#I followed a Victorian Morning Routine

[azulock]

Maybe how the guys are when they get sick? With whoever you want it's fine

I was sick through the weekend and into Monday so this is oddly fitting, here we go nonnie

Shidou Ryusei

Ignores that he is sick, he needs to be near his deathbed for something to actually stop him. He still has the counciousness to wear a mask of he goes outside but he isn't about to let some cold get him down.

Understands why he gets cut off from a game if he is sick but he hates it, hates staying home, not the type of person who likes being told to rest. It worsens his personality so just leave him be, he isn't one for being babied.

The screaming from the window in the morning thing doesn't change, just sounds hoarse and is followed by a lotta coughing. And his morning nudism is affected because he feels cold.

Honestly, if he could pick a fight with his desease he would, but he can't. So he pushes forward and sweats it out, he is gonna be exercising at home, even sick he has too much energy and he needs to burn it.

Tho, he is still sick which means his high energy isn't quite as high as usual, trying to keep up his routine ends up tiring him out and the minute he sits down and closes his eyes he is dead asleep. Try to coax him into going to bed, sleep will give him the rest he needs, and he is gonna be fine the next day, he gets well fast.

Michael Kaiser

The face of denial. This man tries to pretend he isn't sick, claims the team's doctor is exaggerating by giving him time off, he is perfect, he can't get sick. Tho, he looks sick, tired eyes and slouched shoulders, he sounds the part too, but just don't tell him how nasal his voice sounds.

He tries to keep up his usual life, but he is slower, more silent than usual, and generally less attentive to the world around. But he is Michael Kaiser, he's gotta keep his head held high, tho he won't leave the house, and if he as much as looks out of the window, he will be wearing sunglasses.

The denial is so strong that he will take his meds but still mumble about not really needing them. Also doesn't wanna be babied, refuses to accept being cared for because he refuses to accept he needs it. Be a little insistent tho, offering here and there, at some point he will break, but will say he is only accepting because you want it so much.

Once he breaks it gets easier, tho, and he will allow himself to rest and relax. Will just sit by you wherever you are cause he wants company - if you need to go to work, no you don't, he won't let you leave the house. He will also just doze off for a few minutes at a time wherever he sits down, denies that too tho. Will sleep like a rock when you two get to bed, but you aren't cause he will be snoring. It's gonna be like that for a couple of days.

Oliver Aiku

Big baby. Huge dramatic baby. An oversized Victorian child dying from tuberculosis. Nevermind he just has a nasty cold, cause if you tell him that he is gonna say you are making little of his suffering. He knows it's not that serious but that never stopped his shameless ass from pouting and begging before.

Loves being babied, wants to be cared for and coddled. Will whine endlessly if you aren't in the same room as him. Might actually sit outside the bathroom door like a needy dog. Tho, if you really need to go to work he is gonna understand it, but he will message you every twenty minutes about something random, he wants attention.

Despite wanting to be babied he is the type to not let you come too close to his face, he doesn't want you getting sick. Will let you caress his head if you are sitting in a chair separate from him, or will ask you to sit on the other end of the couch and massage his feet. Sure to end up falling asleep if you do either of these things.

To make up for the lack of physical contact he ends up wanting to be around you all the time. He feels cold easily when he gets sick so he loves watching moves with you while he is cuddled under a blanket. If you need to cook there will be a huge burrito watching you from a corner in the kitchen. It's good to be around him too cause he is a dry pill swallower and someone gotta stop that bad habit.

Won't let you sleep turned towards him, depending on how sick he is he might even consider sleeping in a different room. Tho, if it's just a cold he will settle for having you spooning him. He is just so it's a little hard to properly embrace him, but it's nice to rest your head against his back.

brought to you by: @tinnaagine @loser-vxbez @kiurona @bentolover @bevernats @weirdbutpr3tty @ada7201 @vollereix @wishiknewwhatiwasdoingwithmylife @qichun @true-latverian-baklava @oliveraikusweatyshirt @fivenightsatwhoreville

#oliver aiku x reader #michael kaiser x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #ryusei shido x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader

[sluttyshima]

Hot cocoa kisses

Warnings: suggestive content (making out, light petting) but nothing explicit

Characters: Tamaki Amajiki x reader

Words: ~1.8k

AN: A repost of a request from my old account.

“It’s a good thing we booked a place for the night,” you comment. Large, wet flakes of snow hit your passenger side window as you watch. “It’s really starting to come down now. The roads are probably going to start getting bad soon.”

Glancing over at your husband, you gauge his reaction. A lot of things make Tamaki nervous, and you wonder if driving in bad weather is one of them. But he seems calm enough, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on your thigh, which he squeezes gently when he feels your gaze on him.

“Hopefully it’ll clear up by the time we have to head out in the morning,” he speaks softly. “We still have several hours of driving ahead of us.”

Humming softly in response, you lean your head against the window and let your eyes drift closed. Something about the long car ride has left you feeling exhausted. Hours of sitting with only a couple of short pit stops leave your body feeling cramped and uncomfortable. At least you can ignore the discomfort for a little while by sleeping.

You are awakened by the sound of your car door opening and a blast of icy cold air. Tamaki leans over your body, unbuckling you before lifting you up into his arms bridal style. Ignoring your protests and claims that you aren’t too tired to walk on your own, he carries you up the snow-covered path leading to the small cabin with a large number 18 painted in gold on the door. Snowflakes swirl all around the two of you, limiting your visibility.

The indigo-haired male carries you straight to the bedroom. Barely awake, you simply blink your tired eyes as he leaves and then returns a few minutes later with your overnight bag. He helps you change into the warm pajamas you had packed, and does the bare minimum of your normal nightly routine before pulling the quilts over you and tucking you in. You try to stay awake, wanting to wait for him to finish getting ready for bed. But your body betrays you, and within minutes you are asleep again.

“-roads clear up.” Tamaki’s voice wakes you in the morning. You crack one eye open, noticing him sitting on the edge of the bed with his cell phone pressed to his ear. Not wanting to interrupt him, you simply lay back and listen. “Um, I’m not sure. Hopefully by tomorrow. Yeah. No, we’re okay. Yeah. Okay, we’ll see you guys when we get there. Bye.”

As soon as he ends the call, he turns towards you. When he notices that you are awake, he gives you a small smile. “Good morning, love,” he leans over your body to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm,” you mumble tiredly. Pushing yourself into a sitting position, you narrow your eyes at him. “So what was the call about? Is something wrong?”

Your husband sighs. “Well, it looks like there’s a small hitch in our plans. The roads are too dangerous for travel. I called the office and extended our reservation for another night, so we’re fine to stay here for now. But that means we’re going to be a bit late for the holiday festivities.”

For a moment you remain silent, thoughtful. Then, a wide grin spreads over your face. “So what you’re saying is, we get a snow day today?”

At your expression, Tamaki chuckles. “Only you could be this excited about being snowed in,” he teased. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he pulls you closer so that you’re curled into his side. “I picked up a few things from the little convenience store in the main building. You go get comfortable in front of the fireplace, and I’ll make breakfast.”

Still dressed in your pajamas, you follow him out of the bedroom. Sitting on the Victorian style loveseat, you hold your palms out towards the crackling fire. The smell of food cooking wafts out from the kitchen, making your mouth water.

“Here you go, love,” your husband returns with a tray full of food and two steaming mugs. He places them on the coffee table in front of you before taking a seat next to you.

The two of you begin eating in silence. Lifting one of the mugs to your lips, you take a tentative sip. The taste is rich and chocolatey, the liquid creamy and warm as it slides across your tongue and down your throat. You let out a little hum of appreciation, “Mm, hot cocoa!”

“I thought you would like it,” Tamaki grins. His eyes zero in on a spot at the corner of your mouth. Cupping your face in his hands, he leans forward and kisses you deeply. His tongue slides against your lips, gathering a few stray drops of your drink before pulling back just enough to look in your eyes. “You taste sweet,” he murmurs.

Meal forgotten, you wrap your arms around his neck and tug at his hair as his lips crash against yours again. This time his tongue slides past your lips, the wet muscle exploring every inch of your mouth and rubbing tantalizingly against your own to taste the chocolate flavor that lingers there. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging in slightly as he pulls you into his lap, one leg on either side of him so that you’re straddling him.

You let out a soft sigh as his lips stray from yours, kissing a trail down your jaw to suckle at your neck. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against your skin. “So perfect. I love you so much.”

“Tama,” you gasp as his teeth nip at the junction of your neck and shoulder. It’s so easy to get lost in his sweet words and even sweeter touches. His fingers trail along the curves of your body that he knows so well.

When he eventually pulls back, both of you are breathing heavily. “Sorry,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t mean for things to get so heated.”

A grin slowly made its way onto your face. “I know of a way that we can cool down.”

Soon, the two of you were bundled up and plodding through the heavy drifts of snow. Tamaki had one of your gloved hands clasped tightly in his own, wanting to help you keep your balance in case you were to slip. The air was frigid, but the multiple layers you wore plus the scarf wrapped around the lower half of your face was keeping you warm enough… for now.

“Hm, should we build a snowman? Or make some snow angels?” you asked.

Your partner used his free hand to rub his chin thoughtfully. “Making snow angels would probably cause the snow to soak through our clothes and we’d have to go inside. So let’s save that for last, and make a snowman first.”

“Sensible as always,” you giggle. “C’mon, baby, let loose a little! This is supposed to be a fun snow day, remember?”

“I know,” he shot back, playfully glaring at you. “And I’m trying to make sure that the day stays fun. Neither of us are going to enjoy ourselves if we end up getting frostbite.”

The two of you continue the teasing banter back and forth even as you begin working together to build the snowman. But when Tamaki’s back is turned towards you, you suddenly have another activity in mind. The ball of snow you form is far too small to be useful for your snowman, but it’s the perfect size to throw.

“Hey babe,” you call out, trying to get his attention. As soon as he turns towards you, you let the snowball fly. It pelts him in the shoulder, catching him off guard. Before he can react, you’re running away, trying to hide behind a nearby tree.

Eyes wide, it takes him a moment to process what has just happened. But then he begins to grin, and his eyes narrow at you. “Oh love, you have no idea what you’ve just started.”

You feel like a child again as you and your husband chase each other and throw snowballs. The sound of laughter and playful squeals echo in the otherwise silent forest around you. The once crisp white blanket of snow is now covered in footprints.

As you let another snowball fly, aiming for the back of Tamaki’s head, he turns. You shout in an attempt to warn him, but it’s too late. The projectile smashes into his face, crumbling away into a light powder.

Hands coming to cover your gaping mouth, you stare in shock as you wait for his reaction. Is he going to be angry at you? You didn’t hurt him, did you?

“Oh, you little minx.” The grin that he sends your way is almost predatory, sending shivers down your spine. “I suggest you run, sweetheart. I’ll even give you a three second head start.”

You spin around, immediately sprinting in the opposite direction. Your heart is racing as you hear him loudly count down from three. And then the sound of snow crunching underfoot warns you that he has given chase, and is quickly gaining on you.

“I’m sorry!” you scream, just as his arms wrap tightly around your waist. You squeal as he lets himself fall sideways, pulling you with him into the snow. He rolls over so that his body is on top of yours, causing you to sink into the cold white drift below you. Freezing cold hands settle on either side of your face, squishing your cheeks together as he kisses every exposed inch of skin.

In between peals of laughter, you barely manage to gasp out the words, “Tama, baby, stop! I give, okay? You win, you win!”

His nose nuzzles against yours, and he presses one last kiss to your lips. Then he reaches for your hand, helping you up and cradling you against his chest. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks, indigo eyes roaming up and down your form as he scans you for any signs of injury.

“No,” you assure him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight hug. “But I am starting to get pretty cold now. Should we head inside?”

Instead of answering, he lifts you up into his arms and begins carrying you back towards the cabin. Once he crosses the threshold, he sets you down gently. “I’ll make us some more hot cocoa,” he says. “While you change into some dry clothes.”

The rest of the day is spent cuddling in front of the fire with your husband - sharing warmth, stories, and several hot cocoa flavored kisses.

#tamaki amajiki #tamaki x reader #mha #bnha #tamaki fluff

[shadowzgather]

Sir Pentious, hc + Routine

Send me hc + a word of your choosing and I’ll write a headcanon relating to that word!

(Sorry, it took me a while to think on which routine of his I wanted to do.)

As a Victorian era demon, Sir Pentious has a lot of habits that he has retained from that era. His morning routine is a fairly early morning where he grooms and dresses himself for the day, making sure his looks prime, proper, and presentable before even leaving his room. This is followed by a light breakfast with tea, usually a black tea with rose petals but rarely any sugar or milk in his dining room. He usually reads up on the usual news and gossip while having breakfast. Afterward, he tends to his dental hygiene and checking for early signs of mouth rot (a common issue that snakes encounter) and gets started with anything else he has planned for the day from there. His morning routine is pretty normal but also methodical. He always does things in this order each morning.

#ooc #Headcanons #Sir Pentious #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel rp #very divergent and Non fandom related

[draytnation]

𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗, 𝚁𝚊𝚕𝚙𝚑 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚗'𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝚜

𝚂𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎, 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢✨

° Ralph's Favorite Candy is Salt Water Taffies, his fav flavor is strawberry

° 𝖧𝖾 𝖧𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾

° 𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾,and clingy too and loves PDA, He wants the world to know he loves you

° Like Man's would start overthinking if you left a room for too long

° He definitely has a touch of the tism, It seems most roles Joseph quinn plays are definitely not neurotypical

° He ✨LOVES✨ pastel colors and his wardrobe consist mostly of pastel colored clothes

° He secretly has a whole photograph book of you, which he hides under his bed...speaking of his bed

° Most of the bed is either fluffy pillows or Plushies, and this man sure loves his plushie

° He Loves Poetry, He writes poetry all the time and owns tons of book in a personal library. Alot of the books are fairy tales and tall tales and a few romance stories here and there.

° I imagine the reason he is so love sick is because he's been turned down by alot of people

° He was neglected as a child and looked towards fiction as a way out of it all, He was bullied for many years of his life and because of that rarely to never stands up for himself

° Poor boi just wants to be loved☹️

° He has a morning routine that he strictly follows everyone morning ever since he was a young lad

° He has the lil heart printed boxers

° Also he comes of as a pretty young man so he's probably in his early twenties I wanna say bout 21-25

° He 5,6-5,7 ish for sure. Short King👑

° He'd prolly sniff his s/o's hair he's just freaky like that, or maybe get close to get a scent of your cologne

° He would wait for his s/o to come home from work or an outing

° He's A Lovely cook, even has matching apron and oven mitts

° He ofc has one of those classic swimsuits, but it would definitely have floral prints on them

° His bike would still have training wheels, just to be safe and also I feel like his dad would let him go to soon when he taught him, so he's very cautious about bike riding in general

° He's lactose intolerant, But still drinks milk only if it's chocolate

° Hes also a picky eater, like he'd be the type to constantly order chicken tenders at restaurants

° He loves to eat ice cream on the daily but instantly regrets it after he gets a tummy ache, when it happens he usually cuddles up with his s/o or a stuffed animal to bare with the pain

° He's quite whiny too

° He also has a secret feminine side too, even has thoughts about drag too

° And 💖LOOVES💖 Jewelry, he owns rings, lil Victorian necklaces, and oh so many pearls, and loves gems even if their not rare ones

𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝙸 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚘𝚘. 𝙼𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚢'𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚚��𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘. 💖

#joseph quinn #joe quinn #stranger things #eddie munson #Ralph time-waster #Ralph #headcanon #s/o headcanons #male reader #eddie my beloved #fanfic #my fic #my hcs #stranger things x male reader #x s/o #cinnamoroll #the skrunkly #time wasters #fanfiction

[asassydork]

Chapter 2: Undecided

Story: Reflection

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Meet the monster in the mirror?

TW: still none that I know of, a little grabby and judgy but nothing serious.

West Grove, NY. 2024, February.

Brunch. A sacred pastime designated for the third Wednesday of every month, Puddles’ favorite gossip hour. Bottomless mimosas, finger sandwiches, deviled eggs, six layer parfaits, and the occasional beignet. We might as well be living in Victorian times with the way we follow such a routine. Wellowby’s, 12-sharp, table by the front window with the sign painted on it. They reserve this spot for us because we come so often. Puddles likes sitting with the sun on his good side and a decent view of the busybodies on the street outside. He prefers spilling tea with victims in sight. Although, once in a while, I find myself in the black widow’s web. That’s the unfortunate thing about living in a small town with a reputation the way my family has somehow maintained for centuries. I can’t help being my parents’ daughter. It’s landed me in more than a few gossip mill fabrications, half of which Puddles contributes to just to ruin my reputation more. It’s oddly saved me more than a few times in situations I hadn’t accounted for. It also keeps noses out of my business because no one wants anything to do with the likes of me. I’m not much to talk about in any real context anyway.

“You haven’t even touched your mose,” he mutters, gesturing to it with his pinky out as he holds a half eaten finger sandwich like a snotty old lady.

“Did you want it?” I grumble, tipping the top of the glass at him before sipping it like it tastes good. They get boring quickly, yet we uphold this routine regardless. The girl who normally makes our drinks wasn’t working today.

“Funny,” he says, his eyes staring out the window at something across the street that drew his attention. Puddles paying attention? Must be a cute boy or a girl who doesn’t belong in these parts.

Yup. Boy. Pretty boy. Short brown locks with a slight curl at the end. Taller than they usually come. Uneven suntan. Pretty blue eyes that catch the light. A bigger nose that doesn’t swallow his face. Short facial hair that likely popped up this morning and he hadn’t worried himself with shaving. Normal eyebrows. Smaller ears. Prominent moody lips. Puddles’ type for sure. Tall, dark and handsome.

In any lifetime.

I watched the man in his thirties move fluidly down the street, not a care in the world. He drew the attention of those he passed by and paid them no mind. I haven’t seen that kind of oblivious confidence in a while. The boys around here who peaked in high school would’ve picked a fight with him over the attention he was drawing. He might as well be a lost puppy in a place like this. You’d think that humans had a mating season by the way some of the women he passed didn’t really move out of his way and kind of stopped dead in their tracks.

“What a view,” Puddles chuckles, finishing his sandwich obnoxiously for emphasis.

“I don’t see it,” I lied, taking another sip of the drink.

We watched him move from behind me off to the left until he reached the right and was almost out of my view. He stopped at the corner, looked both ways to cross and I saw it. His eyes briefly scanned the area and when he almost looked like he saw me, my skin went cold and I had to quickly put a hand to my mouth as I spit the drink all over myself.

“No… No fucking way,” I hiss, cleaning off my face poorly. I dry my hands, wipe myself off, grab my coat and slip out the door before I missed him.

Puddles says more than a few things during the process but I miss them. They don’t reach me in my trance like haste. I’d chase him in any oblivion, I realized as I fixed my coat over my shoulders and fixed my bag on my back. I also pulled the marker out of the back and drew an ‘x’ on the back of my hand to be sure I wasn’t dreaming in ten minutes.

The man was as elusive as the mirrored version of him. He’d already made it down the next block by the time I picked up a jog. If he weren’t tall, I probably would’ve lost him by now. He was faster than I imagined he’d be. His fluid movements were almost like dancing mixed with levitation. He was gone any chance I had to getting close to him. By then, I drew a second ‘x’ on my other hand.

“Ves… Vesisaros.” The word tripped me up and made me feel crazy as I tried to cross the distance between us, a distance he kept without having to look back at me. “Vesisaros!” The second time was much louder.

It drew the man to a stop immediately and by the time I caught up, he grabbed me and forced me against the nearest wall by my shirt. The eyes were wrong but that hardness to them and the cold I felt when he looked at me was how I had imagined it. They were still snakelike in this color. It wasn’t his face but it could be. Perhaps this creature has a lot of faces. I wouldn’t know.

He doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at me with a fury I hadn’t meant to trigger. Emotion looked strange on him. I was so used to the empty blank slate that to see him like this was something else.

“What did you say?” The word was a slow hiss, violence laced every word. It was more than a threat.

“Ves-Vesis-Vesisaros.” I hadn’t practiced it aloud to know if that’s the noise that had previously come to me. I wouldn’t have thought much about it if it weren’t for this hatred he expressed towards me over knowing it.

“Where do you know that from?” He tightened his grip on my shirt, almost pinching me as he grabbed at my bra straps. “Who are you?”

“You-You told me,” I say, hearing it now in his voice when he wasn’t clenching his teeth. It was the same voice clear as day like I’d never forget that sound. “You told it to me. Beyond that, I can’t explain.” I don’t fight back because I was raised better. I knew whatever he was wasn’t a good thing if he could so easily wear someone else’s face.

“Who.Are.You?” His teeth were clenched again this time, not liking my response.

“Ylena,” I say, trying not to stutter again. He didn’t seem to like it.

“Ylena?” The way he said my name was almost like I’d heard him say it before. It made goosebumps rise on my arms, which somehow drew his attention to them. “You’re not afraid of me, Ylena?” He hissed again like there needed to be this unspoken emphasis. “How do you know me?”

“I can’t explain it,” I say, almost pleading with him not to make me. “I’m already crazy enough. I don’t need someone else to tell me.” I found myself pulling his hands off me then. I got some sense back into me. “You’re not supposed to be real.”

“They sent you,” he says, almost sipping in disgust. “You’re the Hush. I thought you’d be scarier.” He scans my face like he was looking for something but he can’t find it.

“You’re dead,” I find myself whispering, not even registering anything he had said, other than the fact that he thought I’d be scarier. “You-You’ve been dead a long time.” My words drop off as they trickle out of me in a hushed whisper. “A long time.”

“Yes,” he chuckles, slowly releasing me. “Yes, I have been dead for a long time. Not that anyone notices.” He gestures to the people around us who suddenly aren’t paying him any mind.

“What are you?” I asked under my breath more to myself than him.

“What are you, sweetheart?” He gestures to my shirt. “Poorly dressed by the looks of it. Couldn’t keep your drinks down? What’s the point of paying for them if you’re just going to throw them up?”

I wanted to punch him but I didn't. I briefly looked down and then looked up again and he had completely vanished into thin air. The world continued on without me and I realized that by touching me, we’d been briefly invisible to everyone else. So, he has some kind of powers of manipulation. Perhaps he’s always had that. I just didn’t understand why me. I wasn’t anybody special.

By the time I made it back to the cafe, Puddles had already paid and was looking for me as if more time passed than I expected. I couldn’t help but feel a little dizzy. I also knew I couldn’t quite answer any of those questions.

#creative writing #writeblr community #writer on tumblr #writers on tumblr #writers of tumblr #creative writers #fiction writing #original fiction #magic artifacts #magic mirror #mirror mirror #reflection #dark and moody #the addams family #Harry Potter thematic #hp aesthetic #muggles #man in the mirror #monster in the mirror #monster writing #monster story #scary monsters #creepy ghost #ghost boy #dead but alive #memento mori #writeblr #new writers on tumblr #writing community #tumblr writers

[craftycupcakementality]

I Tried Following a Victorian Morning Routine 🌷

#youtube

[chakytron]

I followed a Victorian Morning Routine

I followed a Victorian Morning Routine

I followed a Victorian Morning Routine Category Education Description: Most information from this video comes from Ruth Goodman’s WONDERFUL book ‘How to be a Victorian’. I would highly recommend reading this Take a look … TopTrengingTV Hunting the most trend video of the moment, every hour every day 24/7. Youtube Video Data Published At: 2021-01-24T16:00:09Z   Tags:  [‘toptrendingtv’, ‘trend…

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#british girl #college freshman #cosy #day in my life #education #english literature #get productive with me #how to be productive #how to get motivated #I followed a Victorian Morning Routine #morning routine #night routine #old fashioned #study advice #study tips #study with me #toptrendingtv #trend hunter #trend video #trending youtube videos #uni move in #university fresher #VIDEOS #vintage #week in my life #wholesome #youtube videos

[miraculous-trinity-leo]

Tᕼᗴ ᑕᕼᗩOTIᑕ ᗩᑎᘜᗴᒪ

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

Chapter 3: Au Revoir Gotham My True Home

•—–—–·†·–—–—•

Marinette explained what happened and that she didn't mean to cause trouble, she didn't know why the bats were looking for her (author to audience... it's because she looks like one of his bat kids gone rouge.) When she asked how they knew the Bat was looking for her, she found out that Selina was actually dating the Bat... So Marinette was very surprised at that, her family talked about it and a few days after her birthday she'll be going to Paris, France with Selina to be with a family friend of hers. Marinette was now really thinking she was cursed, but she made sure to take it in stride and spend as much time with her friends and family as possible.

"Doan wawhry suguh, we'll make sure tuh visit as much as possible, yuh can even visit us durin' summuh and wintuh break." - Harley held back the tears as she hugged Marinette, Bud, Lou, Ivy, Selina, Ed and even Frank joined in on it.

……… ………

Marinette was out with her friends still not sure how to tell them, she started with the obvious.

"Sooo... tomorrow I turn 10... the double digits." - Marinette

"Soon you'll be one of us!" - Garfield gave Marinette a side hug with a big smile, god he made it harder to tell them

"So what do you want to do? We can celebrate, tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that, heck we can celebrate for the whole week while we're at it!" - Garfield

Rachel noticed the sad smile Marinette had as Garfield continued talking.

"Is there something you need to tell us?" - Rachel's words stoped Garfield in his tracks, he then looked at a slightly teary Marinette, and he felt a slight tinge of pain in his chest.

"I- um, I'm moving this Saturday... I'm sorry I really don't want to, but- *hic* I-" - Marinette was cut off by Garfield giving her a hug, he rubbed small circles on her back as she let out a few sobs. Rachel patting her shoulder to try and comfort her.

After they were like that for a few minutes, they decided to get ice cream

……… ……… ………

"I'm sorry." - Marinette eating her chocolate chip ice cream

"It's not your fault Mari, besides, we can officially say we have a pen pal in Paris." - Garfield with his chocolate mint ice cream trying to lighten the mood, managed to get a chuckle out of Marinette.

"We can still video call, or text you. And your parents said you can visit on summer and winter break." - Rachel just starting her strawberry ice cream

"But what if I need a friend to talk to when I can't sleep? Or if I need a movie buddy? Or gaming buddy?" - Marinette

"There are online multiplayer games we can play you know." - Rachel

"Yeah, and I'm sure you'll make friends over there really quickly, I mean you already know a few other languages, including French, so there isn't any communication problems." - Garfield

"I wish you guys could come with me..." - Marinette almost done with her ice cream

"... Didn't you say you always wanted a hamster, maybe one that's unique, like a the rare Green Gotham Hamster?" - Garfield with a mischievous grin

"Selina's family friends own a bakery, so no pets allowed. Sorry Rare Green Gotham Hamster, I'm afraid you're staying native to Gotham." - Marinette said patting his shoulder.

"Wait they own a bakery?! As in you can be on a sugar high 24/7?! Take me with you!!" - Garfield

……… ……… ………

Soon it was time for them to go home, when Marinette got home, she continued packing what she would need, making sure that her Siren plushies where safely secure, and then went to eat dinner.

The next day she made sure to get up early, Garfield and Rachel knew where she lived, and wanted to make sure everything was ready for them, setting up the games they would play into the night, and the movies they would watch after that.

She then went to the Gardens to greet her Mom and the plants, doing the usual routine of checking all the plants, complimenting and watering them. During which a sleepy Harley walked over giving Ivy and Marinette a morning kiss before going to make her coffee.

At breakfast she didn't see her Aunt yet, she assumed she was robbing someone rich again.

……… Over to Catwoman ………

"Come ta mama." - Catwoman mumbled as she used her claws to cut the glass surrounding an old elegant purple sapphire that belonged to one of Gotham's founding fathers' wives.

……… Back to Marinette ………

About an hour after breakfast Garfield and Rachel came over, holding Marinettes' rapped presents, they started the day off with trivia games, which they called the MIQ (which can mean either Marinette Isley-Quinzel or in this case Memory Intelligence Quiz) which Marinette and Rachel came to a tie followed by Ivy, then Harley, and Garfield. They then moved on to board games, Marinette decided to play The Game of Life rather than Monopoly (because lets be honest, who has ever finished that game in the time of a signle day? An extreme speedrunner... maybe.) while the adults got the cake ready. Surprisingly Garfield won, he got the acting career, a sports car, a nice old fashioned mid modern house, a wife, and 3 kids... Marinette got the fashion designer career, got a motorcycle, and a small, but nice victorian house, a husband, and one kid... and Rachel got the scientist career (because science is just simplified mortal magic), a delorean car (and even said "Since science is magic I can make it fly, so technically, I don't need roads where I'm going."), a modern cabin in the woods, single (she didn't want a significant other to interrupt her magic science) and got a pet bird.

Once Selina and Ed came over, they began the party, playing games like DDR, Ultimate Mecha Strike 2, and Racing games.

When it came time for Marinette to blow out her candles, she wished that everything would be okay, and that she will be able to come back to Gotham permanently, and blew them out.

She then got to open her presents, she started with Harley's, and got a custom baseball bat that was a dark steel blue, with a light grey handle grip, and it had the words "Quinn For Da Win" on it, putting a smile on her face, when she opened Ivy's gift she got seeds of her favorite flowers to plant over in Paris. She then opened her Uncle Ed's gift, which was a small watch that had special A.I., it had a cover over the inside screen that would flip open to reveal another screen. The cover was silver with a blue question mark, and when it opened, it showed the time, and the location you where in, it could also act as a GPS, and a phone (it could even play music AND had an incredible battery life span). She then moved on to her Aunt Selina's gift, finding a small purple sapphire in the shape of a cat paw, surrounded in silver. She then opened Rachel's gift, it was a travel mug that said "Coffee lives in my veins." (Marinette started drinking coffee recently) which made Marinette laugh, and then she got to Garfield's gift. When she opened it, she found a handmade charm bracelet, it had animals that she really liked around it, and there was one that was a small tiger, with it's eyes and nose having a light green peridot stone, to represent the first day they met. She put the bracelet on her right rist and thanked Garfield for it, and gave everyone a big hug.

She spent the rest of the day playing with her friends, having a wonderful time, and getting a massive sugar rush from all the cake they had. When it came time for dinner they were running low on energy, but were back to normal after Harley snuck some coffee into their food... The only thoughts that went through Garfield and Rachel's minds where "That's why Mari drinks this stuff..."

After dinner they played all kinds of video games, and ended it by watching Back To The Future. They fell asleep some time after 2am.

……… ……… …….

The next morning they all had breakfast and then spent the day playing parkour tag over roofs and playing I spy games. And at the end of the day Marinette gave her friends a big hug, before heading back home. She spent her time with her moms, Uncle, and Frank, playing more boardgames and discussing what she should do to make friends...

"Just be yawhself, we love yuh fawh who yuh are, and I'm sure everyone in Paris will love yuh too... if dey doan, den dey most likely have a massive defective reject of a brain." - Was Harley's opinion

"Riddle the f-ck out of their brain, if they can solve all of them, and like you for you, then they are worthy." - Which was Ed's opinion

"Use a chemical based compound from the magnolia flower, combined with three tulip petals, one rose petal, and pollen from a lilac to create a befriending potion." - Ivy's words made everyone silent before Ed spoke up

"... Harley if you're being mind controlled blink." - Ed deadpaned, which had Marinette cackling

"I'm not bein' mind controlled, also yuh nawhmally say ‘blink once or twice’ not just ‘blink’ I could blink at any random interval and yuh woun't know what tuh tink, and here I thoughtcha were a genius." - Harley with her head on Ivy's lap as Marinette starts wheezing.

"I think y'all broke her." - Frank just pointed to Marinette as she was still cackling and wheezing while in the fetal position.

That's when Selina walked in...

"What the hell did you guys do to Kitten?!" - Selina dropping the bags she got from some high end shop, and after they made sure Marinette was still alive they continued their game... and Marinette may have actually written the list of ingredients for that position, but only as a last resort. When it was time for them to sleep Marinette spent the night with her moms, like she use to when she was 4.

She got up early to make sure everything was ready, she had her sketch book in her backpack, as well as some pencils, ear buds, snacks and a picture of her with her family and friends. She decided to wear her new watch and charm bracelet as she finished checking her bag, she then went into the garden to say goodbye to all the plants, and to give Bud, Lou and Frank one last goodbye. She had about 3 hours before her and her Aunt were to head to the airport, and she spent that time with her moms, almost never leaving their side.

……… ……… …….

As the plane took off she looked out the airplane window, saying goodbye to Gotham, until her next visit home....

•—–·★·–—•

Chapter 3 complete, also just in case I didn't describe her B-day gifts good enough, here's what they look like (꒪꒳꒪)

Hope you're all having an amazing day, staying safe and rockin' all positive vibes,!BUG-OUT! 💮🐞💮

〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜Tag List〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜

1st Place★: @jumpingjoy82

2nd Place★: @myazael

3rd Place★: @solangelo252

@fandom-trapped-03, @zorua-adorable, @blueblossombliss, @thefangirlwholiterallydies, @woe-is-me0, @lady-bee-fechin, @jayjayspixiepop, @kashlyn, @toodaloo-kangaroo, @buginetye, @our-preciousss , @vroomtaka, @alessialeone6997

#harley and ivy #harley quinn bio mom #maribat fic #maribat #garmari #damimari #jonmari #Marinette Isley-Quinzel #garfield logan #rachel roth #gotham sirens #aunt selina #uncle ed #badass marinette #harlivy #miraculous ladybug #digital art #fluff fic #mlb crossover #mlb x dc #funnyshit #shenanigans #cursing warning #sort of siblings #Poison Ivy bio mom #the chaotic angel

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @furubazine! I wanted to give Kyoko her dues, I just love the snippets of the past we get in the series.

…

…

…

…

When she was younger, Kyoko hadn’t been big on traditions. Customs like that had to be taught at childhood, had to be given importance and love to carry through to adulthood. There had been no one to teach her to care and so she hadn’t. Birthdays were just another day to trudge through, holidays an extra day to sleep in, and gifts were always given by oneself.

Then came Katsuya and his sly smirks, Tohru and her big eyes, and now all Kyoko had were traditions. There were big ones, like birthdays and test results, where they’d grab a special treat from the bakery nearby. Small ones, like the morning goodbye and the bedtime kiss. There were so many, many ways to let a person know I love you and Kyoko never tired of finding a new one.

Even a visit to her husband’s grave was one steeped with routine. Standing at the gated entrance to the graveyard, she waited patiently as her father-in-law ambled toward her, a soft smile on his face. Dressed in a suit, he looked more put together than the absent-minded grandpa who liked to cuddle with Tohru in the kotatsu.

“Kyoko!” Noticing her, he waved as he came to a stop in front of the gate. His sleeves were slightly wet from cleaning the grave. “Right on time, I see.”

“What, is he taking appointments now?” Kyoko asked, raising a brow. If the dead could talk to the living, she could picture him doing it too. He’d probably even ask for money.

Her father-in-law chuckled, a raspy sound. She’s only ever known him for his kindness, for his soft edges, and it was strange to think that at one point, Katsuya couldn’t bear the man. “No, nothing of the sort. He’s grateful for any visitor, I’m sure.”

“That’s not the man I married.” Kyoko snorted, shaking her head. It wasn’t hard to remember how much he teased her, his lips curling into a playful smirk as she fumed. While she wasn’t sure where Tohru got her naïve personality, she was grateful she hadn’t picked up anything from her father aside from his polite speech. It would have been hell having two Katsuyas.

She wished she still had one.

Forcing a smile, she crossed her arms and asked, “You know, you could always come with us. You don’t have to visit alone.”

Perhaps reading her mind, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “After all those years apart, I need a little alone time with him. Though, he’s as talkative as ever.”

Kyoko guffawed. Her father-in-law was a riot, and she could see the traces of her husband in him. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Smiling, he stepped away. While he was getting older, Kyoko was certain that all of his wrinkles were from laughing. She could only hope it would be the same for her when she grew old. “I’ll see you for dinner?”

Another tradition. Kyoko nodded. “My cooking’s improved since last time. Maybe not as good as Tohru’s, but nothing is.”

Her father-in-law laughed as he headed away. “As long as I don’t join him today, it’ll be fine.”

She almost didn’t want to wave goodbye. Really, in that cruel honesty, he was just like his son. Would Katsuya have looked the same if he’d reached that age? Grey-haired and balding, his sides round from eating too many of Tohru’s dishes. Before she could linger on the idea, on the image of her husband as anything less than handsome, Kyoko heard a familiar voice calling her name. Turning around, she smiled brightly. “Tohru!”

“Mom!” Tohru waved back eagerly, her long skirt swishing around her heels as she trotted down the street. In her hands was a wicker basket, filled to the brim with this morning’s cooking. All as usual.

What was different, however, were the three people following her. Hanajima, Uotani, and Megumi trailed after, all dressed casually as they looked around curiously. Well, Kyoko assumed it was casual wear—it was hard to tell with Hanajima and Megumi sometimes. The siblings looked like they’d stepped out of a Victorian funeral and it was impressive on so many levels, not the least how hot it must be in the August heat. “You just missed Grandpa.”

“Oh no.” Tohru’s jaw fell open. Her eyes darted everywhere in a desperate attempt to catch his back. When she didn’t see him, she hunched over, depressed. “I should have come earlier,” she moaned.

“It’s fine.” It was impossible to resist the urge to hug her adorable daughter and Kyoko immediately gave in to the impulse. As she wrapped her arms around Tohru, she glanced at the others and smiled. “I’m glad you all could make it.”

Uotani brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, looking awkward. Maybe it was the way she held herself, her gangly body looking like it wanted to curl up and disappear, but Kyoko felt like she was looking at a younger version of herself. While she had no idea how Tohru came to be, she knew intimately what it took to make an Uotani. “Are…are you sure we should be here?” She peeked at the graveyard, then back at Kyoko. “Shouldn’t this be a family thing?”

“Are you saying you aren’t family?” she asked, raising a brow. Uotani flushed, looking both pleased and flustered, and Kyoko chuckled. “It’s about time Katsuya paid attention to Tohru’s life.”

Tohru nodded happily, still buried in Kyoko’s arms. “I want you to meet him!” she chimed in, her voice muffled.

“See? Not a problem.” Kyoko paused. “Unless, you don’t want to come?”

“No, that’s not…” Uotani was a bright red now.

While she floundered, Megumi pushed forward. “I’m in the company of four gorgeous ladies. I’ll stay.”

“Are you sure you’re in elementary school?” Kyoko asked, finally letting go of Tohru. She wasn’t sure which was worse, the wink he gave when he said that or the way that his expression and tone stayed flat the entire time.

“He’s very wise for his age,” Hanajima explained, looking as cool as a cucumber as she entered the graveyard.

“I could say the same about you,” Kyoko replied wryly. Tohru’s friends were an odd bunch. Katsuya would have loved them.

“Ready, Mom?” Tohru asked, grabbing her hand.

Kyoko felt herself melting again, but this time she resisted the urge to hug. She had to have some semblance of self-control, otherwise, they wouldn’t get anywhere today. “Yeah.”

The Honda family grave was already clean, the stone gleaming in the sun. Several white lilies were laid in front of it, a gift no doubt from her father-in-law. Setting down her picnic basket, Tohru dashed toward the buckets. “I’ll get the water.”

“Should I help?” Uotani asked, uncertain as she turned from the grave to her friend and then back again.

“The water isn’t that heavy.” Kyoko knelt in front of the grave, her fingers brushing the stone lightly. How strange. They hadn’t had that many years together, in the end, and she was now more familiar with the feel of stone than her husband’s hand. Tohru must remember even less, if she even remembered anything at all, and Kyoko’s heart ached. Lost time, lost chances, a void that never had the chance to exist.

Setting out three incense sticks, Kyoko slowly lit each one. Standing up once more, she said, in a stronger voice than she’d expected, “Katsuya, these are Tohru’s friends.”

“Hi?” Uotani mumbled, even more bemused. Gingerly she lifted her hands, looking like she wasn’t sure if she should wave or pray and she’d tried to do both.

Megumi nodded his greeting. “Hello.”

Looking up, Hanajima stared at the sky for a few minutes. Her smile was mysterious before she finally nodded. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Was it? part of Kyoko wanted to ask. It was impossible to speak to the dead, but that didn’t feel like the case with Hanajima. The more she learned about her waves, the less she understood.

“I’m back!” Lugging a heavy bucket, the water spilling over the top, Tohru struggled toward the grave. “Sorry I took so long.”

“Tohru!” Uotani scrambled toward her, quickly taking the bucket out of her hands. “I’ll take that.”

“I can’t let y…” More water splashed over the edge, hitting the bottom of her skirt. Biting her lip, Tohru reluctantly handed the bucket to Uotani. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Uotani grinned as she held the bucket with a hand. “See? It’s nothing, really.”

Kyoko watched as the pair sprinkled water over the grave. There were very few things she could deny Tohru, so it hadn’t even been a question when her daughter had asked if her friends could tag along. It had been a good idea. “You know, you should pray to him for your marks.”

“What do you mean?” Uotani asked, looking over her shoulder curiously.

“He was a teacher, after all. And very smart. Maybe he’ll slip in your dreams and give you all the test answers,” Kyoko explained, trying hard to keep a straight face. Her husband had never been that kind, and any help he gave would be trapped inside a riddle. “And looking at your grades, you need it. You have to get into high school, after all.”

Stricken, Tohru gulped. “That…we can do that…”

Uotani already had her hands clasped, her lips silently mouthing out many, many prayers. Kyoko covered her mouth, forcing her laugh to turn into a cough. Only Hanajima and Megumi didn’t move and when she turned toward them with an inquisitive look, Hanajima only smiled. “You can’t cure my stupidity.”

“She’s actually really smart,” Megumi added, hands in his pockets. “She just has to be motivated.”

“And he’s always very smart,” Hanajima fondly added, her eyes soft as she looked at her brother. “Besides, we’re not good at riddles.”

“Oh.” Had she read her mind? Kyoko wasn’t sure if she wanted the answer to that question. Instead, she pulled out a blanket from the forgotten basket and spread it out on the stone ground.

“What are you doing?” Uotani hissed, glancing around furtively.

“Setting up for lunch?” Kyoko answered slowly, her lip twitching slightly as she bit back her laugh.

“Here?” For an ex-gang member, Uotani was surprisingly serious sometimes.

“Yeah, we’re eating with him. We’re celebrating his memory, after all.” Kyoko knelt next to the basket and pulled out Tohru’s carefully prepared bentos. When Uotani still looked troubled, she patted on the blanket. “You don’t want Tohru’s hard work to go to waste, do you?”

Having no such qualms, Megumi already grabbed a bento and opened it. “Wow, you made all this?”

“Yes!” Tohru sat eagerly next to him and grabbed another one. “And there’s some karaage in here if you want.”

“Your cooking is as tasty as ever,” Hanajima complimented, sitting on her other side and effectively sandwiching Tohru between her and her brother.

It was a lost battle. Grumbling, Uotani sat down and held out her hand. “I’m hungry anyways.”

The graveyard was filled with sound, a stark contrast to the usual silence when it had just been her and Tohru visiting Katsuya. Kyoko liked it better this way. Maybe this would become yet another tradition, a lively one that kept friends and family close no matter what boundaries separated them.

“As you can see,” Kyoko murmured to her husband, “Tohru’s made some really good friends.”

And though she couldn’t see him, she knew he was smirking at her, the bastard.

#tohru honda #kyoko honda #arisa uotani #fruits basket #furuba #saki hanajima #megumi hanajima #fanfic

[alex-ruins-everything]

Turning Pages - Chapter 1

Intrulogical bookshop au! Read whole thing on ao3 here

Logan Berry had a normal, content, average life. He was happy working at the bookshop that he simply loved, all until the brash and loud brother of one of his coworker's boyfriend's entered the picture. Then he found his quite perfect life interrupted by something he had never experienced before - fun. Remus Kingsley was getting him to branch out, and not looking too bad while doing it. 

Logan Berry had a normal, content, average life. He had good grades, a solid sleep schedule, an average amount of social interaction, and a job that he adored. He worked at a bookshop, the same bookshop he had spent most of his childhood in since most preteens were not fans of their intellectually superior peers. Though at the bookshop he could put all of that aside and immerse himself in knowledge - and on the rare occasion, some fantasy. In all fairness it didn’t take long for the bookshop owner, Mr. Sanders, to start recognizing the young boy that was always sitting in the armchairs by the windows. It didn’t take much more time after that for him to start to take Logan under his wing, showing him how the bookshop runs and on Logan’s 16th birthday, offering him a job that was happily accepted. Logan had always been an enthusiastic learner and that directly translated into his work. When Mr. Sanders’ attention got pulled away from the shop, Logan happily picked up the slack.

He was not a fan of summer break, finding the halt in his education to be cumbersome, but he did enjoy having more time to spend at the shop. It was 7am sharp when he unlocked the door, the familiar bell tingling to indicate entry as he flipped on the light switches, immediately soaking in the smell of the books with a smile to himself. Now to begin on the opening checklist he knew so well. Step one, lock the door to avoid any early customers. Check. Step two, count the money and open the register up. Check. Step three, check displays and ensure that bookmarks are orderly and the magazines are sitting neat. Check. Step four, go through aisles and ensure that books are neatly lined up and in alphabetical order. This step takes a while so it is vital to keep an eye on the time so that at precisely 8am the door can be unlocked again. Logan does his job thoroughly until he checks this one off as well, standing behind the register to organize the pens and highlighters, ensuring there is receipt tape in the printer. At 7:58 he pulls his apron on over his head, unlocking the door with a soft click of the lock, straightening a display of books as he passed by.

It was not unusual for Logan’s coworker to be late to his morning shift. Patton Hart seemed to always arrive at 8am dull rather than sharp, but he always made up for it in some way so it was quite hard to get mad at him. Today, for example, he skipped in at nearly 8:15, but he was holding two cups of coffee and a pastry bag.

“Sorry I’m late!” Patton apologized, reading the side of one of the cups before handing it to Logan. “Remy was extra chatty at the coffee shop today...but here you go! Large black coffee and a blueberry muffin.”

Logan thanked the other, taking the coffee and sipping at it. He had already had a cup before leaving home but it wouldn’t hurt to have another. He had already eaten breakfast so he tucked the muffin under the counter for later. Patton went into a small room behind the counter to set his belongings down and clock in, returning in his apron and a smile.

“I need to know what book you plan on reading for the kids on Saturday so a display can be set up,” Logan stated, looking over the short list of events the shop had planned. Patton hosted book readings for young children every once in a while and it was always a hit, bringing in lots of revenue for the shop. Another reason he could get away with being late.

“Oh! I was thinking If You Give a Mouse a Cookie,” he replied. “We just got a shipment in of those, right? I thought it might work out nicely especially since I did the Pigeon books last time.”

“Excellent,” Logan nodded, approving the idea by penciling it onto the schedule next to the time slot for Patton’s Reading Circle.

It wasn’t a very busy day, but it went by seemingly quickly with lots to do. Logan sat in the office for a good two hours, filling out orders for the shipment they would receive on Wednesday, making sure to get any special requests customers had ordered. When that was done he went about reorganizing the science section, making room for a new book that would be gracing the shelves and placing a space-holder in the meantime. Patton had been fluffing up the pillows on the cushiony chairs set around the store and dusting off shelves and cleaning the windows down. When a customer came in one of them would help them find what they wanted then ring them up, that bell by the door always chiming to alert them. The peaceful and known routine was part of what made Logan happy. Around noon he excused himself to the back to eat the muffin Patton had brought this morning, letting the other know that his break was scheduled in about an hour when their third coworker arrived.

When it came to Virgil Storm it was always a toss up. He was either early or late, never on time. Today however he chose to be early, walking in fifteen minutes before one, nodding a hello to both Logan and Patton as he headed to the back, sipping on an iced coffee with a tired expression. He came back out with his apron on, the cord of his headphones hanging out of his pocket a little bit as he started his usual rounds around the store. Aside from Logan, Virgil was definitely the most detail oriented.

Logan excused Patton for his break, perching on a stool behind the register and pulling out a large binder to work on some scheduling for the next few weeks. Always better to get things done in advance, of course. The bell rang and Logan looked up to greet the customer but saw it was just Roman, Virgil’s boyfriend.

“Hello, Roman,” he nodded, getting a greeting back before Roman was off to find Virgil.

Logan had never seen Roman actually read a book, but he did buy them every so often, mostly ones about theater or anything that had a dragon on the cover. He was just charming enough to have won over Mr. Sanders on the few times they had crossed paths in the shop, but really he only served as a distraction. Today wasn’t busy so Logan let him stay for a little while before leaving his post at the register to check on how he was interfering with Virgil today.

“Roman, if you shadow Virgil any longer I’m going to hand you an apron and consider it your training,” he warned lightly.

“Okay, okay,” Roman started. “He’s just showing me some new fantasy stuff, I promise I’ll be a paying customer this time.”

Logan decided to believe him, returning to his post at the register and continuing to pencil names onto a schedule, trying to work around the names to fit something that was fair for everyone. Then of course he would send it to Mr. Sanders for approval before posting it on the bulletin board in the room behind the counter. The bell rang again and Logan looked up to greet a customer or say hello to Patton who surely was due back from his break soon but was instead met with the most interesting person he had ever laid eyes on.

This man was all broad shoulders and wild hair, a streak of white gracing the front of his curls and a mustache that was twirled at the ends in ways Logan thought only the men in Victorian romance novels sported. He was somewhat dressed for the warm weather outside in a mossy green tank top that hung obscenely off his body, showing off an octopus tattoo on his left shoulder with the tentacles creeping down his upper arm, and black jeans that were more rips than pants. His eyes scanned around the bookshop, landing on Logan for a second too long to be played of as a passing glance.

“Roman! If you don’t quit making out with Virgil against a bookshelf I’m gonna leave your ass here,” the man said just a little too loudly for proper bookshop etiquette.

“Hey, shuddup,” Roman said, emerging from the shelves with a book in his hand. “Remus, I thought you were shopping down the street.”

“I was, then I got bored. Hey, this place is weird. I don’t think I’ve ever been in here,” the man - Remus - said, picking up one of the display books and flipping it open, only to put it back down in a way that wasn’t remotely how he had found it. “C’mon, I wanna swing by the park and chase the geese before we head home. Hurry up.”

Logan found that he had been watching the interaction, his scheduling forgotten as Roman came and set his selection on the counter, Remus following behind him and messing up the neat displays of knick-knacks on the counter.

“Told you I’d buy a book,” Roman said with a grin. “Oh, this is my brother by the way. Sorry he’s loud.”

Remus flicked Roman on the back of the head. “Am not. This place is just super quiet,” his eyes trailed over Logan in a way that was enough to make him feel like he was being dissected. “Nice to meet you, Specs.”

“And you as well,” Logan said, ringing up Roman’s book and sliding it into a paper bag, cuing him up to pay. Though with how brash this man was he wasn’t sure if that was an entirely true statement. “Roman, you’re good to go. Have a nice day.”

Logan watched the two brother’s leave, sighing lightly as he closed the scheduling binder and sticking it back under the counter. Patton came back with a happy wave and a box of donuts that he set in the back for them all to pick at when they wished. He let Patton watch the register, moving to clean up the damage that Remus had left behind to his strictly ordered displays. Well, hopefully that wouldn’t be a continuous issue. Remus seemed like he read books even less than Roman, though Logan couldn’t deny there was something illogically intriguing about how unrestrained Remus had been.

#sanders sides #intrulogical #prinxiety #moceit #remus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders

[jovialyouthmusic]

Past Times

I have spent some time writing and rearranging this chapter - so much so that when it went way over 4K I realised that it would be better to split it into two shorter chapters. Recent interest in Netflix’s Bridgerton has brought a lot of interest to this period.

I must make some comment about Regency costumes as I understand it from various articles I’ve read. I’m perfectly happy to be told I’m wrong, but I’m not trying to be super accurate, just have a little fun. Knickers or drawers were most probably not worn, as these became more popular in Victorian times (most likely split crotch to make it easier to go to the bathroom). This sounds kind of impractical, but they still wore long chemises and petticoats, and well born young ladies probably had many such garments that were regularly washed for them. Corsets were not quite as restrictive as later times, but they still pushed the bust up and put it on show, particularly in the case of fancy ballgowns - after all, at a ball, young ladies were trying to attract a husband. 

I chose to set my fic in Scotland, but again it’s not terribly authentic, as rather than Dukes and Earls there would have been Lairds and the various clans. However, society in Edinburgh may have been a little more like London - and - my fic, my AU! Also there is a lot written about Regency England, and not so much about Scotland unless you want to go delving into Sir Walter Scott’s novels - and maybe I will sometime soon.

As I’ve probably made all too obvious, most well born young women had no sex education at all, and may have relied on romantic novels (which were in their infancy, but they were available) and perhaps observing animals. They were kept in ignorance so that they would be innocent and unsullied on their wedding night. 

Word count 2638

A/N This chapter is a little suggestive rather than explicit. Basically the first part concerns the MC undressing whilst wondering what her wedding night will be like, and in the second part she asks a married friend all of her burning questions, and gets some frank answers. No under 18s please.

12a Underwear and Undercurrents

It was but a few minutes before Lizzie had gone upstairs with Morag, checked on her sister and retired to her room with a candle. She kicked off her slippers and went to her dressing table to unfasten and brush her hair. She had told Jane that she would undress herself that night, and reached to the back of her dress to fumble with the lacing. It was not easy, but it occurred to her that she should not be helpless, always depending on a maid to dress and undress her. 

She wondered what might happen when she was wed at last and alone on her first night with her husband. Surely the very first thing she might do was to undress. Would she do that in private, or would John be present? Would she undress herself, or would he assist her? Would she slip into bed in her nightgown or would other things happen? The thought sent her pulse racing as the laces loosened and she pushed her dress smoothly off to step out of it elegantly.

She hung her dress up carefully, wondering if on the night it would lay forgotten and discarded on the floor. She stood facing the looking glass in the dim candlelight in her chemise, corset, petticoat and stockings with a critical eye. If she were to undress herself, perhaps John would watch her, she thought with a thrill. Who should disrobe first? Would he take his clothes off himself, or would he ask her to assist? She knew little of the morning dressing routine of gentlemen or of what they did when retiring for the night, but John had a manservant - surely he assisted some of the time?

Perhaps she should practice for the instance of having no maid to assist her, and presume that John would be present and watching. Pushing down the flutter in her belly, she paid it her full attention. She should be graceful and poised – no stumbling or fumbling with strings, bows or buttons, no grimace at any mistake, major or minor. She should not appear too coquettish or unladylike. What should come next after her dress?

‘Stockings’ she whispered to herself. She pulled up her petticoat and ran her fingers along her legs to peel the first  elegantly down. Her breath hitched as she brushed her thighs and bit her lip in concentration. When both were removed, they were hung on the back of a chair, leaving her in her stays, chemise and petticoats, and again she contemplated what to do next.

‘Off with the stays’ she muttered. The one she wore that day was not the tight laced corset that underlay her best and finest gowns, but not as soft as one she might wear at home on a warm summers day. She would not have had a chance of getting out of her formal wear unaided, and she still had to contort herself a little to remove what she wore that night. There was no way she could do it elegantly without a great deal of practice, she thought, but perhaps John would aid her, should she need him to do so. That thought made her feel a little hot, and she took a deep breath.

She reached around awkwardly to unfasten the laces and sighed in relief as she was able to let it drop over her hips and step out of it. She still wore her loose chemise and petticoats. What next? That was easy, for she could not imagine standing before John without her petticoats. She elegantly removed and folded her chemise, putting it aside with her other garments. She stared at herself in the mirror, breasts bare, and could not help but blush. She shook her head. Why should she be ashamed of her body? She was sure John would appreciate her, whatever shape she had. After all, he had been married before and had assured her that his previous wife had enjoyed being intimate with him. She was not entirely sure whether to be grateful that he had experience, or to worry that she would not measure up to expectation, but she put that aside for now.

She took a deep breath and unfastened the drawstring on her petticoats, which fell easily to the floor, leaving her naked. She looked at herself in the mirror, turning round in the flickering light. She realised with a shock that she had never done so before. Her girlish straight lines were developing into the curves of a woman, and she felt as if she looked at a stranger. Her breasts were small and rounded, her waist slim with a little softness about her belly. She had coarse black hair at her mound, her buttocks were round and firm, her legs strong and slender, her ankles trim and her feet delicate. She frowned as she realised that she knew little of what would come next, and her imagination could not fill in the blanks beyond kissing and touching each other as they already had. She could barely picture what John’s appearance without clothes would be, beyond having seen bare chested labourers in the fields around the family farm. She was not even sure if what came next would occur in bed or out of it.

Sighing heavily, she bent to pick up and fold her petticoats, and went to the bed where her nightdress lay ready for her. She slipped the garment over her head and pushed her arms through the short puffed sleeves. The hem of the long cotton garment fell to her ankles, and she blew out the candle and threw back the bedcovers to climb in and draw them over her, certain that it would take some time to fall asleep. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling for a while, but before long she lay on her side, curling into a ball to imagine herself held safe in John’s arms, and fell deeply asleep in an instant.

------

The following day was warm and bright, and after breakfast she and John went out for a walk, accompanied by Tom and Dorothea, and Amelia tagged along. Before lunch they went back in to play cards and practice playing the piano, for more guests were to arrive the following day, and after that there was to be a ball to introduce her to the local nobility.

After they had taken their luncheon, Sir James, John and Tom declared they would go out shooting game. Dorothea drew Lizzie aside and proposed a walk alone with her. She agreed readily, and the two women set off outside, leaving Amelia and Lady Charlotte to keep Lady Margaret company. The afternoon was overcast but still warm, and Elizabeth wore a simple pale blue dress and matching bonnet, should the sun come out and threaten to redden her complexion.

‘My dear Lizzie, it comes to my mind that you have no older sisters’ Dorothea said ‘Do you have any married friends to hold confidence with?’

‘I fear I do not. My closest acquaintance has but recently acquired a beau. She will be here for the Ball and I look forward to seeing her. I’m sure you will like her.’ she replied as they strolled through the rose garden.

‘Perhaps I may, but I was thinking that I can be your confidante and answer any questions you might have about married life’ she smiled ‘I was lucky to have good advice to prepare me for my wedding night, but not all are so fortunate’ Elizabeth grew wide eyed.

‘That would be most welcome. Mother has told me little, and although John has revealed a few details to me, I would hear from one of my own sex as to some particulars. My previous fiancé did not so much as hold my hand before I discovered his unsuitability.’ The two women came to the little arbour where she had stopped to kiss John only a day or so ago, and they sat together, shielded from prying eyes and ears.

‘Please Lizzie, ask me anything, do not be shy. And Call me Dottie, if you will’ Elizabeth felt a rush of gratitude and tried to marshal the many questions that flooded her mind. She frowned in concentration.

‘Well Dottie, John says to me that there are ways of ensuring that we will not have children straight away, but it puzzles me. I dare not tell him that I know not what causes the bearing of children’ Dorothea nodded sagely.

‘It is so for many genteel ladies. We are prevented from being alone with men outside our family, and many mothers feel it indelicate to go into details.’ Dottie assured her. ‘The lower classes are much more informed than we, for they do not have estates to pass down to their heirs and bloodlines do not matter to them’

‘But lowborn and highborn alike, we all bear children. How does it come about?’ Dotty took Lizzie’s hands in her own and squeezed them gently.

‘Let me first say that you are fortunate, my dear. You have a treasure in John. He clearly loves you, and he is a considerate and honourable man. You may have seen young women of your acquaintance married off to older richer men’ She grimaced in distaste. ‘In some cases, a man cares only about his wife bearing him an heir and ignores her feelings and sensibilities’

‘Of course I know something of that.’ Elizabeth replied ‘I had a cousin who married a Lord some twenty years her senior. She bore him a fine boy, but a year later died in giving birth to a girl. It scares me to think of her passing so young.’

‘That is a danger, to be sure. I have been married a year now, and my mother constantly asks when I will come to be with child. We have tried, but so far have not been successful. I am not sure whether it is a blessing or not’

‘So you have tried? May I ask...’

‘Of course, I was coming to that. Lizzie, may I ask you something personal?’

‘Naturally, Dottie. I have asked you to be frank, so I must be also’

‘Do you – touch yourself when you are alone in your bedchamber?’

‘I – I am not sure what you mean.’ Lizzy felt herself grow hot with embarrassment.

‘Before you sleep, do you explore your body? Does thinking of John inspire you to…’

‘Oh – Mama said once that it was not seemly’ Lizzie mumbled awkwardly. Dotty sighed.

‘That is a shame. Lizzie, I charge you that if you want to be prepared for your wedding night, you should know more about yourself so that you may direct John. Some women discover things about themselves that are very useful when they marry.’

‘What should I do? I do not want to disappoint my husband’

‘Rest assured you cannot disappoint, but you can be more prepared, more aware of your sex.’ She patted her hand ‘How do you feel when John kisses you? You certainly seemed to enjoy it last night’

‘I – yes, it makes me feel – dizzy. I have told him how it makes me tingle’

‘Is there a place where you feel it the most?’

‘Yes’ she lowered her voice ‘between my legs, and there is warmth where I feel the ache on my monthly cycle’

‘That is good, Lizzie. The place where you bleed – your sex - is the place in to which John must place his seed in order for you to have a child’

‘Oh!’ she looked astonished ‘I had wondered, for those that bleed in the romances I have read are in turn relieved or devastated that it signals that they will not bear a child – but of course, it makes sense. But how does he plant that seed?’

‘You have seen pictures and sculptures of naked men, have you not?’

‘Of course, but I don’t see how…’

‘It would be improper to depict men in the state they achieve in order to plant their seed.’ Dorothea smiled ‘Though who decided that, I know not, and there are gentlemen who are rumoured to have art that depicts such things, and titillating depictions of unclothed ladies.’ She moved a little closer and lowered her voice, though they were quite private. ‘When a man desires a woman, and in other instances, his member becomes hard, and often it also grows larger. Then it is possible to enter or penetrate a woman’s sex and plant their seed’

‘That sounds – uncomfortable’ Elizabeth said dubiously, her head reeling at the thought.

‘That depends on your partner’ Dotty assured her ‘I am certain that John will make sure you enjoy it, for it can be the most sublime and heavenly experience. The first time can indeed be painful, but only for a short instance.’

‘Romantic novels would have us believe it is highly pleasurable. Is it really true?’

‘Not always, but very often if you have a considerate partner’ Dotty laughed. ‘What you can do to prepare yourself is to explore your sex when you are alone in your bedchamber. You can discover where you like to be touched, and how. Of course, it is somewhat different when your husband touches you, but it can be better if you direct him as to what pleases you.’ Elizabeth nodded, taking it all in. But still she had questions.

‘You mentioned seed – what is it?’ she asked, and this time it was Dottie’s turn to look uncomfortable. She considered her words carefully before she spoke.

‘His seed - is rather like milk or cream, thick and white, and shoots from his member at the climax of the act. There is a great deal of pleasure for him, after which he grows soft again. You will have a similar climax which they say is essential for bearing children, and necessary for your health. You say that John has inferred that you may delay having children. He most likely means that if he withdraws his member before he emits his seed, you may remain childless, as it will not reach your womb to bear fruit.’ She patted her hand ‘There are other things you may do that give you both pleasure without penetration and emission of seed, but I will leave you to discover that for yourself.’ Elizabeth frowned, almost overcome at the bombardment of information, but relieved that she knew more of what was to come upon her marriage to John.

‘This may sound silly – but what is special about marriage that facilitates the creation of a child?’ Dotty laughed.

‘Nothing at all my dear, one does not have to be married to have a child. That is but a ceremony. It is a piece of paper, a contract made between you and your husband and sanctified by the Church and by law. Without that, any two people of any rank in society may have physical relations in this way.’ Elizabeth drew a deep breath.

‘You have opened my eyes, Dotty. I am so grateful to you for telling me what I need to know. Why it is all kept so secret I cannot fathom’ Her friend patted her hand.

‘You must show no sign of knowing these things, save to your fiancé. In turn you may instruct your sister before she is wed – but only if you are certain of her affections. It would not do to have such knowledge without a serious and certain offer of marriage. Now Lizzie, unless you have more questions, perhaps we should continue with our walk’

‘I have much to think about indeed, and I think that is enough for now’ Elizabeth rose, and they continued their walk, speaking easily of trivial things before returning to the house to prepare for dinner.

@sirbeepsalot​ @camillemontespan​​ @dcbbw​ @rainbowsinthestorm​ @katedrakeohd​ @trappedinfandoms​ @kingliam2019​ @nomadics-stuff​ @texaskitten30​ @princess-geek​ @texaskitten30 @fluffyfirewhiskey

#period drama #regency drama #Elizabeth Dalgliesh #elizabeth and john #Captain John Lykel #period drama au #perioddrama

[munimuni-muna]

Victorian Series: Prologue

This is the prologue to a collection of reader inserts of all the Jojos as siblings in one big Victorian family, all fathered by Jonathan’s father in Phantom Blood.

Premise: Mr. Joestar's eight children are acting quite out of character. Unbeknownst to him are the love troubles each Jojo was experiencing

Warnings: A very worried and confused father

Photo from looper.com

It is a truth universally acknowldged that all of Mr. Joestar's children doesn't quite fit in too much with the Victorian crowd. And as a father of 8, he has learned to accept that fact. He was used to judging stares (both agreeable and distasteful ones, depending on which child they were looking at really). But he loved his children dearly, more than what societal standards might say. They're all very good people in their own way;

First there is his kind, and admittedly quite clumsy, Jonathan who is always first at the dining table. Most times he failed to wait for his other siblings to come. The behemoth is always quite hungry! Goodness knows which side of the family he got that from.

Second is his very cheeky rule breaker, Joseph. His actions are more questionable to him than most of his other children. He found it hard to lecture Joseph. This boy only seemed to listen to his fisticuff trainer, Lisa Lisa. And how many times did he tell Joseph not to fight in the underground arenas in town? He couldn't count anymore.

Third, (Mr. Joestar had to heave a sigh) his utterly rude but well-meaning Jotaro. This boy was born in a ship while he travelled with his beloved wife. And the name was kindly suggested by his Japanese crewmate and friend. He said it was supposed to signify a person with a pure heart, depending on how it is written in the complex characters of the Japanese. But, my oh my, how Mr. Joestar wished he'd lower his voice sometimes especially towards his siblings.

Fourth is his bubbly and spirited Josuke (his wife became quite fond of Japanese for a time). This boy is his ultimate mediator, together with the occassional Giorno who may or may not mediate, helping resolve sibling fights. He'd do anything to help his loved ones just don't mention his peculiar hairdo. Even he has to keep quiet about his opinions of it.

Fifth is his ambitious and enigmatic Giorno. He seemed to be doing really fine in law school. The boy has a dream, a political one. And it excited Mr. Joestar to see it unfold. Hopefully, the Lord could spare him a life a little longer than his beloved just to see not only Giorno, but all his children succeed.

Sixth is his only flower, Jolyne. Blast! How in the world did Joseph manage to pull Jolyne into the fisticuff world?! But if he thought about it, his daughter never really was the embroidery or baking type. She always rode horses with Johnny or play chess with him when he had time. Still, this girl never failed to greet him everytime he came home tired.

Seventh is the Joestar's resident jockey, Johnny. It seems that he's been doing well and is able to ride horses again after meeting their new Italian neighboor, Gyro Zeppeli. Mr. Joestar's happiness at the sight of him riding again instead of brooding gave the father in him joy. He always tried to please the boy before to no avail. He only had Gyro to thank.

Last is his quiet and curious Gappy. This boy disliked public gatherings, even intimate ones! And that he shared with Jotaro. Gappy's lack in social skills he poured in his passion, taxidermy. Entering his room is always a marvel to Mr. Joestar. It was full of cabinets lined with animals he neatly worked on. And he thought it uncannily awesome!

But as of the moment, Mr. Joestar found himself in a predicament. All his children aren't acting like they used to.

As the usual first person sitting down for breakfast, the most uncanny sight befell him; Gappy, who always arrived late for any arrangement, was the earliest, even before him nor Jonathan at that! Where was Jonathan? And what was the occassion?

"Ah, what is this peculiar sight?" Mr. Joestar noted as he sat down.

"Father." Gappy offered him a tight smile before focusing his gaze on his lap again. His usual bright purple eyes was splashed with what could Mr. Joestar assume to be loneliness.

"Is everything okay?" A worried father had to ask.

"Yes." Gappy answered with a heavy sigh.

What a very convincing answer. Mr. Joestar thought. Before he can inquire more upon the subject, Joseph stomped his way towards the dining table, pulled a chair, and slammed his bottom on it to join this very happy morning they currently have. He rested his elbow on the table while his cheek pressed to his palm. Mr. Joestar would scold him for his rude behavior if not for the unusual visible frustration on his visage.

"It's rare to see a pout on your face, Joseph. What's the matter?" He asked.

Fortunately for Mr. Joestar, Joseph was chatty enough. "Bloody hell!" Joseph began, and Mr. Joestar had to stop himself from spitting his morning tea. "How the hell should I have known she liked daisies more than roses?!" Joseph yapped.

"D-daisies?" Mr. Joestar was at a loss. And to his dismay, Joseph went back to sulking which didn't really help him understand what was happening.

Mr. Joestar was still in the process of understanding his two sons when another arrived;

"Good morning." Jotaro greeted as he sat down. Even Gappy and Joseph were surprised upon hearing this. Jotaro never greets anyone. That is just a fact they've all silently agreed upon. "Jonathan's not eating today. He told me to tell you."

Wait…not….Jonathan is not eating? What in God's holy name is happening to his sons?! Yes, part of him is glad that Jotaro decided to finally be polite for once. But he's not even done processing his other sons' situations yet!

"What's for breakfast?" Johnny, who just got out of his downstairs room, joined the party with a wide smile spread across his face.

Mr. Joestar gaped at the sight of his lanky blonde son actually sitting with them for breakfast. Usually, Johnny would be in a hurry to go riding with Gyro!

Mr. Joestar sat there wondering if these were really his sons. Perhaps he was still dreaming? Maybe the Lord Almighty answered some of his prayers that his sons be polite for once? Well, he couldn't say so with Joseph, but still. Oh if only his wife was still with them. What would she do?

The head of the family wasn't spared still when he saw his only girl walking down the stairs. "Jo-Jolyne?" He was wide-eyed in utter surprise. His flower was wearing a dress, a contrast to her usual boyish trousers and blouse.

"You look okay." Jotaro complimented. Mr. Joestar had to clean his ears. Did Jotaro really just say that?

"Thanks." Jolyne mumbled, face coloring a little at the sudden remark from the most unexpected person. "I didn't want to wear it." She said, crossing her arms over her chest after sitting down with them. "My valet insisted." Her face colored more at the mention of her valet.

Following Jolyne was a disheveled Josuke, wearing the same trousers from yesterday, his crumpled undershirt half tucked under it. And most shockingly, his hair was undone!

"Apple Charlotte anyone?" A familar voice asked. And when Mr. Joestar found the owner of the voice, he was greeted with the sight of Giorno. He wore a white apron, Apple Charlottes carried by hands clothed with mittens. Did Giorno…bake?! Since when does he bake?

And Josuke too. Where is his usual crisp clothing? Of all his sons, Josuke was the only one who didn't need a valet. Just what was happening?!

Mr. Joestar closed his eyes, massaging his forehead in a circular motion. The Apple Charlottes smelled divine, but his mind was somewhere else. This was it for Mr. Joestar. His mind couldn't fathom whatever phantom turned his children into this. He pondered on their change in routines; What happened in the past few months before this? He paused for thought.

Jonathan frequented the Viscount's home recently. He always brought gifts to that specific household after the summer gathering. Who was he visiting there?

And Joseph? He still trained under Lisa Lisa but is somehow more enthusiastic than ever when he's up for training. And he always complained that training was hard, but recently all Mr. Joestar hears from his son was how exciting it was. What was altered in their training module? Maybe he could ask Lisa Lisa about it?

Jotaro had two recent voyages on the same ship, The Arbella, to collect some samples of marine life for his studies. And he's about to set out on another on the very same. What sets this ship apart from the others, he wonders. He knew Jotaro had the affinity for golden pins, so maybe he has a budding interest in ships?

Josuke visited London a lot recently. And when Mr. Joestar asks about it, the boy would only give a vague answer. What worried him was his exploits and the people he surrounded himself with. At least Joseph was being blunt about his excursions. He just hoped Josuke was not in any kind of danger.

Giorno came home for a break, and he only reads books for a time. But where did the baking come from? When he thought hard enough, he remembered Giorno being quite happier than usual when his break started which was odd. For he was against taking a break from law school, wanting to be done with it as soon as possible. What triggered the change then?

Jolyne recently changed valets. None of her valets ever last long because of her excursions with Joseph. But that goes the same for the latter which is why Mr. Joestar gave up giving the brute a valet at all. But Jolyne was a woman, and a woman had to look her very best when attending social functions. But maybe her current valet is doing well then?

Johnny started hanging out with Gyro which brought about good change. But why have breakfast with them all of a sudden when he was always excited to meet his best friend?

Gappy always hung out with his childhood best friend, and they did taxidermy together. Nothing really changed. As far as he knew, Gappy's friend was now out on the marriage market. So is that it then?

Mr. Joestar had a lot to think about.

That's it for the prologue! Hope you enjoyed it.

Some notes:

I know it's very Regency, but I just had to make a Jane Austen reference for that first paragraph.😋

Taxidermy is a very normal hobby in Victorian England.

Valets are people who help their lord/lady dress themselves and accompanies them to events.

Fisticuffs = Boxing

And in case you're wondering, Apple Charlotte looks like this:

Picture from bbc.co.uk

Jonathan’s story is right here>>>> https://munimuni-muna.tumblr.com/post/635990891462606848/victorian-series-part-i-the-viscounts-daughter

#writing #jjba #jojo #jonathan joestar #joseph joestar #mr. joestar #jotaro kujo #josuke higashikata #giorno giovanna #jolyne kujo #johnny joestar #gappy jojo #wholesome #Victorian Series

[the-dust-jacket]

"This is not the story you think it is," says the blurb, which is but also is not true.

To be perfectly candid, I almost didn't make it past chapter three.  I have checked off the plot points of A Study In Scarlet in enough Holmes re-imaginings to suck most of the charm from the requisite introductions and clever nods to characters. 

I kept coming back to The Angel of the Crows, though, first rather grudgingly and then with the sort of  compulsiveness that leads to rushing through your morning routine or brushing off coworkers so you can read in peace on the train. It turned out to be just what I needed in a high-stress and exhausting week: escapist, action-packed but soothing, with enjoyable characters and a strong voice. It was just what I needed; I'm still trying to figure out if it's good. In Addison's alternate British Empire, one of angels and airships, werewolves and vampires, and the arcane rules that govern interactions between them, Dr. Doyle of Her Majesty's army reluctantly returns to London with wounds physical, psychological, and supernatural. Doyle falls in with Crow, self-proclaimed Angel of London and compulsive follower of London crime.  Both characters have secrets, foreshadowed early enough that I wouldn't call them plot twists, exactly, but I will avoid specifics and preserve the joy of discovery. Both characters have an insatiable curiosity sure to lead them into adventure. After starting off slowly with the Study in Scarlet story line, the book picks up with a rapid tour not only of the Holmes canon but also through various historical mysteries. Most prominent of these is Jack the Ripper, nearly as saturated in pop culture as Sherlock Holmes and not a choice I was thrilled with, but Addison does bring a few interesting grace notes to the arc. The Holmes mysteries appear as everything from faithful re-tellings to fantasy re-imaginings to mere jumping off points. The episodes overlap and intertwine enough to give the whole volume an organic and cohesive feel, rather than feelings like short stories strung together. Some characters, like Inspector Lestrade, arrive more or less unaltered by their strange new circumstances. Others, like Moriarty, appear in an entirely new light. All of this brings us to the inevitable questions of any Sherlockian pastiche: why? What does the author want to accomplish with this cross-century dialogue? What does the reader gain from it? A brief author's note in the back of the book explains that The Angel of the Crows originally began as Sherlock wingfic, which the Internet-savvy will have spotted pretty quickly.  (We interrupt this program for an important message: Dear Katherine Addison, please tell me your AO3 handle, I WANT TO READ YOUR FIC.) The Sherlock influences are largely vestigial, and I don't want to prejudice anyone with a Benedict Cumberbatch aversion against the book.  The more interesting question is, when any Sherlock Holmes story is fan fiction by the loosest definition, when does a fic become a novel? And which one is this? The Angel of the Crows has the fan fic quality of rushing through familiar plot points to get to the more interesting points of divergence. Very little emphasis is placed on the quintessential Sherlock Holmes unraveling of clues, to the point that I would categorize the book more as adventure than mystery. None of this is necessarily a bad thing, since there's not a lot of of fun in watching characters toil over a whodunit when you already know the answer (or there can be, but this isn't that sort of book). But it certainly detracts from the book's ability to stand on its own as original fiction. The world is a very fun one to explore, but then foggy alternate London, unsettling angels, oaths and names, family curses, and rival vampire hunts existing in an uneasy truce with their human counterparts all sit neatly in a box labelled "My Favorite Things," so I was always going to fall for this one. We don't see much of its mechanics at work, but it has the lived-in feeling of a good fantasy world. The book's strongest point, in my opinion, should come as no surprise to either fans of Addison's complex, deeply immersive The Goblin Emperor, or avid readers of high quality fan fic. Doyle's narrative voice, brusque, embittered, but ironically funny, and thoroughly Victorian in this not-quite-our-Victorian way, is what pulled me through those first three chapters and beyond. It's intimate and inviting, and fills in the cracks sometimes left by plot and world-building. Doyle is almost Watson, but is not, and Crow is neither Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes or Gatiss and Moffat's, but a creature with a different voice entirely. A bit under-baked, compared to Doyle, but intriguing. I enjoyed spending time with them. I would do it again. Which is, really, one of the fundamental draws of fan fiction: we want to spend time with characters we love, or characters who deserved better than they got at the merciless hands of their creators. As a fan fic, The Angel of the Crows is very good. It's creative, clever, and erudite, thoroughly researched, and a nice mix of original and tropey. As a novel, it has real flaws, but it’s a fun and compelling read for someone with a Holmes hankering or who really needs a world they can sink into and a story with the right combination of strangeness and familiarity. I respect the Conan Doyle homage, but the book does not have much to say about its own antecedents. It introduces a world I would love to see expand beyond the limitations of the Sherlock Holmes canon. It was just what I needed for a rough week, which, looking back, might have been a good book or might have been a really great fan fic. As they say in fandom, Your Mileage May Vary.

#The Angel of the Crows #Katherine Addison #book review

[wicked-game-black-butler]

Sometimes my asks are weird and they don’t send for some reason so I’ll send mine again if you don’t mind just to be safe😊 CONGRATS ON 300💕💕 can I suggest some detailed nsfw headcannons for Sebastian/Meyrin in both cannon and modern au? Thank you so much! And again well done of 300 followers! You deserve it!💕

It’s all good. I know sometimes my dumblr glitches in funny ways, too. So thank you for submitting this second ask. It actually worked out for how I answered, lol. And thank you for your support! I appreciate it so much! I hope you enjoy! <3

So, for the modern AU headcanons:

Mey-Rin owns a small studio where she mainly teaches self-defense, but will also help coach local wrestling teams as well. Though it’s a modest establishment, she has made a name for herself in her community and surrounding area and is often the first one people come to for speaking and performing demonstrations at events on the topic. This is how she came to meet Sebastian. She had given a demonstration at a local university when the tall, handsome man approached her. Sebastian works as part of the security detail for a prominent local politician and millionaire, Vincent Phantomhive, and acts as bodyguard to Vincent’s son, Ciel. Given that Ciel was a year away from graduating high school, Vincent wanted his son to be taught self-defense so he could protect himself if need be, given the young man’s slender build and quiet nature makes him a fairly easy target. He would have had one of his own staff see to the training, but given that most of his security detail included men like Wolfram and Baldroy, he wanted someone to teach his son who had a similarly sized build. Sebastian was the closest one who could fit that requirement, but given Ciel still stood a good foot shorter than the man, he was ruled out as well. And for Vincent Phantomhive only the best would do. So he sent Sebastian to make Mey-Rin an offer to become Ciel’s private instructor for his Senior year. She was hesitant at first, afraid to leave her business for that long, but she ultimately decided to accept, the paycheck too tempting, and left her business in the capable hands of her friend, Agni.

Living at the Phantomhive estate took quite a bit of adjusting for Mey-Rin. She has only ever seen houses this huge in movies. Her bathroom alone was almost as big as the entirety of her studio apartment. And the shifts took some getting used to as well. Any of the household staff that wasn’t part of the estate’s security was to stay out of sight, using the servant hallways and stairs in the restored Victorian mansion. She knew from the tour of the mansion Sebastian had given her that there were fifty members of staff who worked on the grounds, including security, but due to their different shifts, the only ones Mey-Rin interacted with on a regular basis was Sebastian, Bard (because he was the head of security), Wolfram (because he was Mr. Phantomhive’s personal bodyguard who had a habit for frequenting the kitchen), and Lau (he was the household chef and Sebastian said Lau was the true eyes and ears of the mansion). So her first few weeks felt rather lonely, given she was used to being surrounded by a sea of people whether she was teaching a class or walking down to the grocery. But in time, she grew used to the quiet, finding comfort in her self-made routine, and finally settled into her new, temporary life. 

Mey-Rin had been taken with Sebastian since he had approached her in the crowded school auditorium. He was hot, like, mouthwateringly hot. And when she had gone home that night, she had wished for the first time in a while that she had more female friends whom she could talk to. Her closest girl friends were Nina, who hadn’t the slightest interest in men, or Grelle, though she didn’t know if she had the energy to field the other redhead’s barrage of questions that would follow and discussion of the bodyguard. But she did her best to reign in her desire. This was a professional arrangement and she should strive to keep it as such, no matter how damn sexy Sebastian looked while he worked out-shirtless- in the mornings before starting his shift. She would just have to keep any wandering thoughts to herself and her fantasies. After all, she only had to stick it out for a year. It had been longer than that since she had seriously dated anyone, so surely she could accomplish not shagging the bodyguard of one of the most influential families of the region. Right? 

Sebastian’s interest in Mey-Rin took longer to develop. Sure, he thought she was attractive. She had a nice rack, too. But his job allowed him to come in contact with a number of attractive women (and men) and their interactions had never ventured beyond the professional. His training had prepared him for such self-denial. His employer’s safety would always supersede his desires. However, the more time he spent around the trainer, talking with her, watching her while she trained Ciel, the more he found that conviction wavering. Especially after the time when he came into the gym they had on the grounds to find her stretching after her morning workout. The image of her flushed cheeks, stray hairs clinging to her sweaty face, the way the visible swell of her breasts glistened with sweat, and her leggings hugged her shapely legs and ass as she easily bent herself in half one he visited often in his fantasies when he had the rare spare moment to masturbate. Her name was soon the one that would fall from his lips as, with a last, well timed stroke he would come, his release splattering the shower wall. 

Their first time was a result of a sparring workout. Mey-Rin had asked Sebastian if he would spar with her so her fighting skills wouldn’t become rusty. Things had been going well until during one session, he pinned her to the ground, quickly growing hard as she struggled against his iron grip. Mey-Rin stopped as soon as she knew what was happening and stared up at him breathlessly, waiting for what he would do. Though, given how wet she was becoming simply by having his erection pressing against her, she knew what she wanted him to do. Sebastian had the same thoughts going through his mind until he finally mustered a “Do you want to?” which was answered by a hurried “Yes”. At that, he drug her into the gym shower, turning the water up full blast in an attempt to drown out the sounds they would be making. Less than a minute later, they were both naked, Mey-Rin pressed up against the wall, legs wrapped around Sebastian’s waist, while he was already balls deep inside her. She was dizzy, the air thick and heavy. It was hard to breathe. Though whether it was from the steam that had filled the tiled room or how he stole her breath as every thrust hit her g-spot, she wasn’t sure. It was quick, messy, and was only a temporary sating of their lust at best. But when their eyes met after Sebasitan pulled out just in time to release on her stomach, they both knew this was only the beginning.

Sebastian soon finds he enjoys taking her against things-the wall, the kitchen counter, the back of the manor, anywhere. He loves how she is completely at his mercy in those moments, reliant on his strength alone. He is also a total dom when they have the rare moment to take their activities to the bedroom. His life is mainly dictated by the whims and needs of his employers, so he has no qualms with being a bit controlling when it comes to sex. Nothing against the trainer’s will, but he gets off on the times when he’s permitted to tie her to the bed, blindfolded, completely at his mercy whilst he does what he desires to her body. He also enjoys worshiping her body and exploring all of it with his tongue. He was pleasantly surprised to find that she enjoys anal stimulation, including rimming, and often employs it when he’s eating her out.

Given both of their professions rely heavily on self control, this follows them into the bedroom. Both of them enjoy orgasm control and denial, watching their partner as they struggle to remain in control while they get pushed to the edge over and over is almost as rewarding as their final release. But out of the two, Mey-Rin enjoys it the most. She enjoys toys as well, and has left Sebastian with a vibrating butt plug inserted inside him on more than one occasion, with the promise that if he makes it to the end of the day without coming, she will let him do whatever he wants to do with her, even if she would normally object. Conversely, if he doesn’t make it all day, he can only pleasure her that night. To Sebastian’s frustration, he’s not won once. She also enjoys pain play as well, though, because her job has given her a rather high pain tolerance, it takes more extreme forms of BDSM to properly stimulate her, paddles and nipple clamps often being used, though Sebastian is more than happy to oblige. Though Mey-Rin hasn’t been the only one to benefit from her vast toy collection. Sebastian groaned with need when she showed him the strap on she owned and practically begged her to peg him. Because, while he’s cool and collected and typically the dom, he is the most submissive bottom when he allows Mey-Rin to top him.

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #sebastian michaelis #mey rin #sebastian/mey rin #modern au

[nonsensical-pendulum]

Snippet from Petrichor, narrated by Corvus

taglist (reply/ask if you want to be added or removed!):  @ri-is-writing​ @sybil-writes​ @walp-gisnep​ @merrydotexe​ @luciatraskwrites​ @dreamlande​ @cay-writes

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Transcript below cut

Holtye, January 16, 1942, 6:30 AM

English Weaver Containment Facility (EWCF)

I pull Grey closer towards me, keeping my hands on his shoulders as the door scrapes open.

As it does, I recognise the Irishman. It’s the one from six years ago.

I glare at him as he steps in, followed by another Commar ‘doctor’. This time, he’s got on a Victorian-looking doctor’s coat, instead of a modern one like the Commar behind him, with the Commar pin on. Otherwise, he looks exactly the same, save for a faint scar down his cheek.

I hope it hurt like hell when he got it.

Behind the two doctors are three soldiers.

He smiles thinly and sharply at us.

“Good morning. I am going to require that the three of you come with me.”

Wave steps forward a little on my left. “And what for, may I ask?”

He nods. “You may certainly. I am taking the three of you for a simple medical examination, in addition to a few tests. Oh,” he adds, catching our expressions, “nothing too serious. Routine, you understand. That, and a few observations on bonds in capture and all that. Psychological things I don’t expect you to understand. Follow me, please.”

Wave and I look at each other, but comply with the doctor’s orders and follow him. The Commar follows behind us, snapping handcuffs on our wrists just before we leave our cell.

He leads us down a few hallways and past other cells, until we come to a door. I’ve never been out of the cell block, and I don’t think the other two have, either, without being drugged or sedated in some way, because they don’t like us knowing where we are.

Suddenly, the Irishman flings the door open, and I recoil at the sudden bright light.

“Apologies,” I hear the Irish voice say. “I expect you’ve not seen the sun for quite some time.” He laughs shortly. “The one day we need to bring you out of doors is the one day England decides to have decent weather.”

I straighten up, squinting at the outside. I can see now, and I can make out a cobble-stoned paved yard-looking thing, with an imposing iron gate at the end, at least three metres tall.

“Come along, please. There is a car waiting.”

The Irishman pulls me by the sleeve of my jacket, yanking me outside.

Grey stumbles behind me, and I hear Wave grumble.

“Get the hell away from me, you bast-”

“Grey is only eight, Wave!” I call over my shoulder.

“You qualify as a female dog, then, Corvus, and this dirty Commar shoving me is an illegitimate son.”

“What’s she mean?” Grey pipes up.

The Irishman laughs. “You’ll find out someday.”

Two imposing-looking Commars step up in front of the gate. The Irishman simply stands there, before the guards step aside, after one of them pushes open the heavy-looking iron with a grating, harsh sound that makes me cringe.

Internally, of course. I don’t need them thinking I’m weak.

Weaker than I already look.

“After me, if you please.”

“And what if I don’t please, you leprechaun?” Wave snarks.

The Irishman sighs melodramatically. “I was employing basic courtesy. Perhaps you ought to try it some time.”

Grey snickers, but I hear a muffled noise shortly thereafter, and a satisfied noise from Wave.

She probably stepped on his heel. I guess that got her real miffed, I add to myself with a smirk.

We follow him in sullen silence, until we’re through the gate, and I hear it slam shut with a sickening, scraping thud.

He directs us to a black car with blackened windows.

One of the soldiers comes around to open the drivers-side door, getting in the car. The Irishman gets in the passenger side, followed by the other doctor, and the remaining soldiers open the back seat door for us, shoving us in roughly.

“Lemme go, you damn-” 

A rough hand slaps me across the face.

“Watch it, girlie,” the soldier growls.

I lunge to try and bite his hand, but the door is slammed in my face and I fall back onto Wave.

She shoves me upright with a harsh movement of her shoulders.

“Not my fault-”

“You didn’t have to retaliate, bird,” she growls at me. “We know you don’t like it.”

I huff at her, turning around to face the back of the seat in front of me, the Irishman’s seat. I glare at it, leaning forward a bit so I don’t chafe my wrists too badly.

The Irishman turns around, a sharp smile on his lips.

“May I ask a few simple questions of you?”

“You will even if I say ‘no’, so go right ahead,” Wave says with a heavy sigh.

“You are certainly correct there, Wave.” The Irish doctor says. “Firstly, your ages, or an approximation of them?”

“I’m twenty-three,” Wave says blandly.

“Eight!” Grey pipes.

“Eighteen,” I mutter.

The Irishman writes something down on a notepad that he pulls from his pocket. “Good. Now, can I ask what you intended to do with your lives before your capture?”

“I- What?” Wave tilts her head curiously at him, and I sit up. “Bit unorthodox question.”

He shrugs. “Well, this whole examination is a trifle unorthodox, I think you’ll find. I rather find your psychology fascinating, and, as a result, this examination contains little physical aspect.”

The other doctor snorts.

“Everything you do is unorthodox. I can hardly wait to see what happens to these three.” His voice is sharp and clipped, with a semi-thick German accent.

The Irishman shakes his head, smirking. “It shall be very interesting, I think.” He looks back up at us. “Now, answers? Starting with you, my dear, if you don’t mind.”

He nods at Wave, who glowers at him before answering slowly.

“Well… I had planned on becoming a teacher. I’ve actually tried out a few game concepts with these two. Add-a-sentence stories, mainly.”

“Yeah!” Grey cheers. “They’re awful fun.”

She shoots him a look. “And I’ve taught them a little Latin. That’s where her,” she nods at me, “nickname came from, since she’s a crow.”

“And I’m Griseo, and she’s Fluctus in Latin!” Grey again adds.

“...You see. That’s it, really.”

“Mm-hm. And you, Grey, what did- do you want to do when you grow up?”

I wince a little, my eyes widening at his slip.

He doesn’t think that Grey is going to grow up. He was about to say ‘what did you want to do if you grew up?’

Grey grins, showing the gap where his tooth was pulled. “Well, I don’t know! But dinosaurs are really swell! Isn’t there a job where you dig up bones and discover new species?”

The Irishman smiles. “Indeed there is. You would be a paleontologist.”

“Yeah, that!” He bounces up, then wincing as he lands with his hands pressed against his back. “Pale-ee-in-tall-oh-jist!”

“Mm. And lastly, you, Corvus?”

I sneer at him. “Gee, I dunno. Why? Because I have no bloody memory, mate! So you tell me. Did I say something to you before you knocked me out? Huh? You effing tell me!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Well. I apologise for briefly forgetting your circumstances, however, you must have some inkling of something that intrigues you.”

I glare at him. “Punching you in the face, yeah.”

The other doctor snorts. “Got a fiesty one,” he mutters.

“Aside from harming myself,” Irish says with a forced smile.

“Literally no idea. I don’t know what you expected from someone whose earliest memory is from six years ago and it’s of being shoved into a cell.”

He scribbles something down. “Message received, Corvus. And, unless I’m very much mistaken, we’re here!”

He turns around, and I look out the window for the first time.

We’re pulled up in front of an imposing-looking building, with soldiers guarding the doors.

The other doctor opens my door, roughly pulling me out.

Wave follows after me, and the Irishman pulls Grey out.

“March,” a soldier growls at us.

Wave mutters something I don’t quite catch.

I keep my gaze on the ground, focusing on memorising turns and hallways once we’re in the building.

“Ó Rodagh,” the other doctor says, looking us all over with a raised eyebrow, “which ones do you wish?”

The Irish bloke, Ó Rodagh, looks the three of us over. “I’ll take Corvus and Grey. M10455 and D12695, respectively.”

The other nods, turning to Wave and grabbing her tightly by the upper arm. “With me, Wave,” he sneers.

“And you two follow me,” Ó Rodagh says, a touch more cheerfully. 

Grey walks next to me, looking around at everything. I again focus on my steps, memorising the turns and corridors.

“In here, if you please, or,” he adds with a hint of sarcasm, “if you don’t.”

I glare at him as I walk into the room.

It's a fairly stark examining room, with a desk covered in stacks of papers, a filing cabinet, a chair, and an examination table.

Ó Rodagh sits in the chair, after turning it around to face us. He’s got a clipboard and pencil.

“If you would both hop up on the table, please.”

Grey and I comply, Grey far more eagerly than me.

Once we’re sitting next to each other, the doctor looks up at us.

“Now, questions. Do you ever discuss what it was like for you before you were captured, or what you would- you might do if you got out?”

My eyes widen at his second slip.

He doesn’t think we’ll ever be free.

“I don’t, really, mainly because they,” he nods his head at me, “don’t,” Grey chirps. “But I remember my Ma and Da real well!”

“And I have no-”

“No idea, yes,” he cuts me off.

“And if I got out… I’d like to find my aunt! She lives near where we did!”

The doctor nods, writing something down. “And Corvus?”

I shrug. “Dunno. Hide my tattoo, for sure. Try to get a job. Find someplace to hole up.”

“No… long-term plans?”

I stare at him. 

“No. What th’ hell would I plan for? I just don’t wanna be here, mate! I don’t want to die in some twisted experiments!” I shudder. “Like the- What’s he called… The Grim Reaper of Magic. He is twisted as hell, and I don’t want to run into him.”

Grey shivers when I say his name, and I don’t blame the kid.

“I don’t like him,” he pouts. “Wave said she saw one of his… die- die-sekt-chuns once. She didn’t say hardly anything, only that they were ‘peeled open’.”

I lean forward, my hands over Grey’s ears, ignoring as he squirms. 

“She told me the rest,” suddenly feeling how urgent it is to impress on the leprechaun how much we need to stay away from the Reaper. “Said that the veins were all blackened and protruding from chemicals or something, and that the skin that wasn’t pulled away and pinned to the table had obsidian burns all over it. And the ribs were all sticking up... and... looked like they were rotting, I guess. And that the eyes were bleeding.” I lean back, taking my hands away from Grey’s head, and he sticks his tongue out at me. “Whatever you do, keep us the hell away from him.”

I glare at him furiously. He only has a sharp, cold smile on his face.

“Tell me… Did your Wave ever say he saw  him?”

“No. Or if she did, she didn’t say.”

Grey huffs, crossing his arms.

“Wish we knew what t’ look for,” he mumbles.

“You know…” the doc starts, “I believe I recall that particular experiment… Ordered by Brigadier Lykke, you know. He was there… And it got quite worse. We were trying a new acid. Melted away the bones.” He smirks. “The residue was hell to clean up afterwards.”

His smile unnerves me, and his brogue sounds almost sing-songy, like he’s relishing the memory.

“Jesus,” I growl. “Is being twisted a job requirement for you lot?”

“No… Just for myself. Public image, don’t you know.”

“God, you sound as bad as… Oh my God.”

The realisation hits like an anvil.

The doc sits there, grinning sharply, watching me.

He’s the bloody effing Reaper.

“Corvus, what’s wrong?”

The kid hasn’t figured it out yet.

“My dear child… And what if I told you that I  was the, ah- Grim Reaper of Magic?”

He positively leers at us, and I feel the blood drain from my face as he stands.

“Now, Grey. Won’t you come with me?”

Grey shrieks and whimpers, clinging desperately to me.

I wrap my arms around him tight, but I’m too weak to hold on when the doc calls in guards.

They prise Grey off me, and drag him, screaming, from the room.

“CORVUS! CORVUS DON’T LET THEM!”

His cries fade.

“Hm. Good lungs, I see.”

“Let him go, you bastard!”

The leprechaun just laughs, before vanishing down the hall, the door clicking shut behind him.

I jump up, immediately swinging my wrists against the corner of the table.

If I can shatter these, and get out before he comes back…

I swing my wrists again and again, finally shattering the obsidian cuff on my left wrist. My skin is burned, scarred, and red.

I grimace, and am about to start on the other one when a low rumble shakes the building.

#body horror #body horror cw #death mention #implied torture #medical cw #writeblr #writblr #amwriting #petrichor #grey decided it would be fun to have nicknames like lupus #hence the nicknames #dorian is Not A Fun Guy #fairly certain grey doesn't die #lmk if this should be tagged for anything else #c: corvus #c: dorian #c: grey #c: wave #c: tristan

[jawsandbones]

The Evening Red - Chapter Three

Rating: E

Summary: The blighted plague at your feet, and ghosts at your bedside. Those things that go bump in the night? They follow behind you. If only you had someone to protect you. A late-Victorian era re-imagining of Dragon Age Origins.

Pairing: Zevran x Female Warden

AO3 Link: Click Here

Chapter Three: Contention

Her eyes are slow to open. She frowns as she buries her face deeper into the pillow, her fist wrapped in the blanket. The window above her bed is unkind to sleeping, but it’s a far better alternative to the stale air of her flat. Noya rolls over, a hand flat over her chest, and looks up through the curtains to the blue sky outside. The breeze moves it this way and that, the sunlight playing on the blankets. The floorboards creak underneath her steps, and she can hear her neighbors above also moving around their flat. She kneels on the bed to pull back the curtains, and attempts to close the window once again.

She pays the price for having it open, the sagging frame unwilling to accept it back. As early as it is, the streets have already begun to fill. There’s the cacophony of horses and taxis, conversations overlapping and overpowering one another. The factories will be in full swing soon enough, and smoke has already begun to billow from the stacks. With a painful retch, the window finally closes in place. A flick of her finger is all it takes for the latch to swing over, lock in place. Save for the stack of books beside the bed, there isn’t much to suggest someone lives here.

It’s sterile, as clean as it possibly can be, and almost wholly empty. One of the cheapest places she could find in Denerim, and a single room was all she needed. A bed in the corner, a table in the middle for everything else. The kitchen is small but functional, and the same could be said for the rest of it. She fills up the kettle with water, lights one of the burners of the stove as she begins to change. The nightgown falls around her feet as she goes to the closet. She finds something simple, a blouse and a skirt, and that’s good enough.

She pulls the kettle from the stove when it begins to whistle, in time to hear the knock at the door. “Good morning,” he says, when she opens the door. Noya steps aside as Alistair enters, a basket under his arms. He throws his cap onto the table as he settles at one of the chairs. She pulls a few eggs from the basket and gets to work. It’s become routine, more or less, for them to have breakfast together every morning. Particularly once his stove stopped working. The landlord said he’d fix it – but then, that’s what landlords always say before they increase your rent.  

“Did you sleep well?” he asks as she puts a plate in front of him, one at the other side.

“Zevran didn’t visit me last night. If he did, I would tell you,” she says, cutting straight to the heart of his question. She takes a seat, crosses her legs as she pushes a cup of coffee towards him. Alistair seemingly barely registers her answer, too busy inhaling the eggs and bacon. He fixes her with a stern look after a moment, washes down the food with a hearty gulp. It’s as though he doesn’t even feel the burn of it. She settles a hand on the table, her index finger pricking at the flat of her thumb. She moves from one finger to the next, begins again.

“Now, when I knock at your door, I worry that all I’m going to find here is a body,” he says, reaching for the toast. Noya chuckles dismissively, her gaze moving downwards as she shakes her head. Three hard swipes with the knife and the butter scrapes across the bread. He downs it as quickly as all the rest. There are crumbs in his stubble. He wears an old grey shirt, the buttons undone at the collar. There are a few odd color stains – from grease, and the bleach mistakenly used to remove them. Suspenders and a belt, and his trousers are in no better shape than his shirt.

“He’s dangerous,” Alistair says to her silence. Noya reaches for the napkin, brings it down to her lap. She turns it in her hands, folding it this way and that.

“I’m quite aware, I’m not arguing otherwise.” she says.

“You should have someone stay with you,” he says, “or stay somewhere else.”

“That would be breaking the terms of our agreement, and we owe him,” she says.

“We owe him nothing,” Alistair says, shaking his head.

“Yes, we do. You of all people should know how much of a risk it is to give us his blood. People won’t understand what he is. All they know, they know from folk tales and stories meant to frighten children in their beds. It’s more complicated than that,” she says.

“Is it?” he frowns. “I of all people know exactly what you’re getting yourself into. You’ve been lucky with what you’ve seen and who you’ve met. Zevran is unlike Morrigan, Wynne and I. Vampires are – I just don’t understand why you’re acting so naïve with him.”

“Don’t mistake me for an innocent,” she says harshly, before relenting. Noya reaches across the table, taps a finger against his knuckle, before she pulls back. She sighs, “Zevran needs to trust us. Better to think us naïve than suspicious. If a vampire’s blood holds the key to the cure, then we’ll need more, and a lot of it. I don’t imagine anyone would be volunteering for that. We need him.” They both look towards the door when they hear the voices outside of it. The building is beginning to empty, and the footsteps echo in the hallway. Alistair stabs the last egg with his fork.

“He’s a murderer, the same as the rest of them,” he says after a moment.

“Maybe so, that doesn’t change anything.”

“At least have Morrigan or Leliana stay with you,” he says, the fork settling against the plate with a metallic tap. He leans back in the chair, one thumb wrapped around a suspender. “Then he might be less likely to eat you.” The noise of the city invades their conversation. She glances towards the window, firmly shut. Denerim invades from all sides. She drops the napkin on the table as she stands, moves towards Alistair, and brushes the crumbs from his cheek.

“I understand your concerns, but it’s a risk I have to take,” she says. Her words end with a tone of finalization. It isn’t the first time they’ve had this argument. It won’t be the last, she knows. She doesn’t resent him for it, but her patience wears. Alistair collects the plates, the cups, cleans them and puts them on the rack as she collects her jacket, her keys, finds the single book she needs from the pile.

“Have you seen Tam lately?” Alistair asks as he takes his cap, fits it on his head. She locks the door behind them.

“I haven’t had much time,” she says as they make their way down the stairs, avoiding the people who loiter there, “but I was planning to go see him tonight.” Navigating through the crowded streets is much easier by Alistair’s side. His height and width incline others to step out of his way, and all Noya has to do is stay slightly behind him.

“Well, tell him I say hello and that he still owes me two gold,” he says.

“I’ll be sure to mention it,” she says as they rush across the street, to where the steel works await. They stop at just the side of the entrance gates, and huddle together. “Be careful today.”

“I always am,” he says, putting his hand on her arm, “you too. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He gives her a gentle squeeze, before turning away. They go in separate directions, with Noya focused on heading towards the University.

“Good morning Wynne,” she says when she finally makes it to the classroom, hanging up her coat. Wynne has her glasses perched at the edge of her nose, the scalpel in her hand as she dissects the arm on the operating table. Wynne looks up and smiles as Noya places the book on her desk.

“Good morning Miss Mahariel. Are you finished already? Did you answer all the questions?” she asks, as she looks back down at her work. She has a bloody apron wrapped around her waist, covering her skirts. The theatre will fill with students soon, all prepared to learn from Wynne.

“I did. Whether I got them correct or not remains to be seen,” she says as she approaches the table. Wynne chuckles under her breath as she carefully moves the vein, begins to pull at the radial nerve.

“I’m sure you did. You’ve a mind for riddles,” she says.

“Nerves today?” Noya asks, as she peers over the table at what Wynne is doing. Wynne opens her mouth to answer, but is stopped by the door to the classroom flying open. Morrigan is breathless as she pulls the scarf from around her neck, tosses it with her jacket onto Wynne’s desk.

“Your class is to be cancelled – and we are all to be summoned,” she says, the hurried and points steps of her heels echoing in the empty space. Wynne raises her eyebrows and puts down her scalpel, takes off her gloves. “We are to speak with the King himself.”

“About the blight?” Noya asks.

“There can be no doubt,” Morrigan says.

“Ah,” Wynne says, pushing up her glasses, “I don’t expect they’ll ask any complicated questions. They will want to know if we’re close to a cure, and that’s all.” The voice of experience.

“This is our chance to impress upon the King and the Court that the blight is not to be taken lightly. We need more funding, more space to research – more everything. Thus far they have looked upon it as though it is no more than a common cold,” Noya says, the frustration coming through clearly in the latter half of her words.

“I would not expect the King to properly listen,” Morrigan says, “presumably he will promise us something, and his advisors will look into it and find there is nothing in the coffers to aid us.” She waves her hand in the air dismissively.

“Hush,” Wynne says, glancing towards the door. Sure enough, a figure soon fills the frame. Imposing, but not unkind, Duncan scratches at his beard as he smiles at the three women. The Dean of Medicine, Noya has only met him once before. Wynne, on the other hand, is the only one to smile back.

“Should I even bother, or has Morrigan already told you?” he asks.

“Is he coming here, or are we meeting him elsewhere?” Noya stands at attention, her hands clasped behind her back. They squeeze each other tightly, her knuckles white, fingers pressing into each other. She keeps her attention on Duncan, doesn’t look away.  

“You’re to come to the Chancellor’s office when you’re ready. I would suggest leaving the apron behind,” he says. Wynne is untying it already.

“Thank you Ser Duncan,” she says, before he nods, leaves the way he came.

“He does not come here, or to our offices to see our research. ‘Tis disappointing already and we’ve not yet met the man,” Morrigan says, as she turns to the others.  

“If it doesn’t touch one of the nobility or someone else of importance, then it’s overlooked. It’ll be printed that he visited and spoke to us about a cure, and that will be enough to placate the masses until it gets worse,” Noya says. Wynne folds her apron, tucks it underneath her arm.

“There’s no point in arriving already furious,” she says. “We’ll be polite, we’ll answer his questions and we’ll try to inform him of the importance of funding. There’s nothing more we can do.” Noya squeezes her hands together tighter. It takes them only a few minutes to get ready, make their way across the campus. Even then, they’re left waiting outside the Chancellor’s office. Noya puts a hand over her knee, to stop her leg from bouncing. It’s Duncan, once again, who retrieves them, brings them into the office. Chancellor Irving is sitting, his cane resting against the desk, his hands folded on top of it.

“King Theirin.” It’s a chorus that moves from one to the other, as they each curtsey in turn.

“Ms. Aequitar,” Cailan says as he stands to meet them, his hand already extended towards Wynne, “what a pleasure it is to see you again. I hear you’re doing wonderful work to make the University proud. To make all of Denerim proud.” He raises her hand to his lips, presses a chaste kiss against her knuckles.

“Your Majesty, I didn’t expect –”

“The King to take an interest in medical research? How could I miss all the fun,” Cailan says with a wide smile. He’s personable, at least. Noya shifts her gaze from Cailan to the one behind him, a much sourer personage. “I take it these are your new ‘recruits’?” He lets Wynne’s hand go gently, before turning to the others.

“Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty. This is Noya Mahariel and Morrigan Connobar. They give me comfort to know that when I retire, the students will be left in their capable hands,” she says.

“I assume they are assisting you in finding a cure for this illness they’re calling the blight?”

“That’s correct, your Majesty.”

“Excellent, I’m glad to hear it. These things are common to large cities, are they not? I hear that most of it has already been quarantined. I’m sure that –”

“Excuse me your Majesty,” Noya says, stepping forward, “but have you seen the sick?”

“You’re asking if your King has been to a dangerous and infectious place,” the man behind him states dryly.

“Hush, Loghain. I haven’t. Please, go on,” he says, turning attentively to Noya. She clenches her jaw, shifts her frown away from Loghain.

“Then you don’t know what’s happening to them. This sickness robs them of their humanity. It strips away their morals, their rationality. They are violent, dangerous, and yes – contagious. It moves slowly through their system, taking a piece of them as it goes. If we do not find a cure, we can never return those already sick back to their loved ones. They will die, and it may be a mercy. If the blight takes any more, it will expand from Denerim throughout Ferelden,” she says. Cailan continues to smile.

“You make it sound so dire! I know how capable Ms. Aequitar and Ser Duncan are. I’m sure that together, all of you will find a way to stop this blight in its tracks,” he says.

“You say it turns them violent.” Loghain plays with the fraying edges of the armrest. His dark hair is slicked back, his suit subtly expensive and neat. “How so?”

“They lash out and attempt to kill any close to them, ser,” Morrigan says.

“You think this blight came about naturally, or could it have been manufactured?”

“Oh Loghain, please. Orlais would never do such a thing,” Cailan says. Loghain fixes him with a silent stare, before he looks back at the others. The three of them exchange a glance.

“There is a possibility that the blight isn’t natural,” Wynne says slowly.

“Please accept my apologies Ms. Aequitar, Miss Mahariel, Miss Conobar. Lord Mac Tir is getting quite paranoid in his old age,” Cailan laughs, but there’s an edge to it; a warning. “I’m sure we’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll discuss things with my advisors and see if we can’t get you more funding, hmm? I have faith you’ll find a cure soon enough.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Wynne says, putting her hand at Noya’s back. This is also a warning. It silences her, and her mouth shuts with a clack of teeth. Duncan opens the door for them – and they’re dismissed as quickly as they were welcomed. Outside the closed door, Morrigan laughs mockingly.

“As we said. Disappointing,” she says.

--

Noya makes her way quickly down the street. Most of the city attends to their supper, and the streets aren’t quite as busy. Even more so down the route she takes. She keeps her hands in the pocket of her coat, and her steps are fixed ever forward. A superstitious lot, most people cross the street instead of walking in front of the hospital Noya now stands in front of. She’s met with familiar nods, greetings from the nurses and orderlies she passes. Down the stairs, into the basement, where a guard stands with a key.

The sick mask does nothing, she knows, but it does make them feel better. She puts it on, signs her name in the book, before the guard unlocks the gate. They’ve made the basement a prison. Patients writhe as they’re strapped to beds, bits in their mouths, wrapped around their skulls. Their eyes stay wide, bloodshot and frenzied. A few nurses make their way between beds, cleaning up what they can. Noya drags a stool from a corner, towards a single bed. She brushes back his hair, checks his neck. The discoloration has already started. “Hello Tam,” she says softly. Tamlen only bucks underneath the straps, his hands trying to reach from her. Drool spills down his cheek, salivating at the sight of her.

Noya takes the cloth from the table, dabs at his mouth gently. “Alistair says hello. He hasn’t forgotten about the bet you lost yet. Give it another week,” she says. She speaks as though she doesn’t see him bite at the tack in his mouth. She pretends he doesn’t look at her without recognition, and that his whole body doesn’t ache to attack her. She leans in close, her elbows on her knees.

“I’ve found one, Tam. We’re studying his blood now. I know there’s answer. It’s going to be alright. I’m going to find a cure,” she whispers. Hesitantly, she rests her hand on his arm. He’s cold to the touch, almost dead. His grunting grows louder, his thrashing fiercer. Only when he begins to scream through the bit does she take her hand away. She smiles as she clenches her hand into a fist. “You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

Her visits are never long. They’re for her, not for him. “Coming back soon?” the guard asks as she leans over to sign the book once again, noting the time of her exit. She sighs as she undoes the mask.

“Tomorrow, most likely.”

“See you tomorrow then, Miss Mahariel.”

She walks slowly, leisurely, without direction. Her brows knot together, her every thought occupied. She pauses when she feels the hair at the back of her neck raise. She presses her hand against her nape, and turns. She looks down the street, sees people laughing and smiling together. Some share food, others talk loudly, while others walk in silence. There is nothing and yet – Noya cannot shake the feeling she is being watched.

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