilled himself when he heard her footsteps, looking back with a frustrated stare though it softened slightly when he saw someone recognizable. He noticeably attempted to relax his posture, but the tension underneath was still obvious. He continued training, doing basic movements with his broadsword, disregarding the mess around him. “Noctis is back at camp.” Artemisia stated casually, leaning on a tree with her arms folded over her chest. Gladiolus remained silent, continuing his motions. “He looked pretty roughed up.”
“He wouldn’t if he took training more seriously...”
Artemisia rolled her eyes. Noctis, while spoiled and prone to laziness, didn’t hold back with his combat training. How could he when he had Gladiolus, who would motivate him with his challenging words, or Ignis, who would nag him to the point of action, as his partners. He could try to hide it as much as he wanted but this wasn’t post training frustrations. “He’s been putting more effort into this since Insomnia and you know that.” Artemisia exclaimed sternly. She sighed when he remained stubbornly quiet. “Why are you really upset?”
Gladiolus glanced at her from over his shoulder for a moment before turning away with a huff. “Anyone ever tell you not to analyze people all the time?”
“Anyone ever tell you that you don’t have to be the tough guy all the time?”
Gladiolus grumbled, stabbing his sword into the ground and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Gladio, what’s going on?”
The man just stood there, heavy breathing being the only thing that passed his lips. He kept his back to her, staring ahead to the dark forest around them. He didn’t make any movement, his arms hanging limp to his sides. His breathing started to settle, slowing down to deep sighs before he went completely silent.
For a while the two remained like that, both completely still and quiet. Artemisia let out a small sigh and stared at the ground in frustration. It seemed as though he was determined to stay silent about his woes. “I should have been there…”
Artemisia looked up, surprised that he was finally opening up. Gladiolus sat down on the ground beneath him, groaning as though the weight of his troubles have traveled from his mind to his body. “I should have known what was going to happen. I should have known that the Nifs would attack.” There was some bite in his voice as he spoke about the Empire. “If someone had known ahead of time, then maybe things would be different. Maybe this goddamn war would be over! Then he’d --!” He choked, his shoulders shook as his emotions started to overwhelm him. Artemisia slowly walked over to him, her movements small and quiet, before she stopped just a bit behind him. She resisted the urge to reach for him, to comfort him with a hug or a touch against his back, worried that if she did he would close himself off again in fear of being vulnerable.
As The King’s Shield, he was trained to think none of himself. To steel himself so that others could depend on him. To not let emotion or his own desires to get in the way of his duty. These were things that a Shield doesn’t even consider; no matter the grief or tragedy, no matter the path they find themselves on, a Shield always prioritizes their King. But how could any human live as though they are an unfeeling tool? Every expectation passed on from every generation of Amicitia said that they remained forever strong, to never fall and succumb to weakness no matter the cost. King Regis never held Clarus to such unobtainable requirements, and nor did Noctis for Gladiolus. Being a heartless weapon is impossible for someone with such passion and intelligence as Gladiolus Amicitia.
“...If I had been there to help, then maybe the King would be alive… And so would he.”
That feeling of guilt was one that Artemisia was all too familiar with, including the illusion that something would have changed if they had stayed at the Citadel. The fantasy that they would have made a difference, that they could have saved their loved ones. But she knew the reality; they likely would have died alongside them. That’s why they were sent away. The others knew what was going to happen and they used what time was available to protect them. It was depressing and frustrating, but an understandable decision. It didn’t make the pain any better, though.
Gladiolus sighed, his breath shaky as he focused on his balled hands in his lap. “I wonder if he’s proud.” He chuckled bitterly. “His son on the run with the future king, just barely getting by and having to resort to strangers’ bounties to provide for themselves. Meanwhile, his daughter is alone in a strange place, and lo’n behold, her brother isn’t there for her either.” He was silent for moment before he sharply muttered “What an example of Amicitia greatness…”
Artemisia sat down next to him, looking at him with a hard stare. “You have always made your father proud. That has never been in question.” Gladiolus continued to focus at the ground, avoiding Artemisia’s gaze. Not wanting to push his boundaries during such a vulnerable moment, Artemisia placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. It was meant as a comforting touch of companionship, but it was also meant to draw his attention away from the voices in his head and to listen to her instead. Artemisia was all too familiar with the daemons that live in one’s mind; she knows how loud they can be.
Gladiolus remained silent but did turn his head slightly, redirecting his focus to the hand on his shoulder. “Clarus’ faith in you was never in doubt. He trusted you with everything that he had because he knew that you would always step up to the challenge, that you would always be someone that others can rely on. You and Iris, you two meant so much to him and he was proud to have you as his successor and, more importantly, his son.” Clarus’ was a lot like Gladiolus in terms of sharing deep feelings with others; a lot of things went unsaid. Despite their relationship seeming more professional than usual for a father and son, it was obvious how much Clarus loved his kids and how happy he was to see them both come so far. He never said it much in words, but the pride he had especially for Gladiolus was immense.
Gladiolus was still quiet, digesting everything that Artemisia had said. He tilted his head more, enough that his eyes were finally able to meet hers. Artemisia could see that some of the bitterness that filled his eyes had disappeared, leaving behind a glint of sadness. As much as she wanted to take that sadness away from him -- from everyone -- she knew that was something that would take time. Something that everyone will have to work on together, and on their own. “It’s not easy, I know, but we’ll find our way around everything.” She reassured, ignoring what her own dark voices were saying. “I know it doesn’t make it better, but you were exactly where you needed to be. You were here protecting Noct. Protecting us. That’s something that your father will always be proud of.” Her hand traveled from his shoulder to the middle of his back, caressing the area in small circular motions. “You should be too.”
Gladiolus’ attention remained on Artemisia for a moment before it slowly traveled back to the ground beneath them, the grass tickling their ankles as it rustled in the wind. He stared down at his hands resting in his lap, his thumbs twirling around each other. They sat there for a moment in silence before Artemisia gave one more pat to his back and stood up. “Come on, we should get back to the others before they start to worry.”
She had started to walk back the way she came before Gladiolus called out. “Hey wait,” Artemisia turned around to look back at him as he stood up. “Follow me to the car. I wanna show you something.”
Artemisia’s eyes wandered, looking off where she could hear the distant noises of creatures lurking about. “Now? Shouldn’t we wait until morning?”
“We’ll be fine. It’s just a quick trip.” He insisted, taking a couple steps in the direction of the Regalia that was parked on the road further out. “It’s something that I think you should see.”
Artemisia hesitated, every survival instinct in her demanding that they go back to the safety of the campsite instead of walking in the dark with only twenty percent of their usual five man group. She gave in though as Gladiolus continued on, jogging after him to catch up.
The two traveled through the forest, avoiding any daemons that may have been in the area. Soon they reached the Regalia -- as Gladiolus said, it was a quick walk. The car sat under a single road lamp, protected from any monsters of the night by the illuminating light. These types of anti-daemon lights were rare outside of Insomnia, and so many of them were used to protect more exposed towns or resting areas on the road. It was a shame that there weren’t more to go around, but at least it was a comfort here.
Gladiolus opened the back door where he usually sits and pulled out a small bag from under the front seat, revealing a plethora of books inside. Artemisia couldn’t help the small smile that formed on her lips at the sight. There were many things that were different between her and the man besides her, but they both shared a love for literature and it was one of the first things outside of Noctis that they bonded over. Artemisia knew that Gladiolus had brought some books to read, but she wasn’t aware that he had this many. She was going to have to see if he’d let her read some while on the road.
He dug through the bag for moment before pulling out a thick covered novel. Artemisia blinked, recognizing the cover immediately. “I found this the other night.” Gladiolus handed her the book. The cover was colored a single hue of maroon with gold embroidery on the spine. In a calligraphy type of font, the title read Asphyxiation. Right under the foreboding title was a simple line drawing of two hands, separated but within reach of each other. One hand was smaller and much more feminine, while the other masculine hand carried a bouquet of flowers that seemed to be wilting. A single petal from the bouquet was drawn falling, leading the reader’s eyes to the author’s name.
“I didn’t know that your dad wrote these kinds of books. I thought he only wrote stories for kids.”
Artemisia’s eyes welled up seeing her father’s name, Dimitrios Thanos. It had felt like an eternity since she had heard his name, even though the event that took him away from her was really not long ago. She blinked back the tears, smiling at the book in her hands. “He actually didn’t start writing children’s books until I was born.” He always went on about how she was his inspiration. “His biggest dream as a writer was to make a big murder mystery series, believe it or not.”
Gladiolus gave a tender smile. “I’m guessing this is one of them?”
Artemisia couldn’t help the small puff of laughter. “No, it’s a romance.” And one of his more cheesy ones, in her opinion. Her father was always a fan of showing off his vocabulary, which usually led to a lot of hyperboles and eccentric titles. “He never admitted it, but I think he enjoyed writing romance the most. He always seemed to have more fun with them.” She leaned against the trunk of the car, opening the hard covered book.
Gladiolus stood next to her, imitating her position against the car as he spoke softly, “What’s it about?”
Artemisia sniffed, feeling her repressed grief starting to surface. “Heh, my dad was such a romantic at heart… I’m pretty sure every romance he wrote was about him and my mom. Though Mom always said that he exaggerated a lot in these stories.” She flipped to the dedication page.
To my best friend and the love of my life, Sotiria. May this be only one chapter in the story that is our life together.
“I-I,” Artemisia choked back the whimper that tried to escape her, quickly wiping away a threatening tear from the corner of her eye. She cleared her throat before continuing. “I think he wrote this when…”
She voice trailed off when she went to the back cover. There, just above the Introduction to the author summary, was a picture of both her mother and father. They were both a bit younger in the picture; her father’s hair was still too short to be tied back in his usual ponytail, and her mother’s face was devoid of all the stress lines by her eyes, but they looked just as happy as she remembered them to be. And in the middle of them, being cradled by both of their supporting and comforting arms, was a small baby with a tuft of dark red hair.
The photographers for these books were always confused when Dad insisted that Mom and I be included in them, but he always got his way. He said that his greatest inspirations had to be given credit with him. Mom would always fuss about how she wasn’t picture perfect, and that would just turn into a overly sweet love fest from the two of them as Dad would convince her to be in the shot. I remember thinking it was kind of annoying when he would put me in the photos… I didn’t want to sit still when I could be doing something more exciting. But Dad would put me on his knee and would tickle me until I faced hurt from laughing so much and then -- Why is it wet all of a sudden?
Her thoughts -- I thought I was talking? -- stopped when Artemisia realized that there were streams of tears escaping from her eyes, trailing down her face and dripping on to the tightly held book. She could feel her hands shaking as they gripped the book so close, as though it would grow wings and fly away.
“Ah!” She took off her glasses and frantically wiped her eyes in an attempt to stop crying. She was suppose to comforting Gladiolus through his mourning; she couldn’t be breaking down like this. “I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t--”
She was interrupted when she was suddenly engulfed in warmth. She felt Gladiolus’ hand against her shoulder, bringing her closer to him in a small hug. His hold was firm and soothing but gentle enough to move, giving her enough space to move away if she wanted. Artemisia was motionless against his chest, hearing the beat of his heart against her ear, before she felt liquid dripping on top of her head.
“I know,” Gladiolus said, his voice feint and restrained, “I do too.”
His voice broke the dam that held her back. Artemisia relaxed against him as she let her tears pour out, wrapping her arms around Gladiolus and clutching the fabric against his back like a lifeline. She could feel his shirt become damp as she smothered herself against him, her sobbing vibrating against him. He in turn had wrapped his other arm around her and had moved his hand from her shoulder to the back of her head. He rested his forehead against the top of her head, squeezing her closer to him, as though he could guard them from their tragic memories.
This was a sadness that will need work. It is something that each and every one of them will need to come to peace with. In the end, it is something that only the passage of time will help heal and even then it will leave a deep scar. But finding comfort in each other and sharing in that vulnerability may make the healing bearable.
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Twinstone paperback release & Haven: Darkened Legacies
Paperback copies of Twinstone are available!
For the past week, KDP has been pulling some BS with the cover, so I had to change it up a bit.
Please note these are print-on-demand and will take about 10 days for the order to reach you. ❤️
As a reminder, Twinstone is available on Kindle and as a pay-what-you-want PDF on my Ko-fi shop.
The next book in The Hampnear Legacy is in the very slow process of being written, but I have started to work on a prequel to Twinstone that follows Leon. I wanted to give Kindle Novella a try in an attempt to reach an audience that may not use Tumblr or other author websites such as Ao3 or Fictionpress (do people still use fictionpress?). These I will ATTEMPT to post weekly.
You can read episode one on Kindle Novella or my website. Since Kindle Novella offers 10 chapters without using the 'credit' system, I will post the first 10 chapters for free on my website and then come up with some sort of ko-fi membership.
Over a millennia ago, Leon underwent a transformation into a vampire, forever altering the course of his life. The process was shrouded in mystery and danger, but for Leon it marked the beginning of an enthralling and perilous adventure. His newfound strength and immortality opened up a whole world of thrilling and terrifying possibilities. Emerging from the brink of death, saved by the renowned coven leader Malachi, Leon is welcomed into the clandestine realm of the undead nestled deep within the towering Deadmist Mountains.
Bound to Malachi by an unbreakable bond, Leon is swept into a whirlwind of intrigue when his fellow vampire ‘sister,’ Victoria, harbors dangerous ambitions of claiming Malachi's throne for herself. The dark undercurrents of power and betrayal simmer beneath the surface as alliances are tested and secrets are uncovered.
If you like my work, please let me know and please share!
#twinstone#novel#orginal writing#publishing#amazon kdp#amazon#haven: darkened legacies#books#self publsihing#vampire novels
1 note
·
View note
Text
AMYCUS CARROW is A DEATH EATER in the war, even though HIS official job is as A CURSE BREAKER & HIT MAN the TWENTY SIX year old PUREBLOOD is known to be PATIENT and RESERVED but also VIOLENT and TWO FACED. some might label them as THE DEVIL IN DISGUISE. fc: ryan gosling
ANTHEMS:
feel it still - portugal the man // devil like me - rainbow kitten surprise // dead man’s arms - bishop briggs // fever pitch - rainbow kitten surprise // devil eyes - hippie sabotage // dark side - bishop briggs.
pinterest board (x)
BACKGROUND / FAMILY:
Amycus Abigor Carrow came crashing into the world screaming for his sister. Born the eldest to the Carrow dynasty, he was expected to eventually mount the role as the heir to the family legacy, but Amycus quickly proved himself to be Quite the Disappointment.
As a young child, Amycus was soft spoken, easily intimidated and quiet ( main inspiration for baby Amycus: Radu from And I Darken tbh ). Mostly clung to the family’s staff, always crying, always craving closeness. For a while, he was just as angelic as he looked.
Never saw much of his parents while growing up. His father was a successful businessman who only had kids because he was supposed to ( to carry on the blood line ), and wanted nothing to do with him. Instead, Amycus was left in the care of his grandfather.
His grandfather was FUCKED. An absolutely terrible man. A Death Eater before his time. An actual demon. Can’t say enough bad things about him, ya feel.
Either way, his grandfather was absolutely disgusted by Amycus, who could never fit into the mold that had been created for him. Thought his grandson was a poor excuse for a Carrow and thought he could change that through pain and violence. So, lessons were drilled in using corporal punishment, and the emotional and physical abuse he suffered eventually turned him into something colder and darker. What had once been soft, turned harsh, rough around the edges. A shell of a boy was left behind, not a trace of that sweetness left behind once they were done with him ( but were they ever? ).
Amycus basically became filled with resentment against everyone in his family, with the exception of Alecto. She has always been there, from the day they were born. She was the one to dry his tears, the one to hold his hand, the one to tell him where to hide. The one constant, his safe haven. They come as a matching set, and Amycus would kill ( and definitively has, too lbr ) for her.
Gained a definite rebellious streak pretty early on, which only became more aggressive as he got older. Once he reached his teenage years, he’d do ANYTHING and everything to fuck with his father & grandfather. Kinda stopped caring about the punishment, so used to pain that he stopped fearing it. Almost stopped feeling it.
Definitively grew up in his sister’s shadow, and was always the lesser Carrow.
When he turned fifteen, he moved out and never looked back. Decided to make his own future, and just never spoke to his family (Alecto is always the exception we all know this) again. Because fuck y’all, basically.
SO. His family’s plans had been for him to finish his education at Hogwarts, and then follow in his father’s foot steps and take over the company and the family name. Amycus had different plans though, obviously.
His family were... so angry with him. But they definitively pretend ( because can’t have Amycus ruining their good reputation, am I right ) that they were the ones to encourage Amycus to find his own path in life and become a curse breaker.
Though, Amycus was never denounced as a Carrow ( because they didn’t wanna air their dirty laundry to the world, ya know ). Most pureblood families have noticed though that Amycus isn’t exactly... close with his family. I mean, at pureblood parties, he literally pretends that he can’t see them.
AESTHETIC / VIBES:
old gramophones, blood stained mirrors, broken glasses, bleeding fists, standing in silence for hours, chipped teeth, unwavering loyalty, unhealed scars, getting home at the crack of dawn, red wine, eyes too blue to be trusted, long showers, god complexes, the color of dusk, messy hair, blood soaked suits, always cheating death, a rebel just for kicks, dried crimson on dull blades, half smiles, just beating and beating until the world stops, no conscience, half empty wine bottles, impersonal offices, a face that doesn’t quite match his demeanor.
HOGWARTS YEARS:
Was a hat stall between Hufflepuff and Slytherin.
patience/loyalty/dedication vs self preservation/resourcefulness/dedication mostly.
At Hogwarts, Amycus felt in power for the first time. Ended up becoming the aggressor, finding solace in pain and violence. Found that he was good at inflicting pain, and liked being good at SOMETHING. Had never really felt that before. :/
Eventually got a taste for blood, and started getting into fights with other students, each run in more violent than the next.
STILL, did not end up in detention, because for a while, the teachers couldn’t believe that someone like Amycus ( who was mostly known for being very quiet and looking sweet ) would hurt another student. It would take for him to eventually get caught in the act, until that perception shattered.
Was that kid who used bugs and insects to practice unforgivable curses on. Eventually progressed to torturing students as well.
Excelled in charms, and can do wonders with a wand when he puts his mind to it. Most other grades were pretty shit though.
AFTER HOGWARTS:
Once he graduated from Hogwarts, he was meant to take his place in the Carrow dynasty ( grandfather somehow STILL believing that he would come to his senses ), but fuck that. So he basically left the country as fast as possible, and became a cursebreaker.
Which just made sense, because he has always been good at inflicting curses, and breaking them isn’t that different. He is very good at what he does.
First few years were spent working in ancient tombs abroad, mostly. That kind of work fit him really well, because he could wear whatever he wanted, didn’t have to talk to people too much, could do his own thing. Was also always someone around to beat up.
After a while, he started missing his sister, and returned home, where he found work at the ministry of magic. Today, he works for the removal of curses, jinxes and hexes office, which is a subdivision for the improper use of magic office.
Really likes his job? BUT. Also has a #second job.
On the side, he’s sort of a gun ( wand ) for hire, and will kill anyone who needs to be killed, for a price. Gives zero shit about the money though ( but the client needs to be rich, ya feel ).
Most of his clients are members of the sacred 28, who somehow always seem to want SOMEONE dead.
Honestly, I haven’t 100% figured out how he conducts this business because obviously he wants to remain anonymous. He probably has some sort of dramatic way of getting people to give him names that need to die idk. #to be determined
Joined the Death Eaters mostly because of his sister? But their agenda also really fits him, because violence? Bigotry? Death? Sign him tf up.
He isn’t the most invested in the whole pureblood supremacy thing ( but would he ever admit that? that’s a no ), but overall likes Voldemort and what he stands for.
Though he’s also lowkey intimidated by / afraid of Voldemort and is quite pleased with the fact that he doesn’t have to report directly to him.
For the Death Eaters, Amycus mostly works as an information gatherer, which is basically just a euphemism for him being one of their main torturers, who will torture people until they tell him whatever it is the Death Eaters want to know. He usually works together with his sister and they are disturbingly good at what they do.
AS A PERSON:
Cares very little for most people and is so so so selfish.
Lacks most of the finesse of his sister, tbh.
100% neutral evil. Kind of has a moral compass, it just points in the wrong direction at all times? Mostly just does whatever is best for him and Alecto though, and has zero interest in any righteous bullshit.
Does he think that he’s doing the right thing? Nope. He’s well aware that he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A bad dude. Does he care? Also no.
Might just be the most private person you’ll ever meet? He seldom reveals anything about himself, and when he does, it’s usually not true.
Will also lie about the dumbest and smallest of details.
SO self disciplined. Always in complete control, and it’s very hard to get a genuine reaction / rise out of him. Also so so so patient, and is happy to wait for whatever his current end game is.
Drinks and smokes heavily, but doesn’t personally think that he has a problem.
Mostly just a dumb asshole.
SO COLD.
Thrives off violence and is a total brute tbh.
Never fucking does what anyone tells him to do.
Someone: pls do this
Amycus: *does the exact opposite*
Bisexual !
Pretty good at hiding his death eater ties since he’s… paranoid as FUCK. And also keeps to himself. Always wears a mask. But some people probably suspect… stuff anyways, if they’ve like. Spent longer than two hours with him. Listen if Amycus wasn’t such a fucking asshole he probably could get away with it (/scooby doo villain voice). But then again, others will probably think he’s just cold af.
Looks a lot nicer than he is, which works to his advantage most of the time? Like he just looks like a nerdy, good dude. Is a total demon, but looks like an angel.
STYLE / FASHION / APPEARANCE :
Wears glasses (x), but somehow manages to fucking break them ALL THE TIME. The only thing keeping them together is magic.
Wears mostly wizard suits for work ( bc he has to :/ ), but will wear those long black robes in his free time. Think a vampire cape, flying in the wind. Ultimate drama. He really is THAT guy.
Will also wear stupid wizard band t-shirts a lot when working.
Keeps his hair short.
Like 70% of his wealth is probably spent on buying new clothes, because he keeps fucking ruining them by getting blood on them? Or just having them ripped to shreds in a fight, that works too.
Looks like he’s wearing the same exact shoes every day but actually has like... 200 different pairs. They all look the same.
Eyes appear either blue or grey, depending on the lighting.
Has some tattoos, and a half sleeve on his right arm, going from his shoulder to his elbow.
CHARACTER INFLUENCES :
caleb haas ( quantico )- the snark. the assholery. the background. the black sheep.
clay haas ( quantico ) - just the right amount of polished. the style. the general aesthetic. the hair.
angelus ( btvs ) - the disregard for human life. the darkness. the occasional brooding. the quips.
holden ford ( mindhunter ) - the scheming. the hidden ambition. the slyness. the resolution.
lucifer morningstar ( lucifer ) - the smile, the general vibe, the quips, the mannerisms, the darkness.
eric northman ( southern vampire mysteries ) - the confidence. the general dumbness. the stubbornness.
demon dean winchester ( supernatural ) - the occasional charm. the being an actual demon-ness. the blood lust. the bad jokes. the weakness for a pretty face.
wolverine ( x men ) - the violence. the moodiness. the hatred. the occasional gruff demeanor.
takeshi kovac ( altered carbon ) - the violence. the fucked up moral compass. the buried anger. the instinct to fight.
elian ( to kill a kingdom ) - the rebel prince. the angry heir. the sarcasm. the dialogue.
radu ( and i darken ) - amycus as a child. the softness. the sweet face. the loyalty to his sister.
hannibal lecter ( silence of the lambs ) - the calm. the politeness. seems so civilized, so nice. isn’t though.
FAVORITE CHARACTER TROPES :
DISSONANT SERENITY - someone smiling gently in the middle of death and carnage, seeming almost enlightened as they slit throats left and right.
THE BERSERKER - throws himself into battle with such reckless abandon, that it seems like he wants to die. never, ever retreats.
FACE OF AN ANGEL, MIND OF A DEMON - looks nice, is a demon.
DEVIL IN PLAIN SIGHT - obviously up to no good, but few people seem to take notice.
EVEN EVIL HAS LOVED ONES - loves his sister.
BLACK SHEEP - the family screw up, someone who rejects their role in the family.
DARK AND TROUBLED PAST™ - something terrible happened in the past. tragic backstory. yada yada.
EVEN EVIL HAS STANDARDS - or at least his own moral compass.
MAN OF WEALTH AND TASTE - turns out evil has quite a lot of money and excellent fashion taste. most of the time.
PRAGMATIC VILLAINY - only does evil things when it serves him or his purposes tbh.
VIOLENCE IS THE ONLY OPTION - must fight.
OPPORTUNISTIC BASTARD - doesn’t really have a plan, totally winging it.
#maraudrshq:intros#abuse cw#child neglect cw#child abuse cw#murder cw#death cw#blood cw#violence cw#torture cw
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Home || Drabble
-flops-
Blame @prxnceling she gave me feels
Summary: Miston has to deal with himself after Legolas’ departure to Valinor.
He should’ve felt something, shouldn’t he?
He watched, with eerie silence, as the vessel Legolas had boarded became nothing but a dot upon the horizon. Guided by the hands of a dwarf, who had become the elven prince’s best friend. Had this been years before, then Miston would’ve scoffed at how ridiculous the given scenario was. Legolas drifting away to a land promised and reveled for its healing powers. With a dwarf.
Without him.
But now, nothing but a huff of air seemed to escape the rogue as the dot vanished across the horizon. The departure at the grey havens seemed so much easier than the one after the Rivendell council, if only because the dark emptiness that had taken hold of Miston’s heart left him feeling nothing. No sorrow. No guilt.
Just an empty void with a slight twang of annoyance at being proven right. He was left alone, again.
He was abandoned, again. By someone who insisted he was the entire world to them. Had he ever been? Legolas’ claims of love seemed from a millennia ago, where it would’ve actually been plausible. But now?
Miston reached down, fidgeting with the band around his finger. A band of promises that weren’t kept and feelings that weren’t considered.
…
So why couldn’t he bring himself to take it off?
He wandered, after that.
Through Rivendell, dying and muting around him as Elrond’s power further faded from the stones and cracks. The city had never felt right to him, but now it seemed to mimic how he had been feeling for more than two years. The few elves that still lingered in the ghostly remains of his parental home were already planning on leaving it soon. Leaving, just like he had done once upon a time, but this time with no hope of returning. He wished he could join them, but he felt no desire to do so.
Along the paths of Lothlorien, where the once silver and golden hues of the leaves lay upon the forest ground, withering away in shades of sickly brown. Lothlorien had suffered more under the war, the marchwardens disbanded and shredded apart from the war over Helm’s deep. Miston’s uncle had been the first of his family to sail, a race against the clock to make it to the healing lands before fading from the wounds the war had torn in him.
Miston didn’t consider himself worse off than Hinnoron, who had lost his love in a much more physical sense when Haldir didn’t return from the war. And yet Miston believed he was suffering to a similar degree. Losing Legolas and feeling their bond shatter had felt much the same.
Through Mirkwood, now renamed and slowly healing while the scorched remains of the burning forest painted a stark contrast with the bits of young green that started to peek through. A home he had created for himself when he flocked and landed amidst its people, a forest that had offered so much more than any other place.
The world around him was dying. Miston became more aware of that with every step he took and each elven stronghold he wandered through. The roads between them surrendering to growing nature, the once steady structures slowly dulling and crumbling as no one was tending to them anymore. The handful of elves slowly but surely trickling their way to the havens in makeshift wooden boats to reunite with loved ones and kin.
Miston wandered between the three cities, each time expecting them to return to the idyllic scenes his memory painted and being disappointed every time by a further greying world. It was then that he found himself in Lothlorien once more, quietly circling a place where Galadriel had taken many steps and aided the Fellowship in her own way.
Galadriel, the only link he had back to the roots of his family line, who kept her brothers in high honor yet left their portraits strewed along the halls of her kingdom when she sailed to reunite with them. The painting of her eldest brother, Finrod, who’s tale had inspired Miston to taking his life into his own hands to the point of taking his epesse and using it as a shield.
Miston sighed, leaving the painting for what it was and wandering back outside to her mirror.
He looked at the ring upon his finger, the one thing that had remained its gleam when all other lights had gone out. When his memories of the places didn’t line up with the reality, his wedding band never seemed to change in hue or brightness. It still looked like the day it had been placed upon his finger.
So what do I do now?
He didn’t speak his thoughts. He hadn’t truly spoken to anyone, aside from the odd soft greeting to fellow travelers on the roads and the people in the taverns where he remained for a night before clearing the door and never returning.
The world around him was decaying. Sooner or later he would come to one of these cities and find nothing but ruins and dust, his people long gone among the horizon and their legacy withering to gravel as they were away.
His heart yearned for something, though he didn’t know what.
He looked to her mirror, the water shallow to the point of almost being empty. There was no one around who cared enough to refill it, no one who cared enough to look inside and see something specific for them.
As if guided by something else entirely, Miston took the silver pitcher next to the basin and went to fetch some water, the stream nearby still flowing as gently as it had all those years before. He cleaned the basin, filling it back up with the clean water, and stood there for a moment.
What was he doing? Was he really so desperate for an answer that he was going to look into this mirror? Was that really his last option?
He sighed, adjusting himself and looking down in the clear pool of water.
For a bit, there was nothing to see. But the water morphed, slowly, into a scene he knew he had seen before.
Mirkwood. Burning.
The chaos of war, death and destruction.
How often he turned around expecting him to back him up, only to realise he wasn’t there.
“I know that!”
Aggressively, Miston pulled back, almost knocking over the pitcher in the process. He almost pulled out his own hair as he roughly smooshed down the wild curls that he hadn’t been taking care of like he should have.
“I know. I know. I know what happened. But what do I do now?!”
Dark clouds casted their shadow in the meadow, changing the shades to a further depressing pallet of greys. He could feel the tears burning in his eyes as he looked back into the basin, desperate for an answer to his restlessness.
He got nothing. The mirror didn’t answer.
Tears dripped down, breaking the smooth surface of the water as they hit the mirror basin.
When was the last time Miston had allowed himself to actually feel something aside from a gaping dark nothing in his chest? After Legolas had returned home, and taken him to Ithilien… Had he ever even allowed himself to mourn the loss of his friends in Mirkwood, the departure of his family and his husband to Valinor?
When was the last time he had allowed himself to cry, and mourn, and be hurt by everything, instead of numb?
He listened. The sounds of nothing but rustling, dying leaves and the stream further ahead filled his ears, and did nothing to soothe his aching heart. Aching; better than numbness, but he didn’t even know what he was aching for. No, he did.
“I want to go home.”
His voice cracked, breaking and shattering as his walls did, the feelings pouring him and pushing the numbness out until every last gap in his soul was filled with ache and yearning and longing for home. Home.
Where was home? It wasn’t in Rivendell, or Lothlorien, or the palace of King Thranduil. It wasn’t in any of those places. So where did his home now reside?
Light peaked through the clouds, just a single beam brave enough to break through and illuminate the darkened meadow to the best of its abilities. It hit his ring, gleaming and shimmering brighter than ever, and he just looked at it in silent awe and quiet realization.
He ran back to the forest he once defended, to the king he once fought for. Thranduil, bless his soul, had been a faithful companion and solace throughout the hardships Miston had faced during the war, their once strained relationship blossoming into a thick friendship between a father and his son in law. Explaining his desires, Miston received the king’s help in making a boat and having it brought to the havens.
The desire to leave was so strong it washed out anything else. All Miston could think, feel, was yearning for home.
He spoke to Feren when the humble vessel was brought to the grey havens, being told to send his regards to Valinor. Miston understood what Feren meant, and what it implied. Feren wasn’t leaving any time soon. So neither was Thranduil.
On the boat, fear peaked through in his heart. He was going home, but would his home be anything like the memories he had, or would it have crumbled like the strongholds of their kin? He wouldn’t know until he arrived, and any time he wasn’t steering the ship on the water with the same fiery dedication befitting to a deep descendant of the illusive Finwë, he was staring at his ring.
He didn’t keep count on how long it took him to get there. All that mattered to him was the moment his boat hit shore, carefully stepping out and feeling the soft, pristine sand of the beach underneath his feet.
He shouldn’t have recognized him. By all accounts, both of them had changed while they were apart, with Miston looking worse for wear and him looking much further down the path of recovery.
But he knew; by the way his heart ached and yearned and cried, by the way it was steering his feet without him realizing, by the way he ran towards-
Towards home.
''Legolas!''
1 note
·
View note
Text
Walking Dead Game FanFiction - “Decisions, Decisions”
#thatglitterygeek fanfictions#the walking dead game#the walking dead game season 1#the walking dead game season 2#the walking dead game season 3#the walking dead game a new frontier#twdg#twdgs1#twdgs2#twdgs3#twdganf#anf#a new frontier#the walking dead a new frontier#telltale the walking dead#telltale games#Telltale#fanfiction#fanfic#fanfics#read more#twdg clementine#twdg clem#twdg kenny#twdg sarita#sarita and kenny#kenny and sarita#kenny and clementine#kenny and clem#clem and kenny
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
Best Kerala Tour Packages
God's Own Country, Kerala is an immeasurably uncommon vacationer place among guests. There are slant stations, backwaters, frameworks, areas, and by and large more to inquire about. Rich culture and legacy of Kerala moreover pull all the nature darlings from wherever all through the world. Precisely when you set foot in the famous paradise, each and every other thing has all of the stores of being sublime. Legitimate for family undertakings, journeys, and couples, it has a wealth of hugeness and different exercises. Besides, here are the spots to visit in Kerala that you should visit in your Kerala Tour Packages.
Alleppey – The Backwater
Alleppey is the most outstanding best places to visit in Kerala. Its backwater trips, houseboat stays, and calm incredibleness cause to see number of people to its area. In reality, it is the most standard spot to look at the Kerala's backwaters. Alleppey houseboat escape is what is standard here for people to visit to Alleppey. There are regions of paddy fields, inquisitive havens, finding out towns, and lakes accumulated with water lilies which make Allepey great veered from different guests to visit in Kerala.
The excitement of Kerala with coconut and banana leaves in their sustenance to search for you if you have never had it. The cobbled pathways and cleaner streets correspondingly will take you on an old-world visit.
Clearly comprehended excursion targets: Alappuzha Beach, Krishnapuram Palace, Kumarakom Bird Sanctuary, Marari Beach, Revi Karunakaran Museum, Marari Beach, Punnamada Lake, Pathiramanal, and Sri Krishna Temple in Ambalappuzha. The Snake Boat Race in Alleppey is another get-together puller.
Munnar
Clearly comprehended one among incline stations in Kerala, Munnar is a victor among different vacationers places in Kerala.With around 80,000 miles of teaplantation, an unclear level of fragrant vegetation, foggy valleys, and low-flying clouds, Munnar is a tendency station that has gotten momentous among best wayfarer puts in Kerala for couples.
Sublime hotels, lovely home stays and rich lodgings and resorts in Munnar, make it the most thoughtful objective even among the top spots to visit in Kerala. The old world pioneer feel has its own exceptional charms. Revel in the splendid extravagance and noticeable quality, at the most dazzling extraordinary night resorts for couples in Munnar.
Acclaimed escape spots: TATA Tea Museum, Meesapulimala, Blossom Park, Pothamedu ViewPoint, Life of Pi Church, Attukal Waterfalls, Cheeyappara Waterfalls, Top Station, Marayoor Dolmens, Indo Swiss Dairy Farm, Kundala Lake, Lockhart Gap, Mattupetty Dam, Anamudi, and Eravikulam National Park.
Kumarakom
Found close Vembanad Lake, Kumarakom is a quiet little bequest with beguiling perspectives, ever breathtaking condition, and spellbinding broadly differed vegetation, making it one of the stunning vacationer puts in Kerala. It offers you backwaters, solid Kerala sustenance, uber outside air, the sustenance of Kerala, and coconut trees. Different activities here are skimming, cruising, Kumarakom houseboat remain, and computing.
Kumarakom holds a brilliant spot in the outline of the best of Kerala's meeting places. The lakes, fragrant coconut grooves, new paddy fields, thick mangrove woodlands, brilliant veritable sustenance, and unpolluted freshness of the air add to this spot.
Wayanad
Wayanad translates the identify that is known for paddy fields in Malayalam. Wayanad is one of the greenest voyager puts in Kerala. Refreshed with guaranteed splendor, quiet condition, and rich culture, Wayanad the improvement business is a perfect mix of nature and man-made inheritance. Everything considered, the spot is acclaimed for its luxury in social solicitations, shows up, and inalienable inheritance. Little, darken falls, that line the city sporadically, add to the spot's intrigue.
Celebrated known getaway targets: There are Thusharagiri Waterfalls, Thirunelli Temple, Banasura Hill, Lakkidi View Point, P Kuruvadweep, Puliyarmala Jain Temple, Kabini, Papanashini River, and Padinjarathara Dam.
Thekkady
Thekkady is on a very basic level heaven camouflaged in thick boondocks and wild vegetation. You discover the chance to see the about got out sorts of animals including tigers, sambars, gaurs, and lion-looked for after macaques. In addition, there are elephants, lions, deers, wild bull, pigs, and the Great Indian tigers. The most extraordinary among Kerala's explorer places, Thekkady vessels of boundless brilliance and untamed life. Its trekking course from Moozhiyar to Thekkady Gavi is one of the most standard route in South India.
#getzdestinations#travel#traveler#traveling#kerala#kerala tour packages#KeralaTourism#keraladiaries#munnar
0 notes
Text
BASICS OF ISLAM : Allah ( God Almighty ) : The Truth , Rights and More.Part3
Human rights were comprehensively defined with the advent of Islam.
•These rights, which were expressed in earlier religions only in general terms, or left latent as allusions that needed explanation with independent reasoning, were established once more by the very clear style of the Qur’an and the Prophet’s practice, without leaving room for deviation.
The Holy Qur’an has outlined human rights in detail in an utterly unique language.
•One can see a great emphasis on the protection of these rights in the Qur’an, which declared certain sanctions according to the conditions in question. The lawgiver Prophet clearly delineated these rights with the transactions he carried out himself. He warned insistently that these rights also pertain to the rights of God, and being in full compliance with them is necessary.
*In Islamic terminology, all rights originate from God’s will, and each are a blessing entrusted as a sign of His grace even if out of our will (jabri-lutfi) to humanity.
Rights, therefore, are granted to every human by creation and they cannot be:
- purchased or traded,
- reduced,
- increased,
- exchanged;
*They cannot be passed on to the discretion of the sovereign nor can they ever be used as a commodity.
•The greatest assurance of rights is when members of a society and the respected and honest authorities embrace this definition of rights wholeheartedly, and make it a part of their nature, honor it like their own souls, and strive for its protection.
This perception of rights is only be possible in a society that recognizes these rights as gracefully bestowed by God Almighty, a society that is appreciative to all the blessings of the Divine, a society that proceeds straightforward with an extraordinary refinement, believing in the fact that they will be held accountable tomorrow for what they do today, a society that upholds the truth and respects all rights.
•It is not possible to talk about human values and human rights in the truest sense of the word among masses who have no faith in God and the Day of Judgment, masses who do not follow scriptures or acknowledge messengers—they do not value rights nor do they show respect to truth.
•They have no appreciation for essential matters of belief; they give the impression of having some kind of faith, but a faith of their own, which revolves around sensuality.
•For them, it is not faith if it does not give way to their carnal desires; it is not science if it does not comply with their wishes.
•Those who are not from among them cannot be a scholar, and—when completely lost in delirium—they consider everyone other than themselves ignorant and every believer reactionary.
•They defame those who do not think the same as outdated, and in classifying individuals they divide society into camps. Indeed, their thoughts do not stem from common sense, and their behavior is bigoted.
•The satanic intellectual legacy they have inherited is an overused, worn-out conflictual dialectics that is deceptive. The crude power they employ against truth is a desperate, diabolical product of impotent reason; when they fail intellectually, it is customary for them to resort to demagogy or conflictual dialectics, a method implemented for the first time by Satan at the mysterious order of God to prostrate to the Prophet Adam. Thus, Satan can be considered as the inventor of conflictual dialectics; its later subcontractors have been the abusers of power who failed against the truth.
Muslims always strived at the highest of their capacity to observe human rights in the most scrupulous manner, not least during the Age of Light—the time of the Prophet. Their firm faith in God and the Hereafter, their well-settled spiritual conviction for the superiority of the rule of law, and their determination to continue on the straight path required them to act in harmony with the nature of their being.
*A genuine aspect of their condition was to be in sincere servanthood to God Almighty.
•They painstakingly fulfilled what was expected of them, and remained upright by their inner inclinations, which were shaped by the consciousness of “perfect goodness,” or ihsan—consciousness that God is All-Aware and All-Seeing.
•They did what they did because they were ordered to do so, aware of the fine line between obedience and disobedience. They welcomed all the orders and advice of the Prophet, the Master of the Law, wholeheartedly; during his time, opposition was limited to a small circle of hypocrites. None of the Prophet’s words were left floating; whatever he said reached its target and went far beyond mere semantics.
•When the Prophet honored Medina, he meticulously observed the stipulations of the Charter he signed with a diverse community of different faiths, worldviews, and ethnicities.
*Regardless of religion, race, and social rank, the law was equally implemented for everyone, and the city of Medina became a safe haven for each community.
•It was a golden age and the town of the Prophet was like a garden of Paradise.
Those who remained close to this age have been close to God and to fellow human beings, while others who failed to strive against their carnal desires and ambitions and darkened their centuries have turned to dust.
#islam#muslim#quran#allah#ayat#revert#reverthelp#revert help#convert help#islam help#islam revert#islam convert#muslim revert#convert#love#compassion#truth#rights#muhammad
6 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
coronabear-blog1
Untitled
manashi13-blog
Untitled
gladexes
LIA
margarettesfooddiaryhnl
Margarette's Food Diary HNL