#lake erie ink

[c-e-d-dreamer]

You Are Not the Kind of Boy (Who Should Be Marrying the Wrong Girl): Part Three

A/N: Happy Day Three of @sjmromanceweek! This is the final part of Regency Elucien, and for this one, there's no prompt squinting needed since there's actually a proposal. Hope everyone enjoyed this little sequel as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Read on AO3 // Previous Part

Lucien Spellcleaver is going mad.

That’s the only explanation. It’s the only way to describe the way his mind has been spiraling, the way his thoughts swirl and swirl around only one singular thought. Only one singular person. It’s the only explanation for the way his heart writhes and throbs between his ribs, a palpable, tangible pain. The only explanation for why he’s pacing back and forth across his study, scrubbing a hand through his hair until it’s a tangle of knots.

“Well, this is a sad sight.”

Lucien rolls his eyes at the sound of that voice, whirling around to find Eris leaning casually against the door jamb. “What do you want?”

“Can’t I come visit my favorite baby brother?”

“Half brother.”

Eris shrugs, straightening and stepping further into the room. “Mother said that you were sulking.”

“I am not sulking.”

Eris raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly toward Lucien’s desk, toward the pile of paper and ink sprawled across the wood. Three letters. He’s written three letters and received not a single answer. Three letters, each one dissolving more and more into a mess of words and smeared ink and desperation.

He should have told her. He should have told her down by the lake before anything else had happened. But he'd been stupid. He'd been selfish and drunk off the way it felt to finally kiss her, to have her in his arms. Addicted to the way her skin felt against his own, what it was like to have her pliant and beautiful beneath him.

He’d been sure she must already know exactly how he feels. How he’d do anything for her if only she said the word. How his heart beats only for her and he’d gladly tear it straight from his chest and place it in her awaiting hands.

But then she’d vanished in the night like some sort of wraith.

He’d tried to give her space at first, thought that was what she needed and wanted to respect that. Then he’d tried to call on her, only to be informed by a neighbor that the Archerons weren’t home, off to the quick and quiet wedding of the eldest.

That’s when he sent the first letter that went unanswered.

He’d tried to catch Elain in town next, practically loitering at all the places he knew she frequented, but that had been just as unsuccessful. And had led to the second letter that went unanswered. Hoping for his opportunity at the promenade had followed, but the entire Archeron family was oddly missing. And his third letter went unanswered. Then, just a few days ago, he was sure his time would finally come at the house party hosted by Kallias and his wife Viviane, but it seemed the Archerons were uninvited from the festivities.

So, now, here Lucien is. Over two weeks removed from that night with Elain. And absolutely losing his mind.

“I don’t understand why you’re still panting after her,” Eris continues, pushing off the door jamb and stepping fully into the room. “You can’t possibly have missed the Archeron family scandal.”

“And yet, if I recall correctly, weren’t you courting the eldest Archeron not long ago?” Lucien fires back, still remembering the ball his father hosted last season, the way Eris had spent most of the evening twirling Nesta across the dance floor. He still remembers the way Eris’s proposal had been denied, Nesta with little interest in moving to Paris.

Eris hums, his face the perfect mask of boredom. “I can’t decide if I dodged a bullet or if I should be offended that she couldn’t be persuaded to warm my bed unwed.”

“Jealous of a Scotsman, Eris?”

“Never.”

Despite the growled tone of his half brother, Lucien doesn’t believe Eris for a moment. Still, he doesn’t have time for this. Doesn’t have time for their mother’s attempted meddling. Doesn’t have time for Eris’s judgment or opinions. He doesn’t have time to keep pacing around his study if he’s being honest.

“Look, I need to… if you’ll excuse me.”

It’s all that Lucien offers before he brushes past Eris and out the door. He doesn’t stop, heading down the main stairs and all the way out of the estate. He forgoes a carriage or even a horse, hoping the walk will help him clear his head a bit, will help him decide exactly what he intends to say.

But the afternoon sun does little to dispel the anxiety churning low in his gut. The late summer breeze only winding through his lungs, swirling with the tension there and squeezing. By the time the iron gates of the Archeron manor come into view, Lucien’s heart is a thunderous beat between his ribs. He just prays it doesn’t show too badly on his face as he makes his way up the front steps and rings the bell.

It feels like years while he waits, but soon the door is being pulled open and Lucien is met with a pair of blue gray eyes blinking as confusedly at him as he feels.

“Feyre?”

“Lucien. What are you doing here?”

Lucien clears his throat, flexing his fingers where they’re tucked neatly behind his back. “I was hoping I might speak with Elain actually.”

“We’re not allowing callers,” Feyre explains, already beginning to close the door in his face before she hesitates for a moment. “Sorry.”

The door closes with a soft snick, and Lucien can do nothing but gape at the wood, stare at it as if it will magically open and Elain will be standing there on the other side. With a frustrated huff, he spins on his heel, scrubbing a hand through his hair while he makes his way back down the front steps.

“Denied as well?”

Lucien snaps his head in the direction of the sudden voice, surprised to find Rhysand Night leaning casually against the wall of the manor, partially hidden in the shadows cast by the tall branches of the trees lining the street. The Duke looks almost out of place in the bright afternoon, with his dark hair, his black jacket and pants. Still, the sight of him has Lucien raising his chin, squaring his shoulders even as he shoves his hand in his pockets to give an air of indifference.

“Don’t tell me you’re calling on Elain Archeron as well.”

Rhysand chuckles, picking a piece of lint off his jacket sleeve and flicking it aside. “Don’t worry, Spellcleaver. No one but you is calling on your Archeron sweetheart. Especially after what Cassian pulled.”

“He’s your friend I thought.”

“He is, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still think him an idiot. Unfortunately, there was no talking him out of that one. Something about Nesta Archeron has had him ensnared for years.”

Lucien glances back toward Archeron manor. “Nesta MacLeod now I hear.”

“And are you hoping for Elain Spellcleaver?”

Lucien snaps his attention back to Rhysand, quick to fire back, “Are you hoping to make Feyre a duchess?”

Rhysand laughs again, shaking his head. “Touche, Spellcleaver.”

“I wish you luck. Feyre and I sometimes had lessons together as children. I remember quite distinctly the way she swore she’d never marry,” Lucien offers, not even bothering to bite back his smirk at the memories. Rhysand will certainly have his hands full if Feyre is who he continues to pursue.

“So she keeps telling me,” Rhysand mutters, rolling his eyes, but Lucien swears it’s not annoyance in the Duke’s expression. It’s almost excitement at the challenge brewing beneath that violet gaze.

“Is your plan to lurk in the shadows here then? Until she changes her mind?”

“What can I say? I’ve never been one for more traditional courting. Perhaps you might consider the same.”

Lucien scoffs, turning away from Rhysand and walking out of the Archeron manor gate. He makes his way down the path that leads back to his family’s estate, but Rhysand’s words continue to ring in his mind. Like a small, needling voice prickling along the back of his mind, scraping and digging their claws in. It’s stupid. It would be stupid. Possibly the most stupid thing he’ll ever do.

But isn’t idiocy what got Lucien into this mess in the first place?

He waits until the sun starts to dip low in the sky, shadows growing across the grass and purples and blues bleeding through the world around him. He waits until the flicker of candlelight casts the windows of the manor in glowing orange. Thankfully, he remembers enough from his conversations with Feyre, finding the balcony she often mentioned using when she’d sneak away in the night.

It’s more difficult than he anticipated, finding the right stones and bricks to use as hand and footholds, his grip slipping a few times. But soon, he’s pulling himself up over the railing and onto the balcony, more scrapes and bruises than he wanted but still worth it. Just like in Feyre’s stories, the door is unlocked, and Lucien is able to slip inside with ease.

He has to be quick, but he has to be quiet too. He tiptoes down the hall, pausing at each door and pressing his ear against the wood to listen for voices. He even dares to open a few, just a crack, to peek into the rooms beyond. Finally, on the fourth door he tries, Lucien is greeted with the sight of long, beautiful curls of golden brown hair.

He darts into the room, closing the door quickly behind his back. Elain whips her head around at the sound, brown eyes widening in surprise and her brush clattering against her vanity table. She’s on her feet in a second, and for a moment, Lucien feels struck dumb. Her hair is a beautiful curtain of gold where it falls along her shoulders and down her back, her night dress lacey and white. Her warm, brown eyes draw him in as much as the pink beginning to dust across the constellation of freckles on her cheeks.

“Lucien,” Elain exclaims, snatching up her robe and tugging it on. “What are you doing here?”

“I am going insane,” Lucien explains exasperatedly, stepping closer to her. “You have made me insane, Elain.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve been avoiding me. And do not say that you are not because I know you are.”

Elain crosses her arms across her chest, not quite meeting his gaze fully, and Lucien knows that he was right all along. Knows that her sneaking out of his room, that this silence between them, was fully intentional. He dares to step even closer to her, until they’re practically toe to toe, until he can fully track the way her bottom lip finds home between her teeth. His hands reach up, skating a hair's breadth away from Elain’s arms before he hesitates, dropping his arms back to his side again.

“Did I do something wrong?” Lucien asks gently, practically pleading. “Did I hurt you our night together?”

Elain opens her mouth before seeming to think better of whatever she was going to say. She swallows hard, and when she finally speaks, her voice is quiet enough that Lucien almost doesn’t hear it. “I missed my monthlies.”

“Oh.”

It’s all Lucien can think to say, the only word, the only syllable he’s able to push past the pressure suddenly squeezing in around his throat. It’s certainly a turn of events. Certainly not how he expected this night to go. But there’s no denying the spark that flares to life in his gut, fanning the embers glowing warmly between his ribs.

“I’m so sorry,” Elain says, turning away from him completely.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“You’re going to be a Duke after your father. I am sure you do not wish there to be any bastard children. But don’t worry. I’ll speak with my mother. Perhaps, there is somewhere far away I can go. Then no one will ever know.”

“Go away?” Lucien splutters, reaching for her shoulders and trying to turn Elain back around to face him. “Elain—”

Elain steps out of his grip, but she at least whirls back around, brown eyes misty with unshed tears. “And I won’t tell anyone. I swear it. I will lie if I have to.”

“Elain…” Lucien feels near hysterical, finally giving in to the desire twitching through his fingers and cradling Elain’s face between his palms. “Marry me.”

Elain huffs, tugging his hands away from her face. “Don’t be stupid, Lucien. I did not tell you to trap you into wedding me. You’re going to be a Duke. You’re meant to have a respectable wife.”

“And who says you are not? Who says you are not everything a gentleman could ever dream of in a wife? Who says you are not everything I could ever want?”

“You’re crazy. What will your father say? Marrying an Archeron after everything that’s happened?”

“Let him try and stop me. And if he does, I will give up my title. Gladly.”

“Lucien!”

“Dammit, Elain. I love you.”

Elain rolls her eyes, and if Lucien wasn’t so exasperated, he would be more endeared by the gesture. “You are not thinking straight. I know our night together was… pleasurable… But I didn’t think—”

“You think this is just because of that night?” Lucien asks with a frustrated huff of his own. He grabs Elain’s hands in his, clutching them to his chest, to where his heart beats solely for her. “Elain, I have loved you for months now. I’m sorry that my poor courting attempts have not made that abundantly clear. For all your accusations about me being a scoundrel, being around you turns me into a fumbling fool. I never know what to say. And oh, I wanted to say it. That night. Before that night… But my love, you were the one who said no talking. The one who promised we’d speak only to sneak away while I slept. I would have asked you for your hand right there beside that lake. I would have asked you that night in my bed. And I am asking you right now. Marry me.”

The tears slip free from Elain’s eyes, and Lucien is quick to reach a hand up, catching them where they roll down her cheeks. “I can’t.”

“Elain,” Lucien begs, his voice almost broken.

“I have not told you everything.” Using their hands that are still joined, Elain tugs Lucien toward her bed until they’re both sitting. “It’s about my family… You know that my father is a merchant, but what you don’t know is that there was an awful storm. It sank all of my father’s ships with everything on them.”

“Okay, but what does that—”

“You don’t understand, Lucien. We lost everything. My family has nothing now. We had to dismiss the staff. Mama has had to sell her nicest jewels just to keep food on the table. It’s why Nesta was going to marry Viscount Mandray, and now? Now, we’re nothing.”

Lucien squeezes Elain’s hands in his. “You think I care about that?”

“But you should! You’re going to be a Duke someday.”

“Elain,” Lucien starts, leaning close until his forehead rests against hers. “Do you love me too? Do you want to marry me?”

“It’s not that simple,” Elain whispers, already beginning to shake her head.

“It’s a yes or no question, my love.”

Elain sighs softly, sliding her hand across Lucien’s cheek until it’s cradled in her palm. “You already know the answer.”

“Then that’s all I need to know.”

Lucien closes the breath of space between them, pressing his mouth to Elain’s. She makes a quiet, contented sound into the kiss, parting her lips under his ministrations, and it feels right. It tastes like coming home. It takes everything within Lucien to will himself to pull back, to not allow himself to sink and drown in the feeling of Elain’s soft, golden hair threaded between his fingers, of her body pressed warmly against him, of her lips slotted firmly and perfectly against his own. But he does all the same, pulling away from Elain and pushing up to his feet to stride back across the room.

“Where are you going?” Elain asks, jumping up to her own feet.

Lucien pauses with his hand curled around the latch to the door. He turns over his shoulder back toward Elain, offering her a smirk and a wink, before he yanks open the door and slips out into the hall. It’s easy enough to retrace his steps, back out of the balcony, to climb over the railing and jump down onto the grass. He takes a moment to brush off his pants, straighten the cuffs of his sleeves, and then he’s stalking back around the manor and right to the Archeron’s front door.

He has to ring the bell twice before the door is finally pulled open. Lady Archeron’s face is pinched in annoyance, but Lucien watches the exact moment her eyes widen in recognition, realizing just who is standing on their front step. In an instant, her face morphs into a polite smile, and she dips into a small curtsy.

“Your Grace. To what do we owe the pleasure at such an hour?”

“Lady Archeron,” Lucien greets, dipping his head politely. “I am actually hoping to speak with your husband.”

Lady Archeron’s eyes glance away, further into the house, before meeting his gaze again. “Forgive me, your Grace, but we are not currently accepting callers or visitors.”

“I must press, my Lady. It is quite urgent.”

Lady Archeron’s attention darts away again, and Lucien can see the conflict playing across her expression, but finally she appeases. She pulls the door open fully, gesturing for Lucien to step inside. His footfalls echo across the floors, through the silence of the front hall. He glances around, spying Elain standing at the top of the stairs, one foot raised as if she’s about to step down. He waits until her mother’s back is turned before sending her another wink and following Lady Archeron further into the manor.

“You’ll have to forgive our home, your Grace,” Lady Archeron offers, leading Lucien down the winding halls. “A terrible sickness has torn through our staff. We had to send them away tonight.”

Lucien hums in understanding, not correcting her or letting on to the fact he knows the real reason for the lack of staff in the manor. Lady Archeron comes to a stop in front of a door, but she doesn’t even bother knocking before pushing it open, revealing a study on the other side. Lord Archeron sits behind the large desk in the center of the room. Papers are spread across the wood around him, but judging from the glass of amber liquid at his elbow, the way his head is cradled in his hand, Lucien suspects little work is actually being completed.

Lord Archeron looks up in surprise at the intrusion, practically jumping to his feet when he takes in exactly who is stepping inside his study. “Lucien Spellcleaver. I must say I am surprised to see you in my study.”

Lord Archeron shares a pointed look with his wife, the two sharing some sort of silent conversation, but Lady Archeron doesn’t seem to back down from her husband’s ire. She merely closes the study door and walks around to stand at her husband’s shoulder. Lucien takes it as his cue to settle into one of the open seats on the other side of the desk.

“I do apologize for the intrusion,” Lucien begins, leaning back casually. “But I simply could not wait. I’m here to ask for your daughter’s hand. For Elain’s hand.”

Lord Archeron clears his throat a bit awkwardly, turning to share another look with his wife. “We are, of course, honored at such a proposal, your Grace…”

“I am well aware of your family’s financial situation, Lord Archeron, if that is your concern.” Neither Lord nor Lady Archeron are able to cover their surprise, their panicked expression, but Lucien merely chuckles quietly. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of informing the gossip mob of the ton. But I do wish to marry your daughter. I will write for a Special License. We can keep the ceremony small and private if you’d rather avoid your family being the center of the gossip ring any more than it already is.”

“You’re a mad man,” Lord Archeron scoffs, shaking his head.

“Maybe I am.”

“If you’re aware of our financial situation, then you know we have nothing to offer. You’d really marry my daughter without a dowry?”

“I will. Feel free to draw up the contract right now,” Lucien offers, leaning forward and meeting Lord Archeron’s gaze head on. “But I will have Elain move into my family’s estate tonight. You’ve dismissed your staff, and I will not have my wife living in such conditions.”

“Your Grace…”

“Do we have an accord?” When Lord Archeron doesn’t answer right away, Lucien stands up, leaning over the desk. “Do we have an accord? I can assure you, you will not receive such an offer from any other gentleman of my status and title.”

Lord Archeron considers for a moment, eyeing Lucien, but then he’s turning back to his wife. “Gather Elain.”

Lady Archeron nods her head, vanishing back out of the study and closing the door behind her with a soft snick. It doesn’t take Lord Archeron long to draw up the contract, even with the way he pauses in bewilderment each time Lucien demands the conditions be most favorable to Elain, with the way he practically balks at the pin money suggestion Lucien makes. But the ink has barely dried before Lucien is taking the pen and signing his name.

There’s a knock at the study door, and when the door swings open, Elain is standing there with her mother. It takes barely three steps for Lucien to stride over to her. He takes her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“Lucien…” Elain whispers, peering up at him in confusion.

“Pack your bags. I’m going to go get a carriage from my family’s estate, and then I’m going to come back for you. Wife.”

~ * * * ~

Lucien all but sprints up the gravel walkway to his family’s estate, yanking open the large front doors and rushing inside. He quickly glances around the front hall, spying one of the house maids with a bundle of linens in her arms. Her eyes widen at his slightly frazzled state, the way he all but burst through the doors, but she seems to come back to herself quickly, dipping into a low curtsy.

“Have you seen my father?”

“I believe he’s in the east drawing room, your Grace,” the house maid offers quietly.

With a nod of thanks, Lucien starts to head in that direction before another thought occurs to him and he turns back around. “Oh, and can you inform Mrs Baxter to have one of the room’s in the west wing made up? My betrothed will be arriving at the estate tonight.”

Lucien doesn’t wait for the house maid to confirm she understands or to say anything else. He continues down the halls, his strides hurried and determined until he comes to the door for the east wing’s drawing room. Thankfully, his father is indeed there when he steps inside, lounging in one of the large, comfortable chairs, a book opened in one hand and tea still steaming on the small table at his elbow.

“Lucien,” Helion greets, his smile slipping away after he takes in the state of his son. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m getting married,” Lucien explains, deciding not to bother with beating around the bush. “To Elain Archeron.”

Helion closes his book and sets it aside. “I see…”

“And there’s no point trying to protest or stop me. I’ve already signed the marriage contract with her father.”

“Well, then I—”

“Lucien Spellcleaver,” Aurelia’s clipped tone precedes the door swinging open again, his mother’s pinched face coming into view. “What is this I hear from the staff about you being engaged?”

Lucien winces at his mother’s expression, but he refuses to back down. “Because it’s true. I just came from the Archeron manor, and Elain will be moving into the estate tonight.”

Aurelia huffs, her exasperation clear. “And you didn’t think to tell your mother what you were planning?”

“Weren’t you the one who taught me that love makes you do crazy things?”

“You do then? Love her?”

Lucien thinks of the honey strands of Elain’s hair, the way they curl around her face and cascade down her shoulders and back. He thinks of the deep brown of her eyes and the way they spark beneath the afternoon sun. He thinks of her kindness, of the beautiful sight of her smile and the melody of her laugh. He thinks of the sweetness of her kiss, and the adorable expression that takes over her face when she calls him a scoundrel.

“I do,” he breathes, unable to fight down a grin. “I really do.”

His mother steps closer, reaching a hand up and lovingly patting his cheek. “Well, alright then. I best go make sure everything is ready for the future duchess.”

Everything seems to happen in a whirlwind after that. His mother vanishes back out the drawing room door, and his father helps him to ready a carriage. Then, Lucien is off back to the Archeron manor. The footmen work to load all of Elain’s trunks and bags onto the carriage while Elain takes the time to hug her younger sister goodbye.

When everything’s secured, he holds out his hand, Elain’s fingers curling around his palm as he helps her into the carriage. He slips into the carriage as well, closing the door behind them and signaling out the window to the driver. The carriage jerks forward, and Lucien turns his eyes back on Elain, watching as she curls and twists her fingers through the fabric of her skirts. He reaches across the carriage, capturing Elain’s hands in his own, squeezing and tracing his thumbs across her knuckles soothingly.

“What if your parents hate me?” Elain whispers, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“That’s impossible,” Lucien assures her, moving to wedge into the space beside Elain. “They will love you as much as I do.” He reaches forward, pressing his palm against her stomach. “Love both of you as much as I already do.”

Elain reaches her own hand down, covering Lucien’s and lacing their fingers together. “I overheard some of the other ladies talking at the market. Apparently, even if you miss your monthlies, it’s still possible it will merely come late.”

“Then we will just have to try again,” Lucien explains, moving his free hand up so that his fingers curl around the nape of Elain’s neck, his thumb tilting her chin up. “And again.” He brings her mouth to his, kissing her. “And again.”

When Elain pulls back, her lips are parted, eyes slightly glazed over before she blinks and comes back to herself. “You truly are a scoundrel.”

“Get used to it, my love.”

“People will talk, you know,” Elain sighs softly, fiddling with the laces of his shirt like some sort of nervous tick. “I’m sure the whole ton will have something to say about… the speed of everything.”

“Let them. Let them be green with envy over my beautiful wife.”

Lucien pulls Elain into another kiss, all but hauling her against his body. He presses her back against the walls of the carriage, until she’s laughing breathlessly into his mouth. It’s his favorite sound, one he much prefers to her worrying. He pulls back but doesn’t go far, settling his forehead against Elain’s. Even in the low light, it gives him the perfect opportunity to count every eyelash where they kiss her skin, to count every freckle dotted across her cheeks. She reaches a hand up between them, fingers gently tucking the strands of his hair behind his ear.

“Lucien Spellcleaver, you are something else.”

“And you are everything, Elain Spellcleaver.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise

#elucien #sjmromanceweek #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro elucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fic #elain x lucien #acotar #my fic

[canon-vi]

Eira's attitude towards the others:

Reaper:

Mom didn't say much about Grandpa, except that he worked hard, but Dad speaks very highly of him.

Geno:

Grandma is very beautiful! I love looking at her in mom’s photos!

Hope:

I am amazed at her long braid, did she braid it every day? I am amazed by this woman!

Dream:

Dad speaks badly about grandpa... Well, I’d better ask mom later, I can’t even pull anything out of dad with claws

Ink:

Well, mom and dad spoke badly about her somehow... I don’t know... I’ll refrain

Nightmare:

Um... I don't remember...

Cross:

Oh, that baker, dad doesn’t really like him, like, I don’t know, I like his baked goods, did he have bad ones before or something?

Merciless:

I feel sorry for him, Aunt Drop is really crazy, and dad isn’t even going to do anything about it...

Lux:

Dad hates her... We'll have to find out why! Detective Eira will take care of it!

Pallete:

Even though dad doesn't do anything with Aunt Drop, I still love him, he works so hard

Goth:

Mom is very beautiful! I want to be like her, but I don’t really want to lose my hair yet, haha—

Drop:

Aunt... Strange... The way she treats Mr. Merciless and baby Daff...

Elva:

This little thing is always pretending to be me in front of my friends and trying to kill someone! ... Why doesn't she understand that murder doesn't require witnesses?

Daffodil:

Poor baby... I don't understand why dad doesn't do anything about all this?

Bonus:

Callisto:

Dad says he's bad, mom says he's good... I don't know

Taisiya:

Dad didn't talk much about her, I didn't even know that dad had another sister

Artemis:

Queen Artemis? She always looks so sad, is it because dad chose mom over her? I would be sad too, but I think that guy wouldn’t have lived long because of Eli

Sunshine:

Crazy beauty! She's a lot of fun! Also, if I don't want to listen to Eli's ravings about mushrooms, then I can send her to her

Vivi:

I saw her on the street several times, but she always pretended that we didn't know each other, I hope Daffodil is okay with Aunt Vi

Shelki:

I often help her dress fashionably when she can't! Aunt Shel is very kind!!

Tace:

... Is she really older than me? She looks 10... But she likes my and Eli's wings! She's also very cute

--------------------------🦊----------------------------

Elva's attitude towards others:

Reaper:

Looking at grandfather’s work, their family life looked as if grandfather went out to buy bread and returned with milk all the time

Geno:

I like to listen to my grandmother’s stories about how she ignored my grandfather, now I know how I will torture my future boyfriend!

Hope:

Hope is so old... And why did she love someone like Grandpa Dream? I thought with age comes wisdom... He doesn't deserve you, Grandma Hope!

Dream:

I don’t know, I don’t give a fuck, I didn’t even see him

Ink:

She cheated on my grandfather, how else can I feel about her? The Drop is probably all in her, crazy

Nightmare:

Some kind of evil guy... I don't know

Cross:

A? Who? Baker? Do you think I remember every baker I see? Am I crazy according to you?

Merciless:

He’s seriously like Drop’s hostage, what kind of eternal BDSM games do they have there? Does Merciless know a safe word?

Lux:

I only saw her in photographs, and then in Miss Hope’s photo album, dad cut out all the photos with her from his photo album

Pallete:

Dad is creepy, I love mom more, otherwise he sees what that crazy woman is doing with Mr. Merciless and Daff, and doesn’t do anything!

Goth:

I love my mother, I also want to become Death in the future and then all the offenders of Eri will go to the bottom in the lava lake of hell!

Drop:

She's crazy, what else can I say?

Eira:

My bitch, I like the way she braids my hair, it’s beautiful and comfortable! How the hell does she do that?

Daffodil:

No matter how sadistic I am, even I feel sorry for this little girl, her parents are fucked up, both of them

Bonus:

Callisto:

Until you decide who to believe, mom or dad, you can go crazy, so I don’t know

Taisiya:

If it weren’t for my mother, Eri and I probably wouldn’t have known about her, well, we’ve never seen her and don’t even know where she lives

Artemis:

Queen Artemis, I heard that she was dad's beloved, but for some reason he decided to stay with mom... Why?

Sunshine:

She's crazy... She's fun to be around! I wonder if she can dye my hair too?

Vivi:

Uhh, I only remember how she argued very strongly with Drop and took away Daffodil, then it was very loud, she was screaming so much... I understand her, Drop is a crazy bitch

Shelki:

Aunt Shel is very funny! I love looking at her schyte collection!

Tace:

She's creepy... This is cool! I like her!

--------------------------🦊----------------------------

E. L. A. by @anotherrosesthatfell

E. L. A. Queen by @itzcherrybonbon / @abloomingsunflower

E. L. A. Sunshine by @il1ketulipz

#evil lux au #what if au #protect and cherish [e.l.a] merciless propaganda

[msmargaretmurry]

mcstrome and bogosort (like the compsci algorithm lol)

ok i read the wiki article for this and also several memes about it and i'm still not sure i understand it, because i am a humanities girlie whose brain makes dial-up noises when anything too math-y or science-y is introduced into my enclosure. so i'm sorry if i misunderstood the concept but i am going on vibes alone here. this would be a multiverse fic. a fic about connor mcdavid experiencing the multiverse.

so, at the start of this story, maybe connor and dylan aren't totally estranged, but they're not close like they used to be either. they've drifted apart. they text for, like, birthdays and major life events. connor's not sure whose fault that is, and it makes him kind of sad to think about, but honestly, he doesn't think about it too much. they just have their own lives now. connor is very busy trying to drag edmonton kicking and screaming into something resembling a success story; dylan has finally found a team that appreciates him in washington; they are living their lives, separately.

the oilers come to dc for their annual visit. connor and dylan don't get dinner — they stopped doing that a long time ago. sometimes, they'll chat in the hallway after a game, but sometimes the most they do is bump each other on the ice in that way that means hello, i'm aware that you're here. this feels like it's going to be one of those nights, where it's just the bump, the acknowledgement. it's whatever. not important. the oilers need the win. they've been having a rough roadtrip. they go up two early, then cough up three in a row in the second, and in the third, connor takes a big hit while he's crashing the net and whacks his head hard on the crossbar of the goal. everything explodes, and then everything goes black.

and then he wakes up. not on the ice, not in the hospital, not anywhere he recognizes — he's not in his own life. maybe this first one is the universe where buffalo won the mcdavid sweepstakes in 2015, and he's in a condo overlooking lake erie. maybe there's a recent picture of him and dylan on the refrigerator, which is weird, because they haven't taken a photo together in years. i am physically restraining myself from figuring out all of the universe-hopping stuff, but long story short, this keeps happening. every time he falls asleep, he wakes up in a new universe. sometimes he's an oiler, sometimes he's not. he's almost always a hockey player, but sometimes he's not. once, pretty early on, he wakes up to a familiar voice while someone shakes him gently awake on a couch.

"come on, davo, you know sleeping out here always gives you a crick in your neck," dylan is saying. connor, half-asleep, lets himself be tugged to a bedroom, arranged into being a little spoon. as he's drifting off, he wonders if he was on the couch because they fought, wonders what they could have fought about, wants desperately to know what lives they're living here in this world, but he's too far gone, and he wakes up alone in another new universe feeling so dumbstruck with sadness that he rolls over and goes back to sleep without even figuring out where or what he is.

most of the worlds are just a few steps away from his own reality, but some of them are weird and wild. dystopian worlds, worlds with incredible technological advancements, a world where he can see ghosts, a world where he can read minds. a world where he has dylan inked on the inside of his wrist, and he thinks it's a tattoo until he sees that everyone has a name on their wrist like that. he looks everywhere, convinced that because the name is there, dylan must be nearby, but he can't find him anywhere.

he doesn't know if any of this is real, if it even matters what he does in all of these worlds, and he doesn't know if he'll ever get back to his original reality, or if one day he'll wake up in a world and just be stuck there, so he does his best in each one, trying not to fuck things up. sometimes he's married to a woman. he never knows how to act in those universes. sometimes, he wakes up with guys who are clearly one-night stands. a couple of times, he has a boyfriend who's a secret. once, he has a boyfriend who's not. he doesn't know how to act with them, either. he doesn't know them.

then he wakes up with dylan again. or, he wakes up with with lips on his neck and a hand sliding into his pajama pants, a good morning murmured in his ear. they never did this in real life. or — in that life, connor's first life, the one that's starting to feel frighteningly far away. but connor doesn't think about that in this moment, because they never did this in real life, even when he wanted it, when he was a teenager with the most painful crush in the world and there were a moments when he thought it might be possible. they have slow, lazy sex. dylan touches him like every inch of him is familiar. afterward, when they're laying together all sated and pleased, connor thinks to himself, don't fall asleep don't fall asleep don't fall asleep, but he must doze off for even half a second, because he opens his eyes in a hotel room in atlanta. he's in a universe where the thrashers still exist.

and on it goes. worlds upon worlds, universes upon universes. it gets lonely; it gets boring. connor wants to go home. he wants to wake up with dylan again. if he woke up with dylan again, he wouldn't mind one more universe, but he's just about had it with the rest of them. he misses his real teammates, misses his stupid text thread with his brother, wants to call his mom. he starts waking up and, if it's not his real life and dylan's not there, he just goes back to sleep. if he can't fall back asleep — fuck every well-rested version of himself, seriously — he bullshits his way through until he can figure out where to buy some melatonin or whatever.

maybe he's dying. or maybe he's dead, and this is hell. or purgatory. he doesn't think his family believes in purgatory, but that doesn't mean it's not real.

the barrier between worlds starts getting thinner. now, if he just closes his eyes for too long, he's gone. new universe. he starts to be able to — hear isn't quite the right word, but it's the best one he has for the sensation, so — hear the next universe coming, if he closes his eyes and concentrates. it makes it easy. a new kind of tedium. flipping through worlds with barely a glance, because all he wants is—

he wakes up with dylan again. or, precisely, he wakes up to a giant, fluffy golden retriever licking his face, and dylan in the background, calling out with laughter and resignation, "buddy, no, let him sleep!"

too late, connor thinks. "too late," he says out loud. it's been dozens of universes since he spoke out loud.

"i swear he can sense the moment you start even thinking of waking up," dylan says. "come on, if you're up anyway, i'm making breakfast."

connor is wearing a ring on his left ring finger. his stomach growls. he goes to the kitchen, and dylan serves him eggs on a plate held be a hand with a matching ring on the left ring finger.

"please tell me you made coffee," he says, and of course dylan did. connor downs as much of it as he can stomach. he is not falling asleep today.

they're still hockey players. they're in — raleigh, connor figures out through context clues. it's their day off. they're supposed to go grocery shopping. they do go grocery shopping. they hold hands while grocery shopping. it feels like a dream. it's perfect. after they put the groceries again, dylan looks at him askance and asks, "is there something on my face? you keep staring at me today."

"uh," connor says. "i don't know, maybe i'm in love with you or something."

dylan rolls his eyes, but also beams, and crowds connor against the kitchen counter to kiss him. they kiss for a long time before they move to the bedroom. having sex again, connor wonders if it's real that dylan's body feels familiar. he's so careful to not close his eyes for more than a blink. he wouldn't be able to handle it if this got ripped away from him, too. there's still a lot of day left when they're done, and it's lazy and lovely and perfect. when they go to bed that night, connor lays awake for as long as he can, watching dylan sleep. at around three in the morning, he wakes dylan up just so he can kiss him a little bit more. dylan complains about the waking up, but not the kissing, and falls back asleep quickly once connor lets him. connor makes it to sunrise before he can't keep his eyes open anymore. he tries, he tries so hard, but he hears the next universe whooshing in, cold, a bloom of pain in his head—

he's on his back on the ice at capital one arena. everything is too bright, and he makes out the feeling of the hand squeezing his before he can actually see anything. "hey, connor, don't move, we're bringing out a board," someone is saying. connor shuts his eyes, hard. he doesn't go anywhere. another squeeze, too tight.

"davo," dylan says.

connor blinks him into focus. their eyes meet, and dylan exhales something like a relieved laugh.

"hey," he says, his hand warm around connor's. "there you are."

#ask #writing meme #the mortifying ordeal of being connor mcdavid #mcstrome #hockey for ts #write a short response to one of these challenge FAILED once again!!!!!! #can't stop won't stop not sure how to stop

[theladyofbloodshed]

Au Acosf - Chapter 80

@a-court-of-valkyries @sv0430 @mis-lil-red @nesquik-arccheron @emily-gsh @sunsetsofanemoia @swankii-art-teacher @moodymelanist @nestaarcher0n @my-fan-side @c-e-d-dreamer @nestaspegasus @champanheandluxxury @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @lyzriel @dustjacketmusings @sugardoll22 @gwynethhberdara @embersofwildfire @witchsouth @faeriebambula @lady-winter-sunrise

The days rolled by in a familiar fashion. Nesta kept herself busy in the daytimes either working on the fund at the kitchen table with the backdoor open so Zasha could lope in and out as he pleased or bundled up in a chair in Emerie’s store chatting and laughing as she worked. A letter had been delivered by Baran with an engagement gift from Eris: an eye-watering donation to the fund which would go a long, long way helping struggling families.

A couple of books had been dropped off to her by a messenger from the Day Court too; the books had been written by Helion himself as the script matched the one in the letter pressed into her hand. The ink was golden, of course, and the handwriting elegant and looped. The flirty content would likely cause Cassian to knock down a building in that court too so Nesta chuckled at the letter then burnt it with her flames.

The books gave detailed accounts of weaving spells together so Nesta could better understand it. Rhys and Helion had also agreed at their dinner together that they would practise firstly weaving their magic together to see if it could be done then progress onto expanding the spell and including the other high lords. It would push Helion to his limits so, in his letter, Helion had also written that Nesta would owe him a big, big favour. She’d asked the messenger to wait while she wrote a hasty reply that said she would send Cassian to him as a treat.

Every other day, Rhys would turn up at the cabin for more training. Her magic was less unruly now she had stopped fearing it so much. Although the high lord encouraged her to try and siphon some off each day to take the edge off of it, all her power seemed to do was kill. There were patches on the lawn where she’d spilt a part of it and killed the grass. To counteract it, Nesta took to taking Zasha out for a walk across the craggy hills – sometimes accompanied by Emerie or Balthazar – and killing the odd heather plant or worm that she saw further from the cabin. It seemed a waste to keep rotting food. Wherever she had a spare ten minutes, Nesta would also bounce her flames between her hands as if she was juggling just to give her power the exercise. Rhys had likened it to a muscle that always required training. Even battling against his own magic was helping to train hers; hers felt as if it was sentient sometimes and had begun learning how Rhysand’s would move so they had to be careful that she didn’t strike him down dead – even if sometimes it was tempting.

Nesta liked to stay busy. As often as Cassian was free from duties, they’d explore parts of Illyria and he’d ask for her opinion on it. They’d developed their own scoring system based on the plant life, business, weather, and location. He hadn’t explained why, but Nesta guessed it was to build a new home for them.

Cassian was busy too. He had been discussing the construction of an orphanage with a team from Velaris and had begun the initial planning stages. Their evenings were generally spent in quiet working at the table, pausing every now and then to kiss when Cassian pulled her from her seat into his lap.

If both of them were sick of work, they’d head to the nearby village where Balthazar’s forge was. Lule usually met them in a flurry of wings while Lorin waddled along afterwards. The children had enjoyed their sweet treats from the Autumn Court – though Marsela had complained they refused to go to bed that night because they were so full of sugar. They embraced the waning days of summer together, seizing the time in the late August sun at the lake or picnic up in the hills. If Nesta had to endure Cassian’s family – he had to do the same for her. They were a mismatched family, Nesta realised: she and Emerie were glued together and Balthazar had become a willing part of their group. It was common for him to show up at Emerie’s or both females would head to his forge. It was more common to see the children there than not to see them too. Lule had also declared she would be a blacksmith when she grew up so Balthazar joked that he’d start training her early.

When Rovena had seen her for the first time since Nesta had moved to Illyria– then the engagement ring – she’d cradled Nesta’s face and kissed her forehead gently. More and more, Rovena was venturing beyond just the market stall. It was a regular occurrence to come to the village and find Azriel’s mother holding Lorin’s hand in the shallows of the lake or standing beneath a tree ready to catch Lule as she leapt from it. It still broke Nesta’s heart to think of the motherhood that Rovena had been denied by her son’s imprisonment at the hands of his cruel father. She wished there was a way to put Rovena and Adeline in a room together so they could share their hurts and find strength in each other; both deserved happiness.

‘Will you come to the wedding?’ Nesta asked, whittling the end off of a stick.

Rovena’s face stiffened slightly, but she continued playing with Lorin and his wooden jigsaw. ‘I would like to.’

‘It can be in this village,’ Nesta reassured her. ‘And it will not be large. I have no friends.’

‘You’ve got me!’ Balthazar protested. The male was squatting down, trying to kindle a fire to life. Nesta was trying not to think about it, trying not to draw attention to the flames.

‘I have a handful of friends,’ Nesta amended – and Rovena smiled. ‘I would really like it if you came, Rovena, but I understand if it is too much.’

The female nodded and Nesta caught the bob of her throat as she swallowed. ‘I will try. How is the planning going?’

‘I am a very organised person, but I haven’t a clue where to start,’ Nesta conceded. ‘I have the husband at least; I think that’s the most important part.’

Nesta added another stick to their pile ready for when the fire was hot enough to begin cooking. Emerie was off with Lule searching for insects; the outline of the two could be seen on the lake’s edge in the distance. Lule fluttered around Emerie’s head like a butterfly as they hunted. They’d taken a bucket with them so Nesta had little doubt that they wouldn’t return until Lule had found something worthwhile to show off.

Marsela was recovering from another sickness so Balthazar had offered to take the children for the evening so she could rest. When she had enquired about Marsela’s age, Balthazar had grimaced and said it was in the four-digit region. Fae lives were long, but even Nesta knew thousands was nonsensical. There were five centuries between her and Cassian – would it mean that she would have five hundred years without him? It was an answer that she did not want to know.

That evening, they had the unexpected arrival of the High Lord and Lady – along with the Lord of Bloodshed himself. Rovena got to her feet, ready to bow but Rhys waved her offering away and assured her it wasn’t necessary.

The tension mounted slightly amongst the other Illyrians who were a little unsure of how to behave in their presence – and Nesta was tempted to tell them to leave her friends and go back to Velaris. Thankfully, Lule blundered over brandishing a dead dragonfly in her fingers at Rhys. She had recognised his face from the cabin, but seemed not to remember that he was the High Lord of the Night Court. Feyre’s face was happy as she watched her mate be challenged to a flying race across the lake by the little girl – then when Lule cheated and won, everybody was laughing.

‘Who taught you to whittle?’ Cassian asked, inspecting one of her sticks.

‘I can only whittle a spike – and my good friend, Balthazar, taught me.’

Balthazar patted his chest in appreciation. ‘Lord of Bloodshed, could you maybe make yourself useful?’ The male passed him a pack of sausages that they’d brought earlier from a butcher’s shop.

Cassian got to the task, carving an X at each end then impaling them on the whittled sticks. It did not appear to be the first time he’d done such a thing in his life.  

‘What are they?’ Feyre peered at the one Cassian had pressed into her hand and told to hold above the flames.

‘Špekačky. The best Illyrian food. Do you have horčica?’

Emerie scoffed, rotating her stick. ‘What do you take us for? We are true Illyrians.’ Balthazar cheered at her words – the noise made Lorin laugh.

It was a beautiful evening, spent chatting happily around the fire. For once, the flames didn’t bother Nesta because the conversation flowed and flowed offering a distraction. Nesta had a piece of bread placed in her hand then Cassian tipped some of the sauce – a kind of mustard – onto it, followed by her roasted sausage. There was no plate or cutlery, but it seemed better that way. Everybody laughed at the state the children had got themselves into with sauce spread around their mouths. Lorin kept trying to snatch the sausages from the flames, so Rovena had him firmly in her lap, gripping his little hands to her stick.

Feyre had even chosen to sit by Nesta. Their conversation was hesitant but civil enough. Nesta told her the story of giving the two children sugared treats from the Autumn Court which made her sister laugh. It was a shame they hadn’t done such a thing before – just sat together as sisters rather than enemies. Maybe one day, they would get there. Maybe one day, Elain would also be beside them.

‘How is Eris doing as High Lord?’ Rhys asked casually. It was a dip for information, Nesta could see through it plainly enough.

‘Splendid. Although, he did say I’m making Zasha fat and spoilt.’ The dog was laying beside them, gazing hopefully at anybody who held a sausage in their hands.

Rhys sucked in a breath then clapped Cassian on the back. ‘It’ll happen to you too, brother.’

‘Where is the third brother?’ Rovena asked, smiling politely. ‘Where’s my son these days? He’s becoming a stranger.’

‘We’re meeting him in the mortal lands soon – actually, we should get going. We have a meeting with Vassa,’ Rhys explained. ‘Rovena, I promise on his day off, I’ll send him to Rosehall. He’s invested in training the females in Iron Crest at the moment.’ 

‘That is good to hear,’ she agreed although Balthazar shuddered.

‘I had to spend a week there once. Nearly kissed Devlon’s boots when I got back.’ The other males chuckled at Balthazar’s words. Nesta could only guess it meant Devlon looked like an angel compared to the other high lords.

‘If you think Karius is bad,’ Rhys said, a smirk brimming on his lips, ‘You should see Cassian when he’s in a bad mood.’

***

More and more, Cassian was glad to be in Illyria. It was a part of him that he’d always been made to feel ashamed of. There were parts of that culture that needed change, that need rejuvenation, but other parts – gathered with friends, eating with their hands and sharing stories by a fire – were the parts that really made his homeland shine. Rhys had called Nesta an Illyrian once, and he’d thought his brother could not have been more wrong. Yet, his mate was at home there. Nesta was more comfortable in Illyria than he’d ever seen her anywhere else. She’d made friends with its people far easier. Even dressed in beautiful gowns that swept around her ankles, Nesta could be seen taking a walk amongst the gorse-streaked mountains with Zasha or kneeling beside Lorin by the edge of the lake to examine stones.

Prior to departing, Cassian had planted a kiss on Nesta’s lips that had made her blush then Lule had flown into his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck. The move had startled him, but he embraced the little girl back with a bone-crunching squeeze that made her giggle. Balthazar promised to ensure Nesta and Emerie got back home safely – and Cassian knew he’d be true to his word. The three of them were each other’s shadows recently. Before winnowing with the others, Cassian decided to take the step that Nesta was too shy to do and broach the subject of Rovena making her dress. She’s stared daggers at him, but Rovena had let out a happy noise of surprise so he’d take Nesta’s ire later.

Torrential rain met them in the mortal lands so they hurried into the house the moment that Jurian sprang open the door. Chairs had been brought in from the dining room so they could all gather in the living room. Vassa and Lucien seemed to be locked into a heated discussion, their faces were inches away, both with creased brows, but promptly stopped the moment their group entered. Vassa feigned her casual languish on the couch, smiling slightly as she leaned back into the armrest.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ Lucien asked, already sweeping from the room without waiting or a reply.

As usual, Jurian said nothing. It happened more when Rhys was around. Cassian wasn’t sure how much their paths had crossed throughout history or what had truly transpired between them Under the Mountain, but Jurian always remained tight-lipped with Rhys. Perhaps it was because his brother was so truly other. Power rippled from him in a thick wave that could suffocate sometimes. Mortals might feel that sense of power more – and Cassian supposed Jurian was not an ordinary mortal man. The shadows of the past still hunted the man. Their evidence lay beneath his brown eyes. Yet despite his disdain of the fae, Lucien had been welcomed into the fold.

Once Lucien returned, the whole room gave a collective sigh of relief; Rhys and Vassa had been making polite small-talk while the rest of them sat silently listening into the forced conversation. It seemed that Lucien was the glue holding them altogether. The male moved seamlessly from court to court and below the Wall.

‘You called for this meeting,’ Rhys said, indicating they should begin quickly. Despite their power, all of them still grew nervous in the mortal lands. Their senses felt different.

‘Shouldn’t we wait until Azriel arrives?’

Rhys waved his hand at Lucien’s suggestion then tucked it around Feyre’s shoulders. ‘I’ll fill him in on anything important. He’s tied up in Iron Crest.’

‘No trouble, I hope?’

Vassa tipped her chin up at Lucien’s question, a slight tell that she was interested in the topic of unrest in Illyria. Rhys shrugged. ‘Quite the opposite. We’ve tried more males with siphons and they’ve taken well to their power.’

‘The Night Court always needs to breed more Illyrians for its armies,’ Jurian said, immovable from his post by the wall.

‘Illyria has always been a formidable force,’ said Feyre.

Jurian let out a long laugh dripping with sarcasm. ‘What would a twenty-two year old woman know of Illyria’s history? Especially one who was human not that long ago.’

‘She is its high lady,’ Rhys snapped, the power leaking out in his voice.

The man raised his eyebrows at Rhys’ tone then started picking his nails, utterly dismissing him. ‘Can she read now?’

Both Cassian and Rhys were on their feet – as was Lucien who fought valiantly to keep the peace. Jurian didn’t so much as flinch in the face of two fae with enough power to disintegrate him so thoroughly that not even the wind would remember his name.

‘I only ask because I was there on Amarantha’s hand the whole time. I watched you struggling to read, high lady.’ His tone was rude enough that Cassian wanted to rip out his throat with his bare hands. Only the Mother knew what Rhys wanted to do to him. ‘I remember everything, Rhysand. I was there through every moment. What a wonderful dancer your mate is.’

‘Enough.’ Lucien’s voice cracked as swift and hard as a whip, cutting through the tension. ‘Make yourself scarce.’

The man bent low in a mockery of a bow. ‘Send Nesta next time. She’s a much better sparring partner,’ he said, as he sauntered from the room. ‘At least she’s worked hard to get where she is.’  

‘Apologies for my general. He is out of sorts today,’ Vassa explained with a slight snigger, watching the door swing closed.

‘He hates Graysen’s wife and must hold in his anger anytime they are in a room together so comes back wanting to argue with us all night. I daresay it makes a change for him to find new opposition.’ Lucien poured the tea for them, his face carefully blank. ‘On the few occasions they’ve met, Nesta and Jurian have enjoyed their arguments.’

Feyre’s brows were drawn together, her blue-grey eyes swirling to fend off tears but she spoke. ‘Did you say Graysen’s wife?’

Lucien met Feyre’s eyes, his own brow creasing, then nodded once.

‘It was a private occasion to a pretty, little thing,’ the mortal queen explained. ‘After his last fiancée turned fae and galivanted to the Night Court, he dec-’

‘You are not to blame the failings of the engagement on Elain.’

At Lucien’s reprimand, Vassa rolled her eyes. ‘My goodness, the men in his house certainly are full of testosterone tonight. Perhaps you and Jurian should go for a wrestle in the mud to calm yourselves – it would be enjoyable to watch for the rest of us.’

When the door knocked, Cassian knew at once that it was his brother. And he was glad for a change in the tension-addled room. 

‘Apologies. Iron Crest is keeping me busy,’ Azriel said, his voice flat. His brother took a seat beside him. Although he was run ragged, Azriel looked better recently – less tired, more prone to quiet laughter than silence. He hoped that Azriel was finally seeing the goodness in Illyria because it did exist and it deserved to flourish.

Sinking into the couch by Vassa, Lucien strummed his fingers on his knee. ‘Briallyn has moved. She has tried to seek out two of the other queens.’

Azriel’s wings flared. ‘My spies haven’t turned out any information on her.’

‘The spymaster out-foxed,’ Vassa hummed.

Lucien tried not to smile at Vassa’s remark, but Cassian caught the subtle poke of his elbow into her ribs. ‘I don’t employ spies. I make friends.’ The male cocked a leg over his ankle and took a long swig of his drink. ‘She’s being shunned by the others. They’re afraid she’ll use the crown on them to try and seek their lands. Briallyn won’t make allies.’

‘Why now?’ Feyre asked.

‘The tattoo,’ Cassian offered. ‘Nesta’s bargain with Eris – it’s over. That was keeping Koschei from her.’

‘It could be linked. I don’t like to believe in coincidence where the Archeron sisters are concerned,’ said Rhys, threading his hand into Feyre’s.

‘Has Eris refused to bargain with her again?’ Az asked, turning his hazel eyes to Cassian. Only Az knew how much he hated Eris because it was shared between them. Knew that Az hated asking about Eris as much as Cassian hated speaking of him.

He groaned. ‘The opposite. Eris has offered. By her account, he was quite insistent but Nesta is the one refusing. Even I have offered her a deal, but she is too damn stubborn.’

That was met with laughter. Yes, she was stubborn but it was becoming more serious. Even now, Cassian had to fight the urge to get back to her and ensure that she was safe. Balthazar would protect her – even Emerie – but they weren’t seasoned fighters. Next to an immortal, what could they do? What could anyone do for Nesta?  

‘She has a plan – or at least she tells me she does.’

Azriel shook his head. ‘You need to find it out, Cass. She’s not a fighter.’

Lucien appraised them both. ‘I spent an afternoon with her and her friends in the library. They were militant in their research. I would believe her when she says she has a plan.’

‘We need to keep her close. Keep her safe. Perhaps move her to a safe location.’

Cassian bristled – not at Rhys’ suggestion, but because he knew it would not be an option for Nesta. ‘She won’t bow to fear. She will not change anything about her life.’

‘It’s for her own good, Cass.’

Cassian shook his head. ‘She’ll hate it. She won’t want it. I know her best. If I could, I’d fly her to the middle of nowhere, where nobody could find her, and keep her safe until my last breath. But she will hate us for it.’

He refused to drive Nesta away again. Although he’d try and make her see reason, he also knew his mate’s spine was made from steel and unlikely to ever change. It was why he loved her.

‘Could we ensure somebody is always with her? Someone to protect her? Then she can carry on as normal but she'd be safer.’

Rhys twirled a lock of Feyre’s hair around his finger. ‘You’d like me to babysit your big, scary sister?’

She threw him a vulgar gesture then continued. ‘Between us, we can protect Nesta – at least long enough to get her out of any danger. Mor, me, Rhys, and Az – we can all winnow. We can all fight.’

Cassian snorted. ‘Who taught all four of you to fight?’

‘But you cannot winnow.’

He gritted his teeth, trying not to argue with Feyre in public and undermine her status as the High Lady of the Night Court. ‘Nesta is my mate. I will be spending the most time with her.’

‘And most likely to be used against her,’ Rhys countered.

‘I am her mate. I would give my life so she can run. There’s no force in this world that could cleave us apart.’ Cassian levelled Rhys with a glare. The idea of not being on a duty to protect Nesta was utterly ridiculous. He’d die for her, kill for her. ‘Besides, if you put Mor on duty with her, I think they’d rather Koschei came than be forced to make conversation.’

It would be a recipe for disaster if Mor was invited to watch over Nesta, especially if it took place in Illyria too. Rhys wouldn’t want to risk Feyre with Nesta either but that was a conversation for the couple to have in private.

‘I’m happy to spend time with Nesta,’ Lucien said, catching them all by surprise.

‘We’re talking about the eldest Archeron, Lucien, not the middle one,’ Rhys winked.

Again, the tightness that had been nibbling at Lucien’s features throughout the night flashed stronger. ‘How can you be shocked that she’s reluctant to spend time in your group when she is always mocked by you? If this is how you speak of Nesta, your mate and sister, I dread to think what is said about me when I’m not in earshot.’

A heavy silence descended upon the living room. Mor and Amren still did not trust the male fully, believing he was too far into Vassa’s pockets. Even Azriel had started voicing doubts since they knew he was voluntarily going to the Autumn Court to visit his mother. Yet Lucien did not receive the same chiding Nesta did for her character or behaviour.

‘I like Nesta,’ he said, breaking the silence. Vassa regarded him carefully. ‘She may come across as intimidating, but if she can stand against Beron or make Eris’ heart start beating again, then she is a female to be celebrated. I will be happy to protect her – if she allows it.’

‘Fine,’ Rhys said folding his hands into his lap. ‘We’ll keep a watch on Nesta when she’s out in public. Cass, you can be the one to broach that news with her.’

Azriel clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’ll send a storm warning to Windhaven.’

Every summer, I go camping in Slovakia and špekačky are the best part. It’s really common to have a camp fire or to ask people you don’t know if you can share their fire and get talking to them. You whittle the end off a stick to roast it. Here’s a picture of what I imagined them munching in Illyria

#au acosf

[garyjugert]

Uniclues:

1 Add more salt.

2 The long story of how the brown horse became known as Blondie.

3 Wet puppy smell.

4 Short poem by anti-porn advocate.

5 Awkward conversation starter on the third date.

6 Watch the drain in horror after hearing the "clink."

7 Italian sauce made in Peoria.

8 Take a baseball bat to a loud mouth with a mohawk.

9 Northern New Mexican standing alone in front of the TJMaxx.

10 Powder ancient aviator.

11 Tattooed a glass of water from a Great Lake.

12 What you should do when your genius goes unrecognized.

13 An unbalanced existence.

14 Un-moist malaise in Mexico.

15 Power wielded by warthogs if you move too close.

***

1 SPICE ITEM ANEW

2 COCOA MARE SAGA

3 SLINKY DOG ODORS (~)

4 ACLU / STINKY TOFU

5 BOOTS, OK? I'M KINKY. (~)

6 TRACK PINKY RING

7 RINKY DINK PESTO

8 CORK PUNK ROCKER

9 I'M SAD TAOS PINE

10 TALC INCA PILOT (~)

11 ERIE UNIT INKED

12 SULK. ASK MEN.

13 ASYMMETRIC REAL

14 NADA MISTY DOOM (~)

15 WAGS TUSK AGONY

#crossword #nytxw #uniclues

[yuuniee]

What they are based off of:

Renée — Rapunzel (Hurt Incantation/Tangled: The Series) + Alice (American McGee’s Alice) + Cinderella

Sakae — Miss Heed (Villainous) + Miu Iruma (NDRV3) + Nanno (Girl From Nowhere)

Yuusuke — Original character

Ian — (mainly) The Little Prince + Owl (Stellaluna)

Lilith — Cruella De Vil (2022 movie) + Justine Dancer (Ever After High) + Kiara (Lion King)

Dorothea — Minnie Mouse

Manar — Original character

Matthew — The Headless Horseman

Cengiz — Original character

Archie — Other Mother/Beldam (Coraline) + Nimona

Charlotte — Mad Hatter (Alice In Wonderland)

Oliver — Joker card (Yes, the card itself!)

Eris — CA Cupid (Monster High)

Adelle — Spinel (Steven Universe)

Sinha — Kovu (Lion King)

Elsie — Snowball (The Secret Life Of Pets)

Viktor — Mor'du (Brave) + Muriel (The Arcana)

Coral — Original character

Daniel — Crush (Finding Nemo)

Fawn — Black Pearl Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom) + Squid Ink Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom) + Persephone (Greek Mythology)

Auburn — Loch Ness Monster

Indigo — Original character

Orion — Lord Oyster Cookie + Abalone Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

Farah — Sa'luk (Aladdin)

Rashid — Sa'luk (Aladdin)

Asif — Scheherazade

Aryan — Original character

Nuit — Odile/The Black Swan (Swan Lake)

Vivienne — Snow White’s mother (Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs)

Sebastian — Mother Gothel (Rapunzel)

Faith — Jormungand (Elora’s Raid) + Hel (Norse Mythology)

Nolan — Pyros (fire titan) (Hercules)

Zephyr — Orpheus (Greek Mythology)

Nitra — Liquid nitrogen

Hera — The Thorn Wall of Maleficent (Sleeping Beauty)

Fleur — The Little Match Girl

“Phantom” — Jack Horner (Puss In Boots) + Akechi Goro (Persona) + Lucio (The Arcana)

Edgar — Abyss Monarch Cookie (Cookie Run: Ovenbreak)

Iris — Desira (AFK Arena)

❥ Last Updated: 18th April

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #twst yuu #heartslabyul oc #savanaclaw oc #octavinelle oc #scarabia oc #pomefiore oc #ignihyde oc #diasomnia oc #ramshackle oc

[winterparkcollectibles-blog]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Postcard Along Lake Erie Shore 155 Vintage White Border Unposted 1917-1929.

[sumnerhouse55]

home designer pro support

How often would you burn office or home use CDs and DVDs? Following have something to save in these discs on a daily basis. As a result, in an entire week, they have the ability to create a bunch of CDs for themselves or customers. Even if most of you use a special marker or pen to label every burned disc, at 1 the ink will fade. After that, you will have to boot the disc to find out what occupies its space. To avoid home designer pro Activation Key , now you can build use of a CD label griddle. Originality is good, even though not in the of scenery. If home designer pro Crack 2023 have seen any landscaping design that you like, copy it, tweak it promote it particular. Trust me, originality often fail people. Things always appear different from what you would imagine in you. The perfect putter cost hundreds of dollars from a pro shop, could be custom built, could be so beautiful it is a work of art, or it could be bought away from an old, stinky, filthy, oil drum at a flea market, look exactly like a rusted item of twisted metal dredged of this depths Lake Erie, and bought for mere money. None of this matters as long as it's the perfect putter for somebody. You know it the moment you observe it and first waggle it. home designer pro Torrent shed designs must not be boring or unimaginative. Tailor made personalize camp fire . look with a some paint and several finishing touches. With a little elbow grease, may get build yourself a shed that compliments the house and yard, and enriches the value of your back home. 2) Discuss the lots of what you plan to store in your garden shed and what you look for the space for. Don't skimp on size; you'll only be sorry later. Secret behind to manifesting your desires is pick from a well-designed garden shed plan. But however good your plan is, expect challenges and home designer pro. When they come you wont' be. The iMac was a design revolution when it first came out. It's fully self contained, and the lot less space style over the traditional tower and screen layout. This is also a extremely high power computer, with Intel i3, i5, and i7 processors, with regards to the capacity you should. Current models come with 3D graphics capacity, LED backlit displays and Multi touch capabilities. A barking dog or overly friendly cats can kill a showing. Be pro-active and your own pets off site for showings. Hire a dog walker to occupy pets folks who wants be home.

#HOME DESIGNER PRO

[bestcommercialfishingpermits]

Pennsylvania Commercial Fishing Permits You Need in 2022

Pennsylvania may not be the first state that comes to mind when you think about commercial fishing. In truth, however, the Keystone state is home to a robust commercial and industrial fishing industry. When you look at the numbers, it makes a lot of sense. Pennsylvania encompasses 470,000 acres of Lake Erie, which offers bountiful fishing opportunities. There are also 4,000 lakes and ponds, as well as 86,000 miles of streams and rivers within state boundaries. If you are considering launching a business that capitalizes on Pennsylvania’s commercial fishing offerings, you are going to want to sort out a few formalities first. You will want to make sure that you have a boat that can handle the demands of your business. This also means having the rods, lines, and safety equipment to properly outfit your crew. Next, you are going to want to form a business plan. What are you going to catch? Where are you planning to sell it? These are valid questions that you will want to answer. You will also need to make sure that you have the proper commercial fishing permits. Pennsylvania Commercial Fishing: Different Types of Permits Just as there are different types of fish to catch, so too are there different permits that you will need to fish in Pennsylvania. All permits are issued by the Pennsylvania Fish and Boat Commission (PFBC), and, more specifically, the Division of Fisheries Management. As the department’s name would suggest, they are tasked with overseeing the state’s fisheries. This means regulating who can use them and when. While this may seem like bureaucratic red tape, it is important to remember that their mission is to conserve the future viability of Pennsylvania’s fisheries. Maybe your commercial fishing business is centered around providing charters and guided outings? In this case, you will need to obtain a Charter Boat/Fishing Guide Permit Application, also called a PFBC-G-1. A more standard lake fishing commercial operation will need to acquire an Application for Regulated Fishing Lake License (PFBC-109). If your business plans to make use of Lake Erie, you will need a specific permit. The Lake Erie Trap Net License or Seine License Application for Commercial Fishing License (PFBC-171) will grant you the legal access necessary to fish on Pennsylvania’s Great Lake waters. These permits can all be obtained via the PFBC. You can visit their website, source the correct PDF files, download them, print them out, ink them by hand, and mail them to the proper state office for processing. We Can Help You Get Commercial Fishing Permits Online Fortunately, there is an easier way to obtain all of the fishing permits that you need online. At the Commercial Fishing Permits Center, we feature a wide array of web applications to get all of the commercial fishing licenses you need on one convenient website. Take a moment to explore our navigation–you will see that we have easy-to-fill web forms for licenses in all major U.S. regions. If you would like to learn more about our services, contact us by phone or email today.

[oimoi-op]

Noodler's has announced changes on certain labels in light of the recent controversy. These include several name changes and some inks being discontinued. I got the list from Noodler's Instagram, and I have this typed out under the cut below.

INKS

Kiowa Peca >>> Pecan

Apache Sunset >>> Southwest Sunset

Ottoman Rose >>> Rose in the Louvre

Navajo Turquoise >>> Mesa Turquoise

Tiananmen is DISCONTINUED

Ottoman Azure >>> Azure

Shah's Rose >>> Pearl Diver Coral

Bernanke Black >>> Brevity Black

Bernanke Blue >>> Brevity Blue

Rome Burning >>> Rome

Q-E'ternity >>> Brevity Blue-Black

Park Red is DISCONTINUED

House Divided is DISCONTINUED

Anti-Fascist Blue >>> X-Feather Blue

Noodler's 1984 Ink is DISCONTINUED

Censor Red >>> Brevity Red

Nikita is TBD

Dragon's Napalm >>> Dragon's Fire

PENS

Apache Tortoise Konrad Flex and Ahab >>> Mesa Tortoise

Cherokee Pearl Ahab >>> Oklahoma

Comanche Ahab >>> Brazos River

Black Crow Ahab >>> Raven

Huron Ahab >>> Lake Champlain

Iroquois Ahab >>> Lake Erie

Navajo Turquoise >>> Mesa Turquoise

Pima Tortoise Ahab >>> Canyon Tortoise

Zuni Ahab >>> Wilderness Twilight

NIBS

Zuni standard flex nib >>> Wilderness Twilight

#pens #fountain pens #noodler's drama #i can't in good conscience recommend noodler's due to both shitty qc and shitty nathan tardiff but hey. updates are updates #oimoi rants about pointless stationery bullshit

[ignitingwriting]

Igniting Writing ‘Explore’ Contest 2019, Submission by Vince from Lake Erie Ink

Some good news to share with you all - we have our first entry for the Igniting Writing 'Explore’ creative writing contest, in collaboration with Fighting Words, Young Writers Project and Lake Erie Ink! Our first submission was sent in by Vince, from Lake Erie Ink, and it’s a great read, capturing the rebellious streak of bored teenagers and a supernatural twist! Have a read for yourself below:

Exploration was a godsend to the kids of Mountain Brook Street. Due to the amount of space around them deemed ‘private property’ there weren’t many places for people to hang out. Often times the kids on the street found creative ways to get around the rules or odd places to chill.

A lot of the families on Mountain Brook Street had their kids grow up there and then all leave. It was a very move-in-then-move-out kind of place. Despite that stigma, there was a small cast of families that never quite got the memo. One of these families was the Beckers. Thomas and Julie Becker had bought the house when they were newlyweds and despite having three kids of varying ages they hadn’t ever thought of moving out. Their youngest child, Richie, was definitely the most adventurous of the group. He was the youngest of the three, at 15. His two brothers, Randall and Donnie, were 21 and 30 respectively, so they were already out of his life at a young age. This meant that family visits and reunions were an absolute drag for him. On one hand he got to see his siblings, but on the other, he’d get scolded by old people he barely knew for trespassing, cheating, or whatever he’d done that week.

It was July 18th and his three cousins and two uncles were coming to town. He despised them and it’d been the sixth time this year that they decided to come ‘visit’ for a week. They all knew the real reason why they came over so often, but no one wanted to argue about it. Money was thin these days and, likewise, so was Richie’s patience about this whole ordeal. Summer vacation was an evil that he would never wish on anyone (other than his cousins, of course). He was alone to do anything his free will granted and he wasn’t happy about that. Richie longed for a chance to do mischievous things with others. He just hoped high school was going to be the haven for chaos that he’d always dreamt of. All his previous friends were one-off jerks who lived in the city and until this summer he never realized what it was like to not have people around. Luckily for him, there were a few younger neighbourhood kids that he could hang out with. One of which was always open for causing a ruse.

Gregory Palm was the perfect mixture of true neutral and chaotic evil. He lived with his parents, four siblings, three cats and a canary. Richie never really saw him as more than an acquaintance, but it was evident the feeling was not double-sided. Gregory trusted Richie with his deepest regrets and despite being a year younger was very trustworthy himself.

Today was a reckoning day for sure. Today was the day that Richie was going to do the impossible. He was going to ditch a family reunion. Gregory had told him about this place he found while wandering a few weeks prior, that was right between the steel mill and the salt mine (and processing plant) that had plagued them their whole lives. For a while ‘Private’ and ‘Property’ were the only two words he knew how to read besides the omnipresent ‘yes’, ‘no’ and ‘because’. It was just one of those things the kids of Mountain Brook Street grew up with.

Richie set off on his expedition early that morning. It was about 8:30am and the guests were due to arrive in about an hour. He yelled, “I’m going to Gregory’s house, see you later, bye!” very quickly towards the direction of his parents’ room as he stormed down the staircase to the front door. He practically leapt out of the house and slammed the door behind him. This was the beginning of a very long day. He made his voyage down the sidewalk to Gregory’s abode. It was definitely what people would classify as a fixer-upper, but it still managed to be menacing in its own way. Before even stepping foot into the yard he heard the somewhat loud voice of his friend. Gregory hung out the second floor window, dressed in a flannel and a vacation-esque floral t-shirt. He was waving down at Richie, who seemed to be shocked by the level of incompetence he was witnessing.

“Gregory, what are you doing up there? Aren’t you scared of falling? You could get hurt!”

“Shut up!”

After he gave his response Gregory pushed the window closed and ran downstairs faster than what seemed possible. He swung the door open and skidded to a halt in front of Richie. He was breathing heavily, hands on his knees.

“I told you, dude, I do a lot of things I don’t really think about first.”

“Seems about right!” Richie laughed.

“I didn’t ask for a response from the peanut gallery, did I?”

“Ugh, can it! Where is this crazy forest tunnel thing you were talking so much about?”

“Oh, yeah! Um, follow me!”

The walk was pretty long by any 14-15 year old’s standards, so there were frequent stops for water and jokes until they finally arrived at about 9:45am. Amongst the clouds of factory gas and industrial flower gardens there was a hole in the ground. It wasn’t an uncommon sight in the built-up areas between the many manufacturing plants, but something seemed to draw Richie closer.

“So, this is what you were so crazy about?”

“Yeah, I can assure you I didn't just bring you out here to any old hole!”

“Oh? What’s so special about this hole, then?”

“Look at this!”

Gregory took Richie by the arm and pulled him forward to look down.

“A staircase, Gregory?”

“Yeah, pretty cool, right?”

“I wonder what’s down –”

He was cut off by Gregory yelling, “Not it!” out loud and pulling his hand away from his friend’s arm.

Richie sighed. “So, you’re asking me to go down this suspicious spiral staircase in the middle of the woods between two big factories... by myself.”

“When you put it that way, it makes me seem like a jerk, ouch!”

“Well right now I don’t think that’s far off from the truth!”

Richie crossed his arms and turned around.

“Fine, fine, take this –” Gregory took off his bag, rummaging through the top portion and pulling out a Swiss Army knife on a keychain with pepper spray and a mini flashlight. “If you see anyone super crazy down there, you’ve got a weapon! I’ll stand up here and keep watch; I think our parents might be looking for us. I may or may not have told them I was hanging out with Tommy from over on Redwood Drive.”

“Gregory Marvin Palm, you lied to your entire household about where you were going? They have phones, you know!” This terrified Richie, although it did not cause him to leave this crazy place so soon.

He sighed, turning back around and releasing his arms from their criss-crossed position. Richie stepped on to the first step of the spiral staircase and smiled. “If I don’t make it out alive, put it on record that I told ya so.”

Gregory nervously laughed, as the other boy walked slowly down the descending pipe into the earth below.

It seemed to go on forever, down into the dark depths. Despite only being lit by the keychain flashlight, Richie could tell that the place was rather clean for what he would assume to be a sewer. He reached the bottom and walked down the long corridor extending from the final landing. There was an old-fashioned wooden door held together by metal and century old nails. He brought himself forward to grasp the doorknob and turned it. On the other side of the door, there was a huge open room, with slits in the ceiling, like water vents for rain. The walls and floor were decorated with flowers, fruits and vegetables of all kinds. It was a marvellous cacophony of darkness and life. Richie was comforted by the familiar smells, which brought him closer to the greenery.

All of a sudden, the door behind Richie slammed and he heard a ringing noise in his head. He had the Swiss Army knife in one hand and the rest of the keychain in the other. The ringing died down and he started hearing a shaky, strained voice. It wasn’t loud, yet he could still hear it. Panicked, he ran for the other door in the room that he hadn’t seen when he walked in. It was open, so he figured there was a way out somehow. The voice went in and out in his head. It sounded like a test recording of some kind. As he walked cautiously to the door, he yelled, “Gregory, this isn’t funny! Is this why you wanted me to come down here? To lock me in? You’re sick y’know!”

The voice shuddered before responding. “Who?”

Richie stepped into the second room, pulling the door open completely. There was a huge machine against the right wall, with someone in a black cloak standing in front of it. Richie was petrified with fear, which caused him to stand there blankly. The person in the cloak turned, showing his skull-like face. “Oh, I wasn’t expecting anyone! Hey! I’m not too sure what’s going on, but you seem a little worried, how about we sit down?”

Before Richie could say anything, he was sat down at a table across from this crazy skeleton-esque man. The guy was so goofy, that he couldn’t help but laugh in almost terror from being so scared before. This was of course terrifying, but not to the extent he was preparing himself for.

“Oh – um, well, before you say anything, I should probably get off my chest that I am completely and utterly deaf. I cannot understand, or lip read, but! That machine in there is for telepathy! I can hear and speak to you through brain waves! Pretty cool, right? By the way, I’m Death! Death himself!” Death stuck out his hand for a shake.

Richie obliged, shaking his hand. He went to open his mouth, before realizing that he can’t just speak out loud. Once they stopped their handshake, he started to try to speak telepathically.

“So, you’re Death himself?”

“Yeah, pretty sure I am!”

“Why do you, like, live down here with plants? Don’t you kill things?”

“Ouch! Um, not exactly. Death is at the end of life, so honestly, my job is to nurture and care until they’re too weak to support themselves anymore.”

“Weird. Why are you deaf?”

“Why? Do you ever ask someone why they have cancer? Why do they have a pet? I mean, come on!”

“So you’re not going to tell me.”

Death sighs. “Hearing is just a foresight that I cannot ever truly obtain in this mortal form. What you see now is much like a hologram of who I really am. I’m the new Death and unlike most before me I don't loathe Earth – I enjoy it. Much like people having to make sacrifices to be happy, I had to make a sacrifice.”

“Huh. I should probably get going. Gregory is probably freaking out right now –”

Richie went to stand, but Death got up before him and said, “Wait! Take this!” as he ran over to a potted plant with bright purple flowers. He walked back to Richie and handed it to him.

“You might not need this now, but here's a token of my thanks for visiting. Just remember that even if you know things are a certain way, you don’t have to take it as it is. There are a million things you can do in life and I hope that you do all that you want to before I see you again. Take care and goodbye!”

Richie woke up in a cold sweat, in an empty sewer, next to a potted plant and a staircase. No door in sight.

#explore #igniting writing #lake erie ink #fighting words #creative writing #writing for teens #writing challenge #writing contest #writing competition #young writers project #teen writers

[pawnderthepoet]

It's appealing to the eye but a predator to our outside

White soft and pure but so cold it leaves blisters

An environment that's aggressive and isolating but demands your brain to begin percolating

Thoughts divide like our lives subside whilst loneliness inside so we find a Mate to coincide with our open time

Winds so brutal it cuts through skin and leaves nothing short of a bitter reminder that humans aren't built for it

Hypothermia sets in, but not only in our extremities but there's a cold that consumes our heart and I can feel it palpitating through our art and its amenities

Winter has whipped it's way through the neighborhood and it seems it is here to stay

Temperatures up and down the spectrum in the span of three days and signing off with ice that covers the roads, hills and man made lakes

She's fiery and frozen, dazzling in pictures with a subtle glisten

Her cold is killer, but she also promises personal favor

She storms in suited in lessons

All of self love and longing tolerance piloted by an urge to discover passions.

Winter is such a lover,

Her touch remembered forever

- Redridiculousandreal

aka Tomi L Jennings

2018

#winter #isolation #self love #cold #snow #reflection #passion #writersoftumblr #poetry of tumblr #spilled in poetry #spilled ink #poetic release #my poems #my writing on the wall #i am my words #lover #bitter blizzard #winter storm #eastcoast #lake erie #snow effects #poets on tmblr #poet

[weirdestbooks]

Burning A Capital (Oneshot)

United States POV

I looked down at the battle field in horror as the British began to beat back my men, despite being outnumbered. I saw the militia flee, a problem we experienced during the Revolution and were seeing now.

"President Madison, the rest of you, you have to go before the British capture you!" I told the men who made up my government and had foolishly come to watch this battle. The men of my government nodded before grabbing their horses and waiting for Madison to begin his retreat.

"What about Dolly?" President Madison asked. My eyes widened. The British would most likely head towards the capital, where Dolly Madison was. President Madison couldn't go there though. The risk of capture is too great.

"You can't risk being captured. Flee to the countryside. I'll go warn Dolly and anyone else I can! Mary, keep the president safe." I told my president and daughter before running to my horse.

"Wait!" President Madison said. He asked some of his men for a quill and ink and scribbled out a letter.

"What are you doing?" I asked him.

"I'm writing a letter to my wife. Give it to her." President Madison said before finishing up the letter and handing it to me.

"That was a risky and stupid thing to do. Be safe." I said, tucking the letter away into my pocket.

"Be safe Father, and make sure your get D out of there." She said, before turning to President Madison. "You and your men follow me. I know a place were you should be safe."

President Madison nodded and thanked Maryland before hopping onto his horse. We rode back to Washington, my anxiousness over my children's safety growing. We arrived at the city and I split off from the group, arriving at my house.

"Delaware! Virginia! Pennsylvania!" I began calling out the names of some of my oldest states

"Ja?" Pennsylvania said, poking her had out from behind a door, Ohio behind her.

"The British are marching on Washington. Maryland is helping the President and others flee to safety. You and the remaining Thirteen need to do the same for your siblings. I have to go warn D and the Presidents Mansion! Stay safe, I love you!" I explained, watching her eyes widen in horror before running back out the door.

"The Lobster backs are coming back here?" I heard Massachusetts say before he ran out next to me, "I'll help you Dad."

I shook my head.

"I can't risk you being spotted. British Empire was there, along with Canada!" I argued back as I pulled myself back onto my horse. I wasn't going to risk my enemies knowing about my children. Massachusetts put his disguise on.

"Now they won't. I am helping, whether you like it or not." Massachusetts demanded. I sighed. Massachusetts was stubborn like me, and now wasn't the time for an argument over this.

"Alright, but stay out of danger, and don't risk being caught." I instructed. Massachusetts nodded, a steely look in his eyes. Massachusetts ran to get his own horse and pulled himself on it, before galloping out in the direction of the Presidential Mansion.

I heard British soldiers, but couldn't pinpoint a direction. It was, however, proof they were in the city.

We made it there as fast as we could and I barged into the mansion. As I did that I heard British Empire's voice in my head, chastising me for horrible manners. I shook my head to shake out the old memory. Thirty-eight years of being independent and enemies with my former father and I still couldn't get his lessons out of my head.

"The British are marching on Washington! You-we need to flee the city!" Massachusetts told Dolly and DC, both who had been waiting in the entrance of the Presidential Mansion to hear the results of the battle.

"What about my husband?" Dolly asked.

"Don't worry. Maryland is helping him and the other governmental officials went were at the battle escape. Our priority is on helping you." I told her, "President Madison wanted me to give you this letter."

I took out the letter and gave it to her. Dolly looked it over before turning to the staff in the room.

"We have to leave the city. Take anything of value you can. We cannot let the British get their hands on it." She ordered before moving to grab her purse.

"I'll stay with the First Lady. You help D and the staff." Massachusetts said before moving himself to stand by Dolly, "We need to leave. The staff, Dad and D can take care of this."

Dolly nodded and followed Massachusetts out of the building. I saw two members of the president's staff cut down the portrait of George Washington.

"D, I'm going to see if I can track the progress of the British soldiers. Stay here and help the staff. If danger comes, run. I love you." I told her before running outside.

I ran out into the streets, heading for the Capital building. When I reached the building, I saw it was surrounded by soldiers who were burning it, along with British Empire and Canada. I had to get back to the Presidential Mansion and warn DC and the others that they were burning the city, or at least political buildings. If they didn't get out, they were in danger. Before I could make a move I was spotted by a British soldier.

"It's the United States." The soldier cried out. I cursed under my breath before turning and running away. I had to warn the others. I should of taken my horse, I'd be able to get away from this. I got close to the Presidential Mansion before I felt a hand close around my arm.

Dammit! I cursed mentally as I turned around to see who had grabbed me.

"Hello Canada. Taking revenge for York, or is that going to to be the excuse you use to justify this attack?" I questioned him, trying ton remain calm as I saw the British troops prepare the burn the Presidential Mansion. I hope DC got out alright.

"I'm here as revenge for York. Father is here for the destruction of property along Lake Erie." Canada said, hatred in his tone. I felt guilty for the destruction of York. It hadn't been commanded, the men that did it went against orders. Canada wouldn't listen to that though. He's see it as me trying to save face.

I went to try and struggle out of Canada's grip before another hand grabbed me. I groaned instantly knowing who it was. I turned my head to face the British Empire.

"If someone declares independence and fights an entire war to get away from you, you might take that as a hint they don't like you. Provoking a war was a stupid thing to do, and I am stubborn enough to fight one of the world's most powerful countries twice, even though I am not that strong." I told him.

"Don't burn the mansion yet. Let's enjoy the meal that our wonderful American hosts have provided." British Empire ordered his troops. He was going to have s feast in the Presidential Mansion and then burn it? Of course he would. British Empire likes making a statement, and providing his power.

"What about United States?" Canada asked. British Empire smiled.

"You have the most grievances with him. My troops and I will enjoy the food, and you can have a conversation with United States." British Empire said before walking into the Presidential Mansion, followed by some of his soldiers.

"That's incredibly disrespectful. I guess the 'British gentleman' is more of an thieving scoundrel." I remarked on British Empire's idea of a feast in my Presidential Mansion before burning it. Canada scowled.

"If anyone's a thief it's you. Remember the looting you did at York?" Canada spat out at me. I scowled. I wanted to yell Canada that York was a mistake, but knew he wouldn't listen. He was too mad.

"I know what happened at York. But I have feeling you aren't here to have a civil conversation over that." I said. Whatever Canada had in mind, I wanted him to do it quickly. I had to make sure my kids escaped. Canada raised the musket in his other hand up. I noticed the bayonet fixed to it.

So that's what he plans on doing. I though right before he swung it down into my stomach. Immediately a tremendous pain began. I screamed it pain before clenching my mouth shut, trying not to let out anymore noise and waves of agony made their way up my body. I tried not to cry, I didn't want to show weakness.

Canada pulled out the bayonet and let go of my arms. I dropped to the ground, clutching my stomach and letting out pained whimpers. I felt blood starting to seep through my fingers as Canada knelt down beside me.

"I may be polite and all, but I won't let people walk all over me." Canada whispered in my ears.

"You let British Empire." I sputtered out through pained gasps. Canada brought his foot back before kicking my wound. I let out a slight scream that I cut off by clenching my teeth in pain. I couldn't stop tears this time as they began streaking down my cheeks.

"How the mighty have fallen." Canada said. Mighty? I wasn't mighty. I was annoying. Black spots started to appear in my vision. I knew I was beginning to pass out. If I wanted to get away from Canada, I had to do it now. I tried to stand up, but my legs shook and Canada pushed me over with a slight push. I hit the ground with another gasp of pain. The blacks spots began to grow bigger.

"Canada, We can burn it now!" I heard British Empire say. Canada smiled and walked over to him, dragging me along with him.

"Hello United States. Are you ready to watch your Presidential Mansion be destroyed?" British Empire asked.

"Go to hell." I hissed out. British Empire smiled and walked towards the Presidential Mansion, before being followed by several other British troops and Canada. Two British soldiers grabbed and restrained me. The soldiers that walked to the Presidential Mansion. began lighting fires across the house.

I knew we would be able to rebuild, and that this attack was only going to make people more willing to fight the British, but it still was horrible to see. I'm just glad we got everyone out. I looked across the building before spotting something in one of the upstairs windows. I looked closer and realized it was DC, still trapped in the building.

I immediately began thrashing against my captors, trying to shake them off. I was weaker, still in pain from my injury. I felt lightheaded, most likely from blood loss, but I couldn't let that stop me. I had to get DC out of the building. I was able to throw off the men holding me and began running to the Presidential Mansion.

"Is he insane?" I heard Canada yell as I jumped into the flaming building. I navigated myself through fire, and smoke before making my way to the stairs. They were flaming, but I managed to get up them.

"D!" I started calling, worry for my daughter overtaking the pain I felt.

"Dad!" I heard DC's pained voices call back. I ran to the direction in came from and saw DC on the ground, a large burn taking up her arm.

"D are you alright?" I asked running over to her, or at least trying to. I was stopped by a wave of dizziness that made me clutch my head as I stumbled, trying to keep my balance. I let out a groan of pain, and DC got up off the ground, revealing another large burn on her leg.

"Dad are you alright?" She asked, putting her hand on my shoulder, "Oh my god. Your stomach!"

"Don't worry...I'll be...fine for now. We...need to get...out of here!" I gasped out, trying not to scream in pain. DC nodded and we bang making our way out of the burning mansion. As we made it down the steps I heard a faint crack from above us and looked up.

A section of the ceiling was caving in.

"D, look out!" I cried, shoving her out of the way before being hit with flaming debris. I let out an incredibly loud scream as the flames began to burn me, before the combination of this pain and the pain from my earlier injury overwhelmed me, and everything went black.

——————————————————————————————-

"I hope Dad's okay." I heard a voice mutter as I began to wake up. There was a lot of pain on my body, and I felt very sore and tired. I let out a groan and began to open my eyes.

"DAD!" I saw Kentucky shout, jumping out of his seat, "You're awake."

I nodded. I thought back to that last thing I remembered. DC!

"Where is D? Does anyone know what happened after I passed out?" I questioned, trying to sit up, but being forced back into the bed with a groan of pain. I saw bandages wrapped around my stomach, from the wound Canada gave me, along with others along my arms and peaking out from underneath my pant legs.

"D's burned pretty badly, but she's okay. You on the other hand were not. The doctors said you were very close to dying, and lucky that D was able to pull you out of the inferno." North Carolina explained.

I put my hands in my head and sighed. How could this have gone so wrong?

#oneshots by weird #weird’s wattpad stories #countryhumans #statehumans #writing

[william-nylander]

having a very rough day, do you have anymore top willy moments to gift us?

i am so sorry u are having a rough day pebble. i decided to go a bit rogue with this, in that it is instead a Top Willy Interviews On the Leafs Youtube Page listicle. i hope it makes ur day a teeny bit better.

idk if you’ve ever been to toronto BUT this look is very like. like this willy lives in the junction and hates the “noise” of the downtown and has waited 2 hours in line for bangbang ice cream in august. he likes to smoke weed in trinity bellwoods. he goes to poetry readings on bar roof tops and says shit about how everything north of dupont is “north york”. hes been known to sit at the piano in the common room at university college (uoft) and play scales. he can and has fucked ur boyfriend.

this willyum is your coworker at canadas wonderland one summer. he does not know what hes doing. he is either like :| or like :D depending on the moment. his nose gets sunburnt at the beginning of the summer but only ever in a charming way!!! u never see it peel. he works the stuffed animal stands and cannot understand why his has a line and none of the others do (hint: its bc every1 has a crush on him!!!!). before the park opens he wanders around with one of those velcro monkeys around his neck. he likes the mindbuster the best bc thats MY favourite ride and this is my listicle. 

also i miss willys gigantic front teeth gap. he used to have little tombstone teeth. what has he done to them. 

hey i love kyle dubas with my whole heart and all but there was something to be said about how when lou made them all be clean shaven and hair short it meant that willys hair was always kinda like a dragon ball z character and also his skin was all fleshy and elastic like a babys arm 

speaking of kyle dubas i found this choice shot of willy blinking while kyles prattling on about nothing and like has anything ever been more My Aesthetic 

god. has any1 ever been more iconic. this willy lives just north of bloor on dufferin and will tell anyone that the ossington strip is the “most underrated part of the city” (& hes right!!!!). they know his name at sugo. he takes all his out of town friends there and he gets tattoos at ink + water (thats at lansdowne right? now ive confused myself). he goes to the value village there and owns 29 pairs of sunglasses. he has his bed on the floor. he listens to a lot of better oblivion community centre. he long boards. he goes to bulk stores for groceries. he wants to start brewing his own kombucha. actually u know the more i typed this willy might just be me whoops.

this man is my next door neighbour for the summer in cottage country. he has a fishing boat but he doesnt fish because fish suck. i invite him over for bbq and telling stories around the campfire. we drink shitty beer. he is not interesting but he is hot. maybe we make out on the dock. willy looks weirdly good in green.

whenever someone has bracelets on their wrist my mind goes str8 to SUMMER CAMP. willyum is a camp counsellor at a camp maybe on like idk lake erie or some shit. he is a cabin leader and he loves his little sprouts/campers. frederik gauthier is the HEAD LIFEGUARD and willy thinks hes so funny and weird and sweet and cute and he doesnt realize!!! until the end of camp!!! that he has a big crush on freddie goat!!!! its the last night of camp and theres a big campfire and a camp dance and willy asks goat to sneak away with him. they go down to the beach and sit on the picnic table under the lifeguard tent and willy kisses goat and its very romantic. 

okay 1) love a man in a puffy coat & 2) there is something about “my father will hear about this” draco malfoy looking like He Was a Diplomats Son mp3 willy that just really gets my goat. he went to a boarding school in the swiss alps and fucked ur girlfriend. he has a closet for his shoes. he dated a member of the swedish royal family for a summer but broke up with him bc he was too clingy.

speaking of that bitch…..here he is again. this is after his tour after high school. he rented out an apartment in lisbon and would smoke cigarettes with beautiful people on the balcony. he spends a month in the south of france turning golden on the rocky beaches and buying dinner every night from the market on his way back to the hotel. this willy takes molly at a gay club in dresden and wakes up in an architect students bed and then he goes to the park to sweat off a hangover and pretend to read nietzsche  

this willy is absolutely the rapscallion son of the president. whats that movie with mandy moore (maybe???? oh no wait i just googled it its katie holmes) - that movie with katie holmes where the first daughter like falls in love or whatever?? this is willy. OOH IVE GOT IT. okay so this willy is absolutely a zoey barlett type from the west wing who is very cute and everyone loves him even though he is a spoiled brat sometimes/all the time. ENTER the assistant to the president - zach hyman - in a charlie young role. they fall in love over a pot of chilli. its the most beautiful thing u have ever s33n. 

okay so like willy is the new Legal Assistant at the office. kyle is a Partner in Law or whatever tf they’re called. willy and he are Working Late One Night and u know what that means…..they go to rol san bc its open until like 6am and they eat the FUCK out of some dumplings and then kyle drives willy back to his apartment (maybe in this one he lives in a shitty place at yonge & college???? like classic “roommate in the living room” toronto living??) and they KISS in the CAR and its ROMANTIC.

this willyumm is your date for thanksgiving dinner. he comes extremely bundled. my parents live north of toronto so i imagine this willy driving us north for the weekend. his scarf is very evan from skam and its sexi. he does not like the folk playlist that you have put on but its FALL and the TREES and OCTOBER MEANS HOZIER and hes like UGH FINE WHATEVER and is a bit grumpy but then u pass thru the holland marsh and he’s like “hm smells like onions” and its all fine again. his laugh confuses your extended family and he sucks at scrabble and is a pouty bitch about it but its a GOOD TIME.

god THIS WILLYAM is ur older brothers BEST FRIEND and he comes over to play video games ?? i guess ?? i never had a brother but i YEARNED to crush on a brothers best friend. he is very handsome like a lion. maybe you write some weird diary shit about it. every time he comes over ur SO WEIRD and he KNOWS ABOUT UR CRUSH and hes VERY NICE ABOUT IT.

also would a willy listicle be complete without me marvelling over his long straight nose??????????? look how straight it is!!!!!!

this will ham is in ur intro to gender studies class on friday mornings in sid smith. hes in one of ur projects and hes got no fucking clue whats going on. hes on the varsity blues hockey team and he thought that he clicked on “intro to geography”. despite the fact that he has no idea whats happening ever hes enthusiastic about listening. one time u go for coffee at mallo across from where honest eds used to be and he asks u what the male gaze is. 

okay. i hope u enjoyed this. it took me awhile and i enjoyed every second of it. to conclude, here is several screen shots from my favourite willy interview:

u ever see a man more beautiful

lil elastic face weirdo 

#ask #william nylander #toronto maple leafs #This Is My Magnum Opus #Anonymous

[fatehbaz]

“Urban Ecology and Animism in the Landscape of the Great Lakes”: An interview on decay, restoration, bioregionalism, and “ecological citizenship” in the Midwest

From 26 December 2018, Belt Magazine. Excerpts:

Authors Matt Stansberry and Gavin Van Horn recently published books on the urban wildlife of the Great Lakes region (Rust Belt Arcana: Tarot and Natural History in the Exurban Wilds by Belt Publishing, and The Way of the Coyote: Shared Journeys in the Urban Wilds by University of Chicago Press, respectively). In this wide-ranging conversation, Stansberry and Van Horn discuss the overlaps in each other’s books and the progress, challenges, and joys of living with and writing about nature in the industrial Midwest.

GVH: Some of the book is about holding on to what remains, trying to live in a way that allows others to live (such as when you write about box turtles or salamanders). But there are also expressions of hope in the book, particularly when it comes to meeting people who are hard at work on restoration projects. I’m thinking here of the Cleveland Museum of Natural History’s work at Mentor Marsh, and also the lessons you glean from Tim Jasinski of Lights Out Cleveland. Could you tell us a little bit about those projects? And perhaps the strides you see in the Rust Belt to respond with care to the land and water, which you call “holy work”?

MS: Those two chapters show different approaches to dealing with our impacts on wildlife. The first chapter you reference, “Temperance,” explores the effort needed to restore one of Lake Erie’s largest wetlands back into a functioning ecosystem. It’s inspiring because of how daunting the task must have seemed—to try to remove hundreds of acres of nearly impervious invasive reeds. After years of sustained, systematic effort and investment, we are seeing a return of biodiversity to this site.

-

GVH: You end with “The World” card and reflections on what E.O. Wilson has called the “Age of Loneliness” (the Eremozoic Era). After detailing the historic superabundance of biological life in Ohio, you say, “I want to leave you with the impression that our home has a potential to be one of the wildest, most fecund places on the planet… I tell you these things to repeat the names, so that you know that they are there. …There is still plenty of time to roll in the dirt in a forest. Stare out at Lake Erie. Listen to the wind. Don’t live separately from the world. Don’t despair.” What kinds of practices would you recommend for connecting to the magic of the everyday? 

MS: So you mention a bunch of good ideas right there. Roll in the dirt. Stare at the lake. Since finishing the book, I’ve read The Enchanted Life by Sharon Blackie, and it’s full of so many brilliant ideas that I’ve been trying, ways to make myself more grounded in the place where I live. We can learn the myths of our home regions, draw big maps of the places we live and hike, plant gardens with native species, craft objects and food out of the plants around us, name the species of birds, start re-enchanting the landscape.

I see a lot of overlaps in our work as well. For example, both of our books center around the study of urban wildlife, animals in the city. You write: “When the city presses in upon me, coyotes remind me of the vitality that weaves its way between the buildings. Humans may often disregard, displace, and disrupt other kinds of animal life, but the anima of what we now call Chicago is not gone. The coyotes keep it flowing; they keep going along, beckoning us toward greater fidelity with our non-human kin. Lead on coyotes. Show what a city can be.”

Engaging with urban wildlife is not something you expected to be doing, and not something historically that has been of interest to the science/naturalist community. What do you learn from studying city creatures that you don’t learn in more rural or wild environments?

GVH: A city constitutes one portion of a landscape continuum. Occasionally in the book, I venture outside of city limits, acknowledging that many species don’t do well in smaller patches of habitat and with human presence (hell, I don’t do well with continual human presence). Yet my focus is on “ordinary” and close-to-home creatures as amazing expressions of life, worthy of our fascination and attention. Familiarity need not breed contempt. Familiarity can be a portal into our most intimate and meaningful relationships. Several essays feature ecologists and biologists who are turning back toward the city with curiosity and scientific rigor, seeking to counter the story of urban nature as less-than-worthy. I suppose I’m doing something similar with my writing.

MS: In one of my favorite essays, “De los pajaritos del monte” you marvel at your friend’s lifelong connection—physical, familial, cultural—to a landscape. You’ve moved around the country, the same way I have, and seem to struggle with that rootlessness. I think we both envy what your friend has with his home landscape. Can you write your way into place? Is even one lifetime enough to get rooted?

GVH: One lifetime, so far as I know, is all we’ve got, so I hope that’s enough to actualize one’s ecological citizenship. As you know, this book was part of my own process of adapting to life in an urban area. Writing is a way to further deepen the bonds of memory, to invite others (and perhaps yourself) to see the world from a fresh perspective. It’s an alchemical process—to transform experience into ink, and then for readers to permit those words to conjure new worlds in their imaginations. And the hope is that those stories, then, shape how a person moves through the landscape and the way they value it.

But the question of roots is one that haunts me a bit, in all honesty. I’m a person that has lived in many places. Some of us are more nomadic in spirit; some landscapes make our hearts sing more than others. What if a person feels displaced—like a plant outside of the microbiome to which it is most suited—and no amount of spiritual equanimity or sheer amount of time spent in a place can create a sense of at-homeness? (...)

MS: You have a chapter exploring Aldo Leopold’s concept of the numenon of the north woods, the ruffed grouse. You suggest Chicago’s numenon is the Night Heron? What’s a numenon and what’s a night heron?

GVH: As one young man who does ecological restoration work on the South Side of the city told me, “It’s a getting better Chicago.” He’s right. A lot of Midwestern cities, like Chicago, are in what is sometimes called a post-industrial phase. (...) [But] the recovery is tangible ...

-

Read more.

[lethendralis-paints]

OC Interview: Eris Hawke

The rules: Answer the following questions as your OC of choice.

Felt inspired by @pikapeppa ‘s double interview with her Rynne Hawke and Fenris the Inquisitor, so i desided to try it for my Eris Hawke. Sorry in advance for the English language being tortured, i’m very clearly not a native speaker.

Eris Hawke, an apostate force mage, magical theory researcher (following Malcom Hawke’s steps), Champion of Kirkwall etc. etc., accompanied by the ever mysterious elven warrior named Fenris have been cornered by an incessant Orlesian journalist at Château Haine and sat down in a secluded garden alcove for an interview. Imagine Eris Hawke and Fenris as a Smoked Boulevardier coctail, where Hawke is the  Bulleit Rye Whiskey and Fenris is the flamed orange peel. 

1. What’s your name?

Eris Hawke. A pleasure to meet you!

2. Do you know why you are named that?

My parents were feeling inspired by ancient Tevinter mythology, or so it would seem.

3. Are you single or taken?

[Fenris lifts one dark eyebrow and carefully glances to Hawke’s side] 

Taken, smitten, conquered and all the other heavy-handed battle metaphors you can come up with for being in love. 

[Certain pointy ears turn red on the side]

4. Have any abilities or powers?

I don’t want to bore you with this. To put it plainly i am a force mage.

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

Do i present myself as such? The long lists of my mishaps back home suggest otherwise.

6. What’s your eye color?

Grey.

7. How about your hair color?

I’m very obviously a brunette. It’s an Orlesian word, you should know it.

 [Fenris notices Hawke developing that annoyed crease between her brows, though on the whole she still maintains a façade of polite attentiveness]

8. Have any family members?

If you mean any blood relatives, only my brother and uncle. I personally think that we choose our family. Fenris and my friends back in Kirkwall are my family. My mabari hound, Maric, is my family.

[Hawke gets a slightly haunted look in her eyes. Fenris carefully takes her hand and holds it between them, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb]

9. Oh? How about any pets?

If i’m lucky, i’ll return home with a pet wyvern, who knows! It’s the closest substitute for a pet dragon i can think of! [smiles broadly]

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like.

People choosing to remain willfully ignorant when having all the knowledge at their fingertips [throws a surprisingly hard glare towards the interviewer]. Also plain unimaginitive evil. 

[Feris smiles sardonically]

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

Reading, painting, taking long walks, nothing earth-shattering. 

12. Have you hurt anyone in any way before?

Yes, both deliberately and unintentionally.

[the journalist starts to fidget]

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

Yes. [sighes]

I’m pretty sure we were discussing cute pets just a moment ago. How did that question found it’s way there? [strained smile]

14. What kind of animal are you?

I...i don’t know. Fenris?

Hmmm.... you are no mindless animal, that is for sure. But you do resemble a proud bird of prey. [smiles gently]

[Hawke blushes]

15. Name your worst habits?

I’m rather short-tempered and quick to judge sometimes. As for what else...

[Fenris adds with a smile: She gets ink stains on her forehead at least twice a month from falling asleep at her worktable]

I...whaaa? I do not!!!

[Fenris smile broadly, tries to cover it]

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

My parents always. My friends certainly make me a better person. Fenris is the one i admire the most and i strive to be as brave, loyal and strong in my principles as he is.

[Hawke you... blushes to the tips of his ears.. (the adds quitely) Thank you, Eris]

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

I’m attracted to only one isanely smart person with a deliciously dry humour. Make of that what you will. [winks at the elf]

18. Do you go to school?

I’m in my 30′s, to the Void with that! Though i support the thought that you should continue learning your whole life. Once you stop gaining knowledge and undestanding, you’re as good as dead.

19. Ever want to marry and have any kids one day?

Well, that’s gone very personal very quickly. I’ll have to ask a certain elf about that. [smiles shyly at Fenris, Fenris chockes on his saliva, starts to cough]

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

Maker, i hope not!

21. What are you most afraid of?

Losing sanity.

22. What do you usually wear?

A variation of what i’m wearing today. I like comfort and freedom of movement. [Hawke wears suede pants, a doublet with a velvet cape, knee-high riding boots and carries a rather large knapsack]

23. What one food tempts you?

What was that Antivan smoked meat we tried? [glances at Fenris]

[i think it was called carpaccio i liked it too]

24. Am I annoying you?

Do you want an honest answer or a poilte one? [smiles mischievously]

25. Well, it’s still not over!

Eris suppresses a sigh, forces a polite little smile to her face.

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

I’m a citizen of a free city state of Kirkwall, heir of the house of Amell, but also a farmer refugee from Ferelden. What does that make me?

27. How many friends do you have?

A handful. they are my family and i would die for them. 

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

If it’s flying towards my face then my thoughs would be not suitable for print. [smirks]

[Fenris  chuckles]

29. Favourite drink?

Almost any bitter liqueur would do, i’m a simple girl to please! Though lately i am partial to full-bodied Tevinter wines, courtesy of this man here [points at the elf]

30. What’s your favourite place?

My library back home [smiles dreamily]

31. Are you interested in anyone?

What do you mean, exactly? I’m interested in anyone able to hold an intelligent conversation. If you mean romantically, then this man here forever holds my interest. [pokes Fenris in the shoulder guard]

[The elf rolls his eyes but is obviously very pleased]

32. That was a stupid question…

You think? [sarcasm starts to show in Hawke’s voice, she’s had about enough]

33. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

You do like to jump between subjects, I see! Both, actually.

34. What’s your type?

Type of what, exactly? Oh, you won’t elaborate? Then i shall answer as i see fit. My type is firm, smelly, with a tear. And i mean cheese, of course! [smirks]

35. Any fetishes?

I am not going to share THIS with the public. I have an image to uphold, you know! [Fenris hides a knowing smirk]

36. Camping indoors or outdoors?

Now you’re being deliberately obtuse! [takes a deep breath] I’m sorry, that was rather rude of me. I don’t like camping, actually.That’s the last question? Thank the Maker! I mean, it was a pleasure to chat with you, but we really have to go. It would be so impolite to have Duke Prosper miss our presence, we are his guests after all!

 [grabs Fenris’ hand in a tight grip and they walk away as fast as they can, trying not to look as if they are running away from the Orlesian]

#tag meme #tumblr games #eris hawke #fenris #château haine #dragon age #interview #fenhawke