#darling pretty writes

[darling--pretty]

Happy Holidays and Steggy Secret Santa times. @tragicallywicked! I apologize for being so late-- I had really hoped to get this all out in one big oneshot, but I hope you'll find some cheer in extending the holiday magic!

You said you wanted to just live in the post-Endgame bliss and I hope I delivered... Have a wonderful New Year!

[scara-writes]

orange juice

Beta Female Reader x Y! Omega Male

Beta X Omega I rarely seen those so why not. Let us make it more spicy by making the lead yandere. I still don't understand some concept in omegaverse so... I'm gonna make my own rule lol.

Just a heads up, grammatically errors incoming. Not proof read. Anything that is in this fiction does not meant to offend anyone. That is why it's called fiction.

CW: yandere, cursing, mention of killing.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

(THIS IS REPOST BECAUSE I REALIZED THAT SIDE BLOGS HAS LIMITED ACCESS SO I MADE A NEW ACCOUNT ;∆;)

"H-hello!" You turn around to see a familiar face visiting your spa. His pretty purple eyes were eccentric the way it brightened up when he saw you acknowledging him. It's the pretty boy you've saved last week from being pick on by the Alphas.

He was surprised that a beta like you actually didn't get intimidated by the presence of them. Well technically you did, but you pretended to be a police officer showing your fake badge and that 'back-up' is on their way to apprehend them when you noticed they were not buying your bluff at first, thankfully the Alphas that were hovering on him retreated. It was kinda funny they weren't intimidated by you until you held out a fake badge that could get them in trouble by their own law.

That idea was dumb but most people always fell for your trick, though you might get in trouble someday for the false identity which is why you only use it for emergency. Long story short, your aunt taught you this for survival in this dog water society.

At first, the pink haired male glared at you, you could careless about him since you were getting annoyed by the fact that they are giving a ruckus outside your spa and its driving away your customers. You don't want your boss finding out about this. The Alpha who guards outside the house is still taking care of his wife, so all the responsibility falls onto you the only beta employee present the rest are omegas because the other betas and alphas employees has different schedule. You were the 'strongest' among the employees inside.

You stare at the omega for a second.

The heck did you do? Why's he glaring at you?

You mentally shrugged before turning around to go back to your shop, not waiting for him to whether or not he should thank you.

A sudden angry shout from him made you pause from your tracks, "You are the same as those men earlier! I-I don't need you to save me!"

You turn to him with a deadpan look. "What are you on about?"

"Y-you think omega's are powerless and need to be protected, that's why you saved me, right?!" You can see he was quivering a little bit, his eyes are starting to show disgust look towards you. "Y-you think we don't need a jobs or—or we just need to sit still and look pretty—to be use like an incubator!" You can feel in his voice that his emotions must have been bubbling out seeing that his talk is becoming incoherent.

You scratched your head and sigh irritation, "Calm down dude. First of all, that is how Alphas that are 'leading' the society viewed omegas which is bullcrap and I don't believe in that, People who thinks like that need to check their brains in the nearby hospital. Also, I believe everyone can be independent and take care of themselves long as they can, I could careless about what the society says they can't control my life. True, omegas may be weak in nature against others but that doesn't mean all of them are weak or they are only used to look pretty for giving an offspring, they can be independent too if they wanted to. Second, you probably know how to handle them seeing you are very composed earlier but this loud noise is giving me a headache and my customers are leaving because how noisy it was. Now, If I offend you in someway well then I apologize. Bye." You gave him a small lazy wave before turning away not waiting for his response, quickly strolling back to your parlor.

So here he was, late at night. You in a closing hours shift since you are the only masseuse left in the parlor on work except your friend who was waiting for you in the employees room clock out for the work and playing, from the game he just downloaded in his app called something impact. Gin san impact? Gone wrong impact? Whatever it was you were hooked when you saw it earlier and will probably download it once you got home.

"Ah yes, welcome." You acknowledge him, awkwardly. You didn't expect him to meet you on your work. He trudges towards you requesting for service menu. You quickly handed him the said item on what were on the lists of your parlor was offering for customers, telling him to sit down while he read the list of services. He skims around the menu for a few seconds before pointing at the service list and you wrote it down; Shockingly, you witness the stranger you met a week ago was going for too many services.

"Oh umm... We are 2 hours closing in. So I think I can only do the first three." You told him. He gave you an 'oh' before agreeing he will try the others the next time when he visits.

"Do you have a partner?"

He was surprised at your sudden question. So you cleared your throat."It's.... In our protocol to ask our customers...and We know that it is personal question."

You can tell he was weirded out but he told you he doesn't have one. You muttered alright and went ahead to take the menu from him. You put them back on the rack as you walk pass him to put the sign close from the glass entrance before going to a cabinet to carry a towel and some thin white cloth for him to change. You wrote his room number and guide him to his room.

He stood up and follows you.

Through out the walk you can feel him staring at your move, making you feel a little tense as the walk in the hallway of doors feels like forever.

You twisted the knob before letting yourself inside first. He smiles at you and walk inside, you gave him the items you brought earlier telling him to change and knock on the door when he is ready.

That's weird, last time you met him. He was very resentful and now he was being smiley and friendly to you. You don't mind at least he was tolerating you for now.

You closed the door behind you putting on surgical mask since some others weren't comfortable smelling their pheromones.

You heard a knock and a small 'I'm ready' and you go in.

He was sitting down. His top were bare, abs were shown on his frame except for his lower part since it was covered by the thin cloth you gave earlier, you can definitely see how smooth his skin was—no scars just a little bruise on his left thigh which is something you definitely won't asked, you quickly look anywhere before he catches you staring at him. The towel were neatly folded along the clothes he wore earlier at the other table.

The pink haired omega was looking at you and he did caught you staring but you don't know that. A small smile escape on his lips. You cleared your throat and lit up three incense candles for relaxation and turn on a relaxing music, you went on the other side of the room where the sink was and washed your hands, sanitizing it using your own towel. You look back at him to see that he was still gazing towards you. He was still sitting, you assumed this must be his first time going to a spa or massage parlor since he should be already laying on his stomach or he must be waiting for you to give him an order since he ask for three different types of session. "You should lay on your stomach so we could start now."

"Why are you wearing a mask?"

You stop applying oil on your hand at his question before resuming again. "...both parties might not be comfortable when a pheromones were smelled."

"Oh."

There was a silence between the two of you.

"I'm going to start now." He nodded, doing what you'd asked earlier and close his eyes. The small round stones were place on his spinal before proceeding on messaging him with your oily hands.

The first few minutes were the same awkward atmosphere except for the jazzy music on the background, Both of your hand slides to his shoulders, wrapping around and gave a small squeeze. You hear him whimper.

"S-sorry!" You shrugged his apologize saying that is normal for customers.

"I umm didn't say thank you when you saved me last week..."

He continued,"sorry for bothering you with your customers."

"Don't mention it. I actually didn't plan on going outside if it weren't for my coworkers since like I mentioned last time you can handle them pretty well." You bit your tongue inside since you don't know how to talk back when someone compliments you or apologize to you. You only wanted to let him know that

He must have noticed that so he continued, "...I didn't catch your name earlier."

You answered him,"It's (Y/n)..."

"(Y/n)." The way your name rolled on his voice makes your body feel a little bit weird.

"(Y/n), huh.. that's a weird name for a beta." You blink at him before chuckling at him. "You're weird. It's a normal name."

He giggled. "My names Luke."

"Your name doesn't suits you." You teased him before telling him to turn around so you can do second session.

He obliged scoffing at you as he lay back down on his back. "H-hey! Luke is pretty cool name."

"I never said it wasn't, I said it doesn't suit you."you gave him a smirk which he pouts. He look cute when he did that.

"The badge you'd shown were fake wasn't it?"

Ah shit, someone noticed it. No use of hiding it then.

"..uhh..yeah, I use it only if things goes out of hands."

The two of you talk for a bit laughing resuming the second session until it was time for his third and final session which is to massage his face.

"Is this your first time... Ummm..doing service for omegas?" His voice were small but you didn't notice he was anticipating at your answer. You hummed thoughtfully before answering. "Hmmm.. not really... I get omegas as my clients but I guess I would say this is the first time that I could finish my sessions with them."

He seemed confused which made you continue, "Ummm... Most partners of theirs were jealous and would almost instantly attack us, telling us that we shouldn't touch them, but we know that we were only doing our job as masseuse so. Of course, the customers paid us of any injuries or damage properties as well as others, we don't blame them, and it was starting to get out of hand.... Since, we don't have any other choice, we hired an Alpha to stop any ruckus. I would lie if I said I don't want to hit one of my clients' unreasonable partners."

"Oh..." You noticed his reaction when he got your question earlier about his status.

"He already went home though. He excused himself just earlier, his spouse needed him so we let him go now." You tell him. He must have realized there was no guard around earlier. Just you at the receptionist counter.

".. What's your thought about Alphas?"

"nothing much, regardless how some of them are uhh... unreasonable when it comes to greed. I'm pretty sure not all of them are all like that."

He didn't respond but you caught him rolling his eyes before closing them. He muttered something but you didn't quite catch it.

You slide and pressure your oily hands on his, you heard a purring, making you look around the room in confusion. Was there a cat somewhere?

You scan your eyes around the room for a bit more only to register that it was actually coming from him.

A little heat coming from your cheeks but you squash it down the feeling as it was inappropriate, it was good thing you were wearing a mask before he can see your reaction.

You didn't do anything about it and continue your work. Luke on the other hand felt euphoric, your hands were doing the God's work. He hasn't tell you what he felt when you save him from the bunch of alpha's trying to court him. He was grateful—no, he wasn't grateful; he was lightened up the fact you view omegas like a normal person and not dehumanising or infantilize them—considering you are a beta and has nothing to do with omega but still! He just felt happy that he wasn't the only one who has that kind of perspective.

You cleaned him up with a towel, you noticed his eyes were half dazed as if he was relaxed, you told him that he can now change back, as you blew off the candle and turn off the jazz music, washing your hands again and drying it off with your own towel. You put the other materials back to where they belong and look at the timer to see you over time. You opened the door and twisting it open to see your friend/co-worker.

He was pouting.

The pink haired male saw him through the doorway before you close the door behind you, and starts talking with your friend. His purple eyes realise he was an omega.

He felt a little pang from his chest.

"Hey, I thought you said you are going to clock out once it hits midnight~!" Tyrenn whined out. He tried to help you carry the items you were holding but you refused as the both of you struts back to the employees room, "He's the last customer."

You threw the towel and the cloth at the hamper before stretching yourself up. "Man, I'm tired." He threw you a bottle of orange juice and you catch it, twisting the cap open and drink a little bit before clocking out of work. You grab your bag and change at the changing room with your casual wear and goes outside from the employees room only with your co-worker. He tells you that you're gonna be excited on what he discovered on the game he played earlier while the both of you starts trudging at the main lobby where the counter was.

Luke was waiting, his eyes brightened up when you arrived. he waited to give you his money but your friend who was clinging at you took it from him, thanking him for accepting your service, putting them at the cash register before locking it.

He lick his dry his lips before turning to you, "Umm...thanks again. The service was great. I-I'll see you next time. It was nice meeting you." He smelled the scent of orange juice that you were holding. It was half full, there were some in the corner of your lips.

Tyrenn grabbed the bottle from your hand and you let him drink it as you start conversing with your last customer.

You nod at him, noticing he was a little taller than you. "Likewise. Should I call you a taxi? It's already past midnight."

He shook his head, smiling. "No it's fine! I live few blocks away from here." He put his left hand on his pocket while the other one was slowly pulling the glass door where he comes in.

"Oh, Be careful. I just heard that there was a serial killer roaming around this time at night killing Alphas. That doesn't mean you should be careless about it. You might never know when the killer change their mind on killing the others." You warned him. The pink haired male nodded again, smiling even more when you're worried for his safety. Tyrenn waved him a goodbye before talking to you again about the game he played earlier as he clings even more to your arms. Luke's eyes slightly twitches at the scene.

"Yes, yes I will! Thank you again!" He walked out of the parlor smiling. When he is few blocks away from the spa, his smile disappear.

He might change his mind on killing your friend though.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

want more of him? Tap here

[ofgunsandlipstick]

Rating: G Relationships: Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanoff Chapters: 3/27 Summary: It’s an old song. It’s a sad song. But we sing it anyway…Steve journeys to the Underworld to save his love. And the world.

[xbomboi]

hello Ever After High tumblr community, i humbly request your attention briefly.

so basically, i have a lot of Ever After High ideas clogging my head, ranging from misc. concepts, to plans for entire storylines/arcs. (this includes world building regarding both what we’ve already seen and what we haven’t yet seen, character arcs and development, fairytales and fairytale characters we have yet to actually meet onscreen, etc.)

i doubt anyone cares that much, but i have this vision for how the rest of the Ever After High story (in the tv continuity) would go. i have tentative plans to write this continuation using the 4 episode per story arc format that eah later switched to, while staying in line with the tone and writing style of the specials/webisodes so that it feels like it could naturally work as an official, canon continuation of the series, all while still telling a compelling narrative.

currently i have a rough outline for the first four-episode story arc that i’ve come up with (though i still have a few things i wanna workshop with it) written out. (side note: i typically write the finished draft of stuff in screenplay format, so the rough outline is written with eventually being transferred into that format in mind.)

i just wanted to post this to see if there’s any actual, palpable interest in this at all. and because my friends think i’m insane for keeping my work to myself & the select few people i’ve chosen to show it to as opposed to publicly sharing it because they at least think it’s good enough to be shown off.

so, yeah, just putting this out there incase there are people who wanna know more. i’d be willing to share the aforementioned rough outline i’ve written.

tldr; i want to write—and finish—the story of Ever After High.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

This or That Gothic Edition Snippet 21- Portrait Gallery

Inspired by my answers for this post by @blackrosesandwhump!  

Whumpee followed Whumper through their mansion, taking in the sight with awe.

“Your home is beautiful, Whumper,” Whumpee said.

“Thank you,” Whumper said warmly, “I had been wanting to invite you for some time, but I still had to finish my portrait gallery.”

As Whumper spoke, they opened a pair of ornate doors to a long hallway. On the walls were several paintings, each more detailed than the last. Whumpee’s heart slowly dropped to their stomach when they noticed what they all had in common.

“Whumper…” they started, “why are all these paintings of me?”

Whumper’s hand came to rest on their shoulder.

“Because you are perfect, my little muse,” Whumper purred in their ear, “and now that I have you, my work can only improve.”

Whumpee opened their mouth to argue, but a sharp pinch in their neck turned their would-be sentence into a pained yelp.

“Forgive me, Whumpee,” Whumper said softly, “but I’ve been preparing for this for too long for you to slip out of my grasp now.”

Whumpee’s breathing came in short and fast. They stumbled out of Whumper’s grip and whirled around to face them.

“You’re not…keeping me…here,” Whumpee said with great effort.

Whumpee tried to run back to the doors, but their knees buckled after two steps. Whumper caught them quite easily.

“Shh,” they soothed, “it’s going to be alright. I promise you, you’ll love it here.”

Whumpee couldn’t find the energy to argue, or even struggle. Their eyes fluttered shut and they drifted off just as Whumper began to carry them out of the gallery.

Patreon

Ko-Fi

Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

[lieutenantselnia]

Some design ideas for a vampire au🖤 Originally it was @princessofthornsandroses who suggested me an alternative universe where Doofenshmirtz is a vampire, and now we've started to come up with some concepts for a little story where Selina meets this version of him^^

I started sketching these some time ago and finally got around to clean them up! I used different sources as inspiration and references, like different vampire designs from movies, costumes, and (gothic) victorian outfits. I still stuck to Heinz' original colour palette for the most part, but also wanted him to look different. Character design is not my strongest side in art unfortunately (my highest respect to people who are able to come up with intricate designs and details idk how y'all do that🥲), but this was still fun :)

I think I like the version without the coat more, I still wanted him to have a coat to resemble his original look more and because the outfit didn't feel entirely complete without it, but tbh I feel like it's lacking some epicness😅 But I think he looks very handsome in that vest🥰

Versions without the cape under the cut (though I like the one's with more, capes just make anyone look cooler xD)

[write-it-motherfuckers]

[lunarharp]

little bit of modern au (SPOILERS for the zelda game.)

[kit-walk3r]

Let the Bad Spirits Go Free (Tate Langdon)

Blood holds all the bad spirits. Maybe Tate should try and let those spirits go free.

Warning: heavy trigger warning for self harm and blood, mentions of canon gun violence

Note: I was rewatching Murder House and Tate’s dialogue about bad spirits in the blood made me think that perhaps Tate’s past self harm was linked to that so I sort of came up with this. Please read with caution

The Indians believed that blood holds all the bad spirits. Once a month in ceremonies they would cut themselves to let the spirits go free. There’s something smart about that. Very smart. I like that.

- - -

Tate was only ten the first time he did it. He didn’t remember why he did it. He just remembered one day finding the blades in the bathroom cabinet when looking for something. They probably belonged to whoever his mother’s fling at the time was. He found them and, for some reason, used them. Tate didn’t understand why. Maybe it was because he missed his dad. Maybe it was because he missed the nice blonde lady who saved him from the monster. Maybe it was because his mom didn’t seem to love him.

He only did it the once, finding himself quite sensitive to the pain. He cried after he did it. When his mother surprisingly noticed the new cut on his arm Tate lied and said the neighbour's cat scratched him. None of their neighbours even had a cat, but Constance did not question it, and instead just gave him a band aid.

Tate never thought about it again until a few years later. Fourteen, perhaps. Or maybe it was fifteen. He liked to read, and he was reading a book on Indians when he came across a certain passage about bad spirits. According to the book a person’s blood held bad spirits, and to let those spirits free the Indians would cut themselves in ceremonies. That stuck with Tate. He often found himself thinking back to it. It sounded smart to him, it made sense.

Of course, it wasn’t long after that when the bad thoughts started plaguing Tate. It started with dreams, dreams that would wake him up, anxious and sweating, at three in the morning. In the dream he could see himself in the school hallway, dressed head to toe in black, with everyone staring at him as he walked by. He ignored all of their gazes, marching through the school as if he were on a strict mission. He reached a classroom and let himself in, all of his classmates looking up as he made his entrance. The teacher scowled at him. “Can I help you?” She asked. Then suddenly, Tate had a gun in his hand and openfired.

Then he woke up.

All he could see in his head was the blood splatter, his teacher and classmates dropping to the floor. The sounds of their cries. The begging.

Tate placed his hands over his ears as if that would be able to drown out the voices in his head. He clenched his eyes shut, feeling the burn of tears trying to escape. He couldn’t make it stop. The screams, the blood, the bodies. He couldn’t stop hearing it, couldn’t stop seeing it.

Bad spirits.

Tate’s eyes unclenched and opened as he remembered what he had read in the library a couple of months ago. His hands uncovered his ears.

Bad spirits. Cut. Set free.

Perhaps that’s what this was. Bad spirits. Maybe his blood was infected with bad spirits. Maybe he just needed to set them free.

Tate switched on his bedside lamp and turned to rummage through the set of drawers that resided next to his bed. He looked for something he could use to set the spirits free, something, anything, that would be sharp enough to save him. He couldn’t find anything, and let out a frustrated sigh. He needed to get rid of these bad spirits.

Suddenly he remembered: razor blades. Not long ago Constance had come home with a variety of things to help Tate ‘ease into manhood’, now that he was starting high school. Amongst her gift package was a pack of razor blades.

Tate shot out of bed and headed to the bathroom where he was sure he left the package. He tiptoed across the hallway, careful not to wake Addie since he knew she was a light sleeper. Once inside he gently closed the bathroom door and locked it for extra security before opening the cabinet above the sink. Bingo. Sure enough on the top shelf sat a little cardboard box. Tate grabbed it and rummaged through the box, looking for his coveted item. There they were, tucked away at the bottom. After taking them out the box was placed back in the cabinet and the door was shut.

On the cabinet hung a mirror, and Tate took a deep look at himself. His hair was damp from sweat and was stuck to his forehead. His eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed from crying. There were dark circles forming underneath his eyes.

Bad spirits.

Tate looked away from his haunted reflection and moved his attention to the small packet he now held in his hands. Without hesitation he tore open the packet and pulled out one of the blades before gently balancing the rest on the sink. He rolled up the sleeve of his pyjama shirt, barely taking note of the pale line that already occupied his wrist.

Maybe this will cleanse me, Tate thought as he stared at the blade. Maybe this will set my bad spirits free.

Taking a deep breath, Tate ran the blade across his wrist. He winced at the sting, but was mesmerised by the stark contrast of red against his pale skin. He watched as blood trickled down his arm and dripped onto the white porcelain of the sink, letting out a sigh of relief. His bad spirits were gone. He cleaned up his wrist, put the open packet back in the box, wiped away any excess blood and went back to bed as if nothing had happened.

He was surprisingly rather chipper the next morning. He joked with Addie at the breakfast table and even offered his mother a sort of smile. He was better now. All the bad spirits were gone.

Until he had the same dream again a couple of nights later.

Tate woke up with a jolt and a gasp, the same images from the previous night flashing through his mind, only more intense. The cries were getting louder, the blood getting thicker. He covered his ears and cried, just like last time.

His eyes caught sight of the cut across his wrist and with no hesitation he was heading towards the bathroom, same process as last time: lock the door, get the blade out of the cabinet and decorate his skin with another red line. He cleaned up and went back to his room, only this time he took the packet with him and tucked it away in his underwear drawer.

He had the dream again a week later. After a couple of nights nightmare free Tate was convinced that it had worked, that he had freed the bad spirits from his blood and that he was clean. But no, it happened again and Tate once again took a blade to his wrist, only this time in the comfort of his own bedroom.

The bad thoughts were getting louder. The dream wouldn’t go away, no matter how many times Tate hurt himself, and he was starting to get the intrusive thoughts during the day as well as in his sleep.

He got into an argument with his mother one day. It wasn’t unusual for Tate to get angry at Constance but this time it felt like more than anger. It was a Saturday afternoon and Tate was sat with Beau, rolling his red ball to him whilst he read a book. It was a comfortable silence, with the occasional laugh from Beau, until Constance shouted for Tate to come downstairs.

Tate hadn’t washed the dishes from breakfast. “I asked you to do one thing, Tate,” Constance scolded. “One! Wash the damn dishes. Is that really that hard?”

Tate just shrugged.

“I don’t ask much from you, Tate,” Constance continued. “But it would be nice if you could just listen and help around here once in a while instead of being holed up in your damn room.”

“I was with Beau,” Tate argued.

“Beau, Beau, Beau,” Constance ranted. “Stop using your brother as an excuse for not doing as you’re damn well told.”

Tate’s fists clenched at his sides as his mother continued to scold him for simply forgetting to do the dishes. His gaze was hard and jaw locked as he watched her wave her arms around. He couldn’t even hear what she was saying now, her voice drawn out into a dull ringing sound. Anger surged through him.

Do it, a voice echoed in his head suddenly.

Tate turned and ran up the stairs to his room without a second thought. He could faintly hear Constance call out after him but he ignored her as he slammed his bedroom door shut and fell down onto the floor, back resting against it, as he began to cry.

Do what? Tate didn’t want to know. Subconsciously he had a perfect idea of what the voice wanted him to do but he desperately tried to suppress it. The scariest thing? The voice Tate heard in his head was his own.

Tate struggled to calm down, his breathing erratic. His hands gripped and tugged his dirty blonde hair as he tried to clear his mind from any negative thoughts.

Bad spirits bad spirits bad spirits.

Tate was up and rummaging through his underwear drawer for his safety packet. Within seconds he held one of the blades in his hand and, like clockwork, brought it against his skin. He’d grown accustomed to the pain now, and didn’t even flinch as he opened up another wound.

“Please, please, please,” he muttered as he watched the blood begin to trickle down his arm, desperate for the bad thoughts to go away. Whatever his thoughts wanted him to do they wanted him to do it to his mother and that was terrifying. Yes, he and his mother had a very rocky relationship, but to want to hurt her in a way that was making him feel this fearful? Tate just wanted the bad spirits to go away.

Obviously they didn’t, if bad spirits even existed. Things only got worse.

- - -

The Indians believed that blood holds all the bad spirits. Once a month in ceremonies they would cut themselves to let the spirits go free. There’s something smart about that. Very smart. I like that.

Tate liked it, but it didn’t work.

•———•

This was pretty dark and heavy, I do apologise. Thank you for reading though!

[darling--pretty]

I got bored yesterday and reread the very first Steggy story ever wrote and y'all... I personally think I kind of snapped on this one.

[emikomusubi]

People might watch opm and think woah genos is a bit intense haha. But dont worry! Watching special episode 1 will reveal that he is much worse

[blindmagdalena]

Are u in any other fandoms or would write for other characters?

not really. homelander is the first character i've written fic for in like, 7 years, and the first character i ever did x reader for. however! i did just make a sneaky little sideblog ( @ghoulgalore ) because i intend on taking a crack at writing some ghoul/fallout content. i'd be curious to know what other characters people are interested in seeing from me, though. c:

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Pls tell me you plan to continue with the puppet in shnez because the reactions of dotorre and scara would be priceless

"What about my puppet? Ain't they cute? Too bad, mine, hands off"

Ahh, fluffy monthman soothes my heart everytime

well if you insist ;) (honestly i really should make a fully written piece for puppet reader)

i feel like Childe would take you everywhere, even though you're nowhere near as high ranked as he is. it's pretty cute to see one of the Harbingers running around with his favorite agent, tugging you along by the hand so you don't get lost, and it's even better when the agents catch a glimpse of the soft smile he always sends your way a glint of light in his normally deadened eyes. you often overwork yourself despite Childe's insistence that you shouldn't, but you're a simple puppet, and it's worth it if you get to relax in the arms of Foul Legacy after all of your tasks are done

Foul Legacy is quite protective, but he has to be, since you're the type to go right up to Il Dottore and stick your hand out to shake- which you HAVE done, by the way, like you were meeting a new friend. Dottore thinks you're hilarious and wants to study you, while Childe is desperately trying to keep you safe from both him and Scaramouche, since the shorter Harbinger seems to hate your very existence. a bit of Foul Legacy always slips out whenever Childe pulls you away from either of them, a low, nearly inaudible hiss slipping from his lips before he ushers you into his room for snuggles. you're not really sure why he's so grumpy whenever he sees Scaramouche or Dottore, but hey, grumpy Childe means he lets Foul Legacy out for consoling pets!! and after years of traveling with him you give the BEST pets, and soon enough Foul Legacy flops into your lap with a purr, content at last

[queenlucythevaliant]

Professor Kirke remained at the small dining table after the last of the dishes had been cleared away, puffing clouds on his pipe. It was strange, thought Lucy: he had a faraway look in his eyes, as though some tiny aspect of his reality had shifted over dinner and he was struggling to accommodate it.

“I wonder what he’s thinking about,” murmured Lucy to the others. Edmund shrugged and Eustace (who had only met the professor that night) said nothing, but Peter chuckled merrily and patted Lucy on the arm.  

“You’ll find out soon enough, that’s certain. He got that look in his eye when you were talking about the Island of Dreams, Lu. No doubt he’ll call you into his study for a lesson later on.”

It was a little more than a week later that Peter’s prediction came true. Professor Kirke seated himself across his desk from Lucy with an enormous tome of poetry spread out before him. “Have you heard The Rime of the Ancient Mariner?” he inquired.

Lucy shook her head. Yet rather than muttering about the state of the schools as she had expected, Professor Kirke simply smiled beneath his whiskers and began to declaim:

“It is an ancient Mariner /And he stoppeth one of three —"

Lucy leaned back in her seat and fixed her attention on the words as best she could. Once, she’d spoken in such a register as queen of Narnia, but now she was only a girl of ten and unaccustomed to the flowery language of Romantic poetry.

“At length did cross an Albatross,

Thorough the fog it came—”

“Oh!” cried Lucy. “Is that why you wanted me to hear this poem?”

“Just so,” the professor replied. “Your account of the Island where Dreams Come True bears a marked resemblance to The Rime, beginning with the presence of the albatross. In this poem, the albatross bears a symbolic connection to Jesus Christ himself.”

“How peculiar!”

“I thought so too. Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote this poem in 1797, in a time when sea voyages to the polar regions were very much like your own voyage to the end of the world. The albatross had only lately been described in writing, but he wrote it coming out of the desolate fog to guide sailors to safety. And Coleridge was a neo-Platonist! Fog and ice are very much like darkness, the way he uses them here.”

“A neo-Platonist?” Lucy asked, wrinkling her nose.

And now came the Professor’s customary muttering. “Yes. What do they teach in these schools? You may read darkness and fog both in Coleridge as something between ignorance and innocence, with the Sun as a symbol of Reason. Does that make sense?”

“A little,” said Lucy, who privately didn’t think it made much sense at all but was eager for the professor to continue the poem.

“It ate the food it ne'er had eat,

And round and round it flew.

The ice did split with a thunder-fit;

The helmsman steered us through!”

Lucy hadn’t meant to interrupt again so soon, but the words were out of her mouth before she was really aware that she’d spoken them. “So it really is just like in Narnia! It guides the ship out of the ice like my Albatross guided us out of the darkness.”

“Yes.” Professor Kirke was entirely unperturbed by the interruption. “Precisely.”

“How lovely. Isn’t it interesting how you just know when birds are trustworthy?”

The professor chuckled. “You may change your mind in a few stanzas. Shall I go on?”

“Please.”

Lucy returned to her concentration as the mariner recounted how a good wind had sprung up after the Albatross and how it had stayed with the ship and perched on the mast sometimes for evening prayers. Yet the mariner must have looked unhappy, for the groom interrupted to ask him why.

“With my cross-bow/ I shot the albatross.” Professor Kirke paused here in his telling and looked very hard at Lucy.

It took her a long moment to understand. “The albatross isn’t dead, is he?”

“He is.”

“I thought you said he was like Aslan.”

“And didn’t you see Aslan die?”

Lucy opened her mouth, but closed it a moment later. Open again, “But why did the mariner kill him? Doesn’t he give any reason? The witch killed Aslan because she was evil and trying to conquer Narnia. Why would the mariner kill the albatross when it’s done nothing but help him?”

“Perhaps,” the professor replied, “the Gospels are a simpler comparison here. ‘I shot the albatross’ has the same kind of blunt irrefutability as ‘And they crucified him.’ There isn’t any excuse, which I think makes the confession all the more powerful.”

Lucy sighed. It was exhausting trying to keep this all straight. “I suppose that makes a kind of sense. But then we’re trying to think on three different levels of parallel—the poem, the Bible and Narnia—which isn’t very pleasant.”

“And yet, it’s necessary if one wishes to understand deeper meanings. We can pause for tea, if you’d like?”

“No, that’s alright. I think I’m keeping track well enough for now. I say though, is this what you do with Peter all day?”

The question seemed to catch Professor Kirke off guard, for he let out a sudden, loud burst of laughter as soon as Lucy asked it. “Yes, after a manner of speaking. Shall we go on?”

“Ah! well a-day! what evil looks

Had I from old and young!

Instead of the cross, the Albatross

About my neck was hung.”

It was a difficult thing to imagine and Lucy wondered if Aslan’s albatross was unusually large. Aslan was always bigger than she expected him to be, so it would not be strange if he took the form of an unusually large albatross. Yet the more Lucy considered, the more sense the image made.

“It must have been at least three meters,” said Lucy. “The albatross, I mean. Mine was more like four, from wingtip to wingtip. It would be a dreadful weight, but I suppose that’s the point. The mariner can’t carry it, can he?”

“I think you’re right,” said Professor Kirke.

A smile tugged at Lucy’s cheeks. It was lovely to hear the professor give such an unequivocal endorsement of her analysis. Galvanized by the success, she continued, “I thought of a cross when my albatross appeared out of the darkness. There’s something in the proportion of the body to the wings, and in its stillness of it as it glides through the air. My albatross tore away the darkness. But here—it’s like the mariner carries his albatross like he thinks that act can save him from what he’s done.”

There was a glittering in the old professor’s eyes then, and suddenly Lucy realized that she wasn’t struggling with the poem’s language anymore. Maybe it was because she’d been listening to it for the better part of ten minutes, but privately she wondered if Narnia’s magic might be working on her somehow. Perhaps this poem contained some quality of the rich Narnian air.

“I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;

But or ever a prayer had gusht,

A wicked whisper came, and made

My heart as dry as dust.”

Lucy shut her eyes and remembered the fighting-top of the Dawn Treader. The night-mare life-in-death was a black abyss, and all her own nightmares had been there in it. There had been monsters, of course, and the idea that even if she ran down to stand beside Edmund he might become a monster himself. But somewhere in all that dark, there was a Lucy who never spoke to Aslan again. She’d imagined herself in Lord Rhoop’s place, trapped forever in a state of endless fear-without-courage, because she could not call him.

“That was my night-mare too,” she whispered. “Not being able to pray.”

She saw the professor’s lips thin beneath his whiskers and wondered at it. “You’re wiser than you have any right to be,” he murmured. “Ten years old and your greatest nightmare is alienation from God. What a marvel you’ll be when you’re grown.”

Well then. Lucy didn’t have any notion what to say to that. She half expected that if she tried to reply, she might start crying.

“Might I ask—what did you do then? Until the albatross arrived, once you realized that you couldn’t pray. How did you react?”

And that was a question she could answer.

“But I could pray! I did. I whispered, ‘Aslan, if you ever loved us at all, send us help now.’ And that was when the albatross came. I didn’t talk about it after—it was too much my own for me to share it, really—Edmund knows—but well…”

The professor made a sort of choked noise in his throat. “Perhaps it was the only nightmare that the island couldn’t bring true.”

“But there have been times,” continued Lucy, “when my heart was too dry to speak with Aslan. There were whole years when I was queen that he didn’t come at all.”

It was with a much softer voice that Professor Kirke resumed his reading.

“A spring of love gushed from my heart,

And I blessed them unaware:

Sure my kind saint took pity on me,

And I blessed them unaware.

 The self-same moment I could pray;

And from my neck so free

The Albatross fell off, and sank

Like lead into the sea.”

Here, the professor lapsed into silence. Lucy thought that the poem might be over, but when she peered across the desk at the page there were columns of stanzas still left.

“Even after all these years,” he whispered, “some things still remind me of my own days in Narnia.”

He’d told the children his story before, of course: beginning with how he met Aunt Polly and concluding with the origins of the wardrobe. Aslan had not condemned him for bringing the White Witch to Narnia. Instead, he’d had loved Digory enough to shed tears and sent him home with an apple so beautiful that it healed his dying mother.

“Grace,” Lucy whispered into the hush. “Of course. Maybe this is the moment where Aslan leads the mariner out of the darkness.”

Professor Kirke exhaled heavily. The faraway look in his eye lessened a little bit, and at length he read on.

“The spirit slid: and it was he

That made the ship to go.”

Never had Lucy felt Aslan’s presence more keenly in his absence than during those last days as the Dawn Treader had sailed over the still, clear waters at world’s end; like Aslan himself had been drawing them towards himself by some great, invisible rope.

The closer they’d come to his country, the more tangible his spirit had been. When at last she glimpsed those green mountains beyond the waves, Lucy’s very bones understood that Aslan had made the still seas bring them there.

A voice spoke out of the air concerning the mariner, and Lucy remembered the piercing silence of the Last Sea. Of the voice, the mariner said, “He loved the bird that loved the man/ Who shot him with his bow.”

Not for the first time, Lucy wondered about Aslan’s father, the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea. What did he say to Aslan when he left that land of high mountains to return to Narnia and die at the Witch’s hand? What did he think when Aslan went flying across the lily-covered seas on feathered wings to rescue their little ship? If Lucy had crossed that final threshold with Reepicheep, would she have met the Emperor there?

“The voice is his father,” Lucy said, voice brimming with certainty. “The albatross’s father, I mean. The Emperor-beyond-the-Sea.”

“I know,” the professor replied. “And beyond the sea is just where our mariner meets him.”

“Do you think the mariner knew that the albatross loved him?”

The professor stroked his chin again, and a ghost of a smile played across his features. “If the mariner didn’t know it when he shot him, he certainly knows now. But come, we’re nearly at the end of the poem.

“Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,

Yet she sailed softly too:

Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—

On me alone it blew.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed

The light-house top I see?”

“There’s one more thing I haven’t told you,” Lucy said. “Something so bright and mysterious that I’ve not even told Edmund. When the albatross came, it—it spoke to me. And I wasn’t afraid anymore.”

Professor Kirke leaned forward, but his words were, “You needn’t tell me what he said if you’d prefer not to.”

Lucy nodded slowly. Somehow, she knew that if she tried to describe “Courage, dear heart,” she would fail. There was nothing, no word or image or music or poetry in this world or any other that could convey what that moment had been. To speak of it at all would be like dancing about architecture.

“I was the only one who heard him,” Lucy whispered. “It was my prayer, and he spoke to me. I wonder how this poet knows what it was like?”

“I think he knows the same way I do, in my own way. Coleridge lived a difficult life. He was a laudanum addict when he wrote this, for one thing. When the Divine voice speaks into our darkness and we feel his breath on our faces, it binds us together with every other person who has ever been rescued by an albatross that loved us. We don’t know what he says to other people, but we know how the breeze feels.”

The professor returned to his reading and concluded the poem while Lucy sat in astonishment and let the strangeness of the last hour wash over her.

“…A sadder and a wiser man/ He rose the morrow morn,” and with those words Professor Kirke shut the book. The heavy pages fell with a thud, and with bright eyes he looked at Lucy. “What do you think of it?”

“I think,” said Lucy slowly, “that it was a beautiful story. The very best kind.”

What she did not say, but what she was thinking, was that it reminded her of the story she’d read in the Magician’s book: the one about the cup, the sword, the tree, and the green hill. The two tales had no common points of reference, but they left her with much the same feeling.

“But why do you think Aslan came to me as an albatross?”

Professor Kirke harrumphed. “I have been asking myself that same question ever since you spoke of it. Why indeed? I wonder whether perhaps in part he appeared that way so that you would come back here and read ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,’ and come to know him better by it. If nothing else, I do not think it was a coincidence.”

Yes, perhaps, but the answer still felt incomplete. “Maybe it’s a stone in the bridge he talked about,” Lucy said. “Maybe he only wanted to show me—to show us—that he’s here too. In this world, in this time, and in all others. Maybe it’s like you said, and there’s an albatross for every person who’s ever been rescued from the darkness.”

[paintedpawz]

Oh my, how sweet! Resident darling of this dark and spooky little cul-de-sac wants to go trick 'r treat with you. Just beware, neighbor... not all the residents are as friendly as he is. 😈

Little quick redesign of Imp Wally inspired by @killertoons design, since my old design just wasn't as cute and I personally feel I've gotten better at drawing Wally! I had to of course add Home, or rather Monster House inspired home and I had a lot of fun experimenting with a more detailed background in a doodle that turned into a thought out sketch. My reference actually, was this piece of Sam merch I WANT SO BAD......

[house-of-daena]

oh god too much feelings into this smut with baizhu im gonna explode