#the song being bones by imagine dragons which fit her a lot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thegreatestofheck · 4 years

Text

Outer Banks Playlist

Here is a cohesive list of songs I listen to usually when I write my fics/blurbs/etc! These are all the songs that aren’t a part of the official playlist that make me think of the show in general, the pogues, a certain character, or a certain fic.

Enjoy!

Electric Love by BΦRNS - baby you’re like lightning in a bottle, i can’t let it go now that i’ve got it

I’m not sure what it is about this song, but it was the first one I put on this playlist. There’s just something about it that really screams “relationship with JJ Maybank” to me, but don’t ask me what.

If We Have Each Other by Alec Benjamin - i’ll be your brother and i’ll hold your hand, you should know i’ll be there for you

I get major pogue vibes from this song. It doesn’t matter that they’re not family by blood, they will always stick by each other no matter what. They’re there for each other through the thick and the thin.

We Are Young by fun. and Janelle Monae - tonight, we are young, so let’s set the world on fire, we can burn brighter than the sun

Another very pogue style song. They are young and they are free and they’re living it up. The Pogues and this song are very “you’re here for a good time, not a long time”.

Royals by Lorde - and we’ll never be royals, it don’t run in our blood, that kind of lux just ain’t for us, we crave a different kind of buzz

Probably guessing a theme here now, but this is the pogues through and through. I mean, the entire time they’re looking for the gold, most of their thinking is about “going full kook”, living that fantasy.

Let it Ride by AUTOMATIC LOVELETTER - take me away, let’s get out of this town, run baby run, we’re unstoppable now

This song has always hit home with me, especially when it comes to kids and a found family situation, which is the Pogues. Just listen to it and I think you’ll understand. It’s so amazing.

Already Gone by Sleeping at Last - you couldn’t have loved me better, i want you to move on, cause i’m already gone

If I tell you why exactly I put this one on here, it would be a spoiler for one of my longer fics, so I’ll just leave it to your imagination. Sleeping at Last > Kelly Clarkson, at least with this song.

Hello by Walk of the Earth - there’s such a difference between us and a million miles

This version is a lot more bitter than Adele’s version, so I think it really fits here with all the kids who were disappointed by their parents. JJ with Luke, John B with his mom and Dad, Sarah and Rafe with their mom, Ward, and Rose. Also just with like 90% of the adults in the entire series just constantly failing these kids, I feel like this version kinda flowed with that. Also kinda makes me think about Elma from “Ocean and Alcohol” and her relationship with her mom.

On Top of the World by Imagine Dragons - paying my dues to the dirt, i’ve been waiting to smile, been holding it in for a while.

Another Pogue song. They deserve so much better than what they got and this is for all those little victories; finding the gold, surviving the boat crash, getting the keys to the Phantom, etc.

IDGAF by Dua Lipa - go find a girl who wants to listen, cause if you think i was born yesterday you have got me wrong

This one is mostly for Sarah and Kie, who are constantly being put down by others. Not so much the Pogues, but in that Midsummer’s episode where Kie’s mom tells her not to worry about the socioeconomics of the world when her complaints were legit. Or how Rafe, Ward, and Topper were constantly berating Sarah for her feelings. This is for them.

Kiss Me Deadly by Lita Ford - late to my job and the traffic was bad, had to borrow ten bucks from my old man, it ain’t no big thing

You can’t convince me that the Pogues don’t blast this song in the van while their cruising down the streets. I love this song.

Renegade by Styx - oh mama i’m in fear for my life from the long arm of the law, hang man is coming down from the gallows and i don’t have very long

The entire last two episodes, this was the only song I could think of. John B just exudes the energy of this song.

Warriors by Imagine Dragons - as a child you would wait and watch from far away, but you always knew that you’d be the one to work while they all played

This one is for everyone on the cut; the Pogues, Heyward, Big John, Ms. Lana. They were the ones who kept Kildare running. The fishermen, the mechanic, the laypeople. They built that island from their blood, their sweat, and their tears.

Run Boy Run by Woodkid - run boy run, they’re trying to catch you, run boy run, running is a victory

Here’s another one for John B is those last two episodes. Was I stressed out a singing songs to myself when i watched them the first time. Maybe so.

Glitter and Gold by Barns Courtney - i am flesh and i am bone, i’ll rise, ting ting, like glitter and gold, i’ve got fire in my soul

Again, I’m not 100% sure why, but this gives me the vibes of outer banks. Maybe I just really like this song and associate it with everything. Maybe it’s because it has gold in the title. Who knows.

Why Did it Have to Be Me? by ABBA - you were looking for someone to hold, that’s only natural, by why did it have to be me?

If you thought you were making it out of here without a single ABBA song you were dead wrong. ABBA is one of my favorite bands and they just fit with everything. There aren’t specific characters for this song, but I think it still works for the show.

Lay All Your Love on Me by ABBA - i still don’t know what you’re done to me, a grown up woman should never fall in love so easily

Sarah and John B, Kie and Pope, Kie and JJ, the viewers and Rafe, i don’t care, take your pick. This song works for everyone all the time because, again, it’s ABBA. Love them. Love this song.

I’m Still Standing by Elton John - looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid, i’m still standing after all this time

This one just gives me so many feelings when I think about it with literally any of the kids. They’re put through so much crap, all of them, and yet there they are, standing and standing together. I mean, come on. Especially with John B’s speech to Ward in the finally episode. It’s just *chef’s kiss* Also Elton John is a legend.

Stand By You by Rachel Platten - hands, put your empty hands in mine, scars, show me all the scars you hide and hey, if your wings are broken, please take mine so yours can open too

Again, this one applies to so many places, but specifically the hot tub scene in episode 7. Even thought the Pogues have some issues sometimes, they are almost always 100% there for each other and that’s what this song is about.

Run the World (Girls) by Beyonce - smart enough to make these millions, strong enough to bare the children, then get back to business.

I honestly cannot think of a woman in Outer Banks who was not iconic. Kie: a social justice queen who cared so deeply for her friends, the environment, and others. Sarah: a girl who understood her privilege and tried to use it to help others. Peterkin: a boss bitch who figured everything out before anyone else. Wheezie: an iconic little sister who was in a toxic household but was still the most chaotic queen ever. Kie’s Mom: misguided sometimes, but she just wanted what was best for her baby girl. Pope’s Mom: IRONED HER SON’S CLOTHES EVEN THOUGH SHE DIDN’T KNOW IF HE WAS COMING HOME, also wanted what was best for Pope (and also JJ). Ms. Lana: lost her husband, had her home broken into and still confessed about Scooter and Ward when it was most important. Rose: was she evil, heck yeah. Was she the smartest character on the show? Probably. That girl knew just when to use the right words and who to manipulate when. Congrats queen, you’re crazy but you have the most brain cells. Mrs. Craine: Killed her husband and got away with it! I’d like to see Ward try that. Anyway, point is, this show is full of boss women and I love them all.

Uprising by Muse - they will not force us, they will stop degrading us, they will not control us, we will be victorious

So, maybe season one didn’t end in the best way for the Pogues. Still, they were thisclose to beating the system that screwed them all constantly. And I have faith that things will go even better for them later. I just...this song makes me feel like toppling a government or a psychopath rich man so I added it.

There are more, but these are the ones that hit me the most! If you want to see more, just let me know. And, as always

stay safe

stay healthy

stay groovy

66 notes · View notes

yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Skin, Bone, and Scales

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

This is just 75% fire figurative language

Word count: 6098

TW: Blood and pus, minor body horror (as in: sunburns and peeling skin)

———————

“Oh my god, you’re like a tomato with hair!”

The peculiar call caught Anne’s attention as she was changing into better shoes for rehearsals. She furrowed her eyebrows in both complexity and amusement, recognizing the voice as her little cousin. A smile formed on her lips, shaking her head at what could have possibly elicited such a strange comment.

When she walked out to the room they rehearsed in, she quickly realized what the context was and that it made perfect sense.

—

Joan had never been so hot before.

Her skin was baking, studded with blisters and boils along her shoulders and forearms and back like scales, as if she were a reptile and not a fleshy mammal. Her limbs were sacks of hot stones and smoldering embers that she had to drag around with her, and her ears simply felt as if they were lit on fire. Her cheeks, however, were by far the worst. It was like someone was holding hot iron to the sides of her face and wouldn’t let go, no matter how loud she screamed.

To put it simply, Joan felt like a roasted lamb on a spit, rotating slowly above hungry flames. Sometimes, she had fallen into their orange-gold mouths. She could almost feel the flaming tongues licking at her skin.

So, yeah. Joan wasn’t all that comfortable at the moment. And Kitty’s loud, obnoxious comments about it certainly didn’t help at all.

“It’s, like—peeling,” Kitty felt the need to declare openly. She reaches for Joan’s shoulder, but her knuckles get swatted, and she pulls away. “Oh, gross!” She laughed. “Did you put anything on it?”

“That’s not your business,” Joan hissed. The fire that has lit in her stomach flashes higher, and she could almost feel whorls of smoke wreathing out of her nose and ears. “Stop trying to touch me!” She hit Kitty’s hand away again. “And stop looking at me like that!”

As much as she hated it, she didn’t blame Kitty or anyone else for staring- she would have, too, if it were one of them that came into work glowing neon red from head to toe.

“Sorry, I don’t speak lobster!” Kitty laughed loudly and then finally backed down. She spread her hands in front of her in a peace offering. “It's just funny!”

“It really isn’t.” Joan grumbled more to herself than to the girl in front of her.

“I told you to put on sunscreen,” Jane helpfully spoke up from where she was doing some warmup stretches. Joan dared to shoot her a distasteful look.

“I did!” Joan cried woefully.

“Not enough.” Kitty giggled. ”Make sure you do next time! We don't want you animorphing into a lobster!”

Joan scowled at her grinning face and imagined what it would be like to blow hot embers in her eyes. She erased the thought quickly- not because it made her feel bad for thinking something so morbid, but because she didn’t want to give the pink queen that much of her attention.

“Moving on,” She rumbled. Her throat and nose ached in a fierce, raw way as if they had been scraped out with a jagged branding tool. She lumbered sluggishly over to the piano in the far corner and delicately touched one of the cold, smooth keys, almost expecting it to melt beneath her fingertips. When it didn't, she sat down at the bench and considered it safe for her to play. “Let’s begin.”

—

The scaly blisters that are bristled across Joan’s back prickle painfully against her shirt. She wanted to scratch them so badly, but she knew her nails would sink in like a heated knife in butter the second she barely brushed the bumpy skin. It would be a mess of pus and blood that she wouldn’t be able to hide since she was wearing a simple white tank top (she couldn’t bear to have anything touching her shoulders, and white did reflect sunlight, so she thought it would be fine). So, she just had to grin and bear it.

But she couldn’t even fucking grin! Smiling pulled the dry skin around her mouth taut, to the point where it felt like it was cracking and flaking off. She was constantly licking her lips because of this, which set off tiny flames in them each time she did so (and didn’t help at all, mind you).

What’s worse- she felt something welling up within her. It was an uncomfortable sort of sensation like someone had released thousands of fire ants inside of her. It took her so long to realize that this was how she usually felt with a fever because of how hot she already was.

Joan blinked her eyes quickly, suddenly feeling very dizzy. She stared down at her hands resting on the piano keys and thought she saw light grey smoke hissing from underneath her fingertips. She gingerly raised her fingers and saw no damage- she must have just imagined it.

She sighed and scratched her itchy knuckles. A new stinging pain shivered through her tendons at this stupid decision, like thick, globby fire leeches were suckered on her skin and dissolving it into a soupy, gory mess. She squirmed awkwardly in her seat at its oppressive tingling and tried to keep her eyes open, but it felt as if a talon of fire was pressing into the socket, so she had no choice but to squeeze them shut. Sweat beads on her brow from the exertion of her simply trying to ward off the unwanted sensation and right as she thought she started to feel a little better...

Blinding pain.

“Hey, are we gonna get to my song or what?” Cleves had been saying loudly. “I’ve wanted to try out this new move-” And then she slapped Joan’s shoulder in a friendly way.

But it came off as a lot less friendly to Joan.

Flames burst through that shoulder, sprinting fast across her rash and setting the scales ablaze with fresh agony. It welled up in her throat like she was about to vomit molten lava and clouded her eyes with smoky hazes that usually came with near-unconsciousness. Her teeth dug into her chapped lips, cracking them with the pressure, but she wasn’t able to hold back a yelp.

“What the FUCK?!” She cried. She was half expecting fire to come out when she spoke, but no trace of flames appeared in her mouth. They remained deep inside the furnace that was her scorched body.

Cleves grimaced, although there was still amusement glinting in her eyes. She lifted her hand, and a comically pale print was momentarily left on Joan’s bright red shoulder before being devoured by the sunburn. It securely plated its blisters and scales back over the mark, spreading like a crimson wildfire until it was inflamed and itchy once again.

“Whoops- sorry!” Cleves said. She was genuinely apologetic, but it seemed worthless because she was still laughing about what she did.

“Are you- mmmmm.” Joan gave up on arguing, instead of turning to a much better option- grumbling like a teenage fire dragon that just got part of its hoard confiscated by its parent fire dragons for accidentally eating one of the sheep that was supposed to be saved for the fire dragon dinner.

(She didn’t like being a fire dragon. If she were ever to draw Killer Frost as a fire dragon, she knew it would throw a fit or come out of the sketchbook and strangle her with its bare claws.)

“It’s—fine. It’s fine!” Joan finally snapped. She glared down at the piano, not wanting to see everyone else’s expressions. She knew that would be finding this funny, and that made her want to shove hot coals up all of their noses until it turned their faces into a charred, tarry goop and they couldn’t smile or smirk or laugh anymore. “Let’s just move on!”

Her voice was coming out too loud. It was biting, but not in a cold way. It came out in a smooth, warm, sunny way that nobody could take seriously. They saw her as a baby sheep that was trying to bleat at a butterfly in its flower patch.

But she just saw herself as a sheep with its wool on fire.

Smothering, encompassing, suffocating, asphyxiating- the white-gold flames press in on her. She’s a ball of fire, fleece ablaze, hooves smoldered, horns like pillars of pyre. She opens her mouth to scream, and flames come pouring out. Her insides are bloated with smoke and ash, charred and singed, and she can taste their tarry remains on the sediments of her shriveled, black tongue. When she hooked her nails in her neck and tore open holes, thick streams of smog so grey they looked black come floating out.

Joan was screaming, clawing, burning two inches away from everyone’s faces, and yet they were blind to the golden inferno embracing her body.

( “They think it’s funny,” Killer Frost would probably say if it weren’t hidden beneath the hellfire consuming Joan’s entire being. “They think it’s just a little sunburn. Nothing more. But if it were Kitty that was as red as a fresh apple in spring...”)

Her subconscious’ distant words are drowned out by the overwhelming sound of the incendiary. Torches are sent flaring through her nerves like pinpricks of hot needles before extinguishing enough for her to realize she had been playing the piano throughout that entire conflagration.

Somehow.

Joan breathed out a soft, shaky breath. That feverish feeling reignited itself once again- or maybe it’s always been there, and she just hadn’t noticed. At this point, as her brain was melting inside of her skull, she didn’t know much anymore. She was working purely on muscle memory, but that would soon go, too, as her tendons and nerves and muscles would dry up from the heat and become stiff, fragile, prettified remnants of what they used to be.

She gulped dryly, as there was barely any saliva left in her mouth, and it felt as if she had just swallowed igneous rocks. They landed heavily in her stomach and set the bile into an uncomfortable simmer. She began to worry if the lining would catch fire and burn her from the inside out or melt open holes and douse all her other organs in the boiling acid.

Joan swallowed again, and whatever flaming creature had been trying to crawl its way up her esophagus and out through her mouth raked its claws down her throat on its way back down. Then, she coughed and was surprised to not see a plume of ash come out.

God, she needed water. She needed to get out of these clothes, too. Her legs were nowhere near as bad as her back and shoulders, but her pants were rubbing the scarred flesh uncomfortably raw and she would just prefer to have them off.

Joan bounced her knee, feeling miserable. Her skin was melting off of her bones, her stomach was boiling, she was running a fucking fever, she was somehow shivering, and, good lord, was the heater on or something?!

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Joan stood up, wincing as she felt crackles and flickers and pops go off in her legs. She walked on eggshells on the way to the bathroom after calling a break- if those eggshells were on fire and actually pointy lava rocks.

Right about now, Joan would really prefer actual eggshells because, what the fuck, were the soles of her feet sunburnt, too?!

She careened into the bathroom, clipping her shoulder on the corner wall in the process and sending that smoky haze from before momentarily hissing across her vision. She braced herself up against one of the sinks, pressing her palms down on the smooth, cold granite as hard as she could to soak up the coolness, and glared at her puffy, inflamed, red face in the mirror.

God, no wonder everyone was laughing at her.

She was like a poor immolation to the overpowering pyrolatry. A lamb to the slaughter, a ram to the flames, a ewe to the end of a burning knife-

A piece of charred meat in the mouth of hungry flames.

Joan slowly eased herself back, removing all the weight she had been putting on her hands. It felt as if she were rubbing bituminous coals against her palms, so she turned on the sink and let it run over her hands and fingers and wrists. She carefully dabs some of the cold water on her hot cheeks and sighed softly in content. For just a brief, fleeting moment, the stinging seized and was snuffed out by a torrent of coolness.

That lasted for only a few seconds, though. The water ran warm when it dribbled down the sides of her face, much to her dismay. It was stupid of her to think she could even get a moment of comfort.

As if to prove that, Joan’s back tingles again and, this time, she didn’t care about ignoring it. She reached her arm around and under her tank top and scratched fervently at one of her shoulder blades, hoping to relieve some discomfort.

Her efforts, of course, did the exact opposite.

Joan couldn’t help the startled cry that escaped her lips. She ripped her hand away, and it came back wet and sticky and absolutely dripping with pus and blood.

It was as if her touch was heated- the minute her nails came in contact with her shoulder blade, the flesh peeled back, blisters popped, and fluids came angrily billowing out of the abscess like hundreds of wasps from a destroyed hive.

Joan dissolved into pathetic whimpers as tears came streaming free. They were gasoline on her flaming cheeks- increasing the stinging until it felt like holes were being melted open in the sides of her face, and she frantically squabbled to wipe her eyes. The rough brush against her cheeks agitated the inflamed flesh, and it punishes her foolishness by breaking open and spilling its red tears down her face.

Joan would scream if she could, but the hellfire had her by the throat. So she just wheezed like the scorched furnace she had become and let the liquid fire drool out of gaping, fleshy ventilation systems.

What else could you do when in the mouth of an inferno?

———

Anne will admit that it had been her idea to go to the beach, but in her defense, Kitty made it happen. That’s exactly why she had consulted the girl about her idea because she knew nobody in their house could say no to her. Besides, it was going to be alarmingly hot for a spring day in England, so why stay in a house with no AC when you could go swimming? It was a brilliant plan! And it worked out perfectly! Except for the part where Joan fried like an egg in the sun, of course.

But still, in her defense, Anne had no idea the girl was so sensitive to sunlight! She had seen her put on at least ten layers of sunscreen every thirty minutes! How was she supposed to know she would shrivel up and die?!

Oh, who was she kidding? Not even her internal yelling debate could ease the guilt gnawing away at her.

Joan tagging along with them wasn’t her fault- that blame was shifted onto Kitty and Maggie, who were never a good duo when they got together, when they insisted that the “gang had to stick together”- but she still felt bad when she saw the girl’s awful sunburn. It was funny at first, but then she noticed the permanent grimace plastered on her face and the way she stiffly played the piano like she had lit matches dug into her skin, and the situation became a lot more worrying.

It was clear Joan was on edge and uncomfortable- they all noticed that. They just didn’t think of doing anything. A sunburn wasn’t exactly something you could just pop some pain pills for- it took time to go away and let the skin heal itself of the blemish. So, the others just didn’t pay it any mind (even if it was tough not to gawk at Joan’s firetruck red complexion).

Anne tried to do the same. She told herself there was nothing she could do and she should just laugh about it with everyone else, and she was so close to settling fully into that state of mind.

But then Joan called a sudden break and left the room without a word, and Anne was yanked right out of that belief.

Something was very, very wrong.

Now, believe it or not, despite her (slightly aggravating) stage persona, she knew what boundaries and personal space were. And she knew when to not bother a female. There’s several cases of when you shouldn’t bother a woman: when she’s breastfeeding, when she’s on their period, when she’s pregnant, when she’s being cheated on- but especially when she’s in pain and it was making her aggressive.

It’s, in a weird sort of way, like the time she found a stray cat on her family’s property when she was younger. She had cornered the frightened little thing and it arched its spine and hissed at her to stay back, but she was desperate for a pet, so she grabbed for it anyway. Naturally, she got scratched and that night, as her mother was cleaning the cuts, she was told to never approach a scared, cornered animal. It made them more likely to lash out, but if you wait and let them know you weren’t a threat, then they may calm down. And Anne has used this advice since then, and she still uses it with the queens and ladies in waiting when something is wrong with one of them.

Except right now, though. Because Joan has been in the bathroom for half an hour, now, and absolutely no one was batting an eye. Anne knew the girl was more likely to die and turn into a skeleton before anyone decided they wanted to check on her, so she excused herself from the game of Statues that Maria had started and walked out.

Now, Anne has seen a lot of shocking things in her life: the actual proof of Aragon’s divorce, her first miscarried baby’s withered corpse, Henry’s penis....but the musical’s bright red music director hunched in the bathroom with blood on her shirt and face and hands might take the cake.

In the bright bathroom lights, Joan looked a lot worse than she did in the rehearsal room. She wasn’t just red- she was raw.

The easiest way to explain it is to imagine a human being that just got all its skin peeled off and then was stung by at least two hundred bees in very specific areas. Scarlet stained almost every inch of her body, aside from underneath her jaw, amazingly. The burn was lighter in some places and darker in others, but her shoulders and upper back were by far the worst. There, scarlet faded into rings of dark crimson and blotches of maroon, both of which are spotted with tiny red dots, as if someone had crushed up rubies and sprinkled the shards over her to make the menagerie of sunburnt flesh look less like an eyesore. Paper-thin, translucent strips of varying sizes are frayed around the edges of the bigger blemishes, revealing raw pink hiding underneath.

To put it simply, Joan looked like a scorpion without its exoskeleton.

“Joan!” Anne cried in shock and worry. She leaped towards the girl and immediately picked up on the heat coming off of her. It was like standing too close to an active volcano. “Are you alright?”

Joan looked up in surprise. She had just been swaying there with her hands running under the sink when Anne came in. Anne guessed she was cleaning the angry red patch on her cheek, which was still crusted with blood around the edges.

“I’m— I’m, uhh—”

Anne couldn’t even tell if she was blushing in embarrassment or not, but it didn’t matter. Flustered or not, Joan needed some help.

“Honey, you don’t look so good,” Anne said gently. She reached out to grab Joan’s forearms so she could steady her, but the natural warmth from her hands seemed to set fire to Joan’s arms and she jerked away with a soft hiss. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s fine,” Joan whispered. She didn’t snap at Anne as she had done to Kitty and Cleves. Perhaps she liked Anne more than them, or perhaps she was just in too much pain to be angry- Anne couldn’t really tell. “I’m sorry— Everyone is waiting for me, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Anne said. “But forget that right now, alright? You look like you’re about to keel over from heatstroke.”

Joan actually managed to laugh weakly, but it quickly broke off into a keen-like noise as pain flitted across her burnt facial features.

“What’s wrong?” Anne asked. “Aside from, you know,” She gestured vaguely.

“I— I don’t know.” Joan whispered. “I-I think I have a fever...”

“Are you sure you’re not just hot from-” She gestured vaguely once more, but this time with a lot more enunciation in her movements.

“N-no, Anne, I’m—” She’s starting to shiver. Joan was fucking shivering. She reached out a hand to lean against the sink counter. “I— I just-” She pressed a hand to her forehead, breathing shallowly.

Anne frowned in worry at the girl’s inability to explain how she felt to her. Whether it was from embarrassment or deliriousness thanks to the pain, she didn’t know, but she had to do something, so she stepped forward and carefully placed her hand on the back of Joan’s forehead.

As expected, it was burning hot. She wished she could have said that it felt a little warmer than a normal sunburn, confirming that Joan did have a fever, but she honestly couldn’t tell. So, she convinced Joan to help her find the thermometer kept in the theater first aid kit so she could take her temperature.

38.8. That was the temperature displayed on the thermometer and Anne worriedly glanced over it to the weary-looking girl sitting in front of her. When she was caught staring, Joan looked up at her with grey eyes and red sockets.

“38.8.” Anne said, showing her. “I think you may have sun poisoning, love.” Joan tensed and Anne quickly went on, “No, no! It’s okay! That means we know how to treat it!”

“W-we do?” Joan stammered nervously.

“Well. I do.” Anne said. “The things I need aren’t here, but I know we have aloe gel at the house. So we’ll get you fixed up in no time!”

Joan didn’t look too happy to have to go over to the queen’s house in her current state, but Anne managed to convince her to ditch rehearsals early so they would at least be alone for the majority of the treatment.

When they arrived, Anne had to point out the elephant in the room- the stained mess on Joan’s back. She had been putting off calling it out, but now they had to do something about it. And she knew Joan was going to hate every second of it.

“Alright, how much do you like this tank top?” Anne asked Joan, who was sitting on the toilet seat in the master bathroom (Jane’s bathroom. It was technically Jane’s bathroom, but Joan didn’t need to know that. They needed space, and it was big, so Anne could take the fit Jane would surely throw when she found out later). “Because if you can’t move your arms, I can cut it off.”

“I think I can get it off myself...” Joan said although she didn’t exactly trust herself to do that.

Still, she grabbed the hem of the tank top, pulled it over her head, and Anne watched in concern as the skin upon her upper back cracked, contracted, and split open in a way that made it seem like the girl was about to sprout wings. It made her own shoulder blades tingle in discomfort.

“Ow.” Joan whispered. She shoulders shudder, flesh-scales bristling and flaking.

“Okay,” Anne started, looking at the gooey scratch fanned open on Joan’s left shoulder blade. It looked like a tiny pool of creamy pus, which was just barely managing to not spill over the edges. “Yeah... You’re not gonna like this part, sweetheart. In fact, you may hate me after it’s over.”

“Why?” Joan squeaked fearfully, but then she watched as Anne pulled a bottle of disinfectant out from under the sink cabinet. Her face went as pale as it possibly could with the sunburn coating it like a second skin. “O-oh.”

“Yeah,” Anne smiled pitifully. She wets a small rag that she hopes Jane doesn’t use to clean her body with (mainly for Joan’s sake). “Ready?”

Joan white knuckles a towel she had grabbed for grounding and nodded shakily. She couldn’t even be embarrassed over being shirtless in front of Anne, as she was too worried over the pain she was about to face.

The cry Joan makes is heartbreaking. It felt as if burning claws were stabbing and stabbing and stabbing Anne’s heart the longer she had to hear it and the longer she had to be the cause of it. But it had to be done and, after a few moments of flushing out the scratch with disinfectant, she pulled the rag back. It’s now covered in a thin film of yellow-white pus and brown blood.

“Now your cheek,” Anne said. She wets the clean side of the rag and gently lifts Joan’s chin. The claws return to her heart when she stares into the girl’s glossy grey eyes. “Take a deep breath, honey.”

She gave Joan a moment, then pressed the rag to the blemish on her cheek. Joan keened sharply and instinctively shook her head, but Anne managed to hold it still enough to clean her face. She could feel hot tears slip down against her fingers and she finished as quickly as she could.

“There,” Anne said. “All done, sweetheart. I’m all done.” She delicately brushed away Joan’s tears. “Shh, shh... You’re okay. You’re okay, Joan...”

“Fuck you,” Joan hissed weakly.

“I deserve that.” Anne laughed slightly. “I’m going to go grab the aloe vera, alright? And a change of clothes for you. I’m sure Kitty’s will fit you.”

She’s gone for maybe five minutes and by the time she returns, the little blonde fireball she left sitting obediently on the toilet seat seemed to look even more miserable: she was hunched slightly, sunburnt flesh-scales bristling in a painful way along her shoulder blades and upper back. Her eyes are slightly glazed over, reminding Anne of the fever she had, and she was starting to shiver again. Anne just hoped it was because she was shirtless in a cold house.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Anne’s hand hovered comically over Joan’s sunburnt knee, then her sunburnt shoulder, then her sunburnt back, and then she decides to just pat her head. It makes Joan look up at her with a weak smile. It reminds Anne of a picture Cathy once sent her of a lamb grinning. “I brought some water if you’re thirsty.” She frowned when Joan shook her head. She watches the girl lean over to the sink counter and bury her head against her folded arms resting there. “Joan? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Joan whispered weakly. “Just a little nauseous.”

Oh dear.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Anne said, worry evident in her voice. “I also brought some ice. You gotta stay dehydrated, so do you think you could at least suck on a piece?”

Joan agrees and slips a chip of ice into her mouth. Before she can return her head to its burrow in her arms, Anne asks her to change into the shorts she brought in, so she sheds her itchy pants and gratefully swaps them for the airier bottoms.

“I’m going to put the gel on your back now, alright?” Anne said. “Then you can lay down in my room. How does that sound?”

Joan just nods weakly.

Anne gives her a warm smile, then dips her fingers into the bottle of aloe vera she had with her and gingerly smears it on Joan’s shoulders.

As gentle as she was, it seemed she just about poked Joan with a hot rod.

Joan yanked away with a yelp, nearly falling off of the toilet seat. Anne pulled back, meeting her eyes with a worried glance.

“Sorry. It hurts that much?”

“N-no, it—” It definitely hurt that much. Joan just didn’t want to admit it. “J-just warn me next time.”

“Okay.” Anne nodded. “Here goes.”

She put her hand to Joan’s shoulder again, much slower this time. Her fingers barely touch the girl before she’s curling in on herself like a distressed armadillo.

“Hey, sit still,” Anne said.

“I’m trying!” Joan takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, steeling herself best as she can. “Okay, okay. I’m- I’m ready.”

Still, she can’t help but flinch when the next stroke sears a prickling line across her back.

“I’m sorry,” Joan squeaked when Anne pulled back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” She scrambled up to her feet. “I-I should just go. I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble-”

“Hey, hey,” Anne tried to grab her forearms, but stopped herself from making contact. “You aren’t doing anything wrong. You’re in pain, Joan. You’re going to flinch.”

“B-but I’m annoying you,” Joan whispered. She lowered her gaze, but Anne slips a finger under her chin and lifts her chin.

“You’re not annoying me, honey.” Anne assured her. “I promise. I want to help you. So can you please sit back down?”

Joan nodded and sat back down. Anne didn’t miss the fresh glimmer in her eyes and she couldn’t help but feel so bad about how insecure and nervous the poor girl was.

“Ready, sweetheart? I’m going to start now.”

Joan’s muscles tensed up as soon as the touch came. The balm stings on her skin and in her nose- a sharp, airy scent of aloe. She bites down on her shredded, raw lip, trying hard to stop herself from whining, but a few pathetic sounds still escape her.

“One part done,” Anne said, her voice as soft as her fingers.

Joan just makes a noise through clenched teeth, pressing her face back into her folded arms. Anne’s touch is light, barely there over the biting of the salve. Every now and then, she stops to take more from the bottle, always muttering a quick warning before she continues. She’s going slow, steadily rubbing small circles all over Joan’s shoulder blades. The weird minty chill numbs the skin wherever her hands glide, to and fro, covering every inch.

“I’m almost done with this part, sweet girl,” Anne cooed. “You’re doing so good.”

Beneath her hands, Joan’s flesh was rough and bumpy. It was like rubbing lotion on the back of a horny toad lizard. It was so hot, too, like a piece of the sun was permanently burning inside of the poor girl. Luckily, the aloe vera seemed to soothe the cinders billowing about Joan’s body. The flames licking through her would flicker their way over to the cold, wet barrier and slow down, prodding the goop in a disgruntled manner. And then, they’re smothered by a glob of sharp-scented aloe, wisps and embers flying out in shock before they, too, are put out.

Anne moves to Joan’s legs next, then her arms, and then her neck and ears. Finally, she began to smear the gel onto Joan’s face, hearing her sigh softly in relief as she did so.

“All done,” Anne smiled. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

Joan was definitely blushing- Anne could tell just by the way she hunched her shoulders around her neck and looked away shyly.

“Come on. Put this tank top on and then you can lay down. Or you can stay up. Wanna watch a movie?”

Joan nodded. She stood up and her nose wrinkled. She was basically wearing a full body suit of aloe vera.

“I feel slimy.” She said. “Like a snail.”

Anne laughed. Her heart melted at how adorable the girl before her was.

“You are too cute,” She said. “Come on. Put the shirt on.” She tossed a basic pink tank top to Joan, who quickly pulled it on. She saw the fabric cling to the aloe vera almost instantly and Joan’s nose wrinkled once again. “Yeah, it’s gonna do that.”

After quickly cleaning up, Anne led Joan to her bedroom. Joan was hesitant to get into the bed, but Anne assured her that a little aloe rubbing off on the sheets wasn’t going to bother her, so she clambered in after the queen. They end up deciding to watch The Princess and The Frog right as the front door opened and closed from downstairs and several voices filled the house.

Anne expected Joan to get nervous or say she should leave, but, instead, the girl just scoots a little closer to Anne, who leans away in fear of hurting her burns. Joan seems offended.

“It’s gonna hurt if I touch you.” Anne reminded her.

“I don’t care,” Joan grumbled. Her fever and exhaustion was making her adorably grumpy. “Please just hold me...”

Anne’s heart fluttered- she couldn’t say no to those eyes!

As expected, Joan hissed when Anne put her arms around her and pulled her close to her, but then she sighed softly and rested her head against the queen’s chest.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered. “For helping me. I didn’t think anyone...”

“It’s no problem, Joan.” Anne quickly cut off her nervous comment. “I care about you.”

“...I like being cared for.”

Anne glanced worriedly down at the top of the frizzy blonde head resting on her chest. She pulled Joan even closer and pressed a kiss to her hair.

“You deserve it, Joan.” She said. “You deserve care and so much more. Never forget that.”

“Stop it,” Joan whined weakly. “You’re gonna make me cry on you...”

“Cry, sweetheart. It’s alright.” Anne said. “It’s not going to change what I think.”

“Thank you,” Joan choked out through whimpers. “Thank you so much...”

“No need to thank me,” Anne said. “Besides. You have my robe. It’s official. You’re, like, mine, now.”

“Your what?” Joan looked up at Anne timidly.

Anne shrugged. “Niece? Goddaughter? Granddaughter? Robe stealer?” She kissed Joan’s forehead, making her smile shyly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I like all of those options,” Joan whispered, tucking her head back under Anne’s chin. “But I...I want to be your-”

“Annie!!”

Anne’s bedroom door swung open and Joan lurched away from Anne. She sat up straight, still, staring at the TV as young Tiana goes running out of her bedroom after a frog croaks at her. She doesn’t want to see whatever expression Kitty has on her face.

“What’s up, Kit?” Anne said cooly.

“Oh, I was just wondering where you were,” Kitty said, then glanced at Joan skeptically. Her nose twitched a little, but she quickly turned back to her cousin. “Cathy is cooking tonight. She wants to know if you still want to learn how to make that really good soup she made?”

Anne saw Joan’s shoulders droop just slightly. She quickly makes up her mind.

“Maybe some other time,” She said. “Call me when it’s ready, alright?”

Kitty blinked. She glanced at Joan one more time.

“Alright.”

Then, she’s gone. Joan still doesn’t move, so Anne has to ease her back into her arms, now stroking her hair soothingly.

“I could have left,” Joan whispered.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Anne reprimanded. “I want you to stay right here with me.”

Where you belong.

Joan swallowed a lump of emotion rising in her throat and nodded. She nuzzled closer to Anne, not caring about how it agitated the burnt skin on her nose.

“Thank you,” She mumbled. “I-I...”

“Shh...” Anne soothed her. “It’s okay, sweet girl. No need to thank me or anything. Just relax, okay? If you’re tired, sleep. I’ll be right here.”

Joan felt heat bubble up inside of her, but this time she knew it wasn’t from the sunburn or the fever, rather the heat came from the giddy blush that glows a refreshing pink along her flesh-scales.

“I’m... I’m glad.”

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfic #six fic #six fanfiction #anne boleyn #katherine howard #joan on the keys #anna of cleves #jane seymour #tw: blood #tw: pus #tw: body horror #nana boleyn #skin bone and scales

45 notes · View notes

volganic · 4 years

Text

Song of the Dragon

big shoutout to liz for giving me this idea since we were talking about whether or not volga would play an instrument because boy do we love some dragon sirens

obv this is part 1 of however many i feel like writing which i am unsure of but!!! its a start and slowly building to volink i promise

song is based on this because im uncreative and i dont know how to write in hylian im sorry

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

The word of the usually docile lizard tribes rampaging across the villages near the base of the mountain spread like wildfire, which is how Link found himself within the darkest caverns of Eldin Caves. He was appointed by the princess herself to find the cause of why the lizaflos and dinolfos were terrorizing the villages on the borders of Hyrule; they were practically defenseless against the onslaught from the reptiles, and losing their allegiance was not an option. Going off the rumors and stories he had heard from the townspeople affected by the attacks -- and even members of his own army who have had prior experiences -- it seemed like his chance to prove himself to the army of earning not only the title "Captain", but "Hero".

He didn't quite feel like a hero right in this moment. Something was off.

"They're scary, but the lizards are nothing compared to their largest and in charge, the red one!" "With a single roar, the red dragon could cause a landslide -- no -- an earthquake! It can shake the whole mountain!" "What if wakes the dormant volcano of Death Mountain? What happens to the village then?"

Link wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand as he reminded himself there was a good reason to brave the heat. It wasn't just hot in the caves -- it was boiling. The hero realized he wasn't as well equipped to venture into the caves as he believed he was. Sadly he had left his companion fairy (and his only voice of reason) back at camp. Proxi wouldn't have fared any better than he was right now.

Luckily for him, there weren't as many of the lizard foes straggling about inside the caves as he had imagined compared to the few he had seen at the entrance. Or was it that he had missed them? The first few were probably there to prevent intruders, seeing as no one (except a hero) would be foolish to enter the caves. The entry opened into several tunnels, which seemed to open like a hellish labyrinth. He couldn't really be lost already, right? "The caves are mostly undocumented, as no one has returned to accurately map out their paths for the scholarly archives," Impa warned him. The princess laid a hand on his shoulder in support, a small smile pulling at the end of her lips. "You will be going in blind, but with the blessings of the goddesses at your disposal, we believe you can bring peace to the villages below." "Some blessings," he thought to himself as he made another turn around from a long corridor. He had silently prayed he had made some sort of progress for heading deeper into the caverns and away from the heat, but he was only met with the same pools of lava he had seen before countless times. He paled as the unforgiving heat radiating from it only confirmed his worst fears -- he was definitely, and thoroughly, lost. The Hylian was sure the scream that bubbled in his throat would have rivaled the supposed dragon's if he had the strength to let it escape from his lips. He kicked the earth underneath his boots in a fit of frustration before lowering himself into a crouch, pulling his knees to his chest. It was futile task with all of his luck turned against him. Without so much as a decent map or an indicator of how much time has passed, Link wasn't sure how long he had been battling against the heat; all he knows is that it was slowly starting to break him. Even another dead end would have been better than staring at the endless pit in front of him. The bubbling magma seemed to taunt him while he pulled the sticky scarf from around his neck. It was only a few meters away, but temperature was unrelenting and making the tunic he wore slowly stick to him uncomfortably like a new layer of skin. He squeezed his eyes shut to prevent the beads of sweat trickling down his brow from blurring his vision as he dug his fingers into his hair. This wasn't the time to panic. Leaders, captains, heroes don't panic! He urged himself to breathe slowly; inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth in an attempt to calm himself. "The goddesses are on my side," he reminded himself quietly, flexing the fingers on his left hand. "They aren't cruel enough to let me die in a cave. They chose me! They've given me this chance to save others for the greater good. I just need a sign!"

æ d ɪ d ə m æ d ɪ n f ɪ n ɪ t ə m

The goddesses must have heard the captain's prayer. As if on cue, a low sound ripped through the silence of the bubbling rivers of lava. Link stilled to listen closely while the sound reverberated off the walls. It sent a shiver up his spine.

"As I've heard it from generations past, there's a dragon that lives in the Caves of Eldin that possesses the tongue of man. It still roars like a beast, but capable of speech, and even song!" The soldiers laughed at their fellow knight. Another soldier joined in. "I remember this! I heard that it lures those who get lost in the caves to their deaths with its song." He nodded in agreement with the knight while the others' laughter became silent. "It's got to be a cunning predator to lure even the bravest of men with a false sense of security. If the lizards don't get you, it will!"

The goddesses are surely playing a sick joke on him. Link's blood ran cold as his ears strained to listen for the sound as it had gone silent again. This couldn't be the dragon that he had heard many fables about, could it? He could only hear the sound of his heart thrumming in his ears as he tried to convince himself that it wasn't the same dragon. With the little knowledge he did have of them, Link was sure they weren't very fond of sharing the same territory together, much less a labyrinth of caves.

æ d ɪ n f ɪ n ɪ t ə m ɪ n m e m ɔ: r ɪə m

After finally taking a minute to collect himself (when was he holding his breath?), Link willed himself to bring himself to stand despite his limbs protesting, fighting him to stay frozen in place. He had asked for a sign; this was no doubt his only chance of getting closer to finding out why the villages were being targeted. He swallowed thickly as he trudged back along one of the tunnels leading out of the central chamber. The adrenaline was running coldly in his veins, but the back of his left hand burned as he ran his fingers over the walls of rock.

k ʌ n ʌ m

The heat slowly was starting to melt away as the scenery changed around him; sheets of bright red rock slowly turned cool to the touch, colored obsidian. Stalagmites turned to stalactites, hanging low from the ceiling and nearly grazing the top of his head. It had gotten a lot darker he soon realized he wasn't staring at searing lava. Instead, the soft luminous glow of blue crystal formations provided him with an odd sense of comfort. The cavern was at least a tolerable temperature now, but his hand still burned with an intensity that kept pushing him forward.

v aɪ i: t ɑ: m ɪ s

The song was becoming less of an echo and more of a clearer sound. It was chilling to the bone with the ghostly whispers filling his ears. He would have believed there were many voices than just one if he were none the wiser. The haunting notes rivaled the beautiful sound.

Link paused as the ominous tune came to another stop. The tunnel looked to open into another large cavern of crystals that shone brighter than the ones pressed against his back. The Hylian listened closely for any sort of sound. He was only gifted with a few seconds of peace before the screech of sharpened metal scraped against the earth. The Triforce began to burn through the leather of his gauntlet as Link quickly rounded the corner, drawing his blade to take down the beast.

Another pause.

This was no beast. It was a man. No other ordinary human could have survived the heat for this long, he mused. His brows knit together in concern as he kept the blade drawn and pointed at the stranger, whose back was turned to him.

v eɪ l

A low chuckled filled the room as the Hylian faltered a bit as realization struck through him. The man turned, pike in hand, and stared him down from underneath the brim of his helmet. He grinned with too many pointed teeth.

"Have you come to strike me down, boy?"

#hyrule warriors #volink #slowly......... will get there #fic

17 notes · View notes

xenosgirlvents · 4 years

Text

The young Aun’Saal peered out from under her mother’s cloak with wide-eyed inquisitiveness at the flurry of action before her. On the other side of the dense pane of glass in front of the observational party, sparks were flying in a chaotic but beautiful dance as the swords of an Exodite warrior and a grizzled Fireblade flashed. Not against one another, no. The pair were trying with all their decades of experience to land a blow on the T’au girl between them.

Shas’Saal H’kek’an La’al was all but a blur between the two men, giddy at her own speed and seemingly untouchable, parrying their strikes or slipping between them with near supernatural speed and grace. In the young Aun’s eyes she was as a divine figure. The unique, lightweight alloy composing her limbs made her shimmer with every motion, the mirrored surfaces catching and reflecting nearly every trace of light pointed her way, while her eyes practically glowed a vibrant, almost radioactive green. In the sharp, appraising eyes of the Aun’Vre, however, her movements were skilled but still sloppy. The Shas’Saal was making numerous superfluous movements that, had she been of pure flesh and blood, should have earned her many a cut and bruise. She displayed a clear affinity for the martial arts of both her T’au teachers and those of the Aeldari, but she was still clearly a novice. Those augmentations, however… those certainly intrigued her…

The action in the other room came to a sharp, grinding halt as the three combatants turned to face the window. The Fireblade stood at perfect attention, blade slipped into its sheath once more and his face devoid of any visible emotion. Saal’La’al looked dismayed, her previous glee gone from her face and her own blunt blades sheathed as well. Only the Exodite warrior still had his own blade out, the psychically hardened dragon-bone dripping a slight trickle of blue blood from the small tear he had managed to make in Saal’La’al’s shirt at her shoulder. The small cut beneath her shirt stopped bleeding in seconds, but a cut had still been landed.

As the trio stood, the two T’au at their varying states of attention and the Aeldari with his hips at a slant and one knee bouncing, the other room became a buzz of discussion and motion. Most of the numerous Fio’faan began to discuss numbers and statistics with an almost jovial tinge in their voices, the Little Hero they had been watching grow over the course of their Sept’s isolation from the war with the gue’la thoroughly impressing them all. The Fio’O closest to the window’s perpetual smile had grown even wider, and, by the young Aun’Saal’s guess, seemed to have infected the Shas’faan girl in the other room, her disappointment no longer visible on her face. The young Ethereal’s mother, on the other hand, had a dour look about her as she turned to H’kek’an’s head Ethereal, ushering him and her daughter out of the room for a more private conversation.

“Saal’La’al has certainly grown into a fine example of the Sha-” the Aun’Ui began with a grin before he was sharply cut off.

“If we are able to make augmentations of such caliber, why in the name of the Tau’va would they be granted to a child with no combat experience, rather than to our tested and true war heroes, Ui’Erra’nan? It is foolishness of the highest order,” Vre’Da’ty hissed at her subordinate. “She is barely competent even with them but imagine what they could do in the hands of a truly skilled warrior!” She kept her voice low, much too quiet to be heard by anyone not invited to the conversation, but there was an unmistakable fury in her words. And that was plenty enough to cow the man before her and draw a whimper from her child, clinging tightly to her leg.

“Fio’O Yr’va’yan,” Erra’nan began with a barely concealed gulp of nerves, “Fio’O Yr’va’yan never expected her to be able to draw this much capacity from them to begin with, Aun’Vre. They are generally more potent than standard issue prostheses, yes, and he has submitted their specifications for mass production, but Shas’Saal La’al is a dramatic outlier.” Da’ty’s already hidden glare melted into nonexistence, replaced by an open look of curiosity.

“Really?” She responded with a cocked brow, picking her daughter up to calm her now that her anger was subsiding. The other Ethereal hid a sigh of relief as her mood shifted, nodding his head quickly.

“He believes that it’s due to her age when she received the first prototype. Children’s bodies are much more adaptable, after all. Supposedly, her nervous system has bonded to the connectors more intimately than an adult’s could ever hope to. Obviously, this is beyond my own specialization, but I do trust the Fio’O’s assessment,” Erra’nan said, his confidence returning as the Aun’Vre nodded thoughtfully.

“Then we obviously cannot ensure more troops of similar caliber…” she said, bouncing her daughter gently, the young toddler patting her mother’s shio’he. Vre’Da’ty smiled softly and playfully poked hers in return, the child’s not yet having taken on the distinctive diamond shape. “I presume she has been properly trained in Shas’faan protocol and combat doctrine?” The words were delivered happy and sweet, a voice to entertain her child, but that compared against the content they carried killed Ui’Erra’nan’s confidence practically as soon as it returned.

“Yes, Aun’Vre. She is something of a prodigy, in fact,” he said, hesitantly.

“Is she now? Then see to it that she is transferred to active duty as soon as possible. I would like to see exactly what she can do in combat.” The Aun’Vre’s words brooked no dissent even as they dripped with the almost sing-song tune as she looked into her child’s eyes with a broad smile. Ui’Erra’nan knew better than to argue, genuine fear of the woman before him creeping through his body.

“Y-yes, Aun’Vre…” the lower ranked Ethereal replied, slowly making his way back into the still jubilant room as he tried to wipe the obvious distress from his features.

(A couple of things should probably be mentioned, here.

First, there is clearly a timeskip here. This part is set just shortly after the Damocles cease-fire went into effect, giving civilians much more ability to travel. This also gives the situation on H'kek'an to settle a bit more, giving La'al time to actually train with her Caste-mates and largely acclimate to her limbs without making me write a training montage. It also gave me an excuse to skip past her actually getting the upgrades. I know I’m writing 40k fic, but I’m not comfortable actually writing a child going through that pain.

I will say though, she didn’t make a sound through the entire procedure

Second, I felt that Ethereals probably have a much more personal touch to their children’s upbringing, while also likely exposing them to as much of the Empire’s political world as possible from a young age. They need to know how to lead it one day, after all, and there’s no better way to learn than by directly seeing their parents work.

Anyhoo, as always please feel free to send any questions or critiques my way. I know a lot more of what’s going on in the background and the characters’ heads than I could conceivably fit in the story without bloating it to oblivion)

Thanks again! One thing I was intrigued by particularly is the notion of the Ethereal children. It’s because I don’t think it’s ever been brought up or mentioned before. The Ethereals remain largely unexplored among the T’au fiction, little of it that there is, so that’s an interesting idea which I enjoyed seeing.

A question I do have though; the Ethereal objects to the notion of the cybernetics being used on children. For some Ethereals I can imagine this being an issue but we do know the likes of Aun’va, for example, was fine with even a project like the Puretide Neurochips which, though not being used on children and so that is an important distinction, were rather callous seeing as they left the users largely brain-damaged afterwards. Admittedly in-story this was supposedly only discovered after the fact, and so is more a testament to the device being rushed out without full safety testing, rather than purposeful cruelty, but it is something to keep in mind.

An idea, for example, would be that if you required an internally antagonistic character that having an Ethereal who did not share such objections could serve that role.

6 notes · View notes

balancedpluto · 6 years

Note

All arcana asks ;)

I hate u so much Hayden. Putting it under a read more cuz HECK this is a lot. Also u can clearly tell Rose is my most fleshed out apprentice lmao. U can also tell when I started to burn out lol. THIS TOOK ME ALL DAY HECK

1. Name? Surname?Rose LaFontaineAaron (???)Lyra (???)

2. Any Family?Rose: she has a sister who’s 10 years older than her named Yvette, she’s a pirate. And her mother still lives in Fantasy France.Aaron: SO MANYLyra:….she doesn’t like to talk about it

3.Any Familiar?Rose: A bull mastiff named Mika who can change in size (so she can fit in a pocket or be the size of a horse, at her will)Aaron: A bearded dragon named Sir Slappy Skiddaddly the Third Lyra: A cute little rat named Pixie

4.Asra, Nadia, or Julian?Rose: JulianAaron: AsraLyra: Nadia

5. Best strength in magic?Rose: IllusionsAaron: Fire magic. Anyone who follows Eereree saw this coming.Lyra: the creation and manipulation of light

6. Favorite color?Rose: Maroon or light pink Aaron: Red. Surprise surprise Lyra: Purple

7. Favorite number?Rose: 69Aaron: 420Lyra: HOW DID YOU TWO ANSWER THAT SO FAST??? Uhh, 7?

8. Sexuality?Rose: BiAaron: PanLyra: Lesbian

9. Weird hobby?Rose: not really weird so much as unexpected for her, but she likes to sew and knit.Aaron: Weed lmaoLyra: Buying books but never actually getting around to reading them.

10. Favorite season?Rose: SpringAaron: FallLyra: Spring as well

11. Favorite weather?Rose: Sunny, but not hot.Aaron: Thunderstorms Lyra: Drizzly

12. Favorite place in Vesuvia?Rose: The Raven, or Mazelinka’s place. She loves that lady like she was her own grandmother.Aaron: The market. That pumpkin bread thoLyra: The palace library

13. How does their laughter sound like?Rose: Sober, its a soft almost teasing giggle. Drunk, loud cackling. Both are very charming in their own way.Aaron: LOUDLyra: giggling and soft snorting

14. How do they look like when they cry?Rose: She doesn’t cry often so when she does its…a lot. Loud gross sobbing often accompanied by yelling. Its not pretty.Aaron: Ghibli tears. You can’t convince me otherwise.Lyra: A lot of sniffling

15. What do they like to wear?Rose: Long dresses/skirts with low cut tops. Her brests are her best asset and she’s gonna show em whether you like it or not.Aaron: Tits out. That’s all u need to know.Lyra: Long, modest cut dresses with a corset. Very simple, but she always looke nice.

16. What are their fears?Rose: Fears? Don’t know her. (Actually death, which is…ironic considering the circumstances)Aaron: Abandonment. And cockroaches.Lyra: Rejection. The dark.

17. What do they like to do Friday night?Rose: put on fancy lingerie, get wasted, and play card games.Aaron: Blaze it lmaoLyra: (cuddling with Nadia) Reading

18. Do they use makeup?Yes. All 3 of them.

19. Favorite food?Rose: Mama LaFontaine’s crepesAaron: Spicy Vegetarian ChiliLyra: Cookies (technically not FOOD, but sweets are her big weakness)

20. Favorite drink?Rose: Rosé wine. Sounds redundant considering her name, but thats why she likes it. Growing up she thought it was named after her.Aaron: Just water, surprisingly.Lyra: Green tea

21. Zodiac sign?Rose: CancerAaron: Cancer Lyra: Aquarius(I dont care i have two apprentices that are the same sign leave me alone)

22. Day of birth?Honestly haven’t even thought if that lmao

23. Favorite movie?Rose: Heathers. She loves a bad bitch movie.Aaron: Shrek. Lyra: Not really a movie person tbh. She likes Disney stuff tho.

24. Favorite music genre?Rose: Classic rock or indie. Also has an interest in things involving old or obscure instruments.Aaron: Pop PunkLyra: Soft indie or video game soundtracks

25. Favorite song?Rose: Over the Hills and Far Away- Patty GurdyAaron: It’s Never Sunny in South Philadelphia-The Wonder YearsLyra: Youth- Daughter

26. Favorite TV show?Rose: Likes to watch cooking shows cuz its usually the only thing good onAaron: Doesn’t really do TVLyra: Also not really into TV, will put on like, QVC or something for background noise tho (im guilty of this)

27. What is their style?Rose: Like i said before. Long skirt, tits OUT.Aaron: Lazy but somehow manages to look hot? How does he do that???Lyra: Simple and modest, but always in pretty colors.

28. Any mental health issues?Rose: She has some anger issues, along with a tendency to bottle everything upAaron: hrrhgghh i haven’t gotten that deep with him WHOOPSLyra: Really bad anxiety

29. Any health issues in general?Not really?

30. Are they human?Yeah….or are they dancer?

31. Favorite book?Rose: She honestly can’t remember the last time she had time to read for fun.Aaron: Wtf is a book lolLyra: Don’t make her choose for the love of god

32. Favorite book genre?The person writing these questions assumes I know books lmao

33. Favorite time of the day?Rose: SunsetAaron: Early afternoonLyra: Like, really early morning. My sweet child why are you awake this early

34. If they weren’t a magician, who would they be?Rose: A pirate like her sister. Unless this is meant as like a modern AU then she’d probably sew and knit cute things and sell them online.Aaron: Probably a video game youtuber tbhLyra: Not much different, only she’d run a little mom and pop knick knack/ book store instead of a magic shop

35. Do they believe in ghosts?Yeah

36. Do they believe in aliens?Kind of?

37. Do they like sports?What is this…sport you speak of?

38. How do they look like?Sexy

Rose:

Aaron:

Lyra:

(art by @willowwish64 )

39. What is their biggest motivation to solve the Lucio’s killer mystery?Rose: To clear Julian’s name Aaron: To make sure it wasn’t him and he just doesn’t remember. I mean…fire is kinda his thing, so…Lyra: To put Nadia’s mind at ease

40. What do they think of Lucio so far?Rose: “He’s an asshole.”Aaron: “Goatman! Fuck you, goatman!”Lyra: “I can never look at a goat again without feeling terrified”

41. What do they think of Nadia so far?Rose: “She’s the kind of woman I strive to be. I have so much respect for her.”Aaron: “A smart, capable woman. Also really hot like wowie.”Lyra: “She’s so amazing and so beautiful and i don’t know why she likes me so much, I’m so dull compared to her and-” (this can go on for hours)

42. What do they think of Asra so far?Rose: “A great friend and mentor. I’d do anything for him.”Aaron: “He’s like…a human sheep…but really skinny…imagine hugging cotton candy filled with bones…its amazing. Also dat ass.” (He loves him but he’s bad at serious answers)Lyra: “A close friend to whom i owe my life”

43. What do they think of Julian so far?Rose: “Oh, Julian. How do i begin to describe how i feel about him? I’ve never met someone who’s so smart and witty yet so dumb? And he’d do anything for you but doesn’t think he deserves the same, even though he does. And, well, i could go on but the long and the short of it is, I love that idiot.”

Aaron: “He’s like a taller, hotter version of me AND IM SO PISSED”Lyra: “he sure is…something”

44. What do they think of Portia so far?Rose: “My future sister in law???? I love her so much! ”Aaron: “She’s…so small…my god im surrounded by small people”Lyra: “She’s so lovely!! She’s like my best friend!”

45. What do they think of Muriel so far?Rose: “He…doesn’t like to talk much does he? And he’s so…TALL. Makes you wonder about…things.”Aaron: “Him big. ”Lyra: “He…kind of scares me a bit? ”

46. Do they like animals?OF COURSE

47. Are they allergic to anything?Nope

48. Do they have any talents (except magic)?Rose: Again, she’s really good at sewing/knittingAaron: He can lick his elbow. And he shows off his “skill” to everyone. Charming i know.Lyra: She’s really good with animals

49. Do they get drunk easily?Rose: No, she can hold her liquor pretty well. She usually just gets tipsyAaron and Lyra: YES

50 .What is their personality type?*fart noises*

51. What is their worst negative quality?Rose: She tends to dodge any question that’ll make her show any negative emotion. Being with Julian is kind of helping her with that, since he needs her support and she feels okay talking about this stuff with him. Also she tends to be kind of overly sexual. She doesn’t really mean to, it just happens.Aaron: He tends to take serious things as a joke sometimes.Lyra: She likes to just, avoid people. She’d rather just be alone by her own choice than face rejection.

52. What is their best positive quality?Rose: She’s like a mom? You wouldn’t think that on the surface, but she’s actually really warm and motherly.Aaron: So fucking funny.Lyra: She has a heart of gold

53. What is their position to fall asleep?Rose: She likes to fall alseep with Julian resting his head on her chest and petting his hair. Motherly instincts, i guess. Also it’s the only surefire way of making sure he sleeps. If she’s alone, on her stomach or side with her arms under the pillow.Aaron: Starfish. Asra just has to deal with it, i guess.Lyra: Curled up with Nadia. It’s where she feels safest.

54. The most uncomfortable moment they ever experienced?Rose: (spoilers) Finding out she died. Considering death is her greatest fear, it was especially hard for her to swallowAaron: When his brother found out him and Asra were fuckin…and he found out his brother and Nadia were fuckinLyra:…..

55. Their happiest memory?Rose: When she first came to Vesuvia. It was kinda scary, but there’s SO MUCH TO SEE!!Aaron: Getting Slappy. Lyra: Finding out Nadia likes her back. She nearly fainted.

56. Do they blush?Rose: Not really, if she does its hard to tellAaron: SometimesLyra: YES

57. Are they clumsy?Nah

58. Do they like jokes? Of course, they’re people, arent they?

59. How do they flirt?Rose: VERY direct. She’s not afraid to let people know what she wants.Aaron: “Hey cookin’, what’s lookin’?”Lyra: oh god she’s so bad at it help her

60. Favorite fruit?Rose: StrawberryAaron: Orange Lyra: Kiwi

7 notes · View notes

neomacaught · 6 years

Text

on blog playlist.

I feel like I talk about them a lot, but I put a lot of time, thought, and energy into my blog playlists -- purely for my own enjoyment! I like them being there, I like listening to them. Music is important to me, and giving my kids “OfficialTM” music is just... fun. The overall feel and all lyrics of the song must be perfectly accurate to the character to be included. ( Therefore, there’s usually a lot of other music that’s on the cusp that’s denied entry, so to speak. )

Neoma’s blog playlist, in particular, is not meant to be listened to as a chronological story, but is more arranged in tonality. However, it can sort of double as a chronology, and starts immediately after her family dies. Most of the playlist includes stringed instruments, a heavy bass, and a good beat. There is one fully instrumental piece.

CROSSFIRE by Stephen “I hope you’ve got some beds around, ‘Cause you’re the only refuge now, For every mother, every child, every brother, that’s caught in the crossfire.”

Back when Neoma was a fully aesthetic sideblog, I came across this song. I immediately used this song as inspiration for the blog theme and title, and that’s carried over here! The words faintly discernible in my graphic on my hover are the lyrics to this song. In general, it captures her spirit because in many ways, Neoma, too, has been caught in the crossfire -- of the politics in Skyrim, of decisions other people in her tribe made and included her in. Honestly, this song actually began helping me iron out her character. So obviously it had to be included first.

You Are a Memory by Message to Bears “I woke underneath the trees, for the first time.”

The mostly instrumental beginning to this song always hooked me. And all of the lyrics are fantastic. Neoma, living on an active volcano her entire life, woke underneath the trees for the first time? Thank you, perfect. Neoma, calling for the last time for Alteroth, her children? Mmmmm. Speaking of mmmm...

Retrograde by James Blake “Suddenly I’m hit! Is this the darkness of the dawn? I know friends are gone I know friends won’t come So show me where you fit.”

I’ve always referred to this as the quintessential “alone” song. I’ve put it on other playlists, on other blogs. And since Neoma’s about as long as alone gets... it’s... perfect. No matter how many people she’s with, she’s still alone! Ha! Ha,

The Way by Zack Hempsey “This is not the right way.”

Another primarily instrumental song that tapers off into very apt lyrics. A lot of this song is focused on how other people are praising you for accolades that you feel like you don’t fully deserve / you didn’t even want in the first place and for choices you don’t feel like were the right ones, and doing the right thing even though others don’t understand why, which resonates... yikes... very deeply with Neoma. It has a lot of feeling out of place and confused with how everyone else sees this world and why everyone else does what they do vibes.

Gold by Imagine Dragons “I’m dying to feel again Oh, anything at all But oh, I feel nothing, Nothing, Nothing, Nothing!”

If we’re going in chronological order, this song would come after she’s amassed some wealth and prosperity in Skyrim. It’s more metaphorical than literal. Obviously, she doesn’t literally have a Midas touch, but she went from poverty and having a loving family to having everything materialistic she could ever want within her grasp but nothing she truly cared about. Y’know. Like Midas. It’s -- it’s another layer.

Human by Rag’n’Bone Man “‘Cause I’m no prophet or messiah You should go lookin’ somewhere higher! I’m only human, after all I’m only human, after all Don’t put the blame on me Don’t put the blame on me I’m only human, I do what I can I’m just a man, I do what I can Don’t put the blame on me Don’t put your blame on me.”

I could marry the bass player in this song. Anyway, uh! This song is one of two on here called Human, as humorous as it is because she’s... not a human. Anyway! It’s a very Neoma song because she spends a lot of time taking care of others and trying to protect them, and they often blame her for what goes on around around them anyway. They treat her like a god when she’s just... a woman.

Spanish Sahara by Foals “Though I’ll find you in the sand, Wipe you clean with dirty hands So, goddamn this boiling space It’s the Spanish Sahara, The place that you’d wanna, Leave the horror here Forget the horror here Forget the horror here Leave it all down here.”

This song had to be added -- and, chronologically, would be her starting to remember the death of her family on the volcano, e.g. the lines I pulled -- because it’s the song I always equated to my Mabinogi verse. This song also happens to be the inspiration for multiple verse tags. It’s all about attempting to forget a horror of horrors that happened.

Gerudo Desert from Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess’ Twilight Symphony album

Our only instrumental song, Gerudo Desert has a feel that reminds me a lot of Neoma’s home and upbringing intertwined with a reorchestration that feels very Skyrim to me.

Uncle Mountain by The Fire Theft “Rhythm of mind, don’t wanna spend my time Being afraid of dying I really wanna do good Drown in a world of pity and sorrow Been immersed within the light What was I looking to find? Run along, to the sea I want love, if love wants me I want God, if God wants me! Just can’t hold on To what I believe...”

God, I’ve always loved this song so much. It’s so beautiful and so deeply meaningful. Chronologically, this is around where Neoma starts breaking and thinking back to her lost family, which is why the next few songs become more about her desperate need ( ha, ha ) for them to return. She’s done all this good and still hasn’t found anything good by doing any of it. She’s trying her best and still getting nothing in return. She just can’t hold on to what she believes. So...

Need by Hana Pestle “Etch this into my brain for me Tell me how it’s supposed to be Where everything will go and how I’ll be without you by my side My hand searches for your hand In a dark room I can’t find you Help me Are you looking for me?”

... She starts thinking about Alteroth and the girls again. She needs them back. She can’t find them in her prayers, can’t sense their spirits with her ancestors. They need to be there. Why aren’t they there? Why won’t they help her? Are they lost? Are they looking for her, like she’s looking for them? Tonally, this song marks the beginning of the rest of the songs -- a bit sadder, a bit bluer, until the very end.

All the King’s Horses by Karmina “I knock the ice from my bones Try not to feel the cold Caught in the thought of that time, When everything was fine Everything was mine Everything was fine Everything was mine.”

This was the second song I ever heard that made me go, Wow, Hi Neoma. Skyrim is freezing, and as she sits in the freezing cold, she’s thinking about the time when everything was hers -- when she had all of her family. And no matter how long she’s here, with these people, and how esteemed she is, no one can help her. Maybe she lives here, but is it really a home if she’s all alone? She starts finding her strength again. There is a reason she’s still standing, right? There has to be.

HUMAN by Krewella “The weight of the world is pulling me down (Where are you now? Where are you now?) Every breath feels like I’m gonna drown (Where are you now? Where are you now?) And I’m the only one left alone on this earth (Alone on this Earth) Singing this song but can’t find the words ’Cause I could use a hand sometimes Yeah, I could use a hand sometimes They say, ‘Pain is an illusion This is just a bruise and you are just confused’ But I am only human I could use a hand sometimes I am only human.”

The second Human song on our list. She feels so alone, and it’s hard to breathe, and no one’s ever there for her... you know? She could use a hand sometimes. And maybe... she should start seeking them out again.

Live Long Enough to Become the Hero by NateWantstoBattle “I’m down, but you know I’m not out I got another around round (Another round) Second wind and it’s picking me up right off the ground I’m coming back again -- can’t break me! I’m not giving up! I gotta prove them wrong Take your time, ‘cause I’m not taking mine, I gotta stand up strong!”

Ah, there she is. That bitter defiance wakes her up. It hurts, and everything sucks, but she’s got to prove them wrong. She’s going to protect this world, even if everyone she cares about is gone. She can’t stop, even if she wants to. This hard rock infused with some violin action is perfect for Neoma.

Unbreakable by Fireflight “God, I want to dream again, Take me where I’ve never been I wanna go there, this time I’m not scared Now I am unbreakable, It’s unmistakable No one can touch me Nothing can stop me!”

And now she’s not just fighting because she feels like she has to -- she’s fighting because she can. She’s not scared. She’s back in control. She’s doing what’s right. Again hard rock and violin, fantastic.

And that’s a wrap!

1 note · View note

wildfcress · 6 years

Photo

"never have i been a calm sea // i am a storm” storm - fleetwood mac

“fire in her bones // honey in her soul // she is sweet when she has to be // and fierce when she needs to be” - unknown

Background

Full name:

Lily Josephine Evans

Lily (English): Lily flower. Pure. The symbolism of a lily is innocence, purity, and beauty.

Josephine [Jo-SUH-Feen] (French): May Jehovah add. Named after her grandmother on her mother’s side, Josephine Campbell.

Evans (Welsh): Son of Evan; Gracious gift of Jehovah

Age:

Birthday:

January 30th, born and raised in Cokeland

Cokeland is located in the Midlands in England, so I think that in a real geographic perspective she grew up in what would be our Copeland, England.

Blood Status

Muggleborn

Zodiac Sign:

Aquarius

If it’s new, radical and rebellious, Aquarians are all over it. The fact that these folks can think so creatively and inventively is one of their greatest assets. Water Bearers are all about progress and technology — they love the latest gadgets, gewgaws, computers, and next-generation technologies. Thanks to a genius that borders on insanity (!), those born under this sign have the unique ability to present ideas that will revolutionize the world. Their approach in doing so may be unpredictable, impersonal and at times cold.

Generally, that means ample space, since Aquarius traits tend to be freedom-loving and individualistic, these folks need to roam (and yes, they do enjoy travel). While Aquarians are generally sympathetic and compassionate, they like it when things go their own quirky way. Some might call their behavior eccentric (and they would be right), but when you consider that the Aquarian’s heart is truly in the right place, a few oddities should be overlooked. In their own way, Aquarians treasure their many friends and acquaintances and want to give back as much as they can.

At play, those born under an Aquarius sun sign like to surround themselves with lots of people, preferably family and friends. When it comes to love, this star sign will also be playful, even flirtatious. While they play for keeps, it won’t necessarily feel that way, since these folks are the opposite of jealous. The great strengths of the Aquarius-born are their vision, intellect and humanity. They are determined to make the world a better place and to help everyone they can along the way. They are truly the trailblazers of the zodiac.

(+) Affectionate, Progressive, Humanitarian

(-) Temperamental, Aloof, Uncompromising

What’s their family life like?:

Her mother Aisla (Elle-sa) Evans (nee Campbell) works as a seamstress and her father Christopher Evans owns a convenience store. Her older sister Petunia Evans is currently going to Imperial College London for Communications and Public Affairs.

She’s always been really close with her mother, but her and her father have never quite seen eye to eye. Her and Petunia used to be attached by the hip until Lily started to display magic. Losing her sister was like losing part of herself; being as close as the two were, she struggled to find herself again after that loss. To this day she refuses to lose hope that they’ll reconnect one day.

When did magic first begin to manifest itself?:

She was nine and she was playing in her grandma’s garden and accidentally crushed her lavender plant. When she picked it up it rebloomed in her hand.

School

Wand Characteristics:

10 1/4 inches, Willow, Dragon Heartstring, Swishy

Willow; those with willow wands are known to have unwanted insecurity and great potential. Lily hates how insecure she could get. She tries to hide it, mainly through studying and making sure everything is as perfect as possible. They perform strong non-verbal spells and often goes to those who feel they have a lot to learn. A proverb in the Ollivander family says “he who has furthest to travel will go fastest with willow.”

Dragon Heartstring: The only thing on the face of the earth as temperamental as Lily. When she first got it it would not. Stop. Blowing up in her face. Literally and metaphorically. So she started working even harder to make sure that a stupid piece of wood wasn’t beating her, and she eventually learned how to get it under control. Wands with a dragon heartstring core are known to produce the strongest magic. They can also change allegiance when won in a battle, and it bonds fiercely to its owner. Whenever someone in her dorm tried to use it...well, the walls were pink for weeks.

How long did it take the wand to choose them?:

She found it on the seventh wand. She thought that was normal, but then the person after her found theirs in one shot so she was like....a LIL OFFENDED TBH.

House:

Gryffindor

How long did it take the sorting hat to sort them?:

Five minutes. It had a hard time deciding whether to sort her into Gryffindor or Slytherin, because of her strong leadership, bravery, and ambition. But ultimately it decided on Gryffindor because of her brashness beat out everything else.

How do they feel about their common room/dorm?:

Loves them! The colors and overall atmosphere of the common room are so fucking comfy to her, being in it always puts her in a good mood. She practically lives in front of the fireplace. As for her dorm, she’s decorated her space with tons of posters, letters, polaroids she’s taken through the years, and fairy lights around her bed, so it’s pretty much a safe haven.

Year:

6th

If they could go to another school, where would they go?:

Beauxbatons! She’s a hopeless romantic, so she’d love to actually live in france and go to school there!! Like, wow!! Two birds with one stone!! Their uniforms are much cuter, and she’s heard nothing but amazing things about their academics. Or Ilvermorny, because she’s interested in the fact that it was originally just a homeschool, which turned into a small group before eventually evolving into the school it is today.

Best classes:

Charms, Potions

Worst Classes:

Transfiguration, Divination

Patronus:

Doe. Like a doe, Lily is observant, protective of those close to her, nurturing, gentle, and determined.

Memory they’d use to conjure it:

Her seventh birthday. Her favorite aunt, Marabell, surprised her at her grandmother’s house with the astronaut Barbie doll she wanted. There was snow covering the ground and they explored the forest by her grandmother’s house until it started getting dark. When they went inside they had dinner (chicken franchise - her favorite) and after they were done cleaning up she helped her grandmother made lemon cake.

What does Amortentia smell like to them?:

Lemons, a woodsy smell, and a third scent she really can’t recognize

Are they in any clubs?:

Slug Club & Dueling Club

Did they bring a pet? If yes, what?:

She brought a white cat named Priscilla (Petunia named her, she wanted to name it Snowball)

How often do they get packages from home?:

All. The. Time. Her parents always send her newspapers, magazines, and candy from home.

Do they earn detentions often?:

If she got caught doing half the shit she does, she’d be in detention a lot more. BUT she’s good at hiding it. Some rules are meant to be broken, and being a prefect sure as hell has its perks.

Are they the type to gain or lose house points:

Gain.

Would they go to the Yule Ball? Who would they ask?:

You bet your ass she would. And she’d probably definitely go with Mary. Their actual dates can come too.

Do they play quidditch? If so, what position?:

Not currently, but she’s thinking about trying out for chaser next year if there’s a spot open.

Favorite color:

Pink

Describe their aesthetic in 3 words:

Black flower Doc Martens. Messy hair. Overly sized sweaters.

Theme song:

Believer by Imagine Dragons

Top 5 songs in their playlist:

Dog Days Are Over - Florence and the Machine

Edge of Seventeen - Fleetwood Mac

Long Live - Taylor Swift

Now I Can Talk - Two Door Cinema Club

Nights - Frank Ocean

Vine that fits them:

x x x x

3+ wanted connections:

frenemy: someone that just grates her nerves. there’s no obvious reason as to why she doesn’t like them, but something about them makes her want to drive her head and theirs through a wall.

old flame: based off this song, something beautifully unofficial. lily has a huge heart and falls easily, so maybe something that was supposed to be nothing ended up being a lot more? possibly one sided? who knows.

drinking buddies: can be multiple people! when shit gets real someone she could just drown her problems away with.

sass masters: this friendship is a lot of banter, light hearted insults, and teasing. they’re just having fun tbh.

quidditch: she wants to try out for quidditch next year, so someone to help her train and actually figure out what the fuck she’s doing

tutor: someone she tutors. simple as thAT

child: lily has taken this person under her wing and will do absolutely anything to protect them. she’s going all mama hen

unlikely friendship: lily can befriend a wALL. okay. so this is a friendship that you absolutely wouldn’t expect but it’s here

fight club: she ALWAYS argues with this person. like every word out of their mouth just pisses her off immensely. even their presence makes her want 2 cry

internet: hogwarts is a big school, so i think it’d be fun to play with her befriending someone online and like just not knowing who they are in real life. they know each others name and houses and whatever but they’ve never actually met.

enemies: very self explanatory

more tba probably

Miscellaneous (Anything else you want to add):

headcanon time!!

during school breaks she gets jobs around her town. not only does it give her muggle experiences that she wanted to have when she was younger, but she also feels guilty asking her parents for money every couple of months.

she has two sets of school notes. one is the chickenscratch she takes during class, the second is a neater version of it that’s highlighted and bulleted and annotated.

she’s HUGE into bullet journals

or just journaling for that matter. she thinks it’s fun

professional stealer of clothes. ur shirt missing? lily has it. ur pants? also lily’s. you probably won’t get it back.

her favorite candy is sugar quills (the white ones cause she’s basic)

the better her mood, the more sugar she puts in her coffee/tea

prefers coffee over tea

she knows every word to every one direction song

would much rather not wear shoes

always has muggle pens and papers on her because you never know

she can NEVER have her nails done. she can for like a night but she’ll always end up picking it off

super cuddly. will more than likely fall asleep on you

is pretty much a cat

if she’s close with you, you have no faults. she will ignore everything wrong with them until she’s absolutely forced to face it. but once that trust is gone, it’s gone for good

#bvbhq:task #FINALLY #( the clouds never expect it when it rains: musings )

3 notes · View notes

dfhkala · 3 years

Text

Sets and costumes

Sets and costumes may be nice, but dancers will tell you the proper footwear makes the nike air max 102 essential white magic happen.. Partner of cop who fatally shot bride to bottines cloutees femme be 'was STUNNED. The song of the river suddenly grew louder, the torches burned a little brighter than before, and the air was full of strange smells. I found an interesting definition on Wikipedia regarding newsworthiness which says, " Normal people are not newsworthy unless they meet an unusual circumstance or tragedy. So to be fair, we should probably praise Cleveland for taking five over the weekend (though the team lists Princeton's Seth Devalve as a tight end). My father had never spoken to me like that. 'It's like a war zone': How millennial Disney star and. Some craftsmen take control of every step of the process, from measuring the foot, creating the the hand carved, wooden sculptures of the feet that serve as a mannequin in the crafting of the shoes and building the prototype to making the final shoe. It is a tool developed by health and environmental professionals nike air vortex desert sand to communicate the health risk posed by air pollution.. This year's tournament has been almost taken over by the numbers being discussed for next year and the drama folie samsung j6 2018 pt tot telegonil being anticipated as the IPL jumps orbits from eight teams to 10.. ROLLING MEMORIES The soon to retire Clive Sparks is seen with the pumper he worked on in the late 1960s (top). “The Freys were bringing the fat fool a bag of bones. She was shrieking at poor Elena, who stood petrified. We shall reconcile them. As always, there is a strong element of domestic politics driving the Israeli aggression. Instead of rolling out new iPads once a year or so, as it does with iPhones and iPods, Apple is now treating the iPad more like its Mac line, releasing incremental updates to existing models. Be aware that children's nappies can also act as an airtight dressing and can increase the absorption of the medicine.. The weather is unpredictable, so establish a backup plan should the weather not cooperate on your big day. Our search for "the one" began at the end of March. Obviously there's some information we can't give out, but I can say that they're doing a great job." Shelley Bunnell, Ryann's sister, and Teresa Bunnell, her stepmother, implored volunteers to look for the peace sign earrings and bracelets she was wearing the day she disappeared, as well as her black and grey Ed Hardy purse and any of her clothing (white and gray striped sweater, blue jeans, white DC tennis shoes.) Searchers were asked to look for footprints or fresh tire tracks in unusual locations. And Malaysia, where cricket is not very popular) to Zee Telefilms for $220 million. Be that as it may, there are things Ellaria does not know and should not know. She found herself wishing that she had brought her stick. But when he saw the cage, his courage failed him. But all resemblance to that peaceful alternative vanished with the narrator demonstrating a remote controlled explosive device. It would forever unfit him to be a slave. She's also tough as hell. If these totals go way down, it won be because some in here something the mets, different. Just lace the shoe as usual, and slide a cord lock on the ends of both sides of the laces. 29, 2016. So, here a guide to must see flower displays near you.. For these zattini promoção de botas causes, his office was torn down and destroyed by the mob. If you work for a team, if you care about the person on the road, if you have eyes and a heart that beat, you would have taken in images like these and felt yourself coming apart a little, or bokacsizma bakancs a lot. So, from pre match preparation hardly out of the, 'Eddie Jones Guide to Pre Match Mental Mind Games', the boys hit their stride and after some 10 minutes it was evident that we more than a match for Old Reigatians, in every department. A biciclete rusesti vechi ragged laugh rippled through the crowd, and some man shouted out an offer to adidas mariposas kiss it and make it better. Bass, Cole Haan, UGG Knightsbridge Sebago and Dexter are now made abroad. Tom Hardy was just six weeks old when the original Mad Max hit the big screen in 1979 and immortalised Mel Gibson as vengeful police officer Max Rockatansky. Hung out with the boys, watched some movies, was relieved to discover that my interview the following day required no prep. And though most commitments end up becoming firm, it's not unknown for them to fall at the last hurdle or two. Make sure your kit includes the following: thermal blanket; a supply of water and dried food such as trail mix, a candy bar or some jerky; gloves; boots; a flashlight; a small shovel; a fully charged spare cellphone (even with no plan you can still dial 911 for help and get through) and a car charger; jumper cables; an emergency reflector triangle, flares; a candle with matches; a bag of sand or маратонки puma mercedes amg salt to aid traction in a pinch; and a first aid kit.. While FDI is allowed in single brand retail, British shoe retailer C Clarks International has been seeking the help of Future Group to grow its business in India. The river is expected to crest at just more than 26 feet by Wednesday.. The captain has seen his role evolve into more a of two way assignment though he showed he can still score a big goal, winning the Habs season finale with a penalty shot goal in overtime against the New York Rangers.. “Come now, Anna Andreyevna,” said I. A judge cannot but adidas mariposas lament, when such cases as the present are brought into judgment. "They are large parabolas," says Bill Stewart, managing partner at SSA Acoustics, which is based in Seattle. It's been a lot to deal with, because he's been undergoing chemo/radiation and had a feeding tube put in. Baseball Cora Tyo Orange Coast CC Softball Arielle Battenberg TBD Volleyball Tristan Gess Univ. Our rulers were old men with withered cocks and crones whose puckered cunts were dry as dust. The UGG Classic Short is bulky enough to keep you warm and slim enough to fit under your sleeves.. Francis, where lunch is served to the homeless and needy of the area with volunteers preparing, serving and cleaning up after the meal. This is because the air in your room where the Amcor air conditioner unit can be found can be circulated fully. I'd also like to say a bit about being on roofs and strategies that have worked for me over the years. And spread the word that we will pay good gold for the short sword of Stalwart Shield. Tell His Grace I did my best, he ended. Look what a dressing-gown he’s got on. Aiming for Tyrion’s feet, perhaps, but it landed on his knee. This seemed nice until the trial phase. “What he was in Oldtown is none of our concern. She was riding that dragon. So we know experimentally that there's a reduction in pain and now in a bigger clinical trial that we are about to start, it's a double blind randomised control clinical trial, in five countries, eight hospitals, we will also be doing some brain imagining studies to verify or test our hypothesis.. Charlie Gard is given legal permanent residence in US by. She knew the way to the kitchens, but her nose would have led her there even if she hadn’t. Comes o’ the line o’ Raymun Redbeard, to hear him tell it. To start the fire in an internal combustion engine, liquid gasoline must be atomized into tiny droplets, then vaporized into a gaseous state before it will ignite.

0 notes

notbecauseofvictories · 7 years

Note

so, um. if you have any particular feelings about labyrinth--specifically Sarah--uh, go wild.

WILD PEACHES [AO3]

The morning after Sarah Williams defeats the Goblin King, she gets up and makes toast. She has to brush some glitter off the toaster—it withers and vanishes at the brush of her fingertips, and she stares at her hand for a long time.

It mostly just looks like her hand. Even when she turns it over, and sees where she scraped her knuckles against the oubliette, where the shattered mirror cut the back of her wrist. It looks like she fell, or was playing in the street. That’s all.

The toast comes out burned, and Sarah stares at that too. Eventually, she slumps down against the cabinets and cries, wracking sobs that send her dad and Karen rushing into kitchen. They check her forehead for a fever, put their hands on her, and keep asking, “Are you okay? Sarah, please, tell us what’s wrong…”

Eventually, her dad drags her into his lap and cradles her against his chest, like he did when she was little. Her legs are too long to really fit anymore, but Sarah hugs him around the neck anyway. “It’ll be okay,” he says, keeps saying. “You’ll be okay.” And Sarah—doesn’t laugh, because she can’t, and doesn’t have the words to express what—how—

(None of her stories ever talked about this. What did Sir George do, the morning after he slayed the last dragon in England? Did Tam Lin eat breakfast, or did he sit there, shivering, wondering if his hands were different, having been claws and wings and scales?)

Afterwards, she leaves the burnt toast outside on the back porch. Not an offering. Maybe a reminder.

It’s Didymus she sees the most often, mostly because he’s the one who invites himself rather than waiting for an invitation. He comes for tea, but even if there’s no tea—which there isn’t, usually—he comes to tell Sarah stories. She learns to love poetry because there’s no escaping it with him. (She won’t read Idylls of the King until Brit Lit in college, but she ends up scrawling a lot in the margins; Didymus’ telling of events had been much more interesting.)

Once, she falls asleep like that, her hands tucked behind her head with Didymus curled up and sleepily reciting from the crook of her elbow. “So tender was her voice, so fair her face—though I don’t think he was looking at her face, my lady, pardon me for saying so—”

Sarah buries her nose in his fur. Didymus always smells of rosewater, and a crispness she thinks is just…the Labyrinth. She falls asleep trying to place it.

She wakes up with a wild fox in her bed, animal-black eyes frightened and flat, teeth bared. The fox is whining, and she’s tempted to throw herself across the room, to get away from this wild thing and its teeth. It takes a monumental will to keep herself still and her breathing slow, even; like she’s still asleep and unafraid.

It takes her longer to swallow, and start humming one of the songs he taught her—a knight’s round, he’d said. She’s shaky at first, but the fox’s ears flick forward. It cocks its head, and slowly, the teeth disappear behind its lips.

She almost laughs when noses at her throat curiously, butting its head against her jaw like a cat might.

Not long after, she comes home from school to find a piece of parchment, folded over many times and sealed with wax, sitting on her bed. I do not think it wise for me to return so soon, Didymus writes. I do not know—what chanced that night, but I cannot risk such debasement again. Many apologies.

In a different style of handwriting—spiky, with too many flourishes on the ‘t’s—someone has written a postscript: stop turning my subjects into yours. they lose too much in the transmutation.

Sarah pretends she doesn’t know who left it there.

The thing about humans, he would say, if she asked (she’s never asked) is that there’s too much iron in them—iron in their blood and iron in their bones. Teeth. Iron enough to make a nail so they made nails, and swords, and hammers, and walls and ships. Everything Aboveground is cold iron, leeching into the soil and the water and the air. It means that everything rusts, all things move towards entropy, even magic.

But down, in the Underground—

She can feel him, sometimes, testing his limits. Not the owl—though occasionally she sees feathers from the corner of her eye—but more a sense of pressure, a heaviness. Static electricity, jumping between her and door handles. Once, she’s walking home from school with a friend and they look up, suddenly. “Do you feel that?” Denise Yarmley asks, squinting up at the relentlessly blue sky. “I wonder if it’s going to storm.”

Sarah lets him. Mostly because it’s…strangely reassuring, to know he’s there, even at sixteen, at eighteen. Sometimes she tests him back—walks along the edge of the bridge with her eyes shut, goes down dark alleys by herself. She’s pretty sure she imagines the hand between her shoulder blades, steadying her, or the sound of heeled boots on pavement, just step behind.

Still, she’s alone, the first time he tries to pass the threshold.

She’s alone, and her ears pop with the sudden shift in pressure; the air tastes sickly, like rotting honeysuckle. Worse is the sensation of being watched; she can practically feel him breathing against her skin, hot and damp and full of sparks.

Anger is a whipcord, and she grabs a hold of it, lashes out. When she stands, her biology textbook and sheaf of college-lined notes all slide to the carpet with a thump; she ignores them. She can feel him breathing, how dare he—in this house, where she lives, where Toby lives—

“I did not give you permission,” she says, and her voice comes out clear and cold as iron, or running water, other things she thinks his kind hate. (They didn’t exactly discuss what ‘kind’ he is, but she’s read enough fairytales to guess. Even if Andrew Lang left out the leather pants, and drugged fruit.)

The air feels like it’s holding its breath. Sarah Williams exhales, curling her hands into fists. “I said, get out.”

The presence vanishes.

Afterwards, every time she turns on the radio, it’s playing a song she likes. She can’t decide if it’s an offering, and whether to accept it.

“You look different,” she says to Hoggle. She’s eighteen and trying to decide what to bring with her to college; he’s supposed to be helping her, but actually she’s spent most of the past twenty minutes trying to explain the entire concept of college, and why she won’t be living in her father’s house anymore.

“Well, it’s a different sort of you, looking,” Hoggle says in that matter-of-fact way he has.

Sarah scoffs. “That’s not how it works. Things don’t change how they are just because I’m different.”

Hoggle, who now looks like something from a Rackham illustration, all floppy ears and abnormally-long, smooth limbs, huffs. “Shows what you know. Hope they teach you some common sense, at your fancy school.”

They don’t, really. Her roommate thinks she’s insane, for tucking the little bag of herbs and rocks into the corner of the windowsill, and thumbtacking another beside the door. She claims it makes the room smell bad—like honeysuckle and rosewater and something rotten, something off. But neither of them is ever late for class, no uninvited guest passes the threshold, and when Jason MacAllen sets off the sprinkler system on a dare, their room is dry as a bone.

“Maybe I can change you back,” Sarah says, her head propped up on a hand as she watches Hoggle eat his body weight in hostess snacks. Mostly her roommate’s. (She’s been reading a lot of horror lately, his mouth has taken on a grotesque slope, with too many teeth.) “Do you want to go back to—what you were?”

Hoggle shrugs. “T’wouldn’t be much of a point. You’d still be looking, wouldn’t you?”

(The observer effect, Sarah’s physics class teaches her. The act of looking at a thing changes the thing itself.)

The roommate moves in with her boyfriend halfway through the year. Sarah doesn’t miss her at all.

The thing about iron is that it draws all things to it. Even just to rust.

She honestly thought he’d show up—well, when she was seventeen and Peter Jacobson took her to the prom, then to a motel after. Even before she wrote her Comparative Lit final on psychosexual angst in fairytale reinterpretation, she knew maidenhood was important. (It was always Snow White and Red Riding Hood sent into the forest, not their stepmothers. Adventures happened to fifteen year old girls in white dresses, on the cusp of becoming complicated. Never those who have gone over.)

Sarah had been so sure that she had sat up awake afterwards, shivering in the too-cold motel room and peering into the dark, waiting—

But the Goblin King had not come. He had not come the first time, or any of the times after. She’d stopped expecting him, really.

Which is why Sarah stops dead at the sight of him, standing in the middle of the sidewalk. He’s shed the feathers, the glitter; if it weren’t for the long blue velvet coat and the shock of white-blonde hair, she wouldn’t have recognized him at all.

In the weak morning light, he looks almost…tired.

“Any further, and I will come into your kingdom,” he says, while she stares. The wind almost steals the words away—there’s still yards between them, more than a few sidewalk blocks, with weeds growing up through the cracks.

She laughs when she realizes he’s standing at the very edge of campus, where the public concrete turns into brick. One more step, even if he just leans, and he’ll cross the boundary.

Sarah didn’t know she owned a college.

She has to walk around him—skirting the edge of his long coat, which overflows the sidewalk, and drags on the grass—to plant her feet on her kingdom. She think she imagines the way he bends, just slightly, like a plant following the sun, as she moves past him.

His face is changed. His eyes are not.

“Hi,” Sarah Williams says to the Goblin King. She wishes she’d redone her makeup, or borrowed one of Steve’s jackets. Not that the Goblin King is staring (it would be easier, if he were staring) but she wants more armor for this fight than a miniskirt and a blouse wrinkled from a night on the floor.

He is looking at her, and it’s an awful cliche how much he looks at her like a man dying of thirst. Like she’s water. When he notices her looking back, his mouth twists in a small smile. “You are cruel as iron, Sarah Williams,” he says, finally.

She waits for him to go on. “Is there anything else?” she asks, when he doesn’t.

“Is your intent to taunt me with them?”

“With who?”

“The—whelps, the boys you lay with. I thought they merely the indulgence of youth, but this one has lasted almost a twelvemonth. Are you trying to wound me?”

Sarah stares. She can’t help but laugh, breathless with how presumptuous—“If you disapprove, don’t watch.”

For a moment, he looks like she remembers—cold and fey and strange as he had been amid the ruins of the Escher room. Then it slides away, and he is tired again. “Fidelity is supposed to be the great virtue of your kind,” he says, and she can’t help laughing, still.

“You have no power over me, Goblin King,” she says, and his eyes (unchanged, after all this time) narrow. “So you have no right to my fidelity. You can’t ask that from me.”

“A fact you taunt me with!”

“I’m not taunting you! I barely think of you at all!” Sarah shouts, and he jerks back, cringing away

It’s early and the world is quiet, but the silence is somehow deeper, between them. Sarah licks her lips, swallows. “I don’t—I don’t think about you,” she repeats, more quietly. “It’s just my life.”

The Goblin King is staring blankly; no emotion in his face at all. Without his smirks and songs to distract her, it’s almost terrifying, to watch the inhumanity of him laid bare. (There’s a part of the human brain that remembers what it was like, to be something small, cowering from beautiful monsters with cold blood. It screams, in recognition.)

Sarah shuts her eyes. When she opens them again, he’s still looking at her. “Is it the one you want?” the Goblin King asks Sarah Williams, there on the concrete sidewalk that spans the chasm between her kingdom and his. “This life you have here, with the whelp—is it the one you desire?”

Sarah laughs quietly, crossing her arms over her stomach. The chill of the morning is finally getting to her; she can feel herself shivering. “Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s—it’s still better than peaches.”

She’s cold, so he gives her the blue coat in exchange for a kiss, her mouth with fading lipstick pressed dryly to his cheek. She almost loses her balance, and she can feel him shudder, when she digs her fingers into his shoulders to steady herself.

The hem of the coat drags across the grass as she makes her way back to the dorm. That afternoon, none of the students know what to make of all the cornflowers, growing up from the dust.

The other thing about iron: it always knows where north is, seeks it. You cannot lie to iron.

Ludo is the only one who’s never changed, in all the years between. He’s still burnt orange, with horns like a brindled goat. Sarah couldn’t count the hours she spends curled up against him, studying or reading as he brushes out her hair, sings nonsense songs. Sometimes his teeth look a little sharper, or his paws become talons, but Ludo is himself, ever

Which is maybe why she’s so surprised when he comes to her with a cream letter in a silver envelope, stamped with wax and signed, jareth, the goblin king. She hadn’t expected it from a creature so straightforward as Ludo.

“I don’t like him,” Sarah says, holding the silver letter in her hand.

Ludo moans, and she scowls at his tone. Uses her nail file to break the wax seal open.

She doesn’t blush, reading it. It’s not an offering, a favor, or a gift; there’s nothing flowery there, no compliments or flattery. It’s a plain apology, which is rarer, and more precious. She isn’t so young she doesn’t know that.

Sarah tucks it into her desk drawer, attempts to forget about it. How he called her, dearest one, nearest my heart.

Her senior year, she goes down to the sea—with her friends, the ordinary human ones—to celebrate spring and their last grasp at freedom. Sarah honestly forgets the name of the town when she tells this story. It was cool and smelled of the tide; she ate shellfish, and built fires on the rocky beach. She fell asleep that way almost every night, listening to cold-water mermaids sing about oil tankers, and sailors who stopped breathing when they dragged them under.

No one else can hear them, but her.

And maybe that’s—her ears are full of mermaid song and her belly is warm with beer and wine spritzers, and she decides to walk back from the bar alone, through dark alleys and down the rocky beach. A test, like when she was seventeen and guiltily enjoyed the idea of a Goblin King in love with her. (Hold me fast and fear me not, and she could never decide which of them was supposed to be Janet and who was Tam Lin.)

She smiles, when she hears heeled boots, a step behind her in the alley.

“You should walk with me, Goblin King,” she says, but she’s still surprised when he does. It only takes him a few steps and he’s there, dressed in blue-black shadows and smelling of honeysuckle, carrying the heat in his wake. His makeup is darker around his eyes and mouth; it looks like bruises.

He is very beautiful. Never let it be said that Sarah Williams does not know how beautiful her Goblin King is.

“You’re drunk,” the Goblin King says.

“A little,” Sarah says. “But you shouldn’t complain, you know.”

“I’m not complaining,” Jareth, the Goblin King, says. “I’m noting.”

“Oh, fine then,” Sarah says, and takes his arm, laughing when he puffs up, his feathers ruffled like a bird’s by her closeness. His eyes are animal-black, and frightened. (Sarah does not sing for him, though she might, if she thought it would soothe the wildness, chase it from him.)

She says, “I can’t eat peaches anymore, you know.”

He says, “I hardly see why that’s my fault.”

“I liked peaches.”

“So eat them.”

“Trauma,” she says, and he snorts. It is very unmythical

“Yes, my sincerest apologies for a sparkly dress and a ball.”

The sky is clear when they step out of from the shadows, onto the water front. Starlight makes him stranger still, and Sarah spends a few minutes deciding that she will not touch his skin, no matter how beautiful he is in the jagged, silver starlight.

“I was trying to save my brother. You just have terrible timing, Goblin King.”

“So if I asked you to dance now—?” he asks, and somehow they’re on the rocky beach already, the sound of the sea crashing against the shore in her ears. (Here is the secret about mermaid song: they love the oil tankers, all those sailors with slick black painted on their bodies. Never underestimate the capacity of a thing to love what can destroy it, or to destroy it in turn.)

“You haven’t asked me, Goblin King,” Sarah Williams says, and he catches her, when she trips over a rock. The moonlight is weak, but his eyes still burn silver, and she burns too.

Sarah Williams has read all the fairytales and folklore. She knows exactly how to ask, to count out pomegranate seeds and give real consideration, weight if she’s heavy with child or just desperate. And she knows exactly how to turn up the next morning, her eyeliner smudged and lipstick worn away, but smiling, still.

Her jewelry was gold, the night before. Moonlight turns all things grey, and bright.

The thing about goblins—or fairies, she’s still not sure what he’s supposed to be—is that there are rules. (Not like iron, the Goblin King would say, if he were invited to take part in this conversation, which he isn’t. Iron obeys no laws except its own will. Like her.)

But goblins have rules. They are cruel, and unjust, but they are rules all the same. Stricter than laws. Cold as iron.

The rules say: a favor for a favor. The rules say: you cannot take what isn’t given. The rules say: one, and that’s all and everything.

The Goblin King called fidelity a virtue of Sarah’s kind, but he was the one who picked her. All and everything. No takebacks. Not ever.

The celebrations have subsided. She’s a graduate now—Latin, prayed over her degree, summa cum like an invocation (though there was an invocation, and Sarah had wanted to laugh at it. Or not laugh, but maybe question which god, and why. Didn’t they know how cruel some of them could be?)

This is her own private ceremonial; apart from the school-sanctioned or family-attended. Sarah had to search three different liquor stores for mead—actual mead, that smells like honeysuckle and the sharpness of alcohol, underneath. She takes a nervous drink from the bottle, even as she kicks off her shoes and walks barefoot, across the grass.

She’s technically not supposed to be in the park after sundown, but she’s also not supposed to open-carry alcohol, or pour a little out onto the dirt. She’s not supposed to feel the dull ache of desire, hoping her prayer is answered—

This is an offering, but she’s still surprised how quickly he comes.

He looks around anxiously, taking in what is her kingdom, and has been for the past four years. “I was summoned here,” Jareth, the Goblin King, says.

“I know.”

“I did not trespass.”

“I know that too. I invited you.”

He stares. His eyes are ever the same. “Why?”

“I wanted to see you.”

She offers the bottle of mead out to him, and he drinks. His eyes never leave her face, even though the dark of almost-night envelops them both. “You have no power over me,” Sarah says casually, and watches him choke.

“Yes,” the Goblin King rasps, once he has recovered his breath. “This is true.”

“What about you?” she asks, and the Goblin King shudders, the way he did when she dug her fingers into his shoulders, nails-first. “Do I have power over you?”

She takes his mouth, pressed to the pulse-point of her throat, as an affirmative.

A final truth about iron: it alloys with silver only rarely. It takes too much pressure, and heat, and what some—the uninitiated, fools—might call magic.

#labyrinth #this is a thing I made #long post for ts #this isn't good but I WROTE A THING BE PROUD OF ME

2K notes · View notes

inawickedlittletown · 6 years

Text

Walking The Wire (26/?)

Summary: Tony Stark always knew about Peter Parker. He didn’t know that Peter was going to get superpowers and become Spider-Man, but he always knew about Peter because Peter was his son.

This will span from pre-Iron Man up through the rest of the MCU (eventually including Infinity War) and will be for the most part canon compliant except where I’ve taken some liberties and interpreted canon a certain way.

Pairings: Pepper/Tony, Tony/Steve (endgame), Tony/Mary (past)

A/N: If you want me to tag you when I post new chapters let me know. This fic is also on AO3

I used Collider’s MCU timeline to stay canon and the title of this fic is an Imagine Dragons song that is just so fitting for Peter and Tony

Masterpost

Chapter Twenty Five

Peter found out pretty quickly that he was limited when it came to a costume but he made do with what he could find. Red and blue sweats and a mask because he wanted to keep his identity secret. After the first few times he went out, he even added goggles to his costume because it helped to focus him. He had never realized until that moment that part of the reason that he still made mistakes while using the web fluid was how much his senses took in, in particular his vision. The googles changed things.

At first, Peter didn’t really know what he should be looking out for or what he should do when he did find something going wrong. The first time that he managed to stop someone from pickpocketing an old lady was great even if the guy got away. That was when he realized that his web fluid could be used to tie the bad guy up for the police to pick up. Some experimentation with the web fluid had given him an approximation for how long the fluid would take to dissolve. A couple of hours depending on how much he used.

He went out almost every day right after school and somehow the pain of no longer having Ben wasn’t as present when he was in the suit looking out for the people of Queens. It was only late at night when he was in his bedroom trying to pretend that he couldn’t hear Aunt May crying -- because he wouldn’t have been able to hear it if he wasn’t Spider-Man -- that he really felt surrounded by the pain and the guilt and just everything.

Peter hadn’t even been able to respond to Mr. Stark’s message. It was just so hard to speak of it and Peter didn’t know what else he could tell Mr. Stark that wasn’t about his grief or Spider-Man and those were things he didn’t really feel like writing about just yet.

Peter didn’t even think about the whole punnett square thing anymore because it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that Uncle Ben and as such Aunt May knew that Peter wasn’t their nephew. With his last words Ben had tried to tell him about his father but it didn’t matter anymore because the only father figure that had ever mattered was Ben Parker and he was dead.

One afternoon, he stopped the robbery of a small corner store and Peter felt like his uncle would have been proud of him for it. He left the two guys tied upside down on a stop sign.

The more time he spent out with the mask on the easier it became to swing around from building to building and just enjoy his powers. He didn’t know if it was what Uncle Ben would have wanted for him, but Peter found some peace in being able to help others. He still felt the loss every day down to his bones especially when something reminded him of Ben, but slowly it was getting easier to just move past those moments and do the best he could as Spider-Man.

Then, he started to get noticed.

Peter hadn’t done it to be noticed, but someone had seen him stopping a car hijacker and then someone else had taken a video of him swinging across two buildings and one day when he arrived at school he found Ned at his locker.

“Do you think it’s real? The guy swinging around?” Ned asked and shoved his phone at Peter to show him what he was talking about.

There weren’t many videos and a lot of them were blurry, but it was definitely him and Peter felt oddly thrilled to see it and for Ned to be excited about it.

“I mean, look at the views! It would be crazy if this was a stunt but I guess it looks real. Someone in the comments said that he saved their grandma from being run over last week.”

Peter tried not to smile as his friend just kept gushing about it. Other people in school were talking about it too, even Michelle who thought the whole thing was a stunt of some kind. Flash Thompson kept trying to convince people that he knew who the guy was but without proof no one seemed to really believe him. It made Peter just a little happier to see him keep trying and getting nowhere because it was just what Flash deserved.

“Seems like it’s legit, Ned,” Peter said.

“Yeah,” Ned said with a grin. “I think so too. Hey, I wonder where this guy was when--” Ned trailed off and Peter tried to remind himself that it wasn’t his fault even though he could had done more to stop that guy from getting out of the store.

“I’m sorry,” Ned said quickly.

“It’s alright,” Peter said and shrugged.

Afterwards, Peter thought that it wouldn’t hurt if there were better videos of him. Videos that Peter himself could control. He wouldn’t put up many and he would only be able to put up things that he could film himself doing. There was no way he would be able to capture himself actually saving someone or anything like that, but there were other things.

Steve had a bruised eye and his left arm was also on the mend when he showed up at the tower. He had gone straight there instead of going to the compound because this was where he wanted to be. He didn’t want to be at the compound and Sam could do well enough without him to debrief. Steve just wanted a moment of rest before they had to leave again. He wanted to see Tony.

“Mr. Stark is in his bedroom,” Friday announced as Steve arrived at the penthouse.

“Oh,” Steve said, “is he sleeping?”

“No,” Friday said, “I’ll let him know you are here.”

“Thanks,” Steve muttered.

Steve walked towards the kitchen and searched the fridge for something to eat. There wasn’t much in there which shouldn’t have been a surprise to him because Tony rarely ate anything he himself prepared. He was all about ordering in. What Steve did find was some frozen fruit which he pulled out to make a smoothie. He was in the middle of getting the ingredients into the blender one handed when Tony arrived.

“Friday tells me I have an intruder in the kitchen eating my food,” Tony said and touched Steve’s hurt arm gently before pushing him aside and taking over. “A hurt one at that. Why didn’t you go to medical?”

“Because I’m already healing,” Steve said, “and because I didn’t want to get there only to come back here right after.”

Tony shot him a smile and then he finished preparing the smoothie and handed it to Steve. “You must be hungry,” he said, “you always did want a good meal after a mission.”

Steve shrugged and Tony rolled his eyes before having Friday order them burgers from his usual place.

“So,” Tony said, “how was the mission? Did you get those Hydra goons?”

“We took care of them,” Steve said, “but as it turns out Brock Rumlow is running around as some sort of terrorist.”

He seemed to have suffered some serious burns, but somehow he was still alive and he was dangerous.

“I thought he was dead,” Tony said with a frown and he led them out to the living room.

“So did we,” Steve said, “but he showed up and he got away. I guess he’s acting on his own. Natasha and Sam are trying to figure out where he’s going or what he’s trying to plan. He’s dangerous and whatever he’s planning isn’t good.”

Tony nodded. “And I hope you take the full team this time.”

“I think Wanda might be ready. Either way, it might do her some good to actually be on the field. Vision is too -- he stands out.”

Even though they were discussing the mission and Rumlow, Steve found some peace in doing it with Tony. Tony just always had something to offer. He wasn’t a genius for nothing and for all that Steve was good at tactics and planning, Tony had always been able to see things that Steve didn’t. He missed having him on the team even when he went off book and ignored every order that Steve gave him.

“That he does,” Tony said, “I wonder if he could wear a mask or something. He keeps emailing me about human things that he doesn’t understand. He also seems a little too interested in Wanda. Do you think that’s to do with the stone? Her powers do come from it. Speaking of, any word from Thor?”

Steve hadn’t really thought about Thor too much because Thor had never really stuck around, not even when he was on Earth. He was always off with Jane or in space so it wasn’t that unusual that they hadn’t heard from him. The longest that he had lasted with them had been the time they were searching for the scepter and even then he often disappeared without notice to see Jane.

“None,” Steve said. “Should we be concerned?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said, “but maybe it means that he hasn’t found anything alarming yet. Or that he’s busy somewhere. I’m still a little concerned about Bruce since there hasn’t been any sighting of the quinjet and I’ve had Friday searching. It’s as if it disappeared entirely.”

“Natasha’s convinced he crashed it and died,” Steve said.

He really didn’t understand why Natasha had convinced herself that Bruce not reaching out to them meant that he was dead. Maybe it was easier to deal with that than with the prospect of knowing that Bruce just didn’t want to reach out to them.

“I don’t believe he did,” Tony said, “I would have been notified if the quinjet was destroyed.”

Steve nodded. “So I guess that means that he just abandoned it somewhere, then.”

“Sure.”

When the food arrived, they settled in to watch the latest thing on Steve’s list. This time it was Game of Thrones which Tony had been hyping up the last time he was there. Steve just couldn’t understand how Tony managed to watch so many things and still do all the work he did. That’s probably why he didn’t really sleep much and tended to fall asleep on Steve while they watched things.

So, sure enough, Tony fell asleep when they had gotten to the second episode and Steve had to admit that it was a really good show. He thought that Sam and Clint had mentioned it to him in the past too. He found it a bit amusing that it followed a family named Stark.

“It’s because Starks are awesome in any universe,” Tony had said with a grin.

Tony’s weight settled on Steve and Steve shifted into a position that allowed Tony to be more comfortable and he tried to keep his attention on the show and not Tony’s peaceful face except that it was difficult.

“One day I’m going to tell you how I really feel,” Steve whispered, “even if it changes everything.”

Chapter Twenty Seven

#peter and tony fic #mcu fic #iron dad and spider son fic #iron dad #peter and tony

1 note · View note