#ask charis

[petrikovvy]

I love my ankle going poppey poppey trying to play tennis 😍😍

Wasting ur time by sending this in, your welcome <3

what??? 😭😭😭

[pythosblathers]

Lark in a dress?

Had to take the time to actually draw this one properly, especially since I've been playing Rogue Trader

The left one is how Lark would dress if she were in a local noble or official's employ. Practical, warm, not super embellished, showing off the fire motif that represents her planet's promethium-drilling origins.

The right is on the less gaudy end, but would be appropriate formalwear if Lark accompanied a rogue trader to an event as their personal bodyguard and vibe checker. She wouldn't mind the dress, but the shoes, makeup, escaping hairdo, and hat would drive her crazy

[elsa-fogen]

...ROSIE AND TV BOX SPOTTED IN MASTERPOST COVER OF CTAU?

if vox is a toy does that make charlie an ipad kid.

OIILJRI[OGPIHJ[GUDP we'll see jfghfjfkdhgfd

AU Masterpost

[thetwilightroadtonightfall]

Out of curiosity, what is Charis and Ephemer's height difference? :0 I ask bc I put Rosemary and Eph's sprites next to each other and lined them up size-wise and this is their difference

Eternal short king here.

aww I love them!!! here’s a screenshot from my files:

Note that Eph’s in heels here, so knock two inches off and that’s pretty much it! Eternal short king real 🤝🤝 also, Charis is tall in general. He just looks even taller next to Eph 😄

[myalchod]

Silrah and 32 pleaseee

Bringing back the "what the fluff" tag for this one, methinks, though I very nearly went in the precise opposite direction.

32. a kiss to wake up - [ also on AO3 ]

“But curses don’t exist.”

“Just try,” Bloom urges from the doorway, where she and the rest of the Winx hang back in a knot. There is a undercurrent of concern from them, quiet murmurs aloud and in her mind alike. “It can’t hurt, can it?”

Oh, but it can. It can. To kiss him would be to admit so much that she’s held back through their years together, to cross the line they’ve danced around for as long as she can remember without ever acknowledging it. They are friends, partners, have been bedmates, but somehow this is so much heavier, especially when the stories of old are all too clear about what can break a curse. (Assuming it’s real. Which she’s still not admitting.)

And maybe they don’t exist, but reality is Saul lying still but for the too-shallow rise and fall of his chest, completely unaware of the world around him in a way that feels entirely unnatural, curse or not. Even in sleep he has always had a readiness born of years in dangerous situations; the war had only deepened his naturally light sleeping habits, and she can remember many a night when she’d started awake to find him already upright, head cocked as he listened to the woods around them. None of that is present now; his lashes fall dark against pale skin, mouth slightly slack, breath nearly silent. His mind, when she reaches for it, feels impossibly distant.

If she is to do this, she will have to be honest with herself. That doesn’t mean he has to know, however — all that matters is having her specialist at her side again, whatever it may cost her. With everything she carries, one more secret should be nothing, especially when she has locked those feelings away for so long already.

“Girls — out.”

They protest — no surprise — but subside in fairly short order, and it isn’t long before the door clicks shut somewhere behind her and the worried mutter of their thoughts retreat. Alone, Farah sinks down on the edge of the narrow bed, cupping a hand against his face. Even now, he remains warm. It would be so easy to pretend, if she closed her eyes, sinking back into the memory of those rare times she’s woken up beside him, soft and relaxed before all that they are intrudes once more, but she cannot allow herself that. If she is to do this, to try, it must be without illusions.

The truth, then: she loves him, not only as the friend and partner and lifelong companion he has been. She’s in love with him — at least, as best she can understand such a thing. Rosalind’s voice rings in her ears even now, reminding her of how similar they are, of all the times she’s pushed aside the weakness of emotion to become unyielding steel. And yet through it all Saul had been there, a steady glow at the edge of her thoughts even when things were darkest. How can she not do whatever it takes for him, after everything? How can she not, when she knows he would do nothing less for her?

(Curses may not be real. This may be an exercise in futility. But she loves him, gods help her, and nothing remains but to try, and to acknowledge that this has nothing to do with what she may owe him and everything to do with …)

His lips are soft when she traces her thumb across them, chapped enough to catch slightly against her skin. She wets her own as she looks down at him. He’d laugh if he saw her sitting like this, so unsure about such a simple gesture — or perhaps he wouldn’t, but if she doesn’t do this, she’ll never know. That is, in this moment, the only certainty she has.

Come back to me, she thinks — pleads, nearly, if only within her own mind, and then closes the distance between them to set her mouth to his.

If it’s a curse, then surely she should feel something. Every time she has felt magic break, there has been some sort of physical sensation, from the faintest of shivers to a sound like a thunderclap. But she feels nothing besides the warmth of his lips against her own, the faint shift of his ribs and the even quieter flutter of his heart and the prickle of stubble against her palm, and her own heart sinks in her chest. They must have been wrong. Life is not a storybook; she should know that by now, after all that she has seen.

But when she pulls back blue eyes are looking at her, still hazy with sleep but open, present. As she watches, disbelieving, the corners of his mouth pull up.

“Breathe, Farah.” The words are rusty, sleep-rough. Her hand is still against his face. As he covers it with his own, air shudders back into her lungs and something slides back into place inside her.

Always, he answers, to that earlier whisper of a thought, and now it is her turn to smile.

[ ask me another ] [ all answers ]

[janesemel]

It’s because at first the version of Mary that exists in Chapuys’ head is little more than a sexist, paternalistic remix of her real identity, so thoroughly warped by the age & class difference that he sees her as barely more than a porcelain madonna, a moral/religious figurehead, so sexless she’s barely human. But as Mary ages and their relationship is maintained through less explicitly stressful circumstances then the ones it was conceived under amidst the Great Matter, she begins to grow outside of the parameters he established for her internally. She gets her life back, she’s not just pretty and in pain anymore, she’s energetic, provocative, romantically active, loud. And that scares him, the way it scared him with Cesare’s mother, but it also excites and intrigues him, not least of all because he can’t be physically intimate with Mary the way he was with the mistress who bore his illegitimate son. The illegitimate son he left so he could go perform diplomatic duties in the same country as Mary. Who wants to be a mother. Who loves children. Who is at once everything he’d ever want in a woman and young enough to be his biological child, facts which would be so blatantly immoral if he ever confronted their coexistence that he has to force himself to stay in denial about it. While Mary goes around planning for the future and playing footsie with Phillip of Bavaria, more or less unaware that her very existence is eating this poor bastard’s brain. Eustace is a 50 year old politician with TSwift’s “You Belong With Me” playing in his head every time he meets eyes with his dead friend’s 21 year old daughter. It’s pathetic. It’s disgusting. It’s narratively delicious.

[prismaticuniverses]

the asm.odeus bride-zilla moments are underway i see 😭 😭 😭 HFSSHKJFSFHJ

AGKSKFJ LITERALLY she’s gonna be such a bridezilla it’s so funny to me. it’s his special day goddammit he can have whatever he wants!!!

Asmo: *throwing a fit over the flowers in the background*

The rest of the brothers: can Asmo like. chill

Ris: *sitting back and sipping a mimosa* no 💗

[regheart]

Do you have personal headcanons on Callidora, Cedrella, and Charis?

hello! thank you so much for the ask

i don't have many specific headcanons, just more general ideas

i think the black family has lived exclusively in the london area for centuries and the house they lived in is from the tudor era and survived the great fire of 1666 through magic, becoming unplottable and invisible to muggles since then

the three were very close while growing up and got along with dorea the most out of their cousins because of the age proximity

theirs was probably the poorest branch of the family

being so distant from the heir line, the only expectation they had was to marry pure-blood wizards (or not marry at all)

callidora married a longbottom (i personally don't think she's directly related to frank and neville because i headcanon frank to be older than sirius iii and i always thought of augusta as being very old so the two of them would be closer in age), moved to lancanshire and had her three kids in the 40s

she spends many of her days at blackpool pier chatting with enid and augusta

cedrella followed the memo and married pure-blood septimus weasley, but her family was not pleased because the weasleys have gotten a worse fame of blood traitors after objecting to the pure-blood directory

she had four kids, all boys, and the youngest, whom she favors, is named castor (a star in the gemini constellation, twin to pollux). both castor and arthur got her blue eyes

charis married a crouch and i can't decide if she's the mother of barty sr. or not because to me he looks like the type to only have kids in their mid 30s after his carrier is solid and that doesn't align with her age

callidora and charis never stopped talking to their sister, but they can't pretend to like her children. callidora tolerates castor, and that's it

lysandra moved out of the house after arcturus died and cygnus and druella moved in with their daughters (they used to live with pollux in hampstead, in a house that would have been alphard's inheritance the way grimmauld place was passed down to walburga)

bellatrix, andromeda and narcissa got compared to them all the time because of the way they were always together

callidora cut ties with her family after the first war. not in a dramatic way, most of them were either dead or imprisoned, but she never went after arcturus, or pollux, or cassiopeia, anyone, she only spoke to cedrella

[jenni3penny]

Hey Fox! Give me 1 and/or 11 for the 2023 fic asks?

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

While not necessarily new, I did write that one piece (Until the Time Comes) that only had a couple words of dialogue in it, and that was a fun exercise. I rely so much on dialogue for characterization, so it took some doing. 

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

I think you know the answer to this already. 😆

Finishing what I affectionately called ‘the tour fic’ felt really great. It had been a long time since I'd done anything multi-chapter and planned out. 

‘We Can Take the World’ took all the awards in the Personal Favs category. 

[desiderium-eden]

Lazuli, probably in the middle of the most gossipy bunch still at this place. "Woooah! Really? I thought Navvaro was just a talent agent. But to manage to subdue the crown prince like that... he must possess magic rivaling that of the royal family."

Translation: Are we supposed to believe a singular man managed to puppet a member of the royal family??? Either Das is a legendary mage ... or the royal family's not as great as they'd like to believe...

[alpha-mag-media]

Grace Charis narrowly avoids wardrobe malfunction while playing golf braless in tiny top and asks fans ‘how’s my form?’ | In Trend Today

Grace Charis narrowly avoids wardrobe malfunction while playing golf braless in tiny top and asks fans ‘how’s my form?’ Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[ur-mag]

Grace Charis suffers wardrobe malfunction on golf course in outfit so revealing fans ask ‘why even wear the top?’ | In Trend Today

Grace Charis suffers wardrobe malfunction on golf course in outfit so revealing fans ask ‘why even wear the top?’ Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[pythosblathers]

Lark, you are very protective of your friends but you don't value yourself the same way :(

Psychic shield deployed

[elsa-fogen]

We know the famous Lilith rizz doesn't work on Alastor for obvious reasons but would it work on Vox or Rosie I wonder 🤔

Ohhh 😳😳

Didn't think about it, but

Rosie probably. As for Vox idk, Lilith doesn't seem to be his type... But maybe? Also Maybe Lilith doesn't see him as a man?? DFHDGS THAT WOULD BE FUNNY LIKE, IMAGINE (totally won't happen) ALASTOR COMPLAINING TO VOX HOW LILITH IS TRYING TO SEDUCE HIM AND VOX IS LIKE "i wish your problems were mine" And Rosie probably isn't Lilith's type also... But she likes to tease her JIFGDOUIDOIUO

AU Masterpost

[thetwilightroadtonightfall]

Happy birthday to the Finder of Scala ad Caelum and certain Keyblade Master’s favorite person (๑╹ω╹๑ )

ROMY ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!!!!! SHE LOOKS SO GOOD!!

The confident pose, the hair, the…everything! And you even used the design I posted just today?? how on earth did you do this so fast???

Thank you, my friend…I’ll be staring at this for a very long time!! 🫶

[myalchod]

For the three sentence fic... Silrah + fake dating/marriage pretty please 💜

Well ... I was going to write just the one, but I can't pick between them, so have a stab at each? 💙 It was so tempting to write one of these as a canon AU but I felt like that would have been cheating. 😂

Fake Dating:

She knows she gives herself away as soon as the familiar manse looms into view, though she’s pretty sure Saul would have known even absent the reflexive tightening of her fingers on his arm with how long they’ve been friends, even if he gives no sign of the pain he must feel at her death-grip, just shifting so his shoulder knocks companionably against hers in silent acknowledgement and sympathy; when she loosens her hand once more he slips his arm free, and she thinks he’ll move away but he only slides it around her waist instead, palm curving warm and solid and reassuring over her hip, and her startle this time has nothing to do with memories of a life she’d gladly walked away from suddenly slamming into her with the weight of all of her years away.

“Alright?” he murmurs, voice near as warm as his touch, and some of the tension ratcheting through her eases as she is reminded of why she’d asked him to come with her, the easy comfort of his presence steadying her in a way no one else can — why, in a moment she does and does not regret already, she’d added and could you pretend to be my boyfriend?, when it meant he could not only accompany her for what promises to be an excruciating family reunion but stay close, just like this, through all that she knows awaits her.

There’s a world she’s not ready to face again behind that imposing front door, but she’s got him at her side, and they’re armed with a pretence she hopes will prevent at least some of the questions she wants to avoid, and so the smile she offers him is less forced than fond; with that, surely she can weather anything the day throws at her, and so she just threads her fingers into his belt loop and leans closer still to murmur an affirmative as they start up the stairs.

Fake Marriage:

“I don’t believe you,” he persists, and Farah rolls her eyes, surreptitiously searching for an exit as she does so; inconsiderately, none appears, and she damns again the distraction that left her backed into a literal corner by a man just drunk enough to belligerently call out the ring she wears to fend off most would-be partners when she just wants a relatively quiet night of drinking — a ring that has done her more harm than good this evening, when it’s been the cause of what is shaping up to be an ugly altercation.

A hand settles on his shoulder; a face dimly familiar looms in shadow behind him, and her frown clearly telegraphs enough because he turns, ready to protest further, only to be pushed out of the way. “Farah, love,” her unexpected saviour says as he extends his other hand her way, and she’s suddenly more grateful for the support of the wall at her back than his intervention as she recognises dark hair and pale eyes and that self-deprecating smile, properly registers the even more familiar voice, and a past long dead floods back, “I wondered where you’d gotten to.”

[ send me another ] [ all fills ]