#creighton [muse]

[lockawayknight]

@coldblood-gardens

It's almost as if something had drawn him here...

There's something... off... about this particular invasion, Creighton thinks to himself as his red phantom appears at the foot of the Erdtree – in the ruins of the former capital, rubble below his feet and golden leaves landing in his hair. The once-great kingdom of Leyndell, having long since been abandoned and left to crumble, still patrolled by knights who dutifully protect their lost causes despite it all. It's an almost haunting sight, the sound of the trumpets of emissaries echoing in the distance, and the gentle stirring of branches above. It's certainly a sight to behold...

But Creighton has more important things to do than look around, and more important things to kill than time.

The search is always the best and worst part, fuelling his adrenaline like oil on a flame, sparking deadliness and threatening wildfire. He creeps around corners in search of the target – whoever the Gods decided has to die today. The search is long...

His search eventually leads him to an old building that looks... strangely familiar. Something like home, but hauntingly so, like visiting the place where one grew up after it had been long abandoned. Familiar halls, with familiar fireplaces. Familiar bookshelves adorned with familiar fabrics. It looks strangely like... the Roundtable Hold...?

No, no. Impossible. And regardless...

He's found his target.

But, hold on just a moment... he creeps closer, his axe held tight, his breathing hushed; and he realises...

"... Oh! I remember you!" He gives his position away without a care, taking a casual stance with his axe's blade pointed harmlessly towards the ground. "Albert, or somethin'. Ice witch. Hah, what a joke: looks like you're my mark..."

He says it so casually, as if he isn't about to kill the man.

(Or, at least, try to.)

He does not lower his guard – no, of course not, not when his Lord's name is on the line. But he's treating it with the casual air of one running into an old friend at the market. He shifts his weight to one side, his blade still crackling threateningly.

[xoxoskai]

NIKOBRAN HEADCANNONS

to keep you going this last week before God of Fury drops<3

Between all his sons-in-law, Brandon is Kyle's favorite.

Levi's is Mia (cousin-fuckers who stole his son and daughter he'll always beef with)

Brandon and Niko are the type of relatives to wear matching clothes on Christmas because Niko would take up any chance to wear matching anything with Brandon.

If and when Brandon bakes, no one gets a chance to even taste what he made before Niko devours it all.

The only place Niko can fall asleep in at record speed is Brandon's arms.

The only reason Niko teaches Brandon how to drive a bike is so he can put his arms around his boyfriend's slutty waist boyfriend.

Remi is terrified on Brandon's behalf.

"Bran, yes, he's hot but mate, look at that guy! He has some skin on those tattoos!"

Astrid shares Remi's concerns but soon comes to find out that Niko is the biggest goofball of sunshine and almost adopts him.

Surprisingly, the one who takes the longest to accept Brandon is Rai. Because it's not her first time meeting the Kings (hello, she's a far relative) and she's worried that her oldest who is actually tender hearted and plagued by demons of his past, might be crushed beyond repair if Brandon hurt him.

Brandon and Landon think they can get away with tricking their in-laws by dressing as each other but they underestimate the Sokolov-Hunters who told them apart the moment they walked in.

Brandon tried it on Niko once when he first divulged about how Maya and Mia used to do it, but Niko could tell Brandon apart from his "psycho" brother in a heartbeat.

"It's your eyes" He had murmured. "Yours sparkle"

Glyndon is weary of Niko but as long as Brandon's happy, she's happy.

Landon is supremely unhappy.

When Landon first opposes their relationship by threatening Niko, Niko flings back "Remember who you're dating and what I mean to them" back at him.

Niko and Landon almost kill each other multiple times.

If there's someone even more unhappy than Landon, it's Crieghton.

Creighton: "Does this mean I can't fight him anymore?" Elsa: "Why were you fighting him before this?!" Creighton: "Is anyone else hearing this buzzing? I should go check."

Niko goes feral whenever he sees Brandon shirtless and vice-versa but

Niko is always shirtless, so Brandon is always suffering.

Unlike Niko, Brandon doesn't carry him into a dark corner to immediately fuck.

If there's no scene of Brandon asking Niko "Who's fucking you?" Rina, you'll hear from my therapist. And if there's not a single, evil, unhinged Brandon moment where Niko is flabbergasted at the change and is accusing him of being two-faced at which Brandon will laugh, lean in and ask tauntingly "What are you going to do? Tell on me?" I will sue.

Brandon's muse is Niko. (Bitch, I said what I said)

Unlike Landon, Brandon doesn't divulge this piece of information to his boyfriend because he does not want to give Niko even more reasons to walk around with lesser clothes.

Brandon gets a tattoo for Niko on his ribs. (cue feral Nikolai)

After which Niko tries to get Brandon's name tattooed on his favorite organ, but Jeremy literally deadlocks the door to his room to keep him inside after Niko asked for opinions in their group chat about his decision.

Niko: You don't think it's romantic? Jeremy, Killian, Gareth, Landon, Eli, Creighton, Remi:

They've definitely rolled around in paint and fucked on a canvas after it. Niko would display it in the entryway of their house if Brandon let him.

They've also joined the mile high club.

After they get engaged, Brandon calls him by his full-name as in "Nikolai Sokolov-Hunter-King" just to piss him off but Nikolai loves being associated to Brandon in every possible way, so it backfires.

Their wedding bands have each other's name inscribed in them.

As does the underside of their ring fingers in the other's handwriting.

Nikolai tries drawing a heart over the i in his name and almost gets smacked.

[stargirlie25]

Oki dok so i have read all of the LOG books except the first one.

Mainly because imo Elites>bratva.

So i do not like Killian because he is constantly up my mans Landon. Although i love Jeremy and Nikolai....OK the real reason is because his nickname is so stupid like the other nickames i like

Landon-Little muse ( as in she is his muse bc he is an artist)

Jeremy- Lichiska (lets not talk about the english but its sounds hot in russian)

Creighton-Little purple (I dont like the little but purple is cute bc thats his girls favorite color)

Nikolai- Lotus flower, prince charming (I swear all his nicknames for his man is the best thing ever and even if it was little hippo i would stan it)

Now the one that makes me want to scratch my eyes out

Killian- Little rabbit. LIKE WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? YOU COULDNT THINK OF ANYTHING CUTE? Poor Glyn she must be jealous all her friends have better nicknames.

Im probably just going to read it tho

[go-go-devil]

Pate and Patches: What's the Difference?

As an avid Patches Enjoyer, I had initially found myself a bit underwhelmed with Mild Mannered Pate after completing his questline in Dark Souls 2, particularly with his overall lack of any truly devious trickery towards my Bearer of the Curse.

However, I didn't think it was fair to him to completely compare his role to Patches's. So after much assessment and taking in all the gameplay & environmental clues I could, I think I may have finally deduced how Pate's differences to Patches help him fit into his own niche in this game.

Y'see, while Patches is a predator, Pate is a parasite.

Patches goes after his victims directly. He lures them in with the promise of treasure only to flip a switch that'll send them into dangerous/fatal areas or will straight up kick them down there himself. If they somehow manage to get out of his traps then he'll start groveling and offering gifts for forgiveness. He also uses this predatory tactic to determine which of the people around him are both resilient and forgiving enough for him to trust, which leads him to becoming a merchant and thus a kind of ally to you. A sketchy, devious ally, but one who actively benefits you and gives you his occasional musings on the world and its characters.

Pate, on the other hand, doesn't seem to want to get his hands dirty at all when it comes to scavenging his victims' loot. Instead his strategy is to directly attach himself to anyone who proves strong enough to get through any dangerous areas he stumbles upon. He does this by playing the role of an unassuming, cautious treasure hunter who gives you helpful advice about the immediate area and wishes for your safety. It can even be seen through his choice of clothes; Pate dresses in the armor of a common warrior, unlike Patches who proudly wears the thief's set.

I remember at first finding it strange how he of all NPC's was the one who gives you the white soapstone, contrasting how in DS1 it was Solaire, one of the kindest characters in that game, who gave it to us. Looking back, however, it does fit his strategy well. Summons directly benefit from their summoners by getting souls & items for their participation, and so Pate can offer his help by turtling with his greatshield and stabbing the boss safely with his long spear to get his fill of the large number of souls you acquire.

Once he becomes his next victim's "ally," all Pate has to do now is just mosey alongside them and keep finding areas where they can acquire great treasures. But only for them, of course! He's just too nervous about what terrible traps await, but surely his ally is brave and strong enough to persevere while he watches from a distance. If they were to die by a swarm of hollows, or fall into a pit of poison, well, it wasn't HIS fault that it happened! He did warn them, after all...

With that in mind it's easy to assume that Pate was pulling this parasitism on Creighton for a good while, tagging along with him and benefiting from all the undead, hollow or sane, that the man slayed. The two even stored their treasures together in the same hovel. Why exactly he locked him up is never directly explained, but if I were to guess I'd say it had to do with Creighton's claim of wanting to set up a trap for Pate. He began to grow wise (or maybe moreso paranoid) to the fact that he was being used, and once his mild mannered "friend" figured it out he tricked him right back, took what he could from him (that being the Ring of Thorns), and booked it!

And even after all of that, this man still has the gall to share this story with strangers by twisting it around and turning the guy who tried to kill him into this poor, foolish little warrior that Pate tried so hard to stop from falling into such an obvious trap.

That's what separates the two tricksters. Unlike Patches who defines himself by living independently from others, Pate cannot function without hooking his claws onto the trust of more daring individuals to do all the dirty work for him. After surviving Patches's tricks he becomes your merchant and ally, but Pate wants nothing to do with you after surviving all of his traps. While Patches locked up and warns you about Yurt and Lautrec in DeS and DS1 respectively because he was genuinely afraid of how cruel and violent they were, Pate locked up Creighton upon realizing he wasn't beneficial to him anymore and doesn't even bother warning you about the fact that he's a convicted serial killer, instead pretending he doesn't even know the guy.

There's also the fact that if you summon Pate for The Last Giant boss fight, he'll give you his clothes, spear, greatshield, and even the ring (or at least copies of them, he doesn't strip down in front of us). Since this is also when he tells us he's heard of a man who's out hunting for him, it's more than a little suspicious that he would want us to dress to his likeness. Especially if that certain someone might end up mistaking us as him.

All-in-all Pate may seem less harmful than Patches on the surface, but in the end he proves to be far more cowardly and arguably WORSE than him from a moral standpoint.

[silverstarfics]

Today is @thunder-pride trans women day and I’m back with another fic... even if I’m posting it slightly later than planned :)

AO3 link

Kayo had been fortunate enough to call Penelope Creighton-Ward her friend for several years now and in all that time she had not known Penelope to go anywhere without a full face of makeup even once. She’d concluded that it was a form of battle armour much like the way she instantly felt safer when she wore her IR uniform or how Scott always seemed to stand just that little bit taller when he put on a suit before a Tracy Industries meeting.

The part she’d never fully understood was Penelope’s reasons for requiring such armour. She carried herself with sophisticated grace and never seemed intimidated by any situation. Kayo had never known her to let on any trace of nerves even in the face of mortal peril. So, it didn’t really make sense.

It wasn’t heavy makeup, but subtle. Pretty – although that seemed too tame of a word to describe Penelope. She had the sort of beauty which left people breathless, Kayo included. It was impossible to tell where the makeup ended and her natural face began; a brush of highlighter, rose blush, a dab of lipstick and mascara. There was a long list of products which Penelope had once attempted to explain to her, but Kayo had been distracted by her friend’s slinky dress at the time, not to mention that makeup was hardly a topic which interested her even when her eyes weren’t constantly being drawn elsewhere.

Currently, she was lounged across Penelope’s bed like an overgrown housecat, chin propped in her hands and hair loose around her shoulders as she waited for Penny to finish applying concealer so that they could head downstairs for breakfast. There were several questionable members of the British aristocracy staying at the manor and Kayo secretly suspected that she’d been invited along so that Penelope had someone to complain to whenever they had a spare moment.

“You know,” she mused, absently petting Sherbet’s back as he wriggled under her chin to curl up in her arms, “You don’t have to wear makeup. You’re beautiful enough without it.”

Penelope lowered a brush and twisted to throw her an amused look. “That was very charming. Have you been taking lessons from Scott?”

“What? No. I’m just stating a fact.”

“And I’m flattered.” Penelope turned back to her mirror, voice growing softer as she concentrated on applying bronzer in all the right places. “Although you should know I don’t choose to wear makeup purely for appearance’s sake.”

Kayo sat up, gathering her legs beneath her to drum her fingers against her knees. Every time Penelope offered a glimpse of the secrets she held behind her carefully curated persona, her heartrate spiked. It was better than any rescue-induced adrenaline rush. Kayo wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it; whether it meant something more or if she’d imagined those looks which seemed to pass between them lately – softened with the warmth of not-quite-platonic affection and tainted by longing.

“Um,” she said eloquently, faltering as her eyes met Penelope’s in the mirror. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. “Why do you choose to wear it then?”

Penelope ducked her head, busying her hands with an eyeshadow palette. There was a vulnerable trust in the air between them which was quite unlike anything Kayo had come across before. For a moment, the silence seemed to take on its own quality: tender and inviting confessions like an early hour of the morning when all inhibitions fled.

“Kayo,” Penelope began hesitantly, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. “Tanusha. You’re aware I’m trans, aren’t you?”

Kayo shuffled forward on the bed, close enough to spy the unease in Penelope’s eyes. “Yeah, I know. But Penny, I don’t really understand the relevance?”

Penelope remained quiet for a moment. A little crease developed between her brows as she considered her next choice of words and Kayo longed to brush it away with her thumb.

“Makeup does not equate femininity,” Penelope said at last. “I’m a woman regardless of whether I wear it, but I find it easier to connect with my own femininity. It helps my confidence. Not to mention that I enjoy the process.” Her gaze flickered back to Kayo’s in the mirror. “Does that make sense?”

“Absolutely.” Kayo cleared a set of brushes out of the way and perched on the edge of the vanity, propping her feet on Penelope’s chair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Penelope’s smile rivalled the sun. “Of course not, darling. Don’t be ridiculous.”

She held out a bottle of something shimmery and a brush and Kayo took them without mentioning the faint tremors running through Penny’s hands. Vulnerability was always terrifying no matter how much you trusted the person.

“It’s highlighter,” Penelope explained, lips twitching with repressed laughter as she spied the open confusion on Kayo’s face. “Could you help me apply it?” She traced a line across her cheekbone. “Not too much, the product is quite pigmented.”

Kayo swallowed. “I- Yeah. Yes. Sure. I’ll just…”

She cupped Penelope’s jaw, turning her face into the sunlight. She prayed Penelope couldn’t sense her nerves nor her fluttering heartbeat, not to mention the hot flush working its way up her neck at their proximity. She swore she was holding her breath. Their eyes met and she froze, transfixed by impossible blue irises.

Penelope reached up and caught her wrist before she could lift her hand away. “Thank you.”

Kayo cleared her throat. “Anytime.” She surveyed the various products and stared at what looked like an honest-to-god torture device. “Penny, what the hell is this?”

Penelope couldn’t hold back her laughter. “It’s called an eyelash curler.”

“I’m pretty sure this could be used to kill someone.”

“In my hands or yours, certainly.”

Kayo slid off the vanity and crossed to stand behind Penelope’s chair, bracing herself against the wooden frame to lean over Penelope’s head and glimpse her own reflection in the mirror. She’d never really considered makeup until now. Her own battle armour was sharp words, glares and her training. She could hurt anyone before they hurt her and she found it a relief. But it was different for Penelope and she wanted to understand that.

“Kayo?” Penelope held up a liquid eyeliner. “Would you like to try some?”

Kayo lowered her chin to the crown of Penelope’s head with a sigh. “I don’t actually know how. I’d just mess it up.”

Penelope turned in her chair with a delighted gleam in her eyes. “I’d be happy to apply it for you.”

Kayo went to protest, then trailed off, partly from curiosity as to how it would look but mostly due to the fact she was incapable of saying no when Penelope smiled like that. “Okay.”

It took all of her self-control to keep her expression neutral. Penelope’s touch was delicate as she swiped wet ink in sharp lines, her hands warm on Kayo’s face. She set the eyeliner down with a satisfied smile and gently turned Kayo’s cheek to spy their reflections.

“Huh.”

“Immaculate,” Penelope declared.

Kayo grinned. “Pretty cool.”

“A work of art,” Penelope corrected.

“Nope.” Kayo dared to press a light kiss to Penelope’s temple. “That’s you.”

Penelope pushed her away with a laugh. “You’re becoming quite the smooth talker, Miss Kyrano.” She slipped into her rose-coloured heels and held out a hand. “Come along, darling. Our guests are waiting.”

Kayo allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. “Can’t we just send them home early?”

“Sadly, no.” Penelope entwined their fingers. “But I promise I’ll make it up to you later.”

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Lots of adrenaline going on for sure back there. Food and drink will help you calm down & recharge, but then all of you remember to rest and take a few days off work. Some of you seem a little retraumatized by the sudden extreme danger, so make sure your brains get reminded that you’re safe!

The rooftop of the restaurant is cool and lit with strings of bright gold light, like a chain of fireflies in the darkening air. Their server is swift, unobtrusive, and decidedly amused by Jackie practicing his Hindi with him. Pretty soon they've got drinks fizzing with ice and steaming hot plates of food spicy enough to distract them from just about anything. Jackie's buzzing, JJ's pre-occupied, Max is content, and Marvin's trying to maintain an acceptable volume level for everyone while Henrik and Chase chatter to each other at the end of the table.

"What did you show that guy anyway, JJ?" Marvin asks.

Jameson looks up at him, sticking a samosa in his mouth. Some of the crumbs fall into his beard and he brushes at it before replying.

"Ghost of Christmas Future," he offers, and Marvin laughs. "A little of what could happen on his current trajectory, a little of what could happen if he went home with his sister... but then I was just thinking about their parents, and... I saw this timeline where they hadn't been killed. Just for a minute, I pulled them both over there. And they were able to hug their Mum and Dad one more time. See that they were proud of them, that they never wanted them to become like Creighton, that they would have helped Adrienne to make positive changes. That they would have helped Cedar to be... not a monster, and just their son."

"Shit, Jay," murmurs Marvin, glancing at him askew. "That's... quite a gift. The sort of thing that can really change people's lives."

Jameson shakes his head slowly, sighing out. "But will they ask me again, someday, and I'll have to explain that it's too dangerous, and that it takes too much out of me? Will they spend time, now, wondering about what could have been, instead of what is? And what if I had snapped something on accident?"

He's quiet for a moment, and Marvin watches him muse, spinning his straw around his drink.

"Marvin?"

"Yes?"

"Do you... remember anything about that spell Anti did to you in Colombia?"

Marvin's face falls instantly, drawing back from the table. "Don't ask me about that."

JJ's mouth pinches and he shakes his head. "Sorry."

"Why?"

"I've been thinking lately that maybe this is... too much for me. For one person. Too much power."

He looks down at his hands, and then away again, shaking his head.

[austerulous]

◈   @lockawayknight said:   ❛ 🌿 anri,,,,,,,,,,,, friends can smooch ❜ // send 🌿 to accidentally get caught under the mistletoe with my muse.

Light and warmth spilled outward as Anri opened her wreath-adorned door, meeting Creighton beneath the spray of mistletoe that hung in her hall. Snowy hair and dappled skin were awash with amber glow as she pulled him into an eager embrace. Many put down roots on Christmas Eve and refused to be dug out until New Year – but Creighton had gone to the trouble of braving the slush-sodden streets.

“I’m so glad you came!”

Beneath the scent of home cooking, apricot shampoo and a few tentative dabs of a Love, Don’t Be Shy knock-off dotted on her throat, there lingered traces of antiseptic and talcum powder. Stubborn remnants of a morning spent volunteering at the NICU, cuddling woolly-hat-toting hatchlings, cradling newborns so fragile their skin was almost translucent.

Creighton was considerably more robust, but there was an ache in him that mirrored the grief at home in her. That was what had brought them together, during a holy time meant to be spent with closest kin. They were dearest friends, the family they had chosen for themselves. Which was why she pulled back only far enough as to be able to kiss him, square and firm, on the mouth. While Anri might have muttered something about Christmas customs, theirs was a language of affection – they did not need the excuse of tradition to nudge them together.

“Come in, come in and let’s get you warmed up. I hope you’re hungry?”

[bloodrosebriars]

oh you're a Mohg fan??? Have you ever invaded someone?

// hi hi!! taking this ask at face value and answering genuinely & ooc x)

i’m not a big fan of elden ring invasions cus of the whole two+-on-one mechanic, so i’ve only done what was necessary for varre’s quest, but i love invading in ds2 and ds3!! creighton is my primary muse so i did a lot of fingers invasions in 3 and just lots of random fun stuff in 2. i’m not very good but i enjoy it a lot ^^

ty for ask!!

[fatesdeath]

time for me to add my new muses to my list. i have four of them i'm adding currently so the number on my carrd is going to be off, but it's just temporary until i add a couple more lmao. anyways, the new muses are: Donnie Jones --- l.ogan l.erman fc Creighton Dearborn --- h.ugh d.ancy fc Evelyn Byrne --- t.aissa f.armiga fc Esme "Six" Byrne --- el.le f.anning fc

[meezoidd]

i have creighton-on-the-brain disease yall it's very acute

[lockawayknight]

@hithernthither said: Obnoxiously pokes him on the cheek enough times to see if he'll wake up. Chin resting in his other hand. Pate is bored but not tired enough to join Creighton in napping so this will have to do.

GRABS HIS WRIST >:(

… But his words are more sarcastic than angry. “Y’miss my voice so much y’ ‘ad to wake me up?” Frown.

[choojahyun]

Helena/Dolores: Mistletoe [accidental]

The imminent holidays had sobered Dolores' lucidity, twofold as she waded through the murky stage as November drifted into December, and she quietly awaited the arrival of her son as he was quite adamant about "catching a lift" with one of his classmate's that was from the same town. She ticked things off of her checklist; clean the house, wash Soren's sheets, and bring some of Helena's things out and place them around the house in an attempt to appear that she is actually still residing there. Of course, they concluded that they should say she has been travelling for business recurrently, and just leave it at that. Those, amongst all the other holiday-related she had to accomplish.

When the day came that Soren was due to arrive back home, the stockings were hung by the fireplace and the tree was lit up, the string of lights shimmering against the fresh green, she wanted the place to look as much festive delight as she felt inside, she knew both Helena and Soren would stare at it with contempt, but she did not care. Trading her boy and his many bags (how did he fit that many in the trunk?) for a plate of cookies and an envelope with gas money, as a thank you and happy holidays, Soren settled in his old room and then took his dog (the family’s dog but really his dog), for a wee walk, as Dolores and Helena were based downstairs, completing the cooking, as she and Helena made him his favourite dish for dinner.

After dinner, Soren offered to do the dishes since he also wanted to go hang out with some of his friend's he had not seen since he left for university, and he knew he would have a better chance of Dolores saying yes if he helped. Of course, he was an adult, so he did not really need Dolores' permission, but he admitted that he felt bad because he knew she had holiday activities planned, but she assured him that they had his entire break to do that soft of stuff, so he should definitely see his friends before the holidays. Hearing the door open and close and Soren yelling a buoyant goodbye, Dolores shut the kitchen lights out, stepping out to the back of the garage to where a little shed stood; a neglected structure that was used for storage. It came with the place and was too much of a hassle to tear down, but Dolores and Helena would come out here every so often, when some of the anguish that arrived when it came to parenting became too much to bear, this was their safe haven, just to catch her breath and look at the night sky. See if was as empty as she felt.

She pulled her coat closer to her, the mist of her own breath surrounding her as she trudged through a fresh coat of snow that has fallen the other night. It crunched under her feet as she watched her footsteps make a path, right next to a pair she had not seen prior. As she sat down on a board bench that was attached to the shed, she studied the footprints laid out before her like an atlas, inhumed in her own reverie when she heard someone approach. "Home already? Don't tell me you missed me so much, and felt bad, so you decided to come back?" She teased, as the shape rounded the corner before spotting Helena.

"Oh shit, sorry, you scared me, obviously I was expecting well, I'm sure he's having the time of his life. Remember when we used to do that?" Dolores said, trying to slow her hammering heart, "well maybe you do, I certainly don't, I think I've become boring... almost." Of course, she is certainly not counting their double lives as career criminals, but that is a thought she will circle back to if she has some more liquid courage in her. Also, she does not even know if she can even categorise herself as such anymore, since she spends more time at the travel agency than casing and planning. A few friends have offered her some jobs here and there, but nothing that piqued her notice enough.

"Or just old I guess?" She continued, "Ah anyway, what brings you out here? Did I steal your sulking spot?" She caught her lower lip with her front teeth as she tried to stop the smile from spreading. "Here, have a seat partna'," holding out her hand, Dolores stood up to help Helena down before she slipped on the ice, losing her footing and her grace, her body colliding with the ground and the weight of Helena being pulled on top of her. "Well that was very smooth of me," she commented, as she looked up at Helena, her eyes automatically catching the green and red plant garnishing the top of the shed. "Ugh, I knew I was getting old, my back is going to hurt tomorrow. But um, I remember now — Soren had come out here too, I was wondering who's footprints those were and you know, I knew he went out for a walk, I just did not know he did a little decorating himself." Her tongue trailed off when she came face to face with Helena, the moonlight casting its radiant rays to cover the other woman like a celestial figure. "Helena I..." Eyelids came fluttering to a close as her lips caught the other's in a soft kiss, the redhead's fingertips coming up to hold Helena's face.

@humangods

[rcppled-a]

INCORRECT QUOTES SERIES | @muttbyte

Hillory: Where is Lior?

Jie: Somewhere disappointing god.

[paladin-errant-leeroy]

//one murder boi in his natural environment.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Unspoken Fluff Starters

Giving them their coat: Scott & Penny

Clandestine

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Romance/Friendship Characters: Penelope, Scott

It wasn't that there would be a scandal if it got out, she just didn't want the world to know every detail of her relationships.

...Did I just write a romance fic? I think I did? That was unexpected, but it was where my muses jumped at this prompt, so here we are. I'm going to preface this by saying I am quite content with the canonical Pen&Ink ship, but I do find the idea of an earlier relationship with Scott (with an amicable end that has nothing to do with Gordon!) an interesting scenario to explore - people who have been following me a while may remember a teaser chapter I did earlier this year about Gordon finding out.

Ages in this fic are Penelope, 18, and Scott, 19. At this point, she's only met Scott and John out of the brothers. There is kissing but nothing more, although they are hormonal teenagers.

Unspoken Fluff Starters

Cashmere peacoat buttoned up tightly against the autumn chill, eighteen year old Lady Penelope accepted Parker’s assistance out of the car with all the elegance and grace expected of someone of her status. Her hair had been left loose, artfully styled to appear the smarter side of casual, yet also free enough to bounce back into position should anything ruffle it slightly during the evening.

The streets of Oxford were well-lit, yet simultaneously preserved the dark night skies above with their specially designed street lighting. It was something her good friend and course mate John Tracy approved of. Her heels – high stiletto because one did not mingle with certain Tracys without an extra couple of inches of height – clipped professionally against the worn street as she thanked Parker for his assistance and confidently made her way to her friend’s front door.

This was not an unusual occurrence, and the pale pink laptop tucked not quite fully into the handbag she was clutching would broadcast the same fact as always – after all, John was known to be the best in the year, and they had spent many evenings together going over material in his small flat since striking up a friendship. No casual observers would have any cause to consider this a different visit.

The doorbell was old, rather like the building John resided in, sounding out a sharp yet melodic trill for the duration she depressed it. A summons, one might call it, much like the servants’ bells hidden all through her estate. The sound was similar enough.

It worked just like one; seconds later the door was opened to reveal the Tracy she was there to visit.

Still, any observing masses must be appeased.

“Good evening,” she greeted, stepping across the threshold as though she owned the small flat, despite it being far below anything her social peers would ever consider possessing, “is your brother in?”

“He’s at the library, working on some assignment or other,” Scott told her, stepping out of her way seamlessly.

“Ah well,” she sighed, “I shall wait for him here, if that isn’t an inconvenience for you?” The way that blue eyes hadn’t looked away from her since the moment he opened the door told her that Scott was not at all inconvenienced by her presence.

Behind her, the door finally closed, the catch clicking into place and shutting out the outside world.

“Not at all,” Scott verbally assured her, holding out one hand. “May I take your coat, Lady Creighton-Ward?”

A childlike giggle bubbled up inside her at the formality, ruined only slightly by the way his gorgeous blue eyes glimmered in amusement, but she pushed it back down with all the experience that came with being one of the social elite heiresses.

“You may, Mr Tracy,” she responded, a little airily, as though talking to a servant – or at least a man below her standing, passing him her handbag to set down by the door before offering him her relaxed hand in greeting.

He needed no prompting to lightly grasp it and lift it to his lips, pressing a light ghost of a kiss to the back of it before stepping back so that she could strip her outermost layer. While tightly fastened, her peacoat was simple to unbutton and her deft fingers slipped the last one from its buttonhole before letting the material slip back off of her shoulders.

Scott caught it, standing a little too close behind her to be proper and brushing his hands down her arms entirely too improperly as he helped her shed it before hanging it on the coat stand that stood sentry by the door. The designer coat stood out starkly against the rugged navy denim on the hook next to it, and not just because of its pale pink colour.

The Tracy family might have money, but they rarely spent it on things such as clothes.

“May I escort you to the couch?” Scott offered her his arm, the sparkle in his eye extending to include a playful grin whispering at his mouth. He enjoyed the faux formality of their little arrangement, she knew – Penelope did, too, but she also hid it far better.

“Very well,” she said, slipping her hand daintily through the loop. “Escort me.”

Even with five inches of heels, he still towered over her as he guided her from the entryway to the sofa – barely any distance at all, and certainly not in something one could consider a separate room – before guiding her to take a seat.

On the television, a film was already poised to play. A timeless classic, an adaptation of Jane Austen at her finest literary peak, and one Penelope had seen many times before. Scott, she had learnt last week when they had planned this encounter, had never seen it.

A rectification was tonight’s plans, at least on the film front – provided Scott paid attention to it, rather than her.

He still hadn’t looked away from her since she’d arrived. Penelope was, of course, used to being the centre of attention, but there was something so very different about that attention when it came from her beau, rather than the rest of the world. There was no judgement in Scott’s gaze, no watchfulness as the eyes waited for her to commit a faux pas, and it was both refreshing and exhilarating.

Those watchful eyes possessed by the rest of the world would be full of glee should they ever learn that she was not quite as single as she pretended to be. Very few knew that she even knew John’s older brother, let alone that they often arranged dates behind closed doors.

John, her wonderful friend, understood her desire to keep tabloid suspicions away from her love life, and usually vacated his flat for the evening so that they could have somewhere private. Tonight, he had allowed them three hours before his return, which was plenty of time to watch the film and curl up scandalously close to Scott as it played. His warm, strong arm wrapped around her shoulders firmly as she let her body lightly brush against his, pulling her in close.

An equally strong hand delicately lifted her hand from where she had let it rest on her thigh, guiding it back up to his lips and leaving a firmer kiss to the skin.

“It’s good to see you again,” he murmured, not pulling back as he spoke and leaving little breaths of air to brush the back of her hand with every word. It took all of her self-control not to physically react to it.

After all, this was another of their little games – Scott liked to see if he could crack her Lady façade, and she took great pleasure in being on the receiving end of attempt after attempt.

“It is,” she agreed, leaving her hand where it lay in his grip. “We haven’t seen each other in too long.” That was the problem with living either side of the Atlantic, although she knew his visits to England had increased since their relationship had begun.

One day, she would have to make the journey out to Kansas, but for the time being there was no reason for her to be seen doing so.

“I missed you,” he whispered to her skin, the words caressing as they skipped over. His eyes were locked on hers, despite the way he was slightly bent over in order to reach her hand, and vibrant blue peeked up past dark eyelashes.

“One would hope so,” she replied, allowing the flicker of a smile to flash through her façade. A reward for his efforts. “I must admit company has been lacking in your absence.”

“Is that aristocracy speak for ‘I missed you, too’?” Scott asked, rather cheekily. His dimples sunk deep into his cheeks as the playful grin blossomed in full bloom. She resisted the urge to press the tip of a finger into the indent, at least for now.

They were too early into tonight’s performance for that level of intimacy just yet.

“That could be an interpretation,” she allowed, finally drawing her hand back to settle in her lap. “Now, are there refreshments to go along with the film?”

“Do I count?” came the immediate answer, complete with a flash of a grin that could only be described as flirtatious, before Scott continued with a more respectable response, gesturing with the arm not around her shoulders at the coffee table. It was piled high with snacks, ranging from cutely cut sandwiches in perfect triangles to bowls full of crisps. A selection of chocolates – casual, not the high-end she was used to being served – completed the feast. “Help yourself to whatever you want,” he told her.

“Thank you, I shall.” She selected a sandwich and took a dainty bite. It was soft and just the slightest bit chilled. Bought from a shop, or even specially ordered; certainly not made by the young man sat next to her, but she didn’t mind that at all. “Now, the film?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Scott promised her, shifting down a little on the sofa until his head wasn’t much above hers.

“I’m ready now.” With a demure gesture, she set the film to play.

It was, of course, a magnificent film. One of Penelope’s long-time favourites, she would never tire of watching it, and the alluring romantic growth of a young female aristocrat and a tall, dark and handsome suitor had featured in her daydreams many a time as a younger girl.

Her own tall, dark and handsome suitor’s attention was clearly divided throughout the film. He made a valiant attempt to watch it, but fingers trailed circular patterns on her arm and almost every time she could pull her own eyes away from the screen, it was to find those vibrant blues watching her as though it would be a crime to look away.

A lesser man might have tired of their game and made a move before the film ended, but even as the story reached its climatic peak, the most Scott had done was to lightly rest his head against hers, drawing her a little further into his hold. She’d gone willingly, the candid contact still a relatively new and exhilarating experience for her despite it remaining entirely free of inappropriate connotations.

It was as the end credits rolled that Scott made the daring leap into something a little more suggestive.

“You’ve got chocolate on your face, your Ladyship,” he told her, raising a finger to the very corner of his mouth as an indication. “Right here.”

Penelope hadn’t got food on her face since she was a very young girl at the start of her etiquette lessons, and was well aware that she had made no such mess this time, either. Still, she was willing to humour him, and raised a hand lightly to the indicated spot.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “Well, that simply won’t do. Please excuse me for a moment; I need to visit the bathroom.”

“No ne-”

Scott’s protest was interrupted by both of their phones vibrating in tandem. If it was simply one phone, they would have ignored it and carried on their charade, but both meant it could only be one person, and as their date was occurring entirely at his discretion, ignoring John would not be wise.

It was Scott’s phone they checked, and while logically Penelope knew that the film would have eaten up most of their time, it was still a shock to see how late the hour had got when the time flashed up. John’s message was simply confirmation.

I’ll be back in ten minutes. Be on your best behaviour when I get in.

Scott sighed, outwardly disappointed, and Penelope felt the same way, despite both of them knowing in advance about the arrangement. Time simply went by too fast.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose that puts an end to tonight’s advances. We shall have to continue this at a later date.”

“On the contrary,” Scott said, setting the phone aside and turning his full body to face her, “that means we have nine minutes left to play with tonight.”

She’d known he would say something along those lines; the glitter that had been present all evening had just begun to darken slightly before John’s message.

“And what could we do in nine minutes?” she asked, feigning cluelessness even though he was leaning forwards slightly, broadcasting his intent with every muscle in his body.

“I haven’t kissed you yet tonight,” came the charming American bluntness, although he softened it with a following, “may I?”

In answer, she once again presented him with her hand, which he grasped lightly and kissed the back of, dark blue eyes peering past his lashes to look up at her with a hopeful expression.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, breath caressing her skin lightly for the third time that evening. This time, she didn’t hold back her reaction, closing her eyes for a brief moment at the sensation.

“You’ve got eight and a half minutes left,” she told him by way of answer, reopening her eyes in time to see the permission register on his face in a dawn of unconcealed delight before he advanced.

In Penelope’s opinion, Scott made fantastic use of every single moment of those eight and a half minutes.

[austerulous]

◈   @umtplex​​ said:  ❛ 💖💕🧡⚔️🗡️😨 [ Leonhard @ Anri ]  💛🤝 [ Ludwig @ Maria ]  👔🤝💛 [ Yhorm @ Ciaran ] ❜  //  different types of relationships

—  anri and leonhard

— send 💖 for a sexual relationship between our muses that could turn romantic — send 💕 for mutual pining between our muses — send 🧡 for our muses to be friends that could develop into a romantic relationship — send ⚔️ for our muses to have a rivalry  — send 🗡️ for a one-sided rivalry/grudge by one muse to the other — send 😨 for one muse to be the bully of the other muse

Their dynamic is such a mess, and I love it.  I’m honestly so taken with the idea that sexual elements feed into their relationship before any romance.  It feels fitting given that their alliance is one of convenience, and ripe with tension and distrust.  From Anri’s perspective, the only men she has travelled with were her mentor and Horace (and Em’s Creighton) – none of whom she felt romantic or sexual attraction towards.  With Leonhard, it’s different.  Clearly. 😏

It has struck me time and again that although Anri bears a very real grudge against Rosaria’s Fingers – for the fate of Horace and others like him – the sheer horror of her youth makes their sins seem less grievous.  Cutting out the tongue of an able-bodied warrior isn’t the same as chowing down on an infant.  Horace was everything to Anri though, and her world became unbearably quiet when he was silenced. :’)

For all her judgement of Leonhard, she tries to measure him by first-hand experience, by his treatment of her.  Sure he’s a bit of a bully, but Anri will always look for the good in him, for a gift in his brutal directness.  The violence inherent to him is tolerable as long as she is immune – and she desperately wants to be immune, to feel that she is something other, something more.  Anri comes to trust that she is, enough that she learns to turn her back to him, to sleep beside him.  There is genuine care there, a tentative kind of friendship.  Leonhard becomes someone she wants to spend time with, not out of necessity but out of choice.  She longs for his company, and misses him when they are apart.  Don’t tell anyone, but Anri would 1000% step into the path of a great arrow to keep her short king safe.

—  maria and ludwig

— send 💛 for our muses to be friends — send 🤝 for our muses to be partners that work together

I still maintain their dynamic can be summarised as –

Maria:  :( Ludwig:  Hi. Maria:  :)

Okay, so as I understand the Healing Church Hunters came to the peak of their power and renown as the Workshop and original Hunters were declining in number and influence, but I need to say – Maria has a world of respect and admiration for Ludwig.  He represents true chivalry and gallantry, a movement to empower the people of Yharnam and grant them the weaponry and training to improve their odds against the beasts.  His intentions are golden, he is golden, and Maria sees that.  Honestly, he gives her some measure of hope, some faith in the generation that will come after her and Gehrman.  I would love for them to hunt together, to forge a friendship that stretches from the days of the hunt to Maria’s final days in the Research Hall.  I imagine Ludwig is a joy to be around, someone warm and well-meaning.  I will never get over the fact that his dawn comes as the sun sets on Maria, but I know we will make the most of the time they have together.

—  ciaran and yhorm

— send 👔 for one muse to work for the other muse — send 💛 for our muses to be friends — send 🤝 for our muses to be partners that work together

Ciaran would die for one (1) gentle giant.  I still adore the foundation we’ve set for these two!  Yhorm is a kindly guy, but his smol friend is kind of a bitch abshdh.  At least he need never get his hands dirty, because this sassy assassin is here to do it for him. 😌  

I’m sure there will be occasional contention, because Ciaran wants to turn anyone who gives him a hard time into a pin cushion (it can be tricky to walk the line between professional and personal) but at the end of the day she has a great deal of respect for his intelligence and compassion – and he is her lord, his word and wishes will always carry weight.  I know I’ve said it before but he reminds her of Gough, and all humour aside it genuinely wounds her to see him treated with mistrust by the people he cares for. 🥺