#fallen ursula

[bananabraiined]

Even in death, a tool is more willing to serve......

[mistninja]

Here we are!

Featuring:

City of Fallen Angels by Cassandra Clare

Tales from Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin

Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld

Batman: A Lonely Place for Dying arc

Kaiju n°8

Godzilla Minus One

Farewell my Concubine

Ping Pong the Animation

[katfreaks-hidyhole]

[cielospeaks]

ngl i kinda wish ganglot had a friend/friends who would have a dynamic w her like bill and ted + the grim reaper

[tending-the-hearth]

i am so unwell over this scene you have no idea

the fact that we can tell EXACTLY what eric is thinking, how he goes from realizing ariel is a mermaid to recognizing that there's a bigger thing to focus on and he'll process the reveal later, when the woman he loves isn't in danger.

how he immediately looks down at ariel and sees her expression, he sees how terrified she is, because for the past three days he's done nothing BUT learn how to read her expressions, so he knows her fears without her having to say anything, and his only thought goes to "keep her safe, keep her here, keep her close"

and can we please talk about the physical affection between these two???? how ariel's hand goes from laying on eric's chest to holding onto his shoulder, how eric goes from just kind of holding ariel up to pulling her as close as he possibly can, curling himself around her and surrounding her in his arms, fully prepared to take the brunt of ursula's power if it comes down to it. because she's his world, and he refuses to lose her again.

and eric's GLARE??? HELLO???? the man just realized that the silent girl he's fallen in love with and the girl who saved his life is the same person and he just wanted to kiss her and celebrate that but now he is PISSED and he just wants to live happily ever after so he can and will do everything he can to get that ending for him and ariel.

[thebibliosphere]

Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites

In a world of dwindling hope, love has never mattered more...

Captain Nathan J. Northland had no idea what to expect when he returned home to Lorehaven injured from war, but it certainly wasn’t to find himself posted on an island full of vampires. An island whose local vampire dandy lord causes Nathan to feel strange things he’d never felt before. Particularly about fangs.

When Vlad Blutstein agreed to hire Nathan as Captain of the Eyrie Guard, he hadn’t been sure what to expect either, but it certainly hadn’t been to fall in love with a disabled werewolf. However Vlad has fallen and fallen hard, and that’s the problem.

Torn by their allegiances–to family, to duty, and the age-old enmity between vampires and werewolves–the pair find themselves in a difficult situation: to love where the heart wants or to follow where expectation demands.

The situation is complicated further when a mysterious and beguiling figure known only as Lady Ursula crashes into their lives, bringing with her dark omens of death, doom, and destruction in her wake.

And a desperate plea for help neither of them can ignore.

Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites by Joy Demorra is a queer, paranormal, gaslamp fantasy romance novel featuring enchanted forests, gothic castles, and just a smidge of industrial coal dust, and is the first book of the Hunger Pangs slow-burn polyamorous romance series. Join Vlad, Nathan, and Ursula as they navigate a magical world torn asunder war and politics as they work to restore balance to the world and find love along the way. Book one is available now in ebook, paperback, and audio.

Buy the (high heat) Flirting With Fangs Edition Here. 

Buy the (medium heat) Fluff and Fangs Edition Here.

Why are there two versions, and what's the difference between them? Glad you asked! You can also check out individual content tags and heat ratings on my website at www.joydemorra.com

[w4w4lycsss]

Hey i have an idea for james hook. what about if you are his gf and are having a fight and when the life is sweeter song starts in the movie you are hanging out in the background. After their little bit of the song you come out and go against it and it makes him all sad and distracted.

STUPID ARROGANT | JAMES HOOK

summary: One morning you and Hook had gotten into a fight because of him and you decide to remind him that you're still angry at him in a way that feels personal. pairing: James Hook x gn!VK!reader

You weren't emotional, on the contrary, you were despicable and annoying, you had no filters to judge people and you were only kind to people you genuinely cared about, and while you didn't lose your spark of personality you were a little more tolerant.

You had fallen in love, madly, you couldn't think of anyone but that cheeky pirate, when your feelings were accepted you were more than happy, both were too disastrous and perfect.

But you had no patience and you were easily irritated, just as he made fun of it, but this time he had exaggerated; You were angry with him, one of his jokes towards one of your friends had broken your boundaries to endure something else. You had already told him to stop the extremist jokes, but he didn't listen to you. You decided to teach him a lesson on your own.

He deserved it, didn't he?

The day after the joke you decided to ignore him, you didn't approach him to greet him or give him affection, you even got together with some royals to make them jealous and annoyed. You didn't like royal children, they were annoying and too calm, you didn't have to take care of yourself to avoid being robbed or hanging someone because they tried to touch you without your consent when you were distracted.

"Come on, honey, I already told you I was sorry!"

"Fuck you, Hook!"

He let out a tired sigh, pouting after having shouted at you from the other corner of the dining room at lunchtime. "They never call me Hook..."

"Oh, they're really mad at you." Maleficent hummed unimportant.

"Are you going to take what they call you seriously?"

"To them I'm James." He frowned in offense but softened his face as he felt some guilt. "For them..."

"Oh, for all the demons. We got it!" Maleficent protested. "The whole school knows that you fought, shut up now. They don't care about you."

He rolled his eyes, hurt by his friend's comment but without expressing it.

You noticed that there were two new girls who were becoming friends with Bridget and Ella, two girls that you and your friends frequently teased. You rolled your eyes, disinterested when you started listening to her sing.

"It's really not a secret recipe..."

"God, enough." You reproached with a sigh, rolling your eyes again and looking away from the song's performance.

You stood up and walked around the school, walking behind the boys who approached Bridget, loitering and figuring out how to escape the cheesiness about the girl's grades.

Bridget's chorus died down when the VKs appeared, starting to introduce themselves menacingly to the new girls with a part of the song. You suppressed a smile as Hook was the first to come out, crossing your arms and looking away.

You clicked your tongue and smiled mischievously at an idea. Maybe not the best.

You got behind the 'good girls' (how you used to call them) and started playing along with them as Uliana started to introduce herself, you weren't noticeable and it was a part of your recent idea.

"She is Ursula's baby sister..." You heard Bridget, smiling to your insides and ceasing to be so in the shadows, walking a little more to be visible to some extent.

You didn't know how to describe his face when he heard something that resembled your voice on the side of the royal people, being scared for a few seconds when he realized that it was your voice. His steps became more clumsy and careless, clashing with some of the royals and even daring to... apologize to them?

"What are you doing?" Uliana protested. "Stop acting like this!"

"I'm sorry!" He replied nervously and uneasily without taking his eyes off you.

"Since when have you say sorry?"

After the song you stood behind Bridget, crossing your arms proudly seeing her face sore from such a petty action. It really took a toll not to hit or something like the girl with the exaggerated amount of positivity that was emerging, making you nauseous, but you had to keep going for your plan to shut down.

It wasn't long until something happened, and that was when Uliana ate the flamingo feathers she stole from Bridget, turning into one and starting to haunt her furiously.

You rolled your eyes, angry and at the same time satisfied that something interesting was starting to happen; You were about to follow the crowd when cold metal hugged your arm, preventing you from moving.

"I'm going to rip your throat off with my hands if you don't let go."

"I don't care! Stop ignoring me." He pleaded with you, looking at you in pain.

You didn't really care about people, but like everything, there's always an exception, and that was Hook, that pirate you'd forgotten you were so in love with when you threw your tantrum.

"L-I'm sorry, I didn't think it would affect you."

"I don't give a shit about that, I don't like it when you ignore me."

His tone and expression were so vulnerable that if someone was watching him they would laugh at him, but you wouldn't, because you were to blame here. Although he had provoked the joke you got too angry, it was like a time bomb.

"Sometimes I forget how sensitive you are."

"Don't call me sensitive in public..."

"There's no one."

He looked down, embarrassed. "I love you. I'm sorry."

"I love you. I'm sorry." You repeated.

You grabbed his cheeks with your hands, making him look up, you realized how sorry and guilty he felt just with his eyes and the way his lips puckered, reaching out to give him a brief kiss and smile lovingly at him.

[dduane]

Is there an alphabet or lexicon of the human version of The Speech? And if so, where can I find it?

No, there's not.

(And as I've been asked about this before, I'm just going to paste the answer in here—since though the original post is buried in the depths of Tumblr somewhere, I do have my saved draft.)

Per these, which came in very close to each other:

@melbetweenstars

This is something I’ve always wondered but never realized I could actually ask about until I read through that long meta response. (go me.) How much of the Speech do you have fleshed out? Do you create it as you go on more of a need-to-know basis, or do you have vocabulary and grammar structures ready to go? Basically I’d be really interested to hear any Speech-related meta if you have the chance because fictional languages are hella cool!

and:

@sansa–clegane

I just read your post on dark wizards and field terminologies, and am totally loving the Speech translations you provided! Now I’m wondering, though, how much of the language you actually have mapped out or established? I’m very curious as to what, for example, the standard “I - you - he/she/it/etc. - we - you plural - they” conjugation endings would be– or if there even are any in a language as complex as the Speech. I’M JUST REALLY INTERESTED IN FANTASY LINGUISTICS AAAHH

Linguistics is a big deal for me too, as people who read my stuff will have guessed. And needless to say, the Speech is on my mind a lot (along with other “magical languages” and their history/histories).

So let’s take a moment to first to make it clear what the Speech is not. It’s not what’s sometimes referred to as an Adamic language  (whether you take the meaning that God used it to talk to Adam, or that Adam invented it to name things.) It’s also nothing whatsoever to do with Enochian. It’s not an occultic language, or anything invented by human beings.

The basic concept is that the Speech is the language, or the very large body of descriptors, used to create the universe (and very likely others, but let’s leave that to one side for the moment). Such words are also assumed, having been used in the building of the universe, to be able to control the bits they’ve built. Every word, therefore, when used ought ideally to sound as if it contains some tremendous power. 

Writing something like that every time the Speech is used, even for a much better writer than I am, would be very, very hard.

(We need a cut here. Under the cut: Ursula Le Guin, C. S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, J. K. Rowling, and others. ...Also a fair number of beetles. And a bear.)

It’s worth mentioning as a matter of information that I met the concept of secret / divine magical languages in Le Guin’s Earthsea long before I ran into it in C. S. Lewis. (I came pretty late to Lewis’s non-Narnian work.) Yet here Lewis, as more than occasionally before, is my master, having been over this ground right back in the mid-1940s.

There’s a point in the final novel of the so-called “Planetary Trilogy”, that big fat (now endlessly problematic but still fun-in-the-right-moods) book That Hideous Strength, where Elwin Ransom—philologist, unwilling visitor to Mars and Venus, unnerved conscript into the wars in Heaven, and Lewis’s take on both the Pendragon and the wounded Fisher King—is instructing his friend and co-linguistics scholar Dimble on how to behave in a meeting with the newly awakened, and potentially quite dangerous, Merlin Ambrosius. (The POV in this passage is that of a lady named Jane who's just recently fallen into company with the group supporting Ransom.)

“You understand, Dimble? Your revolver in your hand, a prayer on your lips, your mind fixed on Maleldil [just think “Christ” for the moment: surprise surprise, that’s the parellel Lewis is using here]. Then, if he stands, conjure him.” “What shall I say in the Great Tongue?” “Say that you come in the name of God and all angels and in the power of the planets from one who sits today in the seat of the Pendragon, and command him to come with you. Say it now.” And Dimble, who had been sitting with his face drawn, and rather white, between the white faces of the two women, and his eyes on the table, raised his head, and great syllables of words that sounded like castles came out of his mouth. Jane felt her heart leap and quiver at them. Everything else in the room, seemed to have become intensely quiet: even the bird, and the bear***, and the cat, were still, staring at the speaker. The voice did not sound like Dimble’s own: it was as if the words spoke themselves through him from some strong place at a distance—or as if they were not words at all but present operations of God, the planets, and the Pendragon. For this was the language spoken before the Fall and beyond the Moon, and the meanings were not given to the syllables by chance, or skill, or long tradition, but truly inherent in them as the shape of the great Sun is inherent in the little waterdrop. This was Language herself, as she first sprang at Maleldil’s bidding out of the molten quicksilver of the star called Mercury on Earth, but Viritrilbia in Deep Heaven.

Now if that’s not like being hit over the head with a hammer, I don’t know what is.* That moment has been before the eyes-of-my-mind for a long time as I’ve worked with the Speech.

Note, however, that Lewis does a very wise thing here. He doesn’t actually spell out any of the words out for you. Because in the reader’s mind, there’s always the six-year-old saying, “Go on, say the word: see how it sounds, see what happens…!” And when you recite the magic spell, it doesn’t work. The words come out sounding, well, like any others. And maybe not your interior six-year-old, but your interior twelve- or fifteen-year-old—the ego-state that’s about keeping you from getting hurt or looking stupid in front of other people who aren’t privy to or supportive of your dreams—says, “See, it was just another word, just a bunch of nonsense. You got fooled. Dummy!” No wise writer, I think, willingly sets their readership up for such easy and constant disappointment. It's tough enough to weave, and hold in place, the spell that is prose. Handing the audience a potential spellbreaker, over and over again, is folly. 

And by rights the Speech ought to be like Lewis’s example above. If in reality you were to hear the words used to restructure matter or undo gravity, they ought to shake the air in your chest like a Saturn V launch, they should raise the hair on the back of your neck to hear them used; they should freak you out. But a long string of invented syllables isn’t going to do that. I’m stuck with using English to produce even the echo of such a result.

Which means I have to go Lewis’s route… mostly. Here and there I’ll add in a Speech-sourced word or phrase when it supports the narrative or makes it easier for characters to talk about what’s going on—as, when working with wizardry, you do sometimes have to call in precisionist-level language for words that have no casual English cognates: just as you would if you were working in particle physics or organic chemistry at the molecular level. But that’s all I’m going to do… because if you do too much linguistic work in this regard, you constantly run the risk of your readers being distracted from the real business at hand, which is the interactions between/among the characters.

The tech inherent to a work of fantastic fiction is always an issue in this regard. Ideally L. Sprague de Camp’s very useful definition of science fiction, tweaked here for fantasy, ought to be a guideline: “A fantasy story is a human story with a human problem and a human solution that could never have happened without its fantastic content.” Yet inside the definition, there’s still a lot of ways to go wrong. Too much merely human stuff, and a work of fantasy turns into a soap with some casual magical gimmickry—all too often these days labeled as “magic realism”, when it’s not publisher code for “We’d call this fantasy if we had the nerve and we didn’t think it was going to tag us as ‘genre’ and keep us off the best-seller lists”. Too little human-problem-and-human-solution, and it turns into a modern version of what James Blish (God rest him), when writing as the gently merciless science fiction critic William Atheling Jr., used to call “The 'Greater New York and New Jersey Municipal Zeppelin Gas Works’ school of speculative fiction”, where you tour your readership through the Wonderfulness Of Your Tech (magical or otherwise) until they expire of boredom while waiting for someone to fucking do something.

You have to find a centerline between the extremes—indeed pretty much a tightrope—and walk it with some care. I’d guess that J. K. Rowling ran into the need for this balancing act; while never having read the Potter books, I nonetheless get a sense that you get the occasional Wingardium leviosa without also being burdened with long strings of magical Latin. (Though I confess that the answer to the question “Where does the magic come from? And what’s it for?” as it applies to her universe could be of some interest. I have no idea whether this ever gets explicitly handled.**) 

Anyway, it’d be way too easy for the YW books to become long discourses on the Speech and its use. This aspect of the “tech”, I think, gets more than enough time onstage. Having once established that words are a tool, indeed the tool for a wizard, the ur-Tool, making every spell they build a resonance between what they do and the initial/ongoing work of Creation—my business is to stay focused on the challenge of driving plot forward by interactions between human beings (and all kinds of others) who have conflicting agendas.

…So much for the tl;dr. I do have some very basic grammatical structures tucked away, but they’re not in any fit state for other people to look at. The Speech, I think, is really best treated as an ongoing mystery that unfolds a little at a time, as required, and leaves everybody wanting more.

HTH!

*It also leads into one of numerous affectionate nods in this book toward Tolkien, as philologist, fellow novelist, and Lewis’s good friend. It's no accident that when Ransom meets up with Merlin himself, a little later in the narrative, the question of this language—the proper name of the Great Tongue is “Old Solar"—comes up again. When discussing what language they’ll speak with each other during their upcoming negotiations [they apparently start out in a rather beat-up and denatured medieval Latin], Ransom says to Merlin about the language he’d prefer to be working in, "It has been long since it was heard. Not even in Numinor was it heard in the streets.”

The Stranger gave no start … but he spoke with a new interest. “Your masters let you play with dangerous toys,” he said. “Tell me, slave, what is Numinor?” “The true West,” said Ransom. “Well,” said the other.

Yeah, “well.” Better scholars than I have dealt with the relationship between these two, as scholars and writers and friends, so enough of that for the moment. But it’s very sweet to see Lewis do something in his books that I’ve done with mine.

**It’s always possible, of course, that in the HP universe this issue is a surd: like asking “where physics comes from”. (Well, not a surd precisely, if your spiritual life tends a certain way. Mine tends toward “Whoever or whatever made the universe, that’s who made physics. And they must really like it, because they made a metric shit ton of it!” (This answer also works for beetles, though that's a slightly different issue.) :)

But if there’s a most-fundamental difference between my wizardly universe and Rowling’s, it might be best revealed in the third question that came up for me directly after “What if there was a user’s manual for human beings/the world/the universe?” and “If there was, where would it have come from?”: specifically, “And why?”

***There's a bear in the Pendragon's kitchen. Thoth only knows what initially brought that on for Lewis, but it's a character insertion that pays off later, so (shrug) wtf.

[ladydigianna]

sweet feels || james hook x reader

|| note: this is not canon and this is just a figment of my imagination

|| pairings: james hook x reader

|| fluff

|| from the author: loved writing this

-fic under the cut-

"you have stolen my heart"

The corridors of Merlin Academy were alive with activity as students buzzed with excitement about the upcoming Castlecoming. It was the talk of the school—who would wear what, who would go with whom. But you weren’t worried about any of that. You had something—or rather, someone—much more important on your mind.

James Hook.

You smiled at the thought of him, the pirate with the charming smirk and the mischievous glint in his eyes. Despite your royal upbringing, you had fallen for him, and he for you. It had started with stolen glances and teasing banter, but over time, your connection deepened, and before you knew it, you were inseparable.

As you walked down the hall, your thoughts were interrupted by the familiar voices of Uliana’s crew. They were gathered near the entrance, laughing and joking as usual. Uliana, the sister of Ursula, was at the center, her presence commanding attention.

“There she is!” Morgie, the son of Morgana, called out, spotting you. “Our favorite royal.”

You chuckled as you joined them, greeted by the warmth and camaraderie you had come to cherish. Despite the differences in your backgrounds, Uliana’s crew had welcomed you with open arms. You were one of them, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” you asked, slipping into the easy rhythm of their banter.

“We were just talking about the ball,” Hook said, sidling up to you with that signature grin. “Thinking of sweeping you off your feet on the dance floor.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart fluttered at his words. “You wish.”

“Hey, don’t be too sure,” he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I’ve been practicing.”

“Sure you have,” you quipped back, leaning into his side.

But before the conversation could continue, Bridget, the princess of Hearts, approached, looking more serious than usual. You immediately noticed the tension in her posture.

“Bridget, what’s up?” you asked, concern lacing your voice.

She glanced at you, then at the others. “There’s something I need to talk to Uliana about.”

The crew quieted down, sensing the shift in mood. You watched as Bridget and Uliana exchanged words, the conversation hushed but intense. You didn’t catch everything, but you heard enough to know that Bridget was troubled by something Uliana had said or done.

When the conversation ended, Bridget turned to you. “(Y/N), what do you think?”

You knew Bridget well—she wasn’t one to make a fuss over nothing. If she was upset, there was a reason. “I’m on your side, Bridget,” you said firmly, knowing that your loyalty to your friends meant everything.

Uliana seemed taken aback by your response, but before she could say anything, Hook stepped in. “Let’s not get into a fight over this. We’re all friends here. Except for pinkie over there.”

You nodded in agreement, relieved that Hook was there to diffuse the situation. “Yeah, let’s talk this out.”

Eventually, the tension eased, and the crew found a way to resolve their differences. Bridget smiled at you, grateful for your support, and Uliana gave you a nod, understanding that you had to stand by your friend.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself standing with Hook on the edge of the school grounds, the soft glow of the setting sun casting a golden hue over everything. He had his arm around you, holding you close.

“You know,” he began, his voice gentle, “I wasn’t sure about us at first. I mean, you’re a royal, and I’m... well, I’m me.”

You turned to look at him, surprised by his sudden seriousness. “Hook, don’t say that. We’re perfect for each other.”

He smiled, his eyes softening as he gazed at you. “Yeah, we are. I’ve got the feels for you, (Y/N).”

You laughed softly, your heart swelling with affection. “I’ve got the feels for you too.”

The moment was perfect—just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s warmth. You knew that whatever challenges came your way, you would face them together. Because, in the end, it wasn’t about where you came from or who you were supposed to be. It was about the way he made you feel—happy, cherished, and completely yourself.

And with him by your side, life was sweeter than ever.

[604to647]

Marine Attraction

4.3K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: When a stakeout at the aquarium does not go as planned, Detective Tim Rockford must interview all the aquarium visitors, including you.

Warnings: Fluff! Meet cute! Maybe a dirty thought or two that reader really should not be having about a (hot) man just trying to do his job 🤭 Made up Merge Mansion lore. One cute nickname because it’s me (won’t spoil).

A/N: This was written for @mermaidgirl30’s Ocean Challenge – thank you for hosting a lovely event.  Please see #Jamie’s Ocean Challenge for all the wonderful works! I’ve noticed that as of late, some of the authors that I look up to and consider mainstays in this community since I started lurking 2+ years ago have wanted to leave, needed to take breaks from the fandom or felt disconnected from the community.  This story is for you, about stepping away when you need to and maybe rediscovering how something old can still bring you joy. Xoxo, love you all.

Fishy dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

EDIT: Oops this turned into a series - Masterlist

You’re not really sure how this happened.

You’ve been feeling a bit off, as of late.  Nothing was wrong, per say - your job is fine, your friends are dear, your life leaves you grateful.  It’s just that you feel… untethered.  Like you should be doing something more?  Work is fulfilling enough – you achieve and excel.  Friends and family make for wonderful company, but your social battery isn’t infinite and as much as enjoy your get-togethers, they can leave you drained.  Even some of your solitary pursuits, cooking, watching tv, scrolling through social media don’t seem to be as satisfying as they used to be – you consume, but you don’t create.

On a whim, you decide to take the day off work (the first in who knows how long?) and go somewhere you’ve always loved: the aquarium.  You’ve been visiting this aquarium since you were a child – something about the gentle hum of the tanks and the darkness that’s illuminated only by the glow of the exhibits has always relaxed you.  You’re going to go specifically to take photos.  Photography used to be a casual hobby of yours; you were even featured on local news blogs and had your photos chosen for a gallery showing once – but as life got busier and your other endeavours required more of your time and energy, it had fallen by the wayside.   It’s been forever since you took a photo walk or even a picture that wasn’t for capturing a moment rather than a snapshot.  You’re actually getting excited about shooting photos again.

It had been a serene couple of hours spent watching your unhurried fish friends and the silent watery dances of the marine plants that shared their abodes.  The aquarium is playing host to a few young families and two eager fieldtrips, but otherwise, you’ve had the place nearly to yourself.  Able to loiter so you can try different lenses and play with the lighting of your shots, or wait as long as you want in order for a mixed rainbow hue of fish to swim into frame, the morning had passed quietly and contently.

But now you sit in the children’s play area, the last of today’s aquarium visitors, waiting for your turn to be questioned by the police. 

---

Detective Tim Rockford is not really sure how this happened.

It had been a simple enough stakeout operation.  He and his team had received a tip a few days ago that there would be a handoff taking place at the aquarium today: an exchange of money between one of Grandma Ursula’s henchmen and a mystery player whose identity has eluded Tim for the entirety of this case thus far.  Perhaps it was unreasonable to expect Mr. Pie (so nicknamed by the squad for the Bolton Berry pies he consumed) to show up himself, but Tim held out hope that whomever they nabbed today would provide the break in the case that he so desperately needs.

Only, Grandma’s man had come and gone and none of the six men, Tim included, posted at the various vantage points and exits had seen a damn thing.  At some point between spotting their target enter the aquarium with a briefcase in hand, they had lost track of him and picked up his movements again only when he was already leaving the gift shop, empty handed.  How was it possible they couldn’t account for what happened in the aquarium?  Did the meeting with Mr. Pie occur?  Or was the briefcase stashed somewhere?  Tim presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and grimaces – the operation had been an utter failure. 

Not only did they not get what they came for, but now the remainder of the day was completely shot.  What had followed once the police realized just how out of depth they were, was a complete shut down of the aquarium with all visitors locked in and needing to be interviewed before they could leave.  Even the elementary school trips of thirty children.  Each.  After giving instruction to the additional LAPD support he called in to search the aquarium top to bottom for the missing case, Tim had settled in for a long afternoon of what he expected to be fruitless Q&As.

As he wearily enters the kids play area once again (an officer more considerate than he had suggested that given the number of children being held, it might be the best place to have everyone wait), Tim sees only one witness left to interview: you.  He had noticed you earlier, each time he came in to select another interviewee, in fact – if your pretty features and sweet smile hadn’t caught his attention first, your everlasting patience and kindness would have.  Several times, he spotted you playing patiently with the children – the sound of your melodic voice and gentle laughter floating above the grumblings of the other adults who had also had their days ruined. The sound eased the tense spot in his shoulders where his holster straps had started digging in a little bit.  At first, Tim thought you might be one of the teachers or a field trip chaperone, but then he noticed that you let all the school trips and families with children go ahead of you, and he overheard you tell his fellow officer that you didn’t mind waiting, that it must be much harder for the children.  He was grateful for you and he didn’t even know you.

As Tim approaches, you look up from your phone and shoot him the soft smile that’s been his one bright spot in this disaster of a day, though he thinks it seems a bit more tired than when he first had the pleasure of seeing it earlier this afternoon.

“Is it my turn?” you ask him, still in good spirits despite the circumstances.

“Sorry for the wait, miss.”

“No need to be sorry… Detective?”

“Detective Rockford.  Tim Rockford.  I appreciate that, it’s been… a day.”

You hold out your hand to shake his before repeating his name, then giving him your own.  Tim can’t decide if he likes the way his name rolls off your tongue, or the way your own name floats above the cheer of your voice more. 

“Well, hopefully I can help with… whatever has made it such a day,” you give him a sympathetic smile.

The kind of smile you might offer to him when he comes home after a long hard day.  Damn. He’s in trouble.  Focus, Rockford.

Since you’re his last witness of the day, he offers to conduct the interview right here instead of the stuffy office that the aquarium staff had lent him.  As you acquiesce to his suggestion, you stretch out your arms and legs, arching your back to work out a bit of stiffness from having sat for so long and Tim finds himself admiring your figure in a way that is decidedly not going to help him solve this case.  He tries to cover up his less than professional gaze by stretching himself – it feels good.

After collecting your information and starting with his routine questions, Tim realizes he’s pinning his hopes on you having seen or noticed something today – not only because no one else has, but so he can keep speaking with you.

When it becomes evident that you didn’t, he sighs a heavy sigh of disappointment. 

He hadn’t realized that he’s done so until hears you apologize; quick to reassure you that that you don’t have anything to apologize for, Tim places his large warm hand over yours before he can stop himself.  You gasp softly, you think only to yourself, but Tim hears the sweet noise and smirks a little – it’s nice to know he’s not the only one who’s been affected.  When he notices that you don’t move your hand away,  he lets himself revel in the feel of your soft, small hand under his for a beat longer before he removes it and somewhat begrudgingly starts to wrap up the interview.

---

Fuck. This fucking detective.  Rockford.  Tim Rockford.

Even his name is hot. 

You had noticed him earlier, of course – how could you not?  He was a hulking presence, impossibly broad and tall, and he carried himself with the authority and gravitas of a man in charge.  During the earlier hours of your wait, you had been preoccupied with helping entertain some of the young children in the waiting area who were restless with boredom, not sure why their promised day of aquarium fun had to be ruined by something as trivial as a police matter.

But once you caught sight of Detective Rockford’s handsome profile, it became impossible to not be captivated by the deep richness of his brown eyes or that strong nose that centered his face perfectly.  His grave countenance conveyed the seriousness with which he took his work (that facial scruff screamed he worked too much), but he was quietly calm and his tone gentle with all the witnesses, especially the children.  You couldn’t help but hope it was him every time an officer entered the waiting area. 

Some time between now and the last two times he had come in to call forth witnesses, the detective had lost his suit jacket, strolling in wearing only a gun holster and a white dress shirt that stretched taut over his firm chest and bulging arm muscles; you thought you were going to have to dunk yourself into one of the aquarium tanks to cool off just from the sight of him.

Your heart picks up a little when it’s him who appears when you’re the last one left to be interviewed; silently, you pray to Beyoncé to give you the strength needed to coherently answer the detective’s questions when he asks them in that honey laced baritone of his.

When Tim mirrors your big stretch, you hope you’re discrete enough that he doesn’t catch you staring: his limbs extend fantastically long, arm span wide enough to cast a shadow that reaches across the floor in front of you - he's huge.  After hearing the detective inhale a deep breath, it feels to you as if all of the air has been sucked from the room, leaving you dizzy as you gawk at his hard chest, expanding and pushing up against his crisp dress shirt, held closed only by the strained efforts of a few valiant buttons.

You feel bad that you have to answer in the negative to Detective Rockford’s questions.  Unfortunately, you hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary during your visit, too engrossed in your own photo taking, and you don’t remember seeing the man in the picture that he shows you.  You can tell that Tim tries hard not to show his disappointment and wish very much that you could please him, be the one to wipe the weary look off his face and the release the tension from his hunched-up shoulders.  Maybe please him in other ways, as well.  You have a feeling that praise from one Detective Tim Rockford would have you dripping wet and clenching around nothing embarrassingly quick. 

GIRL. GET IT TOGETHER.  For all you know, a serious crime took place here today!

You apologize.  Outwardly, for your inability to help him with his case, and inwardly, for the dirty thoughts that are wholly inappropriate to have about a complete stranger who is just, very competently, doing his job.

To try and put you at ease, Tim relaxes his handsome face and hopes to reassure you when he gently pats your hand; instead, a jolt of electricity shoots through you and you warm all over from his touch.  Maybe it’s your imagination but Detective Rockford seemingly lets his bear paw of hand linger over yours for a bit longer than he needs to, and you think you spy his plush lips curve up slightly at the corners when you gasp.  You might just melt off this bench right now.

“Oh, one last thing, did you take any pictures at the aquarium today?”

You nod, but are suddenly shy as you anticipate the Detective’s next question.  Tim nods at you matter of fact, “Good.  Could you please show me?  I just need to look through them quickly to see if there’s anything in the background that might be useful.”

He holds his hand out, not really expecting any resistance - you’ve been nothing but perfectly cooperative so far.  But when his hand remains empty, he looks over to find you adorably chewing your bottom lip while gripping your phone tightly with both hands, making no motion to hand it over.  For one ridiculous moment he panics, Are you Mr. Pie?!  He shakes his head slightly to rid himself of that ludicrous thought, and waits patiently for you to tell him what you’re ruminating on.

“It’s just that there are a lot of pictures..,” you start, “… and a lot of them are kind of duplicates…”

You know you’re being deliberately vague – sighing in resignation, you decide it’s best to just rip the band aid off.  Unlocking your phone, you go to your camera roll and filter to today’s library before handing over your phone without meeting the detective’s gaze.  Out of the corner of your eye, you see Tim scroll slowly through hundreds of photos of the aquarium’s exhibits; you attempt to avoid meeting his eye by focusing on how your phone looks inexplicably small in his big, rough hand.

“That’s… a lot,” Tim finally says when he reaches the bottom of the roll.

When you look up, you expect to see maybe a cringed look or even a mocking expression on the detective’s handsome face, but instead you find the massive man looking at you with a gentle curiosity, maybe even holding himself a little smaller in an attempt to not intimidate you.  It doesn’t seem to matter that you don’t really know him, you suddenly feel comfortable enough to tell Detective Tim Rockford this very personal thing about yourself – he might look like he's perfectly cast as the 'bad cop' in interrogations, but you have a feeling he’s got just as good of a track record playing 'good cop'.

“An old hobby of mine was… I guess they call it iPhoneography? Using apps to mimic traditional camera captures?  I used to love it, actually.  Selecting the different lenses and choosing different exposures, then seeing how the images would developed – of course, with the phone, you wouldn’t have to take it in and wait for a week or anything, it would be processed digitally in a matter of seconds.  But… editing apps are so common place nowadays, and most social media platforms have built in filters and effects - iPhoneography has sort of fallen out of favour,” you explain.  Tim is nodding along - he doesn’t really know what you’re talking about, he has three apps on his phone that he uses regularly (Weather, Candy Crush, and the app from the City that reminds him when to put out his garbage bins); the rest of the apps on his phone were preinstalled and he can’t figure out how to delete them.  But he encourages you to go on.

“In fact, I haven’t really gone out to shoot in years.  But lately… I’ve sort of wanted to get back into it?  I came to the aquarium today to fire up the old camera, so to speak.  That’s why there’s so many – a lot of the pictures are just of the same frame but where I was trying out different lenses or exposure options.  I’m not, like, super obsessed with fish or anything,” you finish up quickly, hoping you haven’t made a complete fool of yourself.

Tim hands you back your phone, still open to today’s photos, and smiles, “Why don’t you tell me about what you shot today?”

“Really?” you look up, surprised.

“Really,” Tim tries to convey his genuine interest via his eyes, and is instantly rewarded by a smile on your face that could light up the room.  It’s certainly lighting him up.

And so, you tell Detective Tim Rockford all about the photos you took today.  You swipe through your pictures and show him how the different lenses affect the lighting, exposure, saturation and even colour tinting of the resulting photo.  You proudly tell him about how you had to switch up your technique and settings when shooting the tanks where the marine animals or plants thrived primarily in the dark or relied on bioluminescent light.  You laugh, mainly at yourself, when you tell him about how long you stayed at certain attractions, waiting for a particular school of fish to swim perfectly into frame.

Tim thinks your laughter is the loveliest sound he’s ever heard.

You tell him your favourite sea creatures to photograph are the jelly fish because they’re so weird and they move with such alien grace, unpredictable yet seemingly purposeful, and that’s why there are more pictures of them than any other animal in your camera roll.

Tim finds himself enchanted watching you get more and more animated and excited as you go through the pictures you took today; while your eyes are peeled to your screen, he admires how they twinkle and the way your mouth slopes upwards, grinning wide even as you talk non-stop about your long-forgotten hobby.  Your pretty face is aglow.  He thinks he could listen to you talk about the things that bring you joy forever.

He lets you talk for an hour.  You don’t even realize until you get to the last photo (a school of clown fish weaving between the tentacles of their anemone home) and glance up at the time at the top of the screen, “…oh my gosh!  I’m so sorry!! I’ve prattled on for so long, I’m sure none of this was helpful at all!”

Tim won’t have any of that, “Don’t be sorry.  You had fun.  I’m glad you had some fun today… before I ruined it by sequestering you here in this waiting area for the entire afternoon.”

You shyly look at his apologetic face, “I’m having fun now.”

Tim can feel his ears warm and is sure they’re pink at the tips.  Darn, you’re sweet.  He distracts himself by flipping to a brand-new page in his notebook, “Me too.”  You feel your heart expand at his soft confession.

“Now, I have some good news and some bad news.”

You look at him expectantly with an innocent, doe-eyed expression that Tim thinks might be one of the most dangerous things he’s ever encountered in all his years on the force, “The good news is that I think you’re a very, very good photographer.  It’s clear you enjoy it and there isn’t a single photo you showed me today that isn’t obviously a labour of love.  I think you should get back into it if you can.  The way you were talking about your photos today, I don’t think I’ve seen that much joy on someone’s face in… I don’t know how long.  I’m grateful you shared that with me.”

You’re speechless.  His words are so, so kind… and exactly what you needed to hear today.  You’re filled with tremendous gratitude and fondness for Detective Tim Rockford.

“… the bad news is, I spotted the reflection of our man in the shadows on the glass in some of your photos, and I’m so very sorry but I’m going to have to confiscate your phone,” Tim could not be more truly sorry.

After the initial shock of being told you’re losing your phone for a few days, you quickly recover and tell Tim that you’re genuinely glad you could help.  You give him your email and use your phone to send off a message to a few of your group chats regarding how you can be reached for the next few days before dropping your phone into the evidence bag Tim produces.  Under different circumstances, you might be upset at this turn of events, but the expression on Detective Tim Rockford's face is more than enough to make the minor inconvenience worth it – he looks invigorated, energized.  Clearly, this is what he loves doing.

Walking you to the aquarium exit, Tim apologizes and thanks you again before seeing you out.  Right before the door closes behind you, you turn and see him already rushing off to brief his team, your plastic covered phone clutched in his hand and an excited grin on his face.  After the kindness and patience the detective has shown you today, you’re glad to have played a small role in putting that smile on his face.

True to his word, you receive an email from Timothy.Rockford@lapd.online.org just a few days later, letting you know your phone is ready for pick-up.  When Detective Rockford meets you in the precinct lobby, you have to suck in your breath – he’s even more handsome than you remember, and you’ve been spending nearly every waking minute over the past few days picturing his strong jawline, soulful eyes, and that charming facial scruff you’d give anything to run your fingers through.  He’s jacketless again, just another pressed white dress shirt that his broad frame threatens to rip through, bordered by those leather holsters that make you want to swallow your tongue.

As Tim takes you to Evidence so you can sign out your phone, he tries to chat amiably and not cast too many obvious and admiring glances your way; you’re all warmth and serenity in this place that he only ever associates with being loud, bustling and cold.  He simultaneously never wants you to leave and wishes to sweep you far away and keep you only for himself, distanced safely from this place where his every day is synonymous with darkness and mystery.

When you’re once again outside, Tim leans against the frame of the precinct’s front doors and you look up at him from one step down, hopeful, “Did I help?”

Yes.  You help more than you know, Tim thinks, having been unable to get your incandescent smile out of his mind since he last parted from you; finding that it’s become the image that grounds him during his long grueling hours.  Instead, he says, “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Oh no – not this again,” you grin.

Tim smiles back, emboldened by your cheery demeanor, “The good news is that a lot of your photos and what the tech guys called… um.. meta data?  A lot of it helped generate some good leads that we’re now following.”

“Oh!  That’s wonderful!  I’m so glad, Detective Rockford!”

“Tim.  Please call me, Tim.”

“I don’t know, I kind of like calling you Detective,” you tease, good naturedly.

Tim should not feel his pants tighten at this, “The bad news is, because your photos had so much useful information, there is a very good chance they will be used as evidence if this case ever goes to trial.  I don’t think you will need to testify, as you yourself didn’t see anything, and that meta data gives us the info on when and where the photos were taken.  But even so… it means I can’t ask you out until the case is over.”

“Oh no,” you’re disappointed, but somewhat mollified that Tim has just basically asked you out without asking you out.  “That is bad news indeed.”

Tim looks around to make sure no one is looking before he reaches out with his hand and gently strokes your cheek with the back of two of his thick fingers just once, whispering, “I’ve never wanted to put a case to bed more.”

You can’t let the joke pass you by, “The case?  The case is what you want to put to bed?”

The booming laugh that shakes Detective Tim Rockford’s entire torso reaches all the way to his eyes, crinkling them in the most adorable way.  It’s staggering the difference it makes – he looks 10 years younger, you think. 

He’s needed this.  A really good laugh.  He’s needed it more than he realized.  He’s needed you.  He looks at your impish grin, so proud of yourself for pulling this sound from him, a sound so rare that it’s become almost foreign to his own ears; Tim hopes he’s able to convey his gratitude for you with the way his eyes have brightened, flecked with gold and mirth. 

He thinks you just might understand him perfectly. 

When you lift up on your toes to brush your lips softly against his scruffy cheek for a goodbye kiss, he whispers low in your ear, “I’ll call you, Shutterbug.” 

A promise.

7 months later

The Grandma Ursula case has taken the nation by storm.  The TV in your workplace breakroom is permanently dialed to the court case broadcast so no one misses a minute of the scandalous proceedings, a single interview with those involved in the case, or any legal and criminal analysts’ commentary.  For someone who is billed as the Lead Investigator, Tim makes shockingly few appearances onscreen, but you feel a little thrill go through you whenever you catch a glimpse of his striking figure in the background of a news broadcast about the case, or when you see him standing stoically behind the head prosecutor while the latter debriefs the press from the steps of the court house.

You gaze dreamily at his face while the press shouts out what everyone (your friends, colleagues, the public) all want to know:

How many aliases does Grandma Ursula really have?

Can we even call it the Bolton Mansion anymore?

Why that particular number of pies?

You’ll be honest, you’re just as interested in the case as everyone else, but you have one pressing question that you know no one else is asking: Will he call when it’s over?

You’re in a departmental meeting when the verdict is read.  It takes you forever to get back to your desk, caught up in everyone’s excited chatter about the ruling, but when you finally sit down and pull out your phone from your drawer, it’s to the best outcome you could have hoped for from the Grandma Ursula case.  Positively beaming, you reread the text message sent from an unknown number only two minutes after the verdict was announced: Hey Shutterbug, take any good photos lately?

End note: The iPhoneography aspect of this fic is a bit self indulgent; some might know that this Tumblr used to be a photo blog before it became my writing blog. Just like reader, it's something I used to enjoy a lot but I haven't opened those camera apps in years - maybe I'll get back into it one day! In the meantime, yes - the aquarium photos in the moodboard are by yours truly 🤭

[11queensupreme11]

AB Percy in The Little Mermaid :

Percy as Ariel (girl just wants to go up to the surface world and be with her beau 😭)

Poseidon as King Triton (definitely won’t let girlie go to the surface world “it’s too dangerous Ariel”)(precedes to lock her in the palace)

Prince Eric as Anthonius (this is the human she has fallen in love with and wants to date)

Ursula as Beelzebub (will do everything in his power to prevent Ariel (Percy) and Eric (Anthonius) from getting together and becoming end game

Sebastian as Proteus (just wants to serve his king and protect his charge—the lovable but kinda slow Ariel—from the “evil” humans)

Flounder as Grover (he’s just a gullible, sweetheart looking for his chaotic bestfriend whose trapped in another universe🥺)

Scuttle as Adamas (a loud moron but has nothing but good intentions towards his niece and just wants her to be happy)

P.S. Apollo, Loki, Hades, Anubis, Cu, and Poseidon are also close contestants for the Ursula spot since they also which to break up Perthonius (Ariel and Eric) but—plot twist—it’s so that they can all become Ariel’s psychotic Eric (…once the OG Eric is DEAD asf!!)

RIP Eric u will be missed 🥺😢

BEELZEBUB AS URSULA IS PERFECT BECAUSE URSULA IS ACTUALLY WHO I BASED OFF HIS MER FORM AS!!!!!

if you go back to chapter 21 "the devil is my part-time babysitter" i wrote:

PLUS THE WHOLE THING WITH DEALS TOO!!!! HE'S PERFECT LMAO

and also when they do the whole "kiss the girl" scene where ursula sends her two eels to make sure they don't kiss, i can imagine all the yans actually working together for once to try and make sure she and anthonius never kiss, not because the kiss means she wins the deal, but solely because they're just too jealous and possessive 😭

also, you know that scene where ursula turns into vanessa to enchant eric and steal him from ariel???? there's no damn way beelzebub would EVER turn into a woman to seduce anthonius, but i can see loki taking one for the team only for THIS scene to happen between him and percy (and percy doesn't know that she's actually loki, just knows that there's a rando woman trying mind-control anthonius and we all know how protective she gets when it comes to her loved ones):

and even tho that plan failed, the yans would just take a step back and let it happen because "whoops loki's getting beat up, oh well, back to the drawing board men!" 😭😭

it's just basically all of them doing their damnest to prevent perthonius from happening while also trying not to get caught by percy (i know some yans wouldn't bother being discreet, but let's just pretend for the sake of the AU) 💀💀

[bigmilk-13]

LONG RAMBLE UNDER THE CUT PEOPLE BRACE YOURSELVES- BUT I FIGURED IT OUT!

So obviously they created Uliana because if it was Ursula that did the prank, Bridget would've killed her. And if Ursula wasn't alive, Uma would've never existed.

They called Uliana Ursula's 'baby sister' which probably means that Ursula would've been an adult- or at least nearing adulthood, which would make sense in the fact that Uma is an adult in d3 and dror (I pretty sure she's a teen in d1 & 2)

Then there's the cookbook plothole. If we're going on the context of the deleted scene in the new timeline, where Morgie finds the cookbook, that means that there would be no one to open it for Uliana's crew since Ella would be grounded (if we're going on the theory that she opened it for them) and she would be innocent and have nothing to do with the prank and that would explain why Bridget and Ella are still close friends in the new timeline.

However, based on the context of the original timeline, where the QoH says "humiliating a girl at her first dance? now that's just cruel" which means that Ella had to have SOMETHING to do with it, otherwise I don't think QoH would've been angry at her for no reason.

The cookbook had to opened by a good person. Which is why Ella probably helped open it.

The question is, how did Bridget find out Ella opened it in the original timeline, and why did Ella help the VK's in the first place?

(I had to put one of these cos this shit was getting wayyyy too long and it's a slight topic change)

Timetravel is a funny thing (speaking as a marvel, tech and STEM nerd), if you change the past, it becomes the present. Chloe knocking down the vase would've happened in all timelines/multiverses, but have different consequences. However one thing that's will stay is that Ella was grounded. And in the new timeline, she probably wouldn't have snuck out for Castlecoming, and would've never fallen in love with Charming (if we're going on my theory that Ella was completely different when Red and Chloe changed the timeline). That means SOMEONE must have broken the vase in the original one too.

Chloe, of course.

But in the original timeline she would've snuck out to go to Castlecoming and fallen in love with Charming. Which, as we know, is the fairy tale. But this is a new timeline, so we have no idea what the fairytale is here.

But hey, maybe I'm overthinking it and Ella stayed the same.

But to be fair, if we're speaking professionally here, if Bridget and everyone else changed, she would've too. Plus we can see that she wasn't as comfortable being close to Chloe in the new timeline as she was in the original one.

Thank you for reading my rambles.

[amuseoffyre]

Back on my thinkie horse about the significance of The Little Mermaid within the context of Our Flag Means Death.

TLM has always been a queer story from its very creation. Hans Christian Andersen reportedly wrote it as a kind of love letter to the man he had fallen in love with, but who had went on to marry a woman. Literary critics have suggested the story was a queer allegory all along, a metaphor for queer love in a time when it could not be spoken aloud, and where people had to be silent and watch the people they love marry elsewhere.

Giving this mermaid's story to Ed has been there all along because here he is, putting himself out there, dancing on the proverbial knives for Stede, only to be left behind by the rich boy who goes back to his comphet life.

But this is where the rebirth of TLM comes in: the Disney edition is layered with even more queer allegory. Howard Ashman took the story and made it about more than just the Prince. Here's a story of a character who doesn't fit in the world she was born into, who yearns for something her society considers taboo and dangerous, something out of her reach. She's warned away from that world, told they're a threat and a danger, but she's drawn to them anyway.

This has strong flavours of Ed's entire journey, his yearning to be more than what he had been told both by his mum and the world that they live in. "We're not those kind of people". It doesn't stop him holding on to that scrap of silk, of wanting more, of wanting affection and love and softness and all the things he was told he couldn't have.

There's also this gorgeous essay about the queerness of TLM, especially focused on the inspiration for Ursula, the drag queen Divine, and what it means to have this blatantly queer-coded character standing in opposition to the world Ariel is restricted by.

It also makes a point about the queer act of resistance, of bodily and emotional autonomy and the right to be who you are, regardless of the limitations society tries to constrict you with.

Ed is in his TLM phase proper now. He reverted back to Kraken mode, the extreme version of his piratey self, as a defence mechanism but change is on the horizon. And it's not just because Stede is doing Prince Eric's "I lost her once, I'm not losing her again" thing. It's Ed's journey this time and Stede may be part of it, but he is not the whole of it.

Ed's an A-grade mess right now, but he is still Ed and Blackbeard and all of those other things. He's just lost and hurting and needs time to figure things out.

I also don't doubt he has a hidden little stash where he keeps his precious soft things and dinglehoppers because that's what we do. We package our queerness and softness and tuck it away somewhere safe where no one can find it until we can risk a look at it again. But our mermaid is going to figure things out and work out who he is and who he wants to be and I cannot wait.

[nilobunny]

(ngl i'm loving the design so much i might just change her into a normal bear later <3)

Ursula was from another world brought into this beach town one by her ride-or-die Medea. the world they were from, magical time-space travel is a common practice. Even though not quite a pokemon like the others she's never suspected to be not one, seeing nobody could prove she was or wasn't. Ursula herself doesn't mind living here, seeing she's always wanted to see the ocean, and has fallen in love with the culture.

Easy going and friendly, she's easy to be liked with her energetic way of talking and her sassy moments when things don't go her way. You can find her shopping with Bianca and giving advice about fashion and romantic advice to her (since Bianca keeps crushing on other pokemon). She one day aspires to open a boutique to sell brand name fashion and old vintage pieces alike.

Made for my monthly patreon! https://www.patreon.com/nilobunny

[pupsmailbox]

ANGELIC︰DEVINE ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　abel. acher. achille. adam. adrien. adélie. aelin. alaida. alexis. alice. alya. ambroise. amelia. amour. ana. anahera. andras. angaile. ange. angel. angela. angelesse. angelette. angelica. angelina. angeline. angelique. angelissa. angelita. angeliza. angella. angelo. angelus. angelyna. angie. angé. angélique. anna. antoine. apolline. ariel. astrid. aurora. aurore. azazel. baal. behemoth. berrie. bethany. blaise. blanche. blanchesse. blanchette. blushe. bowette. cain. caleb. camille. capucine. carmen. cary. casimir. cassandra. cassiel. castiel. cathy. celeste. celestine. celine. cerberus. cerise. charmeine. cher. cherie. cherub. choirette. christian. christine. chérie. cielo. claire. claude. cloud. cloudisse. cynthia. cyril. daisy. damien. damon. danni. dina. divina. divinesse. divinette. divinne. donovan. dova. dulcengel. eden. elena. elouan. elysia. emmy. engel. enzo. erebus. eryn. estelle. esther. evangelina. evangeline. evangelista. eve. faith. felix. fiacre. fleur. fortune. francette. francis. gabriel. gabriella. gaby. gemini. genesis. ghoul. giselle. godefrey. grace. gwenaël. halo. heartette. heather. heaven. heavenelle. heavenesse. hel. helena. henri. hera. honoré. hyacinthe. icha. isaac. isabelle. isidore. jacques. jade. jennifer. jin. jocelyn. jordan. joseph. josephina. julia. kage. karine. kasdeya. katie. kenzo. keres. kilian. lacey. lambise. lamia. laura. leila. leilani. levi. leviathan. liam. lightion. lilia. lilin. lilith. lola. louis. lucia. lucien. lucifer. léo. madeleine. madeline. malachi. malvina. mal’akhi. marc. mare. marie. marin. marine. mary. mateo. maxime. melantha. michael. michelangelo. michelle. minerva. mirabelle. morgan. moros. nadia. narcisse. nazaire. nicholas. noah. noelle. octave. océane. odin. olivia. onyx. ophelia. orpheus. pheobe. pinkette. pinkion. piérre. priscilla. prosper. rainier. ramiel. raphael. ravana. raymond. robin. rogue. rosaire. roxxane. ruby. rue. ruelle. rémi. sabel. salome. salomon. samael. samuel. sara. sephora. sephtis. sera. seraph. seraphim. seraphina. seraphine. serenity. seth. skye. soan. softetta. sol. sonata. sophia. soraya. strawbette. sugarette. sylvain. sylvianne. séraphin. tatiana. theodore. timothee. tristan. uriel. ursula. valentine. valerie. venetia. vera. victor. victoria. victorien. vionetta. virtue. vivian. vivien. willow. wingette. wolf. xavier. xela. yann. yasmine. yvette. zacharie. zoe. ángel. ánxela. éloi. étienne.

PRONOUNS ⌇　abo/above. adore/adore. ae/ae. ae/aer. an/angel. angel/angel. angelic/angelic. arch/angel. archangel/archangel. arrow/arrow. aura/aura. ay/aym. ballet/ballet. beau/beau. beauty/beauty. being/being. beloved/beloved. black/black. bless/bless. bless/blessing. blessing/blessing. bloom/bloom. blue/blue. bow/bow. broke/broken. bun/bun. celeste/celestial. celestial/celestial. cher/cher. cherub/cherub. cherub/cherubim. chirp/chirp. choir/choir. clou/cloud. cloud/cloud. cold/cold. cross/cross. crown/crown. cu/cupid. cupid/cupid. curse/curse. dark/dark. deity/deity. delicate/delicate. div/divine. div/divinity. divine/divine. dove/dove. drift/drift. empty/empty. er/ero. ero/ero. ethe/ethereal. ethereal/ethereal. ey/eyr. fai/faith. faith/faith. fall/fall. fall/fallen. fate/fate. faun/fauna. feather/feather. flight/flight. float/float. flower/flower. fluff/fluff. fly/flight. fly/fly. glow/glow. gold/gold. grace/grace. gra/grace. grudge/grudge. hae/haer. ha/halo. halo/halo. harp/harp. he/hym. hea/heaven. heal/heal. heart/heart. heaven/heaven. heaven/heavenly. hell/hell. hol/holy. holy/holy. hush/hush. hx/hxm. hy/hym. hymn/hymn. id/idol. ix/ix. kind/kind. kyr/kyr. lace/lace. lamb/lamb. life/life. light/light. lo/love. lyr/lyr. lyre/lyre. melancholy/melancholy. metallic/metallic. mirror/mirror. mist/mist. misty/misty. mon/mon. moral/moral. omen/omen. peace/peace. perfect/perfection. pink/pink. pure/pure. pure/purr. radiant/radiant. ribbon/ribbon. rose/rose. sacred/sacred. saint/saint. scept/scepter. self/self. ser/seraph. seraph/seraph. seraph/seraphim. shimmer/shimmer. shine/shining. shx/hxr. silk/silk. sin/sin. sing/song. sky/sky. smite/smite. snake/snake. snow/snow. soar/soaring. soft/soft. somber/somber. sorrow/sorrow. spark/sparkle. spirit/spirit. sugar/sugar. swan/swan. sweet/sweet. taint/taint. tether/tether. thorn/thorn. thxy/thxm. thy/thyn. tru/trumpet. unholy/unholy. unknown/unknown. vae/vaer. val/valentine. vio/vior. water/water. white/white. wi/wing. wing/wing. wraith/wraith. wrath/wrath. yellow/yellow. ðe/ðim. þe/þim. ȝe/ȝim. ☀️ . ☁️ . ⛪ . ✨ . ⭐ . 🐑 . 👁️ . 👼 . 🕊️ . 🕯️ . 😇 . 🤍 . 🦢.

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. x: What a Pity

Chapter Summary: Helaena tells Valeana something she doesn't want to hear. And Floris tells Aemond something that he does.

Word count: 3979

Sneak Peak: “I once saw him watch her from the courtyard as she was walking past the second floor balconies. He couldn’t take his eyes off her!” 

Warnings: I'm sorry, y'all are gonna still hate Aemond a little bit longer 😬 don't shoot me. *Fatphobia (forgot to put this in earlier)

T H E   R E D S

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Valeana couldn’t remember all the details of the events of the previous night. She knew what had occurred, but her sense of time was off. She didn’t remember how she got to Aegon’s chambers; her first memory was his hands grounding her and his voice pulling her back from the fog. Of all people, Aegon Targaryen was the last person she would have believed to have done that for her. 

Helaena was pulled from her bed, and with a surprising amount of clarity and consciousness, took the reins from her brother. Helaena was gentle as she took Valeana to her bed, tucked her in, and even got her lavender tea. The rest of the night, the princess spent combing through her hair until they both fell asleep. 

It would have probably saved Val a headache had she insisted on being brought back to her bedchambers, but ultimately it was probably the best she remained with Helaena. It was the most peaceful, dreamless sleep she had in a while. Instead of waking up to Shyla’s repetitive singing, or Floris’ shrill yelling for her to get out of bed, it was Helaena’s gentle hums as she plaited her hair, the distant chirps of birds outside and crickets in miniature cages.

Her empty bed sent a wave of panic for her family, which quickly was nipped in the bud when she arrived before their first meal with the princess. Helaena helped her explain what happened, gently, and with very few details and small truths. Valeana confessed she had fallen and it had triggered something in her mind, but she didn’t evoke Aemond’s name, nor had she told them it was Aegon who had found her. Helaena told them that she did, and then brought her back to her quarters, because it was closer. 

“I understand her mind,” the princess told Lord Bartimos. “It is similar to my own. I knew how to take care of her.”

Bartimos and Ursula thanked her from the bottom of their hearts, and Helaena simply nodded and told them it was her pleasure. She didn’t leave as Valeana’s family fretted over her; she sat patiently, head tilted with a gentle smile upon her soft face. 

Valeana’s father fretted over her leg, making sure she wasn’t wounded, then started to make arrangements for a raven to be sent back to Claw Isle to commission a new prosthetic to be promptly made. One made of sturdier wood, with stronger joints and sculpted more elegantly. Clement simply took his sister’s shoulders in his hands and leveled his eyes with hers, asking in earnest if she was truly well. She nodded stiffly, and while he did not truly believe it, he accepted her answer. Shyla’s face was white with concern, and she paced around the room berating herself for not realizing her sister was gone sooner.

“I should have known! No snoring! Oh, how sound a sleep I was…”

Ursula caged her in her arms, hand running through the crown of Valeana’s head as she pressed her cheek to her breast. Her eyes were dewy with worry and the knowledge that she was not there for her. While not her birth mother, Ursula had assumed the duty of being Valeana and Clement’s mother like she was born to do it. It had pained her almost as much as Bartimos when she learned what happened to her through a raven, and it was torturous watching Valeana allow herself to waste away in her room for all those years. 

Then there was Arthor, who lingered in the archway that separated his shared bed chambers with his brother. He remained silent, like an observing crow on a lamppost. Floris was just as quiet, but she was a simmering pot of water in the corner. Her frown aged her, putting lines at the corner of her lips and around her eyes and between her furrowed brow. Her unblinking leer was glued onto her step sister and her mother. 

Her mother.

And Heleana watched her. She watched how her lips disappeared under her teeth, and her fingers stiffly curled into her gown, reminding Helaena of the twitching legs of black widow spiders. 

When Bartimos insisted on having Valeana shadow him that day, to keep an eye on her, Helaena sat straight and asked if she could accompany her instead. Bartimos couldn’t deny the princess of the realm, and Val mouthed words of gratitude towards her. 

The two girls ended up between the protective roots of the Heart Tree in the Godswood. Helaena sat cross legged as she examined a fat green caterpillar that was devouring the tomato in her hand. Valeana was on the other side of a large root, laying flat on her black, her legs crossed at the ankles and her arms behind her head as she stared up at the crooked and bent branches of the the weirwood tree, and how the sun shone through the leaves, creating splotches of red shadows that coloured everything beneath it. 

“This is the one thing I truly missed about King’s Landing,” Valeana spoke, breaking the prolonged comfortable silence they had built. “We don’t have a godswood at Claw Isle, and no weirwoods.”

Helaena hummed, eyes still glued onto the little creature in her hand, “It misses you too, the tree.”

Val craned her neck to look at the princess, allowing a brief pause before she asked: “How do you know?”

“I just do,” the answer came immediately, almost like she had answered that question millions of times before. “I don’t know how I know… I just know things. They come to me in odd ways. Like last night, I dreamt I was running down the corridor outside our apartments, crying in pain. Then I woke up, and Aegon was there telling me that it was you who was running in the corridors in pain.” Helaena pulled her attention away from the caterpillar and regarded Valeana with a neutral stare. “I am sorry for what happened, Valeana. But you must know it was a mistake.”

Val remained on the ground, staring at the princess with a furrow in her brow. She understood why others thought Helaena was mad; she said many things that made little sense. But she was kind-hearted, soft, and Val severely doubted that she would make up stories in order to make herself look mysterious and wise. Even without evidence, Valeana believed her. And without context, Valeana understood who she was referring to. 

But accepting her words was still difficult to swallow. 

“He hates me,” Val stated in a small voice.

“He wants your forgiveness.”

Valeana sat up straight, hands migrating to grip the roots that embrace her body, “He attempted once at the request of the King, and since then he has been nothing but vile to me, and at best he has avoided me, Helaena. If this is his way of vying for my forgiveness, he has a queer way of doing things.”

Helaena doesn’t answer right away, instead she directs her attention back to the tomato in her hand, now a quarter of the way eaten by the finger-sized caterpillar. 

“I know my brothers quite well. Better than they know themselves,” She brought the fruit up to her eye level as she examined the insect’s mouth. “Aemond will never listen to his heart, no matter how much it screams at him. He will shut down before he allows it to win over his mind, because he sees it as a weakness. I had to witness him abandon his heart after what he had done to you back then. The same thing happened again last night.” 

Valeana just stared at her, a lump in her throat and tears glossing her eyes. Her initial fall and her friendship with Aemond was a topic she wished never to think about. For years, it plagued both her mind and heart, sending her into a spiral of darkness that she did not believe she would be able to free herself from. When she got better – when she started to walk – she found that hobbies and work were the best distractions. Keeping her mind busy with other pursuits left no room for Aemond. Eventually she’ll hear his name from a neighbouring conversation and realize she hadn’t thought about it in moons. 

Though all that effort came crumbling down the moment the King’s invitation arrived, and now Valeana had to come to the painful realization that the wound had never actually healed. The betrayal was still fresh, the heartache still there like a crater formed from a violent earthquake. She had tried to mask it through veiled indifference and avoidance, but there he was, reminding her of how much he dislikes her at every turn. Continuously validating her every insecurity, and forcing her to armour herself in hatred for him. 

But the truth… the agonizing truth of it was…

Valeana could never hate him. Not her Aemond; not the boy who had held her hand while they scaled down steep hills, or bandaged her bleeding fingers from needle pricks, or surprised her with gifts and treats in complete spontaneity. No, she loved that Aemond. She mourned for that Aemond. 

As if she could read Val’s thoughts, Helaena broke the silence, “You miss him, I can see it. Your Aemond is still here… He’s the same boy you loved, Valeana. Just older, more scarred, and hidden away.”

Valeana shook her head and quickly wiped a stray tear that escaped and rolled down to her chin, “He’s not the same, Helaena. We’re not the same. I–I do…I do miss him. I miss our friendship, but–” She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head again before directing her eyes onto her laced fingers. Val pulled her knees up to rest her chin on them, “He’s too far away, I do not think I could reach him. Mistake or no, his actions last night was a clear enough display of how much he desires to push me away from him… Like a bad memory.” 

“Valeana…” Helaena’s tone of voice sounded almost reprimanding, even in its softness. “You’ve pushed him away the moment he spoke to you.”

“You do not need to make this more difficult than it needs to be.”

Val squeezed her eyes shut at the sour memory of their first meal reunited. It felt like so long ago. Now she felt embarrassed by herself and how sour and vindictive she was from day one. It was a bitter tonic to swallow, to realize that had she been civil on that first day, all of this would not have happened. Had she taken Aemond’s olive branch —had she been the better person, instead of consumed by resentment— they might have at least found some sort of cordial co-existence, and perhaps one day they could renew their friendship. While her childhood heartbreak was difficult to forget, she always knew in the deepest pit of her chest that she still longed for him. She wanted nothing more than to feel his hand in hers again. 

Valeana took in a shockingly sharp inhale, “Fuck.” 

She hated having to admit that she was wrong. She hated even more having to admit to herself that she still loved Aemond Targaryen. 

Helaena’s hand found her shoulder, “You know what you have to do.”

She does… But somehow she doubts that it will fix anything. How could she ever get him to open up to her, when his pride and resolve was made out of Valyrian steel? 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Floris Grafton was a woman with simple tastes. She was content with floating around the Holdfast or the gardens, conversing with other ladies of the court. Floris loved gossip, or rather craved it more like. She missed King’s Landing purely for the gossip she would overhear the court ladies say when she was a child. Claw Isle was dull when it came to juicy morsels for her to sink her teeth into. In the past there weren’t many young ladies at the Keep outside her own sisters, so Floris sought out the company of the adult women of the court during her childhood. Sure, she spent many an afternoon chasing after the four princes, but during the moments when they were at the Dragon Pit or training or doing what boys do, Floris much preferred sitting with the adults. 

Her presence was often a nuisance to them, since they couldn’t speak on topics not appropriate for youthful ears, but Floris would refuse to leave. With her own mother at Claw Isle for moons at a time, she desperately sought the companionship of the other mothers of court, especially the Queen. When it came to the crown princess, Rhaenyra, she did not have as much of a close relationship as she would have liked. The heir seemed far more aware of her uninvited presence and wanted her away from adult conversations. 

But then Rhaenyra preferred Valeana’s company. Floris bristled at the memory. The Princess always loved her sister’s chubby cheeks and loved to plait her thick ivory hair. Everyone loved Valeana more than her… even her own mother. 

Floris’ face twisted hideously at this thought. She was lucky that the Royal Sept was near empty when she entered it, because Floris was not hiding her expressions in the slightest.

She knelt down in front of an altar filled with melted candles, the image of the Maiden hovering above her. Instead of prayers, she muttered curses and heated insults. She took a match, lit it with the nearest candle and lit another with it, in her own name. 

When Floris left, she did not feel any sense of relief. Her prayers to the Maiden were riddled with sour thoughts and imaginings of Valeana’s hair cut all off, or her peachy stomach bursting out from a tight corset. Generally, these intrusive thoughts were infrequent, but it had picked up a considerable amount when they returned to King’s Landing. Praying to the Maiden and the Mother was her only moment to keep her peace of mind; she would pray for her success in finding a marriage, for love and beauty and all things an unmarried lady longs for. Though that day was different… Her spoiled, attention-seeking step sister just had to occupy more space in her mind. 

Floris gripped her burgundy gown in a vice as she descended down the Serpentine Steps that lead to the lower courtyard. Her head was bowed, watching her feet and trying to keep her step sure footed whilst having fake conversations in her mind. That was her unspoken hobby; she always thought of conversations that never existed, or possibly could exist, where everything she said was witty and unchallenged. Many of them focused on her taking Valeana off her high horse, or putting her parents in their place, or being the center of a party where everyone was hanging off her word as if she spoke the gospel of the Gods. 

She very nearly lost herself in her little day dream, but with the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs her attention was pulled back to reality. Pausing at the half landing, Floris took the moment to curtsey when Prince Aemond crossed her path. 

“My Prince,” she spoke demurely, but her forehead was still stitched with the annoyances of that morn. She seldom crossed paths with Aemond, so she wasted no time in pulling him in small talk. “How is your day fairing?” 

He gives her a curt nod, barely sparing her a look, “Lady Floris. It is fairing as much as any day.”

Her head tilted at the tone he used. She knew Aemond to be a stoic and serious prince, but his voice was always levelled and composed. Now she could hear a hint of frustration in the graininess coming from the back of his throat, much like a growl. 

Floris may be a woman of simple tastes, but she was not simple minded. She was quite intelligent, quite cunning, a skill she seemed to always have but didn’t realize and appreciate until she was a woman grown. She knew she was not a beauty, but her mind more than made up for it. 

“Oh dear,” she said carefully, eyes examining the stiff muscles of his face. “I hope it is not bold of me to ask, my Prince, but does something weigh on your mind?” 

She was treading murky waters, she knew, but the gears behind her eyes were working diligently, meticulously, as she watched Aemond closely. Aemond, the one who maimed her step sister; Aemond, who extended the first branch of peace on their first day, who was promptly rejected foolishly by the same step sister. The greatest point of tension in the Red Keep was the broken and strained relationship between Valeana Celtigar and Prince Aemond. While not much had not happened in the last sinnight, the whispers were hard to ignore. 

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive him? Poor dear, I just see him every day drowning in distractions ever since they got here.”  “I once saw him watch her from the courtyard as she was walking past the second floor balconies. He couldn’t take his eyes off her!”  “Neither can Prince Aegon!” “Oh, oh, don’t get me started on that!” “I heard from Lady Perra, who heard from her maid, that she spotted Prince Aegon pull Valeana into a closet with him!” “No! The Scandal! Surely that can’t be true!”  “That must be what that whole show was about in the training yard. My boy was training there that day, and saw the whole thing! They were at each other’s throats. Men only fight that way over the hand of a woman.” “Oh, to be desired by not one, but two Targaryen Princes! What a lucky young lady.”

Oh, what a lucky young lady indeed. Valeana doesn’t even wish to be married, let alone married to a bloody Targaryen prince. And why in all the Realm would they both hold interest in her? Her step sister might have lost 5 stone, but she was still fat. She did well covering it up with all those skirt layers and stiff bodices, but Floris knew what she looked like underneath it all. She was one of the few who did. Large thighs and a pouch stomach that reminded her of an apron, and her heavy breasts and soft biceps were striped with stretch marks. No, her step sister did not have the body of the Maiden. What a disappointment her future betrothed will have once he lies with her.

All this attention for her fat step sister disgusted her. Valeana did not deserve it, and she especially did not deserve two fucking princes fighting over her! 

“What weighs on my mind is not of your concern, Floris,” he still didn’t look at her directly, which irked her. The tick in his jaw and the shuffle of his feet betrayed his need to remove himself from her presence. 

She decided to ignore his statement. Her large doe eyes narrowed a bit as she chose her next words carefully. 

“If it is about Valeana, Prince Aemond, it should please you to know you do not need to worry about her health.” What she said had the desired effect. He looked down at her and a shadow went over his eye, casted by his strong nose. Floris kept her eye contact, “She is well.”

The way his nostrils flared told her she plucked the correct chord. 

“And why would I worry about her health?”

“Apologies. I thought you were aware… Princess Helaena returned her to our apartments earlier this morn, claiming she had a fit and allowed her to stay in her quarters.”

His eyes narrowed at her, and his chin slowly tilted, “You speak as if you do not believe it.”

“Because I don’t.”

Aemond turned to face Floris fully now, “Why wouldn’t you believe it?”

Floris shrugged a single slender shoulder, “I know my sister. She hungers for attention… I do not believe she had any sort of fit in the halls,” she rolled her eyes at the idea. “I’m sure she acted out one, for whatever damned reason.”

His eye narrowed a bit, and she wondered if he was dissecting this interaction as much as she was. It gave her a little thrill at the prospect that he was – she had yet to meet anyone to match her intellect. 

“Valeana does not like attention. She abhors being the center of it.”

Floris raised an eyebrow at him, “You speak as if you are still chums. I’ll have you know, my Prince, she is not the same girl you once knew. When we returned to Claw Isle all those years ago, everyone was at her beck and call. She got carted around on a liter like some spoiled fat Dornish princess. I guess she got addicted to the attention so much it changed her character. She got lazy, forced people to do things for her, and when no one was regarding her for a second, she would pull something childish ploy to ensure everyone was fretting over her. It never changed after all this time – she still pulls stunts like this to get pity.”

Aemond leaned back against the balustrade, crossing his ankles and arms. “And why are you sharing this with me?”

He was assessing her, she knew, trying to piece together her motives. Though she had little doubt that her motives to besmirch her step sister would be any different to his own with Aegon. They were the same in that way. Perhaps that is why she found herself approaching him, a step too close to be proper. 

“Valeana will try to guilt trip you and never offer you the absolution that you need to appease your father’s wishes. It’s her little revenge, I suppose, whilst receiving what she desperately craves from everyone else: pity. Quite childish, if you ask me.” Floris extends her neck, nose pointed in the air as she continues with an overtly formal curtsey. “But as your humble servant, my Prince, I feel it is my duty to warn you about her intentions. And as an old friend, I do not wish to see you painted as a villain or a fool.” 

Aemond pursed his lips and lifted his chin as he gave a soft, “Hm”. His eye was assessing her still, and Floris did her best to keep eye contact, lest she betray her fibs from lack of confidence in them. In her world they were true of course, but she knew in the deepest pit in her chest that she exaggerated and stretched the truth. Oh, her step sister loved getting coddled, but other than being resolute in her bitter resentment, Valeana wasn’t smart enough to concoct an intricate plan of revenge that involved emotional manipulation. That was all Floris’ genius. 

His head tilted the other way, making it obvious that something clicked in his mind. He gave a little nod and stepped off the balustrade, letting his arms fall to his side, “Thank you for sharing this information with me, Lady Floris. It has been… illuminating. And I am grateful.” 

Floris smiled, the ends of her lips twitching, threatening to pull them into an impish grin as she watched her seeds start to take root. 

“It is my pleasure, Prince Aemond.”

He regarded her for a moment, and she felt a heat bloom from her bosom up to her neck and then ears. 

“If it does not impede on your time, Floris, would you care to join me on a walk around the courtyard? I wish to pick your brain.” 

Oh, that just went straight to her cunt. 

Not able to control her grin any longer, she nodded eagerly, “Pick away, my Prince.”

Notes: Please, just let me cook. It's a long story, we aight even halfway done, my loves.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

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