#peter finer

[armthearmour]

A Horseman’s Hammer with a long pick,

OaL: 23.2 in.59 cm

Germany, ca. 1600, from Peter Finer.

#weapons #warhammer #hammer #europe #european #germany #german #hre #holy roman empire #early modern #peter finer #art #history

[constantron]

Arthur Lester and Peter Yang having a tense moment, from the same fic that has subsumed my brain by @croik .

Maybe if I feel brave later I’ll make them smooch.

#peter yang #Peter Parker yang #malevolent #croik #mbb2023 #Arthur Lester #ahhhhh drawing men in distress what finer things are there in life

[not-wholly-unheroic]

A Comparative Analysis of Hook’s Ship and Cabin in Popular Media Portrayals

Part 4: Peter Pan (2003)

P.J. Hogan’s 2003 film is full of life and color, and Isaacs’ Hook is likewise a colorful character who, though grounded in reality, most definitely has a flair for the dramatic and a taste for the finer things in life.

Like the other Hooks we have seen thus far, Isaacs’ Jolly Roger appears to be the large stereotypical pirate ship that all children think of, despite the impracticality of a slower vessel in actual piracy. (By this point, I think we should just assume that all Hooks go for form over function when it comes to their choice of ship.) It’s a gorgeous ship, and I do wish we got more close-ups of the outside of this particular Roger so we could see more of what’s going on with all the decorative work on the outside of the cabin and the figurehead, etc. One thing, though, that stands out about this ship is that the mainsail itself has a giant skull and crossed swords on it. This would be completely impractical for any actual ship, as the enemy would see them coming and know they were pirates right off the bat…lending credence to the idea that this ship (and this Hook) may be deeply shaped by the children’s imagination. Then again…what else should we expect of a pirate ship whose name itself is the Jolly Roger?

The shots we get of the inside of Isaacs Hook’s cabin reveal the living space of a man who is accustomed to a decadent lifestyle but not so over-the-top as to be entirely unrealistic. While his beautifully decorated harpsichord is the centerpiece of the room, we also notice that he has several tables, a couch, and a globe.

This is about all we can tell from the in-film shots of the cabin, but some promotional material and a pirate-themed hotel that purchased a few set pieces from the film and set up their own room to mimic Hook’s can give us a few ideas about what the rest of the cabin might look like. (Big shout-out to @annabellioncourt for providing several of these bonus material images!)

In the one promotional photo, there is what looks like a lute, perhaps, in the background. I also love the little detail of the skull and crossbones on the candle stand…and his li’l stripey socks.

Here we can see the full-sized bed with a gun and what looks like it might be an Eton crest over it. (Note that if you pay close attention in Hook’s intro scene in the film, you will actually see that the tattoo on his left arm is an Eton crest as well.)

Isaacs Hook also has a self-portrait in his cabin, it seems…which interestingly has a date on the frame of 1742. This is about the most specific we get with ANY Hook as far as time period goes. This is after the Golden Age of Piracy had really already come to an end, though it’s technically possible he might still have been “Blackbeard’s bosun” depending on his age, as Blackbeard’s career ended in 1718 in a battle off Ocracoke Island, NC. Isaacs himself was around 40 years old when the filming was done, so if we want to assume Hook was around the same age when he came to Neverland and the portrait was done shortly before then, he would have been around 16 at the time of Blackbeard’s downfall. A bit young but…it’s possible if he started his career at sea early. Cabin boys usually started out around age 12 but could be as young as 8-ish on occasion. However…this wouldn’t really track with Hook being an Eton student. Assuming he actually graduated, he would have been at the school until he turned 18. So while Isaacs Hook may have very well been a sailor or even more specially a pirate prior to Neverland…he likely wasn’t a peer of Blackbeard or the other more well-known pirates of the early 1700s.

One last thing that is interesting to me is that in addition to the more standard weapons/tools like chains, guns, and boarding axes that we see in some shots, this version of Hook keeps what looks like an entire small cabinet of various tinctures and powders. At least the one of them which he removes is poison, but one wonders….are they all different kinds of poison? Or are some, perhaps, medicinal in nature or for recreational use?

As a whole, Isaacs’ Hook is, I think, perhaps one of the most realistic portrayals of the character. While there are some highly fanciful aspects to his ship—like the giant skull on the mainsail—much of his personal space has the lavish furnishings one might expect of someone with an aristocratic background without feeling too entirely impractical. Add to that a concrete date on the portrait, and I’d say this Hook is more grounded in reality than nearly any of the others we’ve encountered so far.

#captain hook #jason isaacs hook #captain james hook #James hook #Peter pan 2003 #jm barrie #jason isaacs #Peter pan #the jolly roger

[everythingharrypotterblog]

charmed [17]: 'the finale: part 1' (remus lupin x reader)

a/n: part 2 drops wednesday at midnight.

series masterlist here

join taglist here

series summary: set in the prisoner of azkaban, including its major plot points. remus and y/n get hired by dumbledore last minute to teach at hogwarts, defense against the dark arts and charms respectively. not wanting the students to know they are married, they navigate the challenging year through hidden glances, hand holds underneath the table and loving moments in their offices. even with all their efforts to conceal their relationship, their chemistry does not go unnoticed by the student population of hogwarts, who grow fond of the pair as they offer them some of the best classes they’ve had in a while. their relationship as newlyweds is strengthened as teaching the next generation of wizards unlocks a sea of memories of their love story. for the second time in his life, remus holds hogwarts responsible for some of his happiest memories. he’s given the chance to create them with the love of his life, y/n, who has taught and continues to teach him that every part of him is lovable, remaining forever under her charm.

17. 

"What are you going to do with him if I give him to you?" Ron asked Lupin tensely. 

"Force him to show himself," said Lupin. "If he really is a rat, it won't hurt him." 

Ron hesitated. Then at long last, he held out Scabbers and Lupin took him. Scabbers began to squeak without stopping, twisting and turning, his tiny black eyes bulging in his head. "Ready, Sirius?" said Lupin. 

Black had already retrieved Snape's wand from the bed. He approached Lupin and the struggling rat, and his wet eyes suddenly seemed to be burning in his face. 

"Together?" he said quietly. 

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest nervously.

"I think so,,, said Lupin, holding Scabbers tightly in one hand and his wand in the other. "On the count of three. One -- two -- THREE!" 

A flash of blue-white light erupted from both wands; for a moment, Scabbers was frozen in midair, his small gray form twisting madly -- Ron yelled -- the rat fell and hit the floor. There was another blinding flash of light and then —  

It was like watching a speeded-up film of a growing tree. A head was shooting upward from the ground; limbs were sprouting; a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been, cringing and wringing his hands. Crookshanks was spitting and snarling on the bed; the hair on his back was standing up. 

"Well, hello, Peter," said Lupin pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupted into old school friends around him. "Long time, no see. 

"S -- Sirius... R -- Remus..." Even Pettigrew's voice was squeaky. Again, his eyes darted toward the door. "My friends... my old friends..." 

Black’s arm wand rose, but Y/N seized his wrist, giving him a warning look. Sirius jumped, as this was the first time Y/N had touched him— and she quickly retracted her hand as they both turned their attention back toward Remus and Peter.

"We've been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed — I'd like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter.” 

“D-don’t know… what you’re t-talking about, Remus— He- he—“ He squirmed, pointing at Sirius with a trembling finger. “He’s here to k-kill me, he's got dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!”

Black started to laugh, a horrible, mirthless laugh that filled the whole room. 

"Voldemort, teach me tricks?" he said.

Pettigrew flinched as though Black had brandished a whip at him. 

"What, scared to hear your old master's name?" said Black. I don't blame you, Peter. His lot aren't very happy with you, are they?" 

"Don't know... what you're talking about...," said Pettigrew again, more shrilly than ever. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked up at Lupin. "You don't believe this -- this madness, Remus --" 

"I must admit, Peter, I have difficulty in understanding why an innocent man would want to spend twelve years as a rat," said Lupin evenly. 

"Innocent, but scared!" squealed Pettigrew. "If Voldemort's supporters were after me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban -- the spy, Sirius Black!" 

"How dare you," he growled, sounding suddenly like the bearsized dog he had been. I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter -- I'll never understand why I didn't see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who'd look after you, didn't you? It used to be us... me and Remus... and James….”

Pettigrew wiped his face again; he was almost panting for breath. 

"Me, a spy... must be out of your mind... never... don't know how you can say such a --" 

"Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it,” Black hissed. 

"Professor Lupin?" said Hermione timidly. "Can — can I say something?" 

"Certainly, Hermione," said Lupin courteously. 

"If you don't mind me asking, how -- how did you get out of Azkaban, if you didn't use Dark Magic?" 

"Thank you!" gasped Pettigrew, nodding frantically at her. "Exactly! Precisely what I —" 

But Lupin silenced him with a look. Black was frowning slightly at Hermione, but not as though he were annoyed with her. He seemed to be pondering his answer. 

"I don't know how I did it," he said slowly. "I think the only reason I never lost my mind is that I knew I was innocent. That wasn't a happy thought, so the dementors couldn't suck it out of me... but it kept me sane and knowing who I am... helped me keep my powers... so when it all became ... too much... I could transform in my cell... become a dog. Dementors can't see, you know...." He swallowed. "They feel their way toward people by feeding off their emotions.... They could tell that my feelings were less -- less human, less complex when I was a dog... but they thought, of course, that I was losing my mind like everyone else in there, so it didn't trouble them. But I was weak, very weak, and I had 

no hope of driving them away from me without a wand...." 

"But then I saw Peter in that picture... I realized he was at Hogwarts with Harry... perfectly positioned to act, if one hint reached his ears that the Dark Side was gathering strength again...." 

"It was as if someone had lit a fire In my head, and the dementors couldn't destroy it.... It wasn't a happy feeling... it was an obsession... but it gave me strength, it cleared my mind. So, one night when they opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog.... It's so much harder for them to sense animal emotions that they were confused.... I was thin, very thin... thin enough to slip through the bars.... I swam as a dog back to the mainland.... I journeyed north and slipped into the Hogwarts grounds as a dog. I've been living in the forest ever since, except when I came to watch the Quidditch, of course. You fly as well as your father did, Harry...." 

He looked at Harry, who did not look away. 

"Believe me," croaked Black. "Believe me, Harry. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them." 

And at long last, Harry believed him. Throat too tight to speak, he nodded. 

"No!" 

Pettigrew had fallen to his knees as though Harry's nod had been his own death sentence. He shuffled forward on his knees, groveling, his hands clasped in front of him as though praying. 

"Sirius -- it's me... it's Peter... your friend... you wouldn't --" Black kicked out and Pettigrew recoiled. 

"There's enough filth on my robes without you touching them," said Black. 

"Remus!" Pettigrew squeaked, turning to Lupin instead, writhing imploringly in front of him.

And he scrambled around to Ron. 

"Ron... haven't I been a good friend... a good pet? You won't let them kill me, Ron, will you... you're on my side, aren't you. 

But Ron was staring at Pettigrew with the utmost revulsion. "I let you sleep in my bed!" he said. 

"Kind boy... kind master..." Pettigrew crawled toward Ron "You won't let them do it.... I was your rat.... I was a good pet...." 

"If you made a better rat than a human, it's not much to boast about, Peter," said Black harshly. Ron, going still paler with pain, wrenched his broken leg out of Pettigrew's reach. Pettigrew turned on his knees, staggered forward, and seized the hem of Hermione's robes. 

"Sweet girl... clever girl... you -- you won't let them.... Help me...." 

Hermione pulled her robes out of Pettigrew's clutching hands and backed away against the wall, looking horrified. 

“Y/N! Oh, Y/N— we’ve been friends… you knew me—“ He attempted to lunge at her before being violently pushed back by both Sirius and Remus.

“Don’t you even dare touch her…” Remus growled.

Pettigrew knelt, trembling uncontrollably, and-turned his head slowly toward Harry. 

"Harry... Harry... you look just like your father... just like him...." 

"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?" roared Black. "HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?" 

Black and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, wands raised. 

Hermione covered her face with her hands and turned to the wall. Y/N bit her lip, unsure how to react or feel in the moment.

"NO!" Harry yelled. He ran forward, placing himself in front Pettigrew, facing the wands. "You can't kill him," he said breathlessly. "You can't." 

Black and Lupin both looked staggered. Y/N exhaled a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

"Harry, this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents," Black snarled. "This cringing bit of filth would have seen you die too, without turning a hair. You heard him. His own stinking skin meant more to him than your whole family." 

"I know," Harry panted. "We'll take him up to the castle. We'll hand him over to the dementors.... He can go to Azkaban... but don't kill him." 

Y/N breathed heavily, cold sweat coating the palms of her hands and the low of her back.

"Harry!" gasped Pettigrew, and he flung his arms around Harry's knees. "You -- thank you -- it's more than I deserve -- thank you --" 

"Get off me," Harry spat, throwing Pettigrew's hands off him in disgust. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it because -- I don't reckon my dad would've wanted them to become killers -- just for you." 

Remus and Sirius looked at each other, and nodded.

Thin cords shot from Lupin's wand this time, and next moment, Pettigrew was wriggling on the floor, bound and gagged. 

"But if you transform, Peter," growled Black, his own wand pointing at Pettigrew too, "we will kill you. You agree, Harry?" 

Harry looked down at the pitiful figure on the floor and nodded so that Pettigrew could see him. 

“Right.” Y/N finally spoke. "Ron, I can't mend bones nearly as well as Madam Pomfrey, so I think it's best if we just strap your leg up until we can get you to the hospital wing." 

She hurried over to Ron, bent down, tapped Ron's leg with her wand, and muttered, "Ferula." Bandages spun up Ron's leg, strapping it tightly to a splint. Lupin helped him to his feet; Ron put his weight gingerly on the leg and didn't wince. 

"That's better," he said. "Thanks." 

Remus turned his gaze on Y/N and was about to ask her how she felt, before Hermione brought up a very real point.

"What about Professor Snape?" 

“Nothing wrong with him.” Sirius bent over him and checked his pulse. “You were just a little… overenthusiastic, Y/N.”

Y/N winced. “Oops.”

Sirius muttered, "Mobilicorpus." As though invisible strings were tied to Snape's wrists, neck, and knees, he was pulled into a standing position, head still lolling unpleasantly, like a grotesque puppet. He hung a few inches above the ground, his limp feet dangling. 

Lupin picked up the Invisibility Cloak and tucked it safely into his pocket. 

"And two of us should be chained to this," said Black, nudging Pettigrew with his toe. "Just to make sure." 

"I'll do it," said Lupin.

"And me," said Ron savagely, limping forward. 

Harry had never been part of a stranger group. Crookshanks led the way down the stairs; Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron went next, looking like entrants in a six-legged race. Next came Professor Snape, drifting creepily along, his toes hitting each stair as they descended, held up by his own wand, which was being pointed at him by Sirius. Y/N, Harry and Hermione brought up the rear. 

Getting back up through the tunnel proved to be a challenge. Remus, Ron and Peter managed to squeeze through sideways, shuffling along in single file. Sirius followed with Snape dangling behind him, his lolling head bumped frequently against the ceiling under Sirius’ control. They walked in silence until they reached the end of the tunnel, where Crookshanks exited first to paw at the root knot, letting everyone else exit without the chaos of the tree’s moving branches. At last, all of them were out.

Silently, with the occasional cry and whimper from Peter, they trampled through the grounds and halted just where the Castle was in view.

Remus detached him and Ron from Peter, helping Ron sit down while keeping his wand on Peter. “Let’s take a break,” Remus said, to which a grateful Ron nodded.

Sirius dropped Snape down carelessly. Harry and Hermione rushed to Ron, joining him on the floor and asking him if his leg was alright.

“So.” Sirius said seriously, looking at Y/N.

She still had her arms crossed over her chest defensively, before letting them down to grab one of Remus’ hands. She raised her eyebrows.

“How much more innocent do I have to be proven to get a hug from an old friend?” Sirius said, spreading his arms wide open.

Y/N smiled slightly, dropping Remus’ hand and slowly walking up to Sirius. She raised her arms, letting Sirius engulf her in a warm embrace, finally relaxing for the first time tonight. “God, it’s been so long.” She sighed.

They separated and Y/N fought back tears as she cupped his face, taking the time to have a proper look at him. “You’re so thin now.” She whispered sadly, brushing her thumbs along his cheekbones which cut right through from underneath his thin layer of skin.

“And you’re beautiful as always.”

Remus watched them with endearment pouring out of his eyes.

“What more do we not know about them?” Ron whispered to Harry and Hermione with a puzzled expression as they watched the unusual reunion unfold in front of them.

“You’re gonna be free now.” Y/N smiled. “You’ll be able to eat whatever you want again. Fill these cheeks out.”

“I’m free.” Sirius chuckled loosely. Y/N nodded, doing the same as a tear threatened to spill. He laughed more loudly now, beckoning Remus to join them.

“FREE!” Sirius shouted, jumping up and down, then squeezing his two friends against him.

“Whoa-“ Y/N said, “o-okay.” She pulled away from them. “Careful”, and she reflexively placed her hand defensively over her stomach. Her jaw dropped as she remembered.

“You okay?” Remus eyed her with slight concern.

Y/N’s eyes widened as her mouth hung open, moving but unable to get any words out. Sirius’ eyes darted between the two, looking for clues on what was going on all of a sudden.

“I’m…” Y/N managed to say. “I’m…” She looked down at her hand and looked back up at Remus. Comprehension dawned on him and he covered his mouth, gasping.

“Are you…”

Y/N nodded furiously, heavy tears spilling out. “Remus, I’m pregnant, I took a test literally earlier tonight— I had forgotten, with everything that’s happened after— but I forgot, and it’s really early, but I was feeling off and so I did the test and—“

It was like all the words that had failed her just prior all fought their way out at the same time. Remus let out a scream that could only be described as close to a joyful howl and ran to her. He dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his cheek on her stomach.

“Are you really?” Remus whispered for only her to hear, searching her eyes intensely through his own glossy ones, as if confirmation of the truth was hidden somewhere under her pupils.

Y/N nodded, smiling, eyes absolutely sparkling as she cradled his head. She burst into happy tears as Remus’ eyes welled up. For the next minute, all they could do was let out disbelieving gasps as words began to fail them. He stood up, wrapping her in his arms.

They hid their faces into each other’s necks, crying softly into each other. “I love you,” Remus said into her hair.

“I love you too,” she whispered back.

“Holy shit…” Sirius stumbled slightly at the news. 

“It’s still really early,” Y/N said, finally pulling away from Remus, but unable to keep herself from smiling ear to ear.

“I’m…” Sirius whispered. He took both of their hands.

He was unable to finish his sentence but Remus and Y/N knew what he meant by the expression in his eyes and simply returned the silent sentiment. 

“Thank you.” Remus said quietly at his friend, squeezing his hand.

“C-Congratulations Professor Y/N.” Hermione said shyly, afraid to intrude on this incredibly intimate moment. The three of them had just been watching silently from the side until now. Well, somewhat silently, if you excluded Peter’s muffled whines that he let out once in a while. “And Professor Lupin.”

“Thank you, Hermione.” Y/N said warmly. She read her nervous, unsure body language and beckoned her over, wrapping a protective arm around Hermione’s shoulders.

Sirius took a few steps back, turning to face the open air where the Castle stood proud in the dark distance. 

Harry glanced at Ron and Peter, who sat immobile on the ground and inched closer to Sirius. The older man saw him approach.

“In all its’ glory, eh?” He turned back to the castle. Harry nodded. “God, it hasn’t changed one bit. Not from here, at least.”

Harry observed him. Almost longingly. In the span of a few hours, the image of him had completely changed in his mind. He wanted to know so much more. There was so much to ask.

"You know what this means?" Black said abruptly to Harry. “Me being free?" 

“You can eat all you want now?” Harry joked. Black chuckled, glancing back at Remus and Y/N, who had taken a seat alongside the others. Remus couldn’t take his hand off Y/N’s belly.

"Yes...," said Black. "But I'm also — I don't know if anyone ever told you — I'm your godfather." 

"Yeah, I knew that," said Harry. 

"Well... your parents appointed me your guardian," said Black stiffly. "If anything happened to them..." 

Harry waited.

"I'll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle," said Black. "But... well... think about it. Once my name's cleared... if you wanted a... a different home..." 

Some sort of explosion took place upon Harry’s expression. 

"What — live with you?" he said. "Leave the Dursleys?" 

"Of course, I thought you wouldn't want to," said Black quickly. "I understand, I just thought I'd —" 

"Are you insane?" said Harry, his voice easily as croaky as Black's. 

"Of course I want to leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house? When can I move in?" 

Black turned right around to look at him.

"You want to?" he said. "You mean it?”

 "Yeah, I mean it!" said Harry. 

Black's gaunt face broke into the first true smile where the joy reached his eyes as well. The difference it made was startling, as though a person ten years younger were shining through the starved mask; for a moment, he was recognizable as the man who had laughed at Harry's parents' wedding. 

Sirius looked at Harry as if he were his own son, but feeling slightly awkward, extended out his arm and pat the boy on the shoulder stiffly. 

Y/N was watching the scene unfold between the two from her spot on the ground. Tears were rolling down her cheek, fast and hot. In that moment, hope filled up the chests of Y/N, Remus, Sirius, and Harry. It felt, it almost felt… like the future had a glimmer of a chance of having family in it.

Remus took notice, and wiped her cheeks dry with the back of his fingers. He took her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. He was still crying himself, at the news that he was going to be a father.

His gaze was rested upon her face and while Y/N’s originally was too, her eyes shifted. They shifted to the sky behind him. A cloud had just cleared, and the night seemed to brighten a tad more.

She dropped his hand. The corners of her lips dropped.

Her face was now fully bathed in moonlight and Remus snapped his head back to see the full moon emerging into the sky. He went rigid.

“He didn’t take his potion tonight!” Hermione gasped.

“Sirius.” Y/N said, deadpan, not taking her eyes off Remus.

Sirius whipped his head around and froze. “Run.”

When Harry didn’t move the second he was told to, Sirius repeated it, and pushed him down the grass to where Ron and Hermione were. “RUN!”

Remus began to shake and Y/N jumped to her feet, but Sirius burst between them. “Leave it to me.” He said.

Sirius attempted to drag Remus’ transforming body away from the others as Y/N clutched onto Hermione and Harry’s shoulders tightly. “You guys need to run, okay?” She said, hands shaking in her grip as she nudged them in the Castle’s direction opposite from Sirius and Remus. “Ron, can you get up—“

She turned her attention to Ron on the floor, and squatted in attempt to help him get to his feet. “Oh, fucking hell—“ She cried at Snape’s unconscious body. She bent over him, slapping him multiple times on the face. “Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

There was a terrible snarling noise. Lupin's head was lengthening. So was his body. His shoulders were hunching. Hair was sprouting visibly on his face and hands, which were curling into clawed paws. As the werewolf reared, snapping its long jaws, Sirius disappeared from Harry's eyeline. He had transformed. The enormous, bearlike dog bounded forward onto the wolf. They were locked, jaw to jaw, claws ripping at each other. 

Harry, Ron and Hermione stood, transfixed by the sight, too intent upon the battle to notice anything else. Peter, who was still tied up, was inching his fingers near Remus’ wand, which had fallen onto the ground not more than a few inches away from him. He squirmed through his ties and… BANG! Light flashed once he got his hands on it and he was free from the restraints. 

“EXPELLIARMUS!” Harry pointed his wand, but it was too late— Peter had transformed into a rat and scurried off in the dark patches of grass. “Y/N, he escaped!”

“Fuck.” Y/N said, giving up on reanimating Snape. She rose to her feet, looking out for the rat, when another sound from afar caught her attention.

Yelping, whining… a dog in pain. A small thud of its body hitting the ground. Then, a howl and rumbling growl. Heavy paws running, and getting louder. The werewolf was headed back towards them. 

Y/N looked between the spot where Peter had disappeared and the three kids. There was no decision to make. 

“GO!” She yelled at them. “DON’T COME THIS WAY.”

And with a crack, she transformed into a dove and flapped her wings to get height. She whistled, getting the wolf’s attention, and soared through the sky, leading him straight into the Forbidden Forest.

#charmed #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #professor lupin x reader #prisoner of azkaban

[skarloeyspa]

it's finally here! RWS-inspired uniforms for my SR main six! Also wanna thank @/glowynviator for the inspiration! Go check out their designs they're super lovely!!!!!

Design notes below as always!

1864 - 1910s

Taking heavy inspiration from the dude in the blue hat and purple/pink vest in all these illustrations

Their uniforms are fancier based on the initial reason for Skarloey and Rheneas' purchase - developing Skarloey as a tourist attraction, namely a spa (wonder where I've heard that before...)

1910s - 1960s

(goofy dudes in the first pic lmao)

So the tourism thing didn't last very long and the railway became more reliant on its original venture, which was its quarries

This was also the time when the railway's main income came from its quarries

Their uniforms became more quarry-appropriate. But since they still had the occasional passenger train, they still had finer clothing like a blazer and tie and hat

The gloves are cotton! Intended for outdoor work!

The pictures featured are Welsh slate workers and I have no idea where the overalls idea came from

1960s - Present

Revenue began increasing during this era with the newfound slate and Book of Sir Harald, which brought in more passenger traffic

With more passenger traffic the railway reintroduced more formal uniforms for their engines

I had a lot of fun doing Skarloey and Rheneas because this was basically the whole reason I took on these designs hehe

So obviously the colors! Bright red livery and blue lining! It wouldn't look too nice if I just made everything bright blood red so!

Buttons are buffers! Their painted names are golden embroidery! Ties are their TVS liveries (because I said so!)

Speaking of TVS, Sir Handel, Rusty, and Duncan are wearing their TVS boots! Having regained their footing, the SR introduced a more formal uniform but they still had some freedom in their uniform (as demonstrated by Duncan)

Sir Handel's blazer is a bit long...not because he's short or anything!

Peter Sam wears a knitted vest instead of the waistcoat that everyone else has because...it just suits him...Duncan isn't even wearing a vest so there you go!

Everyone's number is a badge on their hat. Since Rusty's hat is more functional than decoration, they wear their number as a little badge on their lapel! Their name is still embroidered tho :)

I promise the railway can afford whatever nice shirt Rusty is wearing BECAUSE I SAID SO I WILL IT TO BE I'M THE RAILWAY MASCOT I AM (miscellaneous rodent scritching)

Engines with longer hair are required to tie them up for tidiness! Big L for Sir Handel as always.

Skarloey is wearing a ring! Because of the brass ring on his funnel!! I will make you aware of this detail!!!

And that's it I think! Thank you as always for reading to the very end :] It means a lot to me that people find my designs interesting enough to want to read my rambles on them lmao

Anyway!! Since you're here...I'll tease a bit about my planned projects! I want to share some refs for other standard gauge characters I've designed! I also have some ideas for an animatic or two similar to the one I made for Ryan last year :]

#ttte #ttte humanized #ttte skarloey #ttte rheneas #ttte sir handel #ttte peter sam #ttte rusty #ttte duncan #so called “personal project” #i certainly have some things planned i do! #pictures in the reception hall #capy posting #sorry for the tag Glow😭

[scaryscarecrows]

The head of Knight Security is a young man, surely not a day older than twenty. The most noteworthy thing about him is the scar on his face, barely-hidden behind large, mirrored sunglasses, but his little ‘About Me!’ blurb on their website had mentioned growing up in Gotham. More importantly, Muldoon doesn’t give a damn. As long as he and his crew can do their jobs on Isla Sorna, he can return to Isla Nublar, where the threat of weekend tourists is growing and where there’s been…incidents.

“Todd Peters,” the young man says curtly, thrusting a scarred hand out. Muldoon catches it, appreciates the firm grip (and the callouses from guns, very good), and nods.

“Robert Muldoon. Mr. Hammond couldn’t be here today and besides, I’m the one you’ll be answering to.”

There’s seven of them, in total. Not a big team. But enough, Hammond says and Muldoon hopes, to handle the day-to-day here. Hammond thinks this is ridiculous already, but he’s not the one who had to order the chopper in for that mangled worker last Tuesday. He’s far too optimistic. Besides, their credentials are decent enough, and Muldoon will allow you don’t need an army to handle a normal outbreak.

Even if it would make him feel better. Though he can start to relax, maybe, now that Sorkin’s little pets have been removed.

“You’ve e-mailed with McLovin, then.” He jerks his head towards a tall, pale man with flaming red hair pulled into a messy ponytail. Muldoon adjusts his hat and wishes he had his hip flask.

“Yes.”

McLovin steps closer and they shake hands. Stronger than he looks, Muldoon notes. Also calloused, which he wouldn’t have thought, with glasses that thick. Good sign.

“You said this was a zoo?”

“Behind the scenes of one,” Muldoon corrects. “And more of a wildlife preserve, but your duties aren’t contingent on that. Come with me.”

“What exactly do you want from us, Mr. Muldoon?”

“Mr. Hammond will be down later to explain the finer points, but largely you’ll be in charge of moving the residents here from building to building and answering any distress beacons from individuals who may be lost in the jungle.” Or worse. “We have cameras throughout the compound and enclosures that you will watch, and it will be your job as well to make sure the electric fences are on at all times.”

“Christ,” the big guy at the back rumbles, “what kinda zoo is this?”

Muldoon just laughs.

“You’ll see eventually,” he says. “For now, let’s get you boys set up.”

#ficlet #jurassic park #the squad #jason todd #yeah this was entirely jimmy's fault #this would have been post-game #'hey look sun!' #how'd that go for ya boys?

[peashooter85]

Three quarter armor crafted by Desiderius Helmschmid and etched by Jörg Sorg of Augsburg, Germany, dated 1545

from Peter Finer

#history #antiques #armor #armour

[quecksilvereyes]

for the prompts:

it's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything + susan pevensie?

both you and @cosmicsnufkin asked for the same thing! my first instinct was to do post the last battle but then Susan's obsession with her ancient dictionary grabbed me by the throat, so here you go!

prompt from this post! feel free to pick one and send me a narnia character! I'll write you a little ficlet.

_

Once, when Susan was almost Queen, and remembered how to hold her shoulders to prevent them from shattering, a glass drop held by its tail, the lion looked at her and yawned until its sickle teeth lay bare. Its spit shone red, and its tongue curled, barbed and beastly about the witch's bones.

"My dear child", it said, with a voice that could not have lived in those lungs. Its paws were, then, big enough to hold her entire, and Susan had not yet learned how to flinch. "Your brother has need of you."

Edmund, dead in the bloodied field. Edmund, sick with longing and sugar and spelled. Edmund, freezing. Edmund, with fireflower juice on his lips.

Sharp-tongued and gunpowder-still, his mouth set in a scowl. His brows furrowed. The only one of them who was not gifted a weapon, Edmund used instead his own bleeding hands and the scruff marks on the high points of his cheekbones where a ring was caught in a slap.

The beast looked at her. Its maw drew closed. The fur of its mane was still as it had been before it was shaved and its whiskers stood long and proud from its snout. There was, still, dust in its pelt. Sulphur in its breath.

Adam's bone did not break on impact. Adam's bone stood, shoulders drawn, mouth pulled tight and watched Adam's flesh wail.

"Are you like him, then?", she asked, and looked the lion in its beastly eyes.

The lion rumbled. "I am like many things. And unlike many more." It smiled, somehow, drew its mouth into a shape that would be a baring of teeth, on any other. In the soft light of the sun, its fur shone golden.

Susan watched her little brother, whose bones were yet fragile, and sharp where they broke, as he drew his first breath of three hours. "But you are like him", she said. "Only you didn't die on a cross, this time."

The beast laughed. "It doesn't have to be a cross. It just has to be an innocent." Its claws were dark with soil where they slipped against Susan's dress, caught in the weft of a silk finer than anything English she'd ever touched.

She looked at the beast, and at the melting winter in its jaws. It looked back at her, and blinked. Slowly. Measured. Susan tucked the glass tail underneath her cloak. "And you are?" She wet her lips. Listened to Edmund's rattling lungs. "Innocent?"

"Sometimes", said the lion. It flicked its ear. It hooked its claws into fabric. "No-one is any one thing, dear one. It doesn't much matter if it's Romans or witches. Human and creature both are what they are."

Susan thought of the dictionary in Professor Digory's library. Lucy's head in her lap, Peter's exasperated voice thick in the air, and Edmund's scowling face by the window. Boredom burrowed to the thick of her brain where it had sat, liquid, just below boiling until her voice had threatend to break out of her chest.

Divinity. noun: a divine being; a god or a goddess. see also: benevolence, omniscience, indifference.

Edmund, rolling his eyes. "This is boring, Su. Who cares what it means?"

Benevolence. noun: the quality of being well meaning; kindness.

Lucy, sighing as though the world had draped itself atop her small shoulders. "Can we go outside, Su?"

Omniscience. noun: the state of knowing everything.

Peter, pinching his forehead. "Susie, can't we play something else? You're the only one who is good at this one."

Indifference. noun: lack of interest, concern, or sympathy.

The beast, who had been smoke and legend for one hundred years, looked at Susan, and dragged its barbed tongue across bleeding bone. "Why did you leave?", she asked.

It weighed its terrible head. "It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything", it said, and its tongue dripped from its maw. "Tears are not so easily mended, child."

Susan looked at the witch, who lay, half eaten, and dead as her brother had been, in the blooming field. Her throat torn from her neck, her guts spilling from her molten dress, her bones - not white as she'd thought, but bloodied-pink - bared and snapped.

She did not answer. Beside her, the all-knowing beast lay its head on its paws and yawned until its teeth shone in the sun. Susan had stood there, breathing.

Unflinching, yet.

In 1949, Susan Pevensie buries her loves in a field of wild flowers. Her aunt taps against the frozen glass tail. It shatters.

#susan pevensie #the chronicles of narnia #narnia #tcon #narnia fanfiction #narnia fanfic #aslan #the problem of susan #susan vs aslan: fight #sorry this is an anti aslan household thus. disrespect #larissa makes things #narnia prompt fill

[armthearmour]

A Longsword in excavated condition,

OaL: 49 in/124.5 cm

Northern Europe, ca. 1300-1350, from Peter Finer.

#weapons #sword #longsword #europe #european #medieval #middle ages #peter finer #art #history

[triskhellion]

Gingerly

Rated: Teen (2k)

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Isaac Lahey, Jackson Whittemore, Scott McCall, Alison Argent, Sheriff Stilinski

Tags: POV Stiles, Magical Stiles, Alpha Derek, Baking & Brewing, Accidental Secret Admirer/Assumed Creeper-Bad Guy, Scenting, Kissing, Hickeys, Getting Together

Summary:

Stiles already knew that the secretive Alpha had a not-so-secret sweet tooth, but not about a favorite spice. He could do something with that.

The Stilinski men were only passable in the kitchen, but he figured he could learn to bake. Woo the guy of his literal and figurative dreams, experiment with finer magic control, and enjoy snacks as he went? Win-win-win.

For Noxnthea and Stiles Shipping Central Ficlet Exchange. Prompt #3, Secret Admirer:

Stiles didn’t mean to end up as [person’s] secret admirer. He’d fully intended to announce his intentions, okay? But then, well… then he accidentally did [insert mistake here], and now [person]’s convinced they’ve got some creepy dude stalking them and goddamnit, if this gets out, the pack is never gonna let Stiles live this down.

Wolf & Snow Moons - Snow prompts: 12, Ginger, Hidden

Stiles began working on his magic over the summer, but didn’t tell anyone because he wanted to have something impressive, or at least reliable, to show when he was inevitably asked to demonstrate. Struggling to light a candle in front of a skeptical audience? No thank you.

So he borrowed some books, started a herb garden, learned various grounding techniques, and eventually it wasn’t so hard to draw from that well of power inside him. Apparently, soon he wouldn’t even need anything except his own will, but for now he actually enjoyed the little rituals. He even got multiple sternum tattoos to aid with things like stealth, protection, and healing and to strengthen his connection to the land and elements. (They looked pretty fucking cool and he only fainted twice.) 

Stiles was practicing extending his senses while walking near the new Beta House one evening when he overheard Boyd telling Erica how he realized that whenever he had something gingery back at the loft — drinks, stir-fry, cookies from his grandma —  that some of it always disappeared. At first he’d thought it was Peter or maybe Jackson, but he eventually caught Derek red (or rather, yellowy brown-beige) handed. 

Interesting. Stiles already knew the secretive Alpha had a not-so-secret sweet tooth, but not about a favorite spice. He could do something with that. 

The Stilinski men were only passable in the kitchen, but he figured he could learn to bake. Woo the guy of his literal and figurative dreams, experiment with finer magic control, and enjoy snacks as he went? Win-win-win.

After numerous attempts ranging from “exploding goo turned charcoal” to “pretty good” his latest batches came out perfectly. Chewy triple ginger molasses cookies, crispy gingersnaps, and decadent dark chocolate gingerbread brownies. The power of three, baby!

He snagged some for himself (quality control) and saved two of each for his dad, but still had a dozen left of everything for Derek. On the way over, he stopped to buy some tea for good measure: chai and lemon ginger. Then it was showtime. 

But when Stiles knocked on the door there was no answer. How anticlimactic. 

He waited a few minutes and then enhanced his hearing to check for sure that Derek wasn’t home, but instead he heard Isaac, Erica, and Jackson approaching the elevator in the lobby — a.k.a. 3 of the 4 worst possible people to witness anything sincere and potentially embarrassing — so he set the bag at the door, quickly erased his scent. and ran down the stairs while hiding his presence.

The mystery gift was the first topic of discussion at the next pack meeting. Derek apparently enjoyed the goodies (yes!) and only gave the envious betas one of each before absconding with the rest. He assumed it was left as thanks by a half-fae waitress he’d helped the week before, but when he complimented her in passing a few days later she had no idea what he was talking about. None of the wolves could pick up a scent on the packaging and bemusement turned to fear (no!) 

There were any number of malicious spells or supernatural substances that could be activated through food, which would explain the lack of scent. And how did the sender find out about his penchant for ginger anyway? 

Having lost his nerve (he’d never live it down if they found out now,) Stiles sent an anonymous text the next afternoon to try to put Derek at ease, but that only made things worse. After receiving an angry voicemail on his burner phone he panicked and tossed it. 

Another pack meeting was held and they were worried enough to bring in Scott and Allison, though thankfully Chris at least wasn’t there. Allison swept the place for listening devices and Scott asked Deaton to strengthen the wards once the clinic closed. Everyone was now on high alert for what Erica dubbed the “Cookie Monster.”

If Lydia or Peter were around they probably would’ve been suspicious of him being unusually quiet, but she’d left early for MIT and their semi-resident zombie wolf (the 4th and final boss of jerkfaces) was off gallivanting who knows where. There was no evidence pointing in his direction. He just had to relax and keep his mouth shut.  

“Definitely sounds like some psycho stalker to me,” Jackson said, making the “screw loose” sign. 

“That lady on the second floor who’s always checking you out?” Boyd wondered.

“Ooh, what about that guy at the coffee shop that always gives us extra pastries if you pay for it? I bet he knows how to bake,” said Erica. 

“If it’s him, you should roll with it,” Isaac joked, earning a glare from Stiles. How dare he credit some skeevy barista.

“Yeah, maybe it’s just someone with a crush,” Scott said, ever the romantic.

“A creepy person,” Allison emphasized with a frown. Erica nodded.

“Yeah, and with his luck…” she muttered, wincing and turning to a silent Derek. “Sorry, big guy,” 

As the others continued speculating Derek only looked more and more irritable and withdrawn. Angry, yes, but even worse, sad. Stiles dreaded the embarrassment and hassling to come, but he hated seeing Derek upset even more.

“It was me, alright!” he shouted, shooting up from the couch.

Everyone paused and turned to stare at him. Scott tilted his head, his expression that of a confused puppy. 

“Dude, since when do you bake?”

Stiles shrugged awkwardly. “Since recently.”

“But why couldn’t we tell that it was you?” Erica asked.

“I, uh, might’ve done something with my magic? Surprise,” he said, making jazz hands.

“Magic?” 

He turned toward Boyd, who was looking him over as if to check for any changes. Glittery skin or a tail perhaps. Stiles was amused because he wasdifferent now, but only under his clothes were they — and his father — couldn’t see.

“Yeah,” he replied, grinning. “I’ve been learning for a while “

“You, magic?” Jackson scoffed, leaning against the wall. “The only—“

“Me, jackass” Stiles cut in, locating and drawing out streams of flour and black pepper from the pantry and dumping it on his head.

“Dude, that’s so awesome!” Scott exclaimed, coming over to fist bump him as Jackson coughed and sneezed, beating at his hair and clothes. Then Jackson stomped towards him so Stiles stopped him in his tracks just like he kept a pan of B- coffee cake from hitting the floor a week ago.

“Duuuude,” Scott said as Isaac and Erica laughed gleefully. Allison grinned, giving him a thumbs up.

Proud of his progress, he momentarily forgot the situation until he turned and saw Derek watching him with an intense, but unreadable expression. His stomach dropped, but he was still relieved that the subject had changed to his magic and he showed off a few more times, including cleaning up the mess he made. Even the now pristine and mobile Jackson was begrudgingly impressed.

He worked his way closer and closer to the door hoping that with a last good diversion he might even manage to escape (for now, anyway.) 

Then Isaac had to ruin it, raising an eyebrow and smirking before asking about his “sneaking around like a weirdo” and wondering why he made a bunch of desserts for Derek in the first place.

Stiles froze, face flushing as he rambled about training exercises and then made up some tradition of potential emissaries leaving gifts for Alphas. He caused the alarm on his phone go off and then silenced it, saying he had to go. 

Even with just his normal hearing the sound of laughter echoed as he fled.

When Stiles got home he distracted himself with a new game he hadn’t started yet, storming through the fantastical countryside and targeting particularly tall and smug-looking elves. A few hours later he saved his progress and took off his headphones, sighing and knocking his head against the couch cushions. He soon found himself back in the kitchen where he saw some texts and a bunch of group chat notifications when he took out his phone to check a recipe. He ignored the latter, but read the texts from Scott.

< r u okay? >

< do u likr derek?! >

< like >

< ?🤔🤯?! >

Groaning, he replied < can’t talk, abducted by aliens > as if he wasn’t thinking of a certain Sourwolf at that very moment. He added < (not really) > right after because this was Beacon Hills and then slid it back into his pocket.  

His dad came down an hour later in his uniform, yawning as he got a sandwich from the fridge. He was two days into a week of night shifts and was still adjusting to the schedule. 

“Hey, kiddo.”

Stiles saluted back and poured him the coffee he started when he heard movement upstairs. His dad thanked him, watching as he finely chopped a bunch of ginger and then added it and some sugar to a jar of water. 

“What’s that?”

“A ‘ginger bug’. It’ll be a starter for ginger beer in a few days,” he replied, stirring and covering it with cheesecloth.

He received the patented Sheriff’s Eyebrow and rolled his eyes, explaining that there was negligible alcohol content if you drank it soon-ish or refrigerated it, especially without using extra yeast. None if you just added carbonation instead of letting it ferment. 

“Like this one” he said, pointing to a bottle with seltzer and the lavender ginger syrup that he prepared already. His dad hummed dubiously. 

“So what inspired all of this?” he asked, gesturing with tonight’s allotted brownie. “And why does everything have ginger? Not that I’m complaining.”

Stiles once again made up some excuses as he cleaned, this time about trying new hobbies and how ginger was supposed to help with focus. 

“Uh-huh,” his dad said, giving him a knowing look and the “I’ve got my eye on you” motion. “Negligible.” 

“Okaaay!”

His dad ruffled his hair and chuckled as he left. “Alright, I’m off. Be good!”

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” Stiles grumbled to himself. 

Or so he thought until he went upstairs and found Derek in room. 

“Heyyy, how's it going?” he asked after having a minor heart attack.

The look on Derek’s face could only be described as predatory and he swallowed, backing into the wall as 190 pounds of werewolf prowled towards him. Here it was, his somewhat deserved and unfairly attractive doom. 

But instead of mangling him warm fingers circled his wrist and slowly brought it millimeters away from stubbled cheekbones and parted lips. Derek inhaled deeply and sighed.

“You know, I’ve always loved that smell. My uncle, Daniel, used to make these elaborate gingerbread houses full of ‘gingerwere’ cookies in different stages of shifting,” he said, shaking his head with a bittersweet smile. “But I kind of forgot about how much until I came back here.” 

Derek let go, but stepped even closer, leaning in to nuzzle at his neck. Goosebumps rose in his wake and Stiles shivered when he spoke again, a now huskier voice pressed directly to his skin. 

“And then there was this troublesome brat everywhere, smelling of locker rooms and lust. Cheetos and body spray and the usual things…” Derek's chest vibrated against his when he laughed. “But underneath all of that, his scent was like ginger and honey.”

Stiles moaned as Derek licked his throat, clutching at muscular arms and letting his head fall back in offering.

"Mmm, delicious...just like what you made for me. And now I'm thinking that maybe it’s not just aimless, rampaging hormones with you. That maybe you actually want something more." Derek drew back just enough to meet his eyes with a darkened, red-ringed gaze. "Do you want...something more...from me?"

Stiles surged forward with a wordless cry to meet him, possessive mouth hot and spicy-sweet and even better than his dreams.

"Yes," he breathed, hips jerking and becoming speechless again when Derek switched to trailing bruises down his neck and below. 

It seemed like he was going to show off his tattoos after all.

#sterek #sterek fanfic #sscfe #wolf & snow moons #sterek & stuff events #wsm 12 #wsm ginger #wsm hidden

[memories-of-ancients]

Lorenzoni system repeating flinlock pistol crafted in Birmingham, England, circa 1785

from Peter Finer

#history #antiquities #art #guns #firearms

[incesthemes]

literally cannot wait to hear you talk about how supernatural 0103 is just. entirely about john's character

i HAVE made a post on this before: i think that 1.03 dead in the water is actually john's introduction episode, told through the allegorical characters bill carlton, jake devins, and peter sweeney's mother. because the character dean imprints onto and relates to is lucas, but the focus of the character is on the parents, so the attention drifts away from dean and onto john to paint a picture for the audience of who he is in his physical absence.

and the episode reveals a lot of information about john that's confirmed later in the series: that he considers losing his children worse than dying (1.20); that he's aggressive and likes to maintain control over situations (also 1.20); that he will sacrifice himself to protect his kids (2.01); so on, so forth.

but i missed something originally—or rather, i couldn't figure out the true, intended meaning of this particular, poignant line from dean: "you can't bury the truth. nothing stays buried."

it's a pretty big line. it's obvious foreshadowing. but i did my first rewatch of season 1 six months ago while i was half-paying attention and i couldn't remember the finer details, so i moved on. but! this is a line about sam (it's always about sam in the end, isn't it?).

dean says this in response to jake and bill attempting to cover up peter's murder. it happens when sam and dean are literally digging up peter's bike which bill and jake had buried thirty-five years ago. these two men had a secret, and nothing stays buried.

john has a secret, too. he knows about sam's connection to azazel. we don't know how long, exactly, he's known this, but it's safe to say he's known that sam is the target of something evil since the night of the fire, and by the time we get to the mid-season episodes, john has figured out this something is a demon. by 1.21, we know that john knows there's a distinct, unnerving connection between sam and the yellow-eyed demon.

and by 2.01, we know that john knows enough about all of this to understand what sam's destiny is and that he and/or dean are the only people who can prevent it.

he keeps all of this a secret, right up until the moment he dies. but no matter how hard he tries to keep the truth buried from his kids, it leaks out—sam has visions before jess dies; sam has visions of the house he was born in; meg comes after him to lure him away from dean; he finds max and realizes there are others like him; he finds meg again and she uses him as bait to kill john. and then there's the whole of season 2 on top of that.

it's a prophecy. you can't bury the truth. nothing stays buried. john was fighting a losing battle; the truth will always be found, and there was nothing john could do to stop sam from learning it, just like jake could do nothing to stop andrea from learning about the murder he committed three decades ago.

1.03 is about john, and it's about season 1. it's every step john will take from now until his death: from hiding the truth to watching it leak out from between his fingers to sacrificing himself to the monster to save his dying son. lucas is dean, jake is john, andrea is sam, and peter sweeney is azazel killing everyone around john and his kids until he's satisfied, until john offers up himself to bring his kid back from the dead.

#ask #supernatural #john winchester #1.03 #spn1 #i'm normal. i'm normal. i'm normal #the allegory game in this episode is so unhinged like it truly makes me feel insane if i think too long about it #azazel as peter is a fucked up comparison to make but like yeah sure whatever. we can do that #anyway thank you for sending this ask i have been wanting to talk about this ALL NIGHT but i kept getting distracted. oops #please imagine me shaking and trembling. this is what new revelations do to me #spn posting #.txt

[siriuslystarbucks]

October 31: Halloween

Written for @prongsfoot-microfic

"So," Sirius says as he enters the room, "what do you think?"

James looks over as requested, though he's not quite sure what he's going to be looking at. All Sirius had said when he asked about his costume was that it was going to be a surprise. In years past, Sirius would at least say what he was going as even if the finer details were a mystery, but there were no expectations at all for this Halloween. James looks over, ready to compliment (but unknowing what the details of the compliment will be), and his words die in his throat. "You can't wear that," he manages to say.

"Why not?" Sirius asks, head tilting in a simulacrum of innocence.

To put it in a single phrase, he looks like pure sex. It's not so much a costume as it is an outfit pandering to every little thing James likes-- and Sirius loves to wear to drive him crazy. The leather vest atop a bare chest is the tip of the iceberg, as are the leather trousers. The hair on his chest glistens with glitter, matching the sparkly pink eyeshadow he's laid on thick on his eyelids. The red lipstick is glossy, ready to smudge at the slightest touch-- a personal favorite for the way it looks smeared across Sirius's face and decorating his cock after Sirius has gone down on him. 

Anyone else might think that it was a run-of-the-mill outfit and Sirius is taking the opportunity to dress like he's going to a club because why not?-- but James knows better. From the way he's done his hair all the way down to his shoe selection, Sirius made every decision with the express purpose of seducing James.

"Because I won't be able to keep my hands off you," James answers, stating the obvious. "Peter is going to kick us out for shagging in the corner of his living room." Again, he adds silently, though he holds that the last time was an overreaction on Peter's part-- his hand wasn't inside Sirius's pants, now was it?

"That doesn't sound like a reason to change, to me," Sirius says with a grin.

"What, you want for him to throw us out?"

Sirius shrugs, the picture of unconcerned. "I'm just looking to have a good time tonight."

"And driving me barmy is at the top of that list?"

"Always is," he says with a playful snap of his teeth in James's direction. Bastard knows exactly what he's doing, and he's unrepentant about it.

Merlin, they're going to get thrown out of Peter's party, and they're going to be late.

#prongsfoot #bambibelle #james potter #sirius black #fanfic #my writing

[lucky-bishop]

A question just for funsies: teenage Peter Hale is forced to get a job. Where does he work? Bonus question: if he gets fired from said job, why?

Oh man there are so many fun options here!! Let's see -

First let it be known this is my 'truest' answer if I had to give one. He would work at a suit shop. He likes the finer things, he'd like getting dirt on rich people and people of influence.

Now we get the first of the funnier answers, which is him working in a weapons shop. Argent, if he could make it happen, but certainly with a hunter affiliation. This would of course assume that they don't know that the Hales are werewolves but suspend your disbelief with me for a moment to think about the comedic potential. He thinks it's hilarious to tempt fate and be right under their noses, no matter how many years all the worrying shaves off of his sister's life.

Last but not least: fro-yo restaurant employee in a shitty strip mall. Because he would hate it and it would be abundantly clear but he has to work there for some reason even though he absolutely should not be directly interacting with members of the public. He drives sales through the bottom of the ocean floor because no one wants to have sprinkles put on their fro-yo in a threatening manner.

He would get fired from any of these jobs for horribly insulting clientele to their faces with targeted and cruel comments in a public place. You can't make the mayor cry, Peter. Or he'd get caught blowing someone in the storeroom, once again at any of these jobs, and be fired for that.

#ask #anon #peter hale #crack #teen wolf

[flutteringphalanges]

My Girl

Adam Warlock x Star Lord!Sister Reader

Prompt: You and Adam enjoy a quiet moment as parents with your baby. (Lots of fluff and some romance)

Words: 867

A/N: Hello! Today I wanted to write something short and sweet so have some dad!Adam and mom!Reader. I just wanted to add real quick that you don’t need to have read any of my other one shots to know what is going on. They basically can be as read as stand alone. The daughter is named Aydith after Adam’s mom, Ayesha, and Peter Quill’s (and the reader’s) mom, Meredith. Hence the name haha! Here is the LINK to all the one shots in the series if you’d like to check them out! Requests are open! Thank you all so much! I hope you enjoy! Also I may do one for Father’s Day but I am not sure. It is started though. -Jen

                                                  My Girl

Out of context, telling someone that the man you loved had fallen head over heels for another girl would’ve surely sounded downright horrible. But that was far from the truth. In fact, you couldn’t be more over the moon about it. The moment your daughter had come into the world, the moment Adam’s eyes landed on his child, it was as if nothing else mattered. You both were his universe--you, the moon, and she, the sun. Adam had fallen in love again, but so had you. 

“Why thank you, I shall treasure this dearly.” 

You leaned against the door frame, your mouth curved into a small smile as you watched Adam cheerfully accept the wooden spoon your ten month old daughter, Aydith, held out to him in earnest. You were exactly sure where the two of them had managed to collect such an odd assortment of things, but you were happy they were enjoying themselves. Her nose crinkled up as she giggled, her chubby fist holding a twig towards him. Groot’s? 

“It is very lovely. Finer than any branch on Sovereign. Perhaps we should display it in the house. Isn’t that right, Mama?” Adam looked over to you, motioning to the stick. “What say you? Is this not the most impressive piece of wood you’ve ever seen?” 

“Positively stunning.” You chuckled, making your way over to their side. Aydith squealed as you leaned down to kiss Adam before turning your attention on her. “You have quite a collection here, sunshine. Must be that pinch of Ravanger in you.” You tickled her, the baby breaking out into a fit of giggles. “Where did this come from?” 

“Oh, just here and there. Anything that really piqued our interest--or, rather, hers. She has quite the taste for things.” Adam explained, both of you watching Aydith as she retrieved a purple shell from her pile. Must’ve been something Phyla had given her. “Not too sure what we will do with all of it once we’re done.” 

Your daughter waved the shell in the air, blowing tiny spit bubbles as she let it fall. Without hesitation, you watch as she began to float into the air. Even though you’d had weeks to get used to this new found power of hers, your heart still leaped out of your chest each time. Adam, however, didn’t even blink as he casually reached up and brought her back down, settling her in his lap. Aydith frowned. 

“You know I’m not against Rocket making those gravity boots he offered to design for us for her.” Adam said, holding onto the little girl as she wiggled in his grasp. “I know it would bring you a lot of comfort knowing she was on the ground.” 

“I know.” You sighed softly. “But I don’t want us to treat her powers like they are a burden or something.” Even though the thought had crossed your mind more than once. “I just…I just want her to be safe, that’s all.” 

Both of you fell silent for a moment. Eventually, Aydith seemed to lose interest in trying to fly, earning her the right to freedom from her father’s lap. She crawled her way over to her pile, plopping down before it with a smile. You felt Adam’s hand rest on yours, and you interlock your fingers. Looking over at him, you noticed the way he gazed at you with his golden eyes. A stare you knew that one day would gross your daughter out because her parents had that ‘yucky lovey dovey’ look on your faces.

“What?” You felt the heat rising to your cheeks as you fought to keep a straight face. 

“Just admiring your beauty.” Adam admitted, obviously amused with your reaction. “Have I ever told you how absolutely radiant you are, Y/N?” 

Countless times. In every single language. Verbally and physically. Sometimes you wondered if that was all Adam could ever say. Just like a broken record. And by Gods would you be lying if you said you didn’t love it. 

“I don’t know.” You feigned innocently, shrugging your shoulders. “My memory can be quite vague at times. I could use some reminding…” 

Adam smirked before leaning over to kiss you. Heat began to pool in your stomach when his lips touched yours. It was so easy to get lost in the moment, savoring the intimacy you both craved. It was the blown up, plastic ball that hit your knee that caused you to break apart. Your daughter was staring at you both, her head slightly cocked to the side. 

“Later.” You murmured, your grin sly. “When she goes down for her nap.”

“Is that a promise, Y/N?” Adam whispered, lust in his eyes. 

“A guarantee.” You pressed your index finger to his lips. “It’ll be worth it.” 

Aydith let out a shrill cry as if demanding that all attention be redirected at her. You chuckled softly, still holding onto Adam’s hand as you scooted closer to the baby. Adam’s love for you was Aydith. What had come of it all. Seeing her, watching her, your daughter’s existence screamed it. You smiled, feeling Adam’s fingers tighten as your child played before you. She was the sun.

#Adam Warlock #Adam Warlock x Reader #Reader x Adam Warlock #Adam Warlock Imagine #gotg vol 3 #Aydith Warlock

[sweetbillwriting]

The Finer Things

Psycho - Part 8

Characters: Vincent De Garmont, The Marquis, From John Wick 4.

Setting: This story is set in my own universe, so not exactly the John Wick universe.

Warnings: 18+, SO MANY. Sex, abuse, violence and murder.

Ines sat in the big hotel bed under the covers in a black slip. It was Vincent’s room, or now it was theirs. They shared a room now, more or less. He didn't let her move all her things there because he thought it became too cluttered. He didn't want her make up close to the bathroom and had been really clear with that after he had gotten her powder on his white suit pants. 

She looked around the tidy room and listened to the faint sound of Vincent brushing his teeth in the bathroom. She had gotten some new information about him that she couldn't stop thinking about. 

Boyfriend. Vincent has had a boyfriend. Of course she had thought about what sort of partners the Marquis could have had before her, she had even wondered if he had experience with men but that thought hadn't come up while they had been more intimate with each other. She just saw him as her guy then and the thought that he would have chosen the company of another man before he met her had been erased. 

The door to the bathroom opened slowly and the tall man came out, dragging his hands through his unstyled hair. She knew he got stressed by feeling hair in his face and when he didn't have any products in it he showed his annoyance by his soft hair openly. He was dressed in a baby blue satin pajama set with his cursive initials on the breast pocket. It was so shiny it snatched all the lightning from the room. Ines looked at him from top to toe and smiled to herself with mixed emotions. Yeah, the Marquis had had a boyfriend. 

He crawled down next to her and did the last of his nightly routine. He put on a black eye cover on his head, moisturized his lips, and then his hands. No wonder he was as soft as a baby. He took care of every part of himself with the best French products. 

Ines looked at the sleep mask. It had become a signal for her: no sex tonight. She had a much bigger need for it than Vincent, and she suspected the only real satisfaction he could get was from seeing a life fade away in his hands. But the mask also meant they could talk; if he hadn't a book in his hand, it was okay. 

“So you're bisexual? Or Pan?” She asked curiously with an expecting expression. It was probably the most private question she had asked The Marquis. 

He looked at his hand while giving his cuticles some extra moisturizing. 

“You Americans...” he said with a downgrading tone. Ines looked at him tiredly. 

“You're also American!” 

“Not in my heart,” He said it like it was an obvious fact. 

“Yeah, yeah. Continue.” 

“With what?” He looked up at her with a bored expression. 

“Are you bi?” 

Vincent clicked his tongue and laid down in bed on his back, while Ines sat up more instead, against the headboard. 

“I don't see it like that. I am with the person I want to be with.” 

“So you're pan?” 

“What the fuck is pan? A frying pan? Peter Pan?” 

“Ha ha ha.” Ines faked a laugh but smiled when Vincent gave her a dimpled one. 

“I just think it's unnecessary to throw around words. Why does it matter? Do you want a word so you can judge me?” 

“Noo…” Ines felt stupid about her conservative thinking, especially because she in one way wanted to judge him. She wanted to be able to put a label on him. 

“Can we stop talking about this now? It's such a boring subject. I've been invited to the opening of Dior’s boutique this weekend. That's a better subject.” 

Ines looked at him unpleased and crossed her arms. 

“You don't need to come with me,” he said irritatedly, pulling down the eye mask. 

“Must you be like this? Why can't you just share things with me?” 

Ines sounded irritated for real now, and it made Vincent pull up the mask again. 

“I do! I just said you can come with me to fucking Dior!” 

“I don't want Dior! I want to know shit about you! I know you know my whole fucked up story while you don't tell me shit!” 

Vincent sat up and pulled on his pajama shirt, which twisted around his body.

“Your “fucked up story” is just bullshit! It was just child play! I will not share my story with someone who can't even handle their own bullshit story.” 

In his upset state, Vincent lost his accent again, but also that elegance that otherwise lay over him like the thinnest chiffon. 

“You maybe let your fucking junkie mom die in front of your eyes, but I broke every fucking bone in my trashy parents bodies with a hammer! And that's fucking soft for me!” 

Ines turned to him in shock. She furrowed her brows. She looked upset, but Vincent looked at her with a killer look. She knew he would kill her then and there if she said the wrong thing. The thought of that was so hot. She wondered for a second how he would do it. Strangle her? It felt like the easiest way, but something told her that was too boring for him. It was more believable that he would bite her and drink her blood. 

Ines squirmed and Vincent looked at her pressing her legs together. His angry look changed slowly to a mocking one. 

"Filthy girl,” he said lowly and sat up on his elbow. 

“Shut up,” she said but with an amused smirk. Vincent laughed and sat up more and lifted the cover to look at her panties. 

“You're such a psycho. Who gets wet from such a story?”

“I said shut up!” She whined but with a laugh and pulled up the cover. Vincent smirked and shook his head. Ines looked at his handsome face and thought about jumping him, begging for his cock but she had a question she needed an answer to. 

“What happened after you killed your parents? Did the police understand it was you?” 

Vincent laughed and laid down again with his hands behind his head. 

“Of course not. Do you know how cute I was? I was fourteen with angel eyes and the cleanest record. High grades, liked and good mannered. Appearance is everything.” 

Ines looked at his proud smile and thought about how he was now. Appearance was still everything to him and he had slowly taught her the same thing. Her Dr. Dre t-shirt and leggings with holes was probably not the best look to have to be trusted. 

“Why are you so sexy?” The word just jumped out her mouth. She couldn't control her horniness any longer. She laid her chin on his chest and looked up at him. 

“Because I'm everything other men wished they were.” 

Ines laughed and kissed him. He was probably right, she didn't care really, she just wanted his cock. 

She unbuttoned his pajama shirt and looked at his broad chest and his biceps. His body contrasted beautifully with the soft shirt and even that was turning her on. Appearance was everything but under it was a sexy, wild man. 

They kissed again over and over, Ines straddling his hips, grinding against his erection. She was so turned on but even when The Marquis moved her panties to the side to touch her sensually she couldn't stop thinking about one question. She pulled away from him a little which made Vincent look at her confused.

“Did you take or give?” 

Vincent didn't understand at all and looked even more confused. 

“I guess you slept with your ex. Did he fuck you in the ass?” 

Ines furrowed her brows when she saw how offended Vincent got. She just wondered. Or maybe it would be a little hot if he had? 

“Did you just ask me if I…” he looked at her still as offended. 

“What? It's not a big deal. I've had anal sex too. It wasn't pleasant but that's another story.”

Vincent pushed her away from his lap and shook his head in disbelief. 

“I guess that means you didn't? You seem offended…” Ines felt nervous now, it felt like she had maybe said something stupid. Vincent stood up from the bed, still without a shirt. He didn't say anything, instead he walked out of the room slowly. Ines looked after him with pain in her stomach. She hadn't expected that it would be so sensitive. To her surprise he came into the room again, but with a glass of an amber colored spirit. 

“You know that you're the most annoying girl ever, right?” he said and sat down in bed again. 

“Yeah?” She answered and smiled nervously. He looked at her while taking a sip of his drink. 

“If I tell you… My story, will something between us change then? Is it something you can't handle to hear?” He looked at her with big eyes and when Ines looked closely she could see there was worry in them. He really had some sort of feelings for her. 

“Maybe rape?” She said honestly. He showed himself vulnerable so she had no reason to lie. 

“I have never done such a thing. I promise,” he said sincerely while looking into her eyes. “The only woman I have hurt is my mom but she was worth it.” 

Ines laughed low and crawled closer to his side. Vincent laid his arm around her shoulders and took a deep breath before he started to talk.

××× 

Vincent didn't understand at all why his parents left France. They moved to his relatives in New Orleans, his poor, trashy relatives. He looked at them with distaste, even if he was just eleven years old, and looked down at them like they were vermin in his life. In France, his life had been totally different; his mother came from a noble family, and he learned at four years of age to eat escargot, with pincers and all. His grandparents thought it was amazing but also a bit funny that he showed more class than both their kids—his mother and uncle. He was a natural. Early in his life, he stopped playing games like normal kids and instead focused on what he noticed his grandparents seemed to think was important: culture, food, politics, history, and how they looked. He was born to live like the rich, but his parents had other plans. 

Vincent hadn't thought about who would inherit after his grandparents and had a naive belief that he would be able to continue his luxury life. There was nothing else for him. Money and luxury were the grounds he was standing on. The day both his grandparents had died, the family realized there was just one person who would inherit everything: Vincent's uncle. He was older than his mom, was a man, and had more class. His mother had chosen a man from a simple background, a dentist without his own practice. Vincent was ashamed of his father, the peasant, even if he hadn't been alive without him. He wished his mother could find someone else, but she chose to stay with him and rip away everything that was important for the eleven-year-old Vincent: money, good food, and pricey wine. They destroyed his life and moved to his father's home country. USA. The land of tastelessness and hydrogenated fat. He was sure he wouldn't survive. 

His parents became middle-class and believed they could spoil him with soda and chips. They seem to believe the American lifestyle would fit an eleven-year-old boy better, but Vincent looked at everything with distaste. His family, relatives, and everything around him. He dreamed about champagne and oysters. He wished for hand-tailored suits and cufflinks in platinum. 

Even if he felt like a prince lost in a garbage dump, he succeeded in charming most people around him. He knew he had the looks for it, the manners, but also the intelligence. It was known in the area that he was an unusually smart boy, an unusually well-mannered boy. He was the golden boy, so golden neighbors bragged about him, even if they just met him once or twice. Females were especially weak for him, and even he thought it was weird how grown women wanted to be around him, a thirteen-year-old boy. It was also how he got money. They gave him money just to listen to their problems. They gave him liquor to make him stay longer. He thought it went well for him until he noticed a group of people who would give him even more money: men in “not so functional straight relationships." He knew it was strange, and many would have looked at him as a victim, but he never saw himself as a victim. He was not the type. 

He probably earned more money as a boy courtesan than his mother did as a social worker, and he spent it all on himself. It was the day his father came home in anger after hearing a rumor about his son selling his body to rich men Vincent killed both of his parents. He hadn't planned it, but seeing his father throw out his Louis Vuitton bags on the floor, spilling out his YSL perfumes, and digging in his jewelry box, he had enough. They were so disrespectful and also so below him that he needed to get rid of them. So why not do it in a fun way? That night, he snuck into their room, tied them to the bed, gagged them, and gave them a hammer hit for everything they had taken from him. Bourgogne wines, seafood, belts in real leather, a good hairdresser, watching polo... The list was long, so their bodies looked more like minced meat when he was done. He looked at his craft in excitement. It felt like a great accomplishment, maybe even an artwork. He wished he could take a picture of it and show people, but he knew no one would understand. People around him were way too unintelligent to understand it.

××× 

Vincent had pulled her up in his lap and held her face and kissed her deeply. He made a sound of pleasure and kissed her again.

“But you understand, right? It looked like a blood red butterfly, a meaty, powerful butterfly. And it was what they were. Finally they were there they should be, you know? Their kill was the most beautiful thing in their lives,” he said with wonder in his voice. Ines giggled. 

“You sound like a psycho!” 

Vincent looked at her and licked his lips. 

“Noo… I just know my art.” 

Ines shook her head in amusement and kissed his lips again. 

“But what happened after that?” 

Vincent leaned back against the headboard and looked around dreamily. 

“I went to one of the rich men and then I had my alibi. Not like he dared to say something else. He was fifty years old hanging around with a fourteen year old boy. Better they believed I was there as his literature student than telling the cops I was there getting drunk on cognac and showing off in his pool. Everyone was on my side anyway. I was the golden child.” 

Ines dragged her hands through his hair. She wasn't surprised. He had that aura that made him feel like the most valuable thing, person in the room. 

“And then?” She asked. 

××× 

Everyone felt sorry for him. He was an orphan. Several people offered to help him and open their homes for him, but Vincent knew where he wanted to be. He wanted to go back to France. He had his uncle there. Social service thought he should live with his father's cousin, but Vincent handled that situation with crocodile tears and an accusation of abuse. He got what he wanted, what he had planned, and moved in with his uncle and his family in their castle. They still had his grandparents estate, but the family didn't want to live with the elderly couple’s old things and bought a castle for the inherited money. Vincent loved it. All the big rooms, the light, but mostly the soft rugs that were in every room. He could spend a whole day just digging his toes into the rugs. He was happy there. He could live as he wanted again. He didn't need to dress up for pathetic old men but instead did it for the other young socialites. He met his first girlfriend that way, but then there was also the young man who would change his life. Mael. His father was a sponsor of several politicians, and when they got power, they paid him back from the state's treasury. Vincent admired the father, but it was the son who created lust in him.  

×××

“But seriously, now, can't you just answer if you take or give?” Ines pleaded and dragged her fingers over his shoulders. She still sat over him. Vincent looked at her tiredly. 

“It depends on the person,” he said, just to please her. Ines nodded a little. 

“And Mael..? 

“Both. Okay?” 

Ines smiled in excitement and then giggled. She couldn't hold it in. 

“Is it weird I think that's hot?”

Vincent now smirked at her pointedly. 

“You're a filthy girl, so...” 

She smiled teasingly, and he smiled back in a similar way. Both of them reached out to each other so their tongues could meet. Ines pulled away again in a flirty way, but continued her nosy questions. 

“Is it Mael I will kill?” 

“Mael died a long time ago... So no,” said Vincent, looking around in the room. It felt like he didn't want to look at her. She hadn't felt before when he talked that Mael was such a loaded subject, but now it felt like a minefield. They were quiet for a while, with Vincent dragging his hands over her thighs with a low gaze until he spoke again.

“Should I continue to tell you?” 

Ines nodded eagerly.  

××× 

Vincent didn't get what he had wished for on his eighteenth birthday. He had hoped for a car or a trip, but instead his uncle said goodbye. He was grown up now and could leave their home. He knew his uncle didn't like him very much because he always made him look bad. He could talk about politics, history, and art in a relaxed and confident manner, while his uncle pretended to know. Vincent couldn't stop himself from correcting the older man and making the other socialites laugh at him. Vincent laughed too, like he was the man of the house making fun of the servant. His uncle wanted to get rid of him now, when he could. Finally, he could throw the boy out. 

Vincent’s ground tumbled under his feet again, and suddenly he stood homeless and penniless on the street. Maybe he could have treated his uncle and family better, but he was never mean; he was just more sophisticated than them. That they sat on the money was a stupid mistake from his grandparents; it was he who could make their family name flourish and not buy a castle and let the family estate decay. 

Lucky for Vincent, he had a rich boyfriend. Mael was kind, beautiful, and caring. A man to trust. He was the same age as himself, but instead of getting kicked out into homelessness, his parents gave him a luxury apartment in central Paris as an eighteenth birthday gift. An apartment big enough for them both. They didn't know if people understood they were a couple, but they didn't really care. No one said anything about it, and if people want to believe they lived together as two buddies, they could believe that. That they shared a bed and let each other in as close as possible was not anyone else's business. 

Still, Vincent wasn't pleased. Mael took care of him in every way, but Vincent walked around in annoyance because of the emptiness in his chest. He needed more. He needed what his parents gave him. Their lives and blood. The only thing that could make him sleep was the image of the fleshy butterfly. Its beautiful scarlet color and the satisfaction it gave him. The feeling of pumping power into his veins. 

Mael started to talk about his father's plan for him one day. He hadn't shared it before, probably because he was afraid of hurting Vincent, but their relationship had started to fade. He didn't seem to have such a big interest in closeness and seemed restless and trapped in his modern apartment. 

Mael’s father wanted to send him away for some sort of education to become a soldier in a special group of the army. It was not only the fancier group but also the group with more interesting jobs. Guard the premiere minister, be a spy in Russia, or do secret operations in the Middle East. Mael had started to think about it, but he hadn't expected Vincent's eyes to become even bigger and rounder. Mael believed he saw a chance to get an important job that could connect him to the socialites again, but Vincent just felt the butterflies wet wings around him. The smell of metal and death. 

××× 

“Was it there that the thing with your back happened?” Ines asked softly and dragged her hands over his waist, back to his sensitive back. Vincent looked at her a bit surprised that she understood that. 

“Yeah. I got the most physical jobs because… I was good at it while Mael…” Vincent looked down but nothing of his manners gave away sadness, he masked it so well. “He couldn't handle it. We were in Somalia, searching for someone together. The mayors saw us as best friends so they let us work together, but also because he was weak but also rich while I was strong.” 

Vincent continued to talk neutrally about his young love and Ines couldn't really say if he was upset over his death or not. He even sounded a bit condescending when he called the young man weak. 

“He got a panic attack while we talked with some guys and started to wave with his weapon and they started to shoot. That weak boy died at once while I survived but with my back all messed up and without a job. No one wants a soldier who can't run.” He looked at her with an empty gaze but she could see a sadness sweep by when he talked about his back. He seemed more upset over his back than Mael. His first love. Ines dragged her fingers through his soft hair and inspected his cold expression. 

“Are you not sad? For Mael?” 

Vincent looked around in the room but his expression was still unreadable. “I was. But now he's dead and I'm not. It was fun while it lasted.” He leaned back and took his glass with the amber colored drink and took a sip. He looked elegant and calm even if he was without a shirt and talked about the death of a loved one. She looked at him a bit worried. She wondered if he maybe lied to himself and hadn't gotten over Mael or if he maybe didn't know what real love was. It wouldn't surprise her. 

“But-” she wanted to ask what happened when he once again stood outside of the social elite but his phone rang on the night stand and he took it in his big hand. He looked at the name for a few seconds and bit his lip then he answered in french. Ines, who still sat over him, could clearly hear the male voice from the phone.

“Bonsoir ma chérie, je te manque?” 

× 

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #fan fiction #writing #story #bill skarsgård writing #bill skarsgård fanfiction #fiction #vincent de gramont #the marquis #john wick #4