dystopian-intellectual-pigeon

[dannybobany]

Omori magical girl au. That’s it that’s the prompt. I just think it’d be neat

[fiadhulresims]

All outfit descriptions for Annabeth Chase

hi i'm weird so i decided to reread all of the books in which annabeth appears to transcript all the times her clothes and items are described.

i hope this can help someone out there in some way, like drawing her!

Observation: I might have skipped something

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

The Lightning Thief

“From under the collar of her T-shirt she pulled a leather necklace with five clay beads of different colors. It was just like Luke's, except Annabeth's also had a big gold ring strung on it, like a college ring.”

“The air shimmered, and she materialized, holding a Yankees baseball cap as if she'd just taken it off her head.”

“Annabeth became visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket.”

“Annabeth was bringing her magic Yankees cap, which she told me had been a twelfth-birthday present from her mom. She carried a book on famous classical architecture, written in Ancient Greek, to read when she got bored, and a long bronze knife, hidden in her shirt sleeve.”

“Her hand crept up to her necklace. She fingered a glazed white bead painted with the image of a pine tree, one of her clay end-of-summer tokens.”

“Annabeth kept worrying at her necklace. She was pinching the gold college ring that hung with the beads.”

“A few minutes later she came out in Waterland flower-print shorts, a big red Waterland T-shirt, and commemorative Waterland surf shoes. A Waterland backpack was slung over her shoulder, obviously stuffed with more goodies.”

“Annabeth rubbed her necklace like she was thinking deep, strategic thoughts.

‘That pine-tree bead’, I said. ‘Is that from your first year?’

She looked. She hadn’t realized what she was doing.

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Every August, the counselors pick the most important event of the summer, and they paint it on that year’s bead. I've got Thalia's pine tree, a Greek trireme on fire, a centaur in a prom dress — now that was a weird summer...’

‘And the college ring is your father's?’

‘That's none of your —‘ She stopped herself. ‘Yeah. Yeah, it is.’

‘You don’t have to tell me.’

‘No... it's okay.’ She took a shaky breath. ‘My dad sent it to me folded up in a letter, two summers ago. The ring was, like, his main keepsake from Athena. He wouldn’t have gotten through his doctoral program at Harvard without her...’”

“At the bonfire, the senior counselors awarded the end-of-summer beads (...) The design was pitch black, with a sea-green trident shimmering in the center.”

The Sea of Monsters

“She was wearing jeans and a denim jacket over her orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt. Her blond hair was pulled back in a bandanna.”

“She had a ragged backpack slung over her shoulder, her baseball cap tucked in her pocket, a bronze knife in her hand, and a wild look in her storm-gray eyes, like she’d just been chased a thousand miles by ghosts.”

“She was wearing a sleeveless silk dress like C.C.'s, only white. Her blond hair was newly washed and combed and braided with gold. Worst of all, she was wearing makeup, which I never thought Annabeth would be caught dead in.”

“She undid the golden braids in her hair.”

“‘S'okay,’ I grunted, though I'd never really wanted to know what Annabeth’s sneaker tasted like.”

“One grabbed Annabeth and Grover by their T-shirt collars.”

The Titan's Curse

“Her blond hair was tucked into a ski cap and her gray eyes were the same color as the ocean.”

“She used to wear no jewelry except for her Camp Half-Blood bead necklace, but now she wore little silver earrings shaped like owls — the symbol of her mother, Athena. She pulled off her ski cap, and her long blond hair tumbled down her shoulders.”

“I thought of some harsh things to say, and I might've said them too, but then I looked down and saw something navy blue lying in the snow at my feet. Annabeth's New York Yankees baseball cap.”

The Battle of the Labyrinth

“She was wearing jeans and an orange camp T-shirt and her clay bead necklace. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail.”

“He slung a leather satchel off his back, unzipped it, and produced a sleek silver laptop computer — one of the ones I'd seen in the workshop. On the lid was the blue symbol ∆.”

The Last Olympian

“It's not that she tried to look good. We'd been doing so many combat missions lately, she hardly brushed her curly blond hair anymore, and she didn't care what clothes she was wearing — usually the same old orange camp T-shirt and jeans, and once in a while her bronze armor.”

“He brought out a bronze shield and passed it to Annabeth. It looked pretty much standard issue — the same kind of round shield we always used in capture the flag. But when Annabeth set it on the ground, the reflection on the polished metal changed from sky and buildings to the Statue of Liberty — which wasn't anywhere near us.

‘Whoa,’ I said. ‘A video shield.’”

“My brain started seizing on little random details, like the fact that she was still wearing those silver owl earrings from her dad, who was this brainiac military history professor in San Francisco.”

“She wore her orange camp T-shirt and jeans. Her hair was tucked up in her Yankees cap, which was strange because that should have made her invisible.”

“She was dressed in black camouflage with her Celestial bronze knife strapped to her arm and her laptop bag slung over her shoulder — ready for stabbing or surfing the Internet, whichever came first.”

“The girl had tangled blond hair and was wearing flannel pajamas.”

“Annabeth was wearing new clothes — jeans and an oversize army jacket.”

“She had pulled her owl helmet low over her face, but I could tell her eyes were red.”

“Kronos whirled to face her and slashed with Backbiter, but somehow Annabeth caught the strike on her dagger hilt.”

The Demigod Files: Percy Jackson and the Bronze Dragon

“She bumped me with her shoulder, which I guess was supposed to be friendly, but she was wearing full greek armor, so it kind of hurt. Her gray eyes sparkled under her helmet. Her blond ponytail curled around one shoulder. It was hard for anyone to look cute in combat armor, but Annabeth pulled it off.”

The Demigod Files

The Heroes of Olympus

The Lost Hero

“Two teenagers stood in the chariot — a tall blond girl maybe a little older than Jason, and a bulky dude with a shaved head and a face like a pile of bricks. They both wore jeans and orange T-shirts, with shields tossed over their backs. The girl leaped off before the chariot had even finished moving. She pulled a knife and ran toward Jason's group while the bulky dude was reining in the horses.”

The Mark of Athena

“She took out her camp necklace, strung with her dad’s college ring and a colorful clay bead for each year at Camp Half-Blood. Now there was something else on the leather cord: a red coral pendant Percy had given her when they had started dating. He'd brought it from his father's palace at the bottom of the sea.”

The House of Hades

“She'd tied her blonde hair back with a strip of denim torn from her jeans, and in the fiery light of the river her grey eyes flickered. Despite being beat-up, sooty and dressed like a homeless person, she looked great to Percy.”

“In his massive hand, the white shard looked like another toothpick, but when he offered it to Annabeth she realized it was a sword – a blade of dragon bone, honed to a deadly edge, with a simple grip of leather.”

The Blood of Olympus

“Piper and Annabeth were disguised as lovely Greek serving maidens. Even in their white sleeveless gowns and laced sandals, they had no trouble navigating the rocky path.”

“She looked uncomfortable in her serving-maiden outfit. She kept hunching her shoulders to keep the dress from slipping. Her pinned-up blonde bun had come undone in the back and her hair dangled like long spider legs.”

“Annabeth slung her own amphora off her shoulder. She, too, had a concealed sword, but even without a visible weapon she looked deadly.”

“Annabeth re-adjusted her golden belt.”

“She ripped through her supply pouch and unwrapped a piece of godly food.”

“She fingered the red coral pendant on her necklace – a gift from Percy when they started dating.”

The Demigod Diaries: The Diary of Luke Castellan

“As soon as I lifted the sheet of tin, something flew at me — a blur of flannel and blond hair.”

“Her ribs were bony under her flannel pijamas”

The Demigod Diaries: The Staff of Hermes

“She was wearing her regular orange camp T-shirt and shorts, but her tan arms and legs seemed to glow in the sunlight. Her blond hair swept over her shoulders. Around her neck hung a leather cord with colorful beads from our demigod training camp — Camp Half-Blood.”

“She wore a dark green sleeveless dress that showed off her long blond hair and her slim athletic figure. Her camp necklace had been replaced by a string of gray pearls that matched her eyes.”

Demigods and Magicians

The Staff of Serapis

“At the moment, her most deadly weapon was her backpack, which was loaded with heavy architecture books from the public library.”

“She pulled out something she hadn’t carried with her in a long time: her battered blue New York Yankees cap”

The Crown of Ptolemy

“I'd never actually seen her wearing her Yankees cap before, since she vanished every time she put it on, but there she was — wide-eyed with surprise, caught in the act of sneaking up on Setne.”

Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard

The Sword of Summer

“She was dressed more sensibly in snow boots, jeans and a parka, with an orange T-shirt peeking out at the neckline.”

“She was better dressed than me — orange North Face ski jacket, black jeans, lace-up winter boots — but if people saw us together they would've mistaken us for brother and sister.”

The Hammer of Thor

“Annabeth was there before me, standing on the platform in jeans and sandals and a long-sleeved purple shirt with a laurel-wreath design and the letters SPQR: UNR.”

“Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders today. She seemed to be growing it out.”

The Ship of the Dead

“Her long blond hair was tied back in a ponytail. Her dark blue T-shirt was emblazoned with the yellow words COLLEGE OF ENVIRONMENTAL DESIGN, UC BERKELEY.”

[hoodoo12]

Great Vengeance and Furious Anger (a Ménage continuation)

SFW; Beetlejuice/Angel Dewey Finn, intruder, minor violence, a true guardian

@beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @thewolfisapartofmysoul @janitor-boy @dilfyjuice @ironmansuucks 

Enjoy!

There was a sound.

A muffled sound.

A sound of stealth.

A footstep.

A deliberately soft footstep that was out of place in the deep of night, when the windows were open and crickets sang to each other, when it should be slow and sleepy and quiet.

A deliberately soft footstep in a room where no one should be, because the three who lived here were tangled on a bed.

Beetlejuice cocked his head and listened harder.

Beyond the Molly’s soft breathing and Dewey’s equally soft mimic of breathing, there were more footsteps. In the living room.

Moving smoothly to avoid disturbing his lovers, he slipped off the edge of the mattress. Dewey muttered something incoherent and the wing that he liked to blanket the two of them under fluttered. Molly sighed and even though asleep, sensed Beetlejuice wasn’t beside her. Instead of waking, she flipped and snuggled closer to the angel.

Good.

They could stay together, asleep. He’d go find out and take care of whatever--whoever--was in the other room.

He’d eliminate it.

Light-footed as a cat, he crept from the bedroom.

Just as he’d suspected, just as he’d feared and hoped, there was a guy quietly going through Molly’s things. Specifically the drawers she kept some of her supplies for rituals and spellwork. Beetlejuice almost laughed; if the guy was expecting to find silverware or jewelry, he was going to be sadly disappointed!

But the intruder didn’t seem to be upset or disgusted by what he found. Holding a penlight wrapped in red cellophane in his mouth, he used both hands to pick up and discard various items. Random things, uncommon things like a porcupine foot and a bit of a corpse flower preserved in purified rain water, he slipped into the satchel at his side. The guy was systematic and thorough, and that was unnerving.

He knew what to expect from this house. He knew what he was looking for. This wasn’t a simple burglary.

The man finished with one drawer and went to the next. It was one Molly had sealed with green and white wax along the edges of the drawer. With no hesitation, the intruder broke the wax and pulled the drawer open. The faintest suggestion of a glow was visible as it came free.

Eyes wide and his lips pulled back to show his teeth, Beetlejuice sunk to the floor into a crouch.

That drawer was special. That drawer was important. Molly kept the most private, most intimate, things there. Protected by wards and prayers, lined with deep purple velvet, it contained three crystal vials: one with a fingernail he’d broken off, one containing a small downy feather from Dewey’s wings, and the smallest that held several of her hairs. Bound together with red string, the collected parts of them were symbolic of their commitment to one another.

And this thief was pawing into that sacred space.

Beetlejuice could be invisible. He could simply walk up to the guy and twist his head off his neck, damn the mess it would make. But where was the fun in that? This intruder needed to be made to fear, made to understand he had broken into the wrong house, even if he was looking for magical artifacts.

He crept forward on all fours, tentacles erupting from him and sliding along the floor like inkstains even darker than the shadows that cloaked the room. He licked his teeth and cut his tongue on their points, and grinned as he readied himself to launch at this fool, and make him pay.

All muscles tensed, sharpened fingernails digging into Molly’s carpet and tentacles writhing, eager to envelope the man, he took one second to relish the anticipation of the attack.

In that one second, the man’s hand closed around the three vials. He smiled too, and snapped the fingers of his other hand, and Beetlejuice was frozen, pinned like an insect to a board.

“Demons are so predictable,” the man muttered in a bored tone.

He couldn’t even move his eyes. Whatever this man had done, Beetlejuice was trapped. He watched, helplessly, bloody drool collecting on and then dripping from his lower lip because he couldn’t swallow, as the intruder examined his prize, shaking the three vials to get a better look at what they contained. He sighed and glanced down at his captive.

“A fingernail? That’s a bit mundane, don’t you think? You could have at least provided spit or semen.”

Even his tentacles, his shadow mass, were immobilized. He had no recourse, no protection as the man picked his way closer to him. He squatted when he was within a foot. Beetlejuice had no idea how he appeared to the man, in the muted red of the light he held. Terrifying? Pathetic? If he could simply break free, he’d tear him limb from limb, he’d make him pay for what he was doing, he’d kill him and feed his ghost to a Sandworm, then bumrush him straight to the Lost Souls’ Room for an eternity of desolate hopelessness--

“I think one of these would be a much better sample.”

In impotent anger that melted towards horror, Beetlejuice watched the man lift a tentacle. It was pliant and loose, like it belonged to someone else, but he could feel the pinch of the man’s grip. So he was pinned, but not nerveless. The silver edged knife that suddenly appeared in the intruder’s hand to lop off his tentacle was going to hurt like a son of a bitch, and he couldn’t do anything but watch it happen--

“TRESPASSER!” declared a voice with the toll of the deepest bell, a voice so deep the vibration of it was painful in not only his ears but his chest.  

It hurt the man too, because he dropped everything he was holding--his knife and his penlight and the vials he’d pilfered--and automatically put his hands over his ears.

A brilliant white light erupted behind him, burning out all details of the room. Beetlejuice was happy he was facing away, because otherwise unable to blink he would have been blinded. His shadow mass disappeared under the intensity of the light, and he dropped flat to the carpet like he was a puppet that had its strings cut. He could move again, but didn’t.

 “YOU DARE ENTER UNINVITED, YOU DARE TO TOUCH THAT WHICH IS NOT YOURS?”

At the burst of eye-burning brilliance, the intruder threw himself backward. Unable to cover both his ears and eyes, tears streamed down his face and he cried out. The noise he made was lost in the echo of Dewey’s words.

The light fluxed, and with his own eyes leaking tears, Beetlejuice squinted as Dewey stepped lightly over him, descending on the man. Wings outstretched, looking like every vengeful, smiting, wrath of God depiction of an angel ever created, he was cloaked in white-hot light. A true guardian angel, unchained. It hurt too much to look at him directly for more than a moment.

 “THIS TRANSGRESSION DOES NOT WARRENT FORGIVENESS.”

Beetlejuice rapidly blinked his stinging eyes. Now that Dewey was between him and the intruder he could only hear the man trying to scramble backwards on the floor. He was sobbing and begging, his words tumbling over themselves in his effort to stop the angel from descending closer. The sharp smell of piss as the man’s bladder emptied made Beetlejuice grin.

 “SILENCE.”

To his credit, the man immediately obeyed that word. Dewey’s voice, still tolling like a bell, seemed to echo in the confines of the living room.

It was still too bright to see exactly what happened next, but it appeared that as Dewey stood over the intruder, his wings came around and enveloped him. The man gave one final blubbering sob, and then as quickly as turning off a switch, the blinding holy light that had erupted from Dewey was gone.

Beetlejuice lay where he was, stomach down on the floor, for a moment longer. He would have expected his vision to be burnt out longer, or for his ears to ring, but neither of those happened. The house was as quiet and still as it had been before he’d been aware someone had broken in.

The only evidence there’d even been someone else was the satchel, the dropped penlight and knife, the wet spot of urine soaked into the carpet, and the three crystal vials on the floor. The man himself was gone.

Dewey turned and padded back over to him, his wings now tucked along his back. Wearing only boxer shorts, he looked less like an avenging angel and more someone half awake looking for a midnight snack. He stepped over the objects left in the intruder’s wake, but Beetlejuice stretched forward and snagged the vials as Dewey helped him to his feet.

“What did you do to that asshole?” he asked, as the angel looked him over fretfully and gently wiped the tears off his cheeks.

“I sent him away. Dropped him in a park about a hundred miles away. Wiped his memory of anything to do with witchery. He’ll just be another boring accountant, as stereotypical as they’re made out to be.”

Beetlejuice chuckled.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded, even though Dewey continued to look him over like maybe he wasn’t being truthful.

“I appreciate the assist. I didn’t expect him to have one up on me.”

The angel smiled. “I’ll let you take out the next intruder. Come on, let’s go back to bed. We can tell Molly what happened tomorrow, and let her know she’s got a new knife.”

He slipped an arm around the demon’s waist to lead him back to the bedroom. Beetlejuice paused a second, to slip the three vials back into the velvet lined drawer meant for them. He shut it and made a mental note to have Molly re-seal the drawer.

“You sounded pretty apocalyptic, Dew,” he teased lightly. “You dare touch that which is not yours, and all that. I’m glad you saved all of Molly’s stuff.”

“Hmm?” the angel replied, again sounding more than half asleep. “Oh. That. I didn’t mean the ingredients or even those little vials. I meant you, baby.”

Dewey pressed a kiss to the side of the demon’s head, and herded him back to bed.

fin!

[taendrils]

cloud delivery! — preview

― ❝sometimes other fairies really can’t tell what goes through your head or if anything at all does, but your kind’s wonder reaches its peak as they spot you interacting with min yoongi: the closed-off garden fairy. you choose not to mention how you deliver things to him on the daily and how you may or may not stop at nothing until you get to see him smile.❞

• genre: fluff, comedy, romance, idiots to lovers, disney fairies au • warnings: swearing, mentions of anxiety and perfectionism issues • pairing: garden fairy!yoongi x fast-flying fairy!reader • preview wordcount: 2.8k words

An old knowledge with ties back when humanity couldn't trace says that when a child laughs for the first time, a new fairy is born. Back when the first humans came to be, once their hearts bloomed with genuine joy, fairies followed their path and helped their surroundings grow along with their smiles. Water fairies purified their rivers and those of light have sown the sun into rays falling from the sky to give humans guidance and brighten their circles. Gentle braids of blossom that they called flowers started rising from fertile soil and frost dusted the tops of the mountains where fairies flew to give colour to this world.

As much as humans depended on fairies, the same could be said from the other perspective: with fairies learning new ways to care for the world and building routines often broken by events impossible to imagine for those who kept an axis of seasons and light. Many curiosities have arisen in young minds but humans meeting their helpers was rarer than the eclipses or red auroras that were painted for them. Despite that, sprinkles of magic still caressed heads on pillows and brought consciences along the path of pleasant dreams.

Eras have passed and happiness took different forms, yet no matter the timeline, they all kept the same core belief. Fairies were shaped by the experience of euphoria, and laughter trailed after them in their early stages with the same purity and open heart they were created from.

Yoongi doesn't know what kind of laughter lightning must have struck the child who made you appear, but he's sure that wherever they are, that baby must have had some future sight and is having a field day with watching him interact with the bane of his existence. That's what must have caused the laughter, unforeseen circumstances that no fairy kingdom ruler or human scientist could have explained, because you were too out of this world for him to explain otherwise.

Well, you or your head, that is.

If his house branch sharer Namjoon, fawn fairy extraordinaire also held residence in Yoongi’s head where dramatic monologues were played more ardently than those on a slow roll of a film, he might’ve reprimanded Yoongi, stomped on his dreams and overall existence by telling him you were not so bad. Or worse, tell him that he’s exaggerating and that this grudge he’s holding over you has no place on moral grounds like those where fairies existed in.

Ok, fine. Maybe he was being a little dramatic. Blame it on his nature, on the talent he was born under, or just pin it under the mentorship of Rosetta, head garden fairy and symbol of house behaviour. It is her fault that garden fairies are thought to have a stuck-up reputation, therefore many are surprised when they meet the other fairies with the same talent, like sweet Jimin, who bared resemblance with the snowdrops he carefully bloomed every spring season.

Yoongi doesn’t mind the reputation, might even be true in his case. He’d like not to be approached. It sounded about festive right now.

But eternal life doesn’t go the way we want it to, honeydew, Rosetta’s words ring into his head, pushing aside the unfinished monologue still tapping at the back of his head. There might be some truth to that, as no one would wish to share her experiences of being dragged in the mud and stuck in a carriage hundred times their size in The Mainland. Yoongi shudders, the roses in his hair rattling with the rhythm of his vibration.

Still, he wishes he could sleep in a hollow deep enough for fate to spare him the responsibility just this day. And the following one. And the next season, until autumn comes in and he gets to do what he has been meaning to all this time. See, another reason why he loathes being assigned on spring, besides having no way out of meeting with you. His conscience finds itself pouring magic dust on the monologue which takes the spotlight as it returns, and fine, he is exaggerating. You were not a bad person. Ahem. Fairy. 

Not a bad fairy.

In a sense, he knows that he can’t deal with you due to the differences in your kind and how you stood out from his perceptions. By nature you lacked tints of responsibility and regard for every other living creature, not for the fact that you chose not to care but you just forgot. Whatever the consequences were, you had no mind for those either: you were more inclined to brush them off and continue on with your duties, excuses and pretences of living in the present almost synonymous with your name. Yoongi had a word for that: human.

From what he learned about humans and their characteristics, you were eerily similar, it scared him sometimes. Only on the inside, where he liked to keep any thought which could give you an advantage over him. The first ‘oh well, I forgot’ from you in his presence brought a month’s drought on the eastern region and a near heart attack from Yoongi, while your first ‘oops’ stuttered with the most radiant smile followed after gentle, idiotic Namjoon trusted you with leading a lost mandarin duck and ending up on the other side of the world with it.

Although the similarities don’t make him lose his balance and fall face-down on bulbs nowadays, you’re still a constant surprise. Might be due to the fact that you are so far from the usual fairies he interacts with, preferring to stay away from fast-flying fairies and their tempers. Those often found him with his tongue prodding at his cheek, snarky remarks growing in his head like forest fungus but blocked as they glide closer towards his mouth. Might be due to the fact that you’re the fastest fairy he’s ever seen, speed intertwining with such positivity and enthusiasm that Yoongi is sure you could circle the world before it grinned sunset if you wished.

You were so far off what he had expected and all over the place that he used to hear about you only in emergency situations, wandering around with desires of helping and without a department, carrying every task your kind couldn’t. Not even Vidia, made of dark purple, confidence and sarcasm stepped up in times of crisis quite like you did.

Current crisis? Yoongi himself. At least that’s what he thinks, because he couldn’t explain your visits otherwise without shame dusting pretty cheeks pink.

Meeting with other fairies, it often left him on edge, small changes he would make picking apart at his brain and tightening inside his chest, scared of lashing out at others but obviously uncomfortable. Fairies needed routine, moves not missing the smallest element, but mistakes were prone: a package here, a honeysuckle with its vines intertwined there–one second of not paying attention and no one was doing things the way he wanted. And oh, how aware he was of it but how futile were his attempts to control his fixation as it ate away at his will to express it.

More often than not, the means of speaking up forced his heart into erratic pounds, coming down from the interactions drained and exhausting every resource in his body. He wishes for quiet, for slumber into tulip petals, wishes the warm wind breezed through the static air, widening the space between his fingers. Like now. Pixie dust stars fall upon his ground with you getting closer, and your grip on the strap loosens, the leaf cover of the pouch now held gently by your palm. He recognises the sensation without bringing his focus into it, the breeze that changes the direction of the heat and instead of descent, it’s brought into a spiral that surrounds the being. 

But then your mouth opens. 

“Ten bowls of clay, taken straight from under the sunlight,” you beam as you drop the luggage down, crouching to detangle the cover. Used to hearing the fairy’s instructions, you waste no time to put the items one over the other, bending to in your arms. Yoongi stares at you with his mouth open, and for once the shock in his eyes has a pleasant warmth rising the corners of your smile.

“Are you sure you can handle that?” Yoongi says slowly, syllables forming in reluctance as he watches the pile grow until it reaches your chin. It's going to fall.

“Of course, of course, I got it, just give me some space so I can move.”

His heart starts to pick up the pace at your mismatched steps, part of him wondering why didn’t you just fly over? Hello? He’d love to have the time to judge your transportation choices more, but his instincts kick in as his eyes land right on one bowl slipping from under your chin. It will fall.

He moves faster than his thought, diving to catch it, but he is no wind person and ends up hanging in the air, wings pulling his weight with shame as he finds himself face to face with the fallen bowl levitating in front of him.

“You think I’m some sort of fool, Min Yoongi?” you reprimand and the pixie dust you used on the items seems to form its usual sparkle, mocking his attempts. “All you do is nag me about getting flower paint on your precious cutlery. I can’t begin to imagine what would happen if I broke one of these limited edition bowls. What do you do with these anyway.”

He doesn’t even have the brain to be offended, questions about your word choices puzzling him and setting a fog over the remains of his previous scare. “Limited edition?”

What the hell.

“Well, of course,” you say as if Yoongi truly is some fool, and truly doesn’t know anything. “You think Jungkook likes playing with dirt?”

“Isn’t that what he always does?” Jungkook, that talented, curious and awful, awful tinker fairy who lived to torment him as well, Yoongi was sure Jungkook said this to you so you could rub it in his face.

“Yoongi! You know he has more important business, trying to decipher all this lost stuff. Tinkerbell never lets him breathe.”

Ah yes, the lost stuff, Yoongi recalls. The pieces of plastic with strobes of wires and organised circuits. He grimaces thinking of where those could have come from.

“Very fun,” he says despite himself, sarcasm dripping at the end of his mouth. “You were gone for a long time. Did you get to eat?” Yoongi coughs before crossing his arms, studying the cracks between the tree's bark. He didn't care for those in a while.

“Why? You wanted me to pick up something on the way? I could do it next time,” you say, eagerness pouring out of your words before it pauses to a halt, stopped by Yoongi’s blank face. “No? Fine. I ate, thank you for asking.”

And see, his fading conscience makes it hard for Yoongi to hate you when you are like this–and when he met you this often. Because you were not just the bane of his existence–you were his delivery girl too. His forgetful, airheaded delivery girl who treated everyone the same, paying no attention to Yoongi more than you’d do to anyone else, he thinks as you tilt your head to look at him with big, curious eyes. The silence stretches with the time you take to analyse him before you run with it in your chaotic rhythm.

“You should see how it goes when I don’t want to eat,” you continue on, not seeming to notice how you switched the tangent of your conversation. “Him and the other tinker fairies surround me and chant food, food, food, you know what I mean? I can’t believe them. It’s funny, but my mouth hurts from all the chewing.”

You cup your face and squish your cheeks with one hand to make your point, petal mouth open in a pout. Not soon after, way before Yoongi has time to dwell on it, your posture sags, hands flying to grip the ends of your top. The top made from bits and pieces of purple salvia that he took care of and sent for stitching with careful instructions, and here you were–not a care in the world about all that work by the way you were patting your tummy with mock indignation.

“They’re so so stubborn, I thought my stomach was going to pop out of this fucking–”

Rose glass breaking, Yoongi almost swears himself, getting close out of habit before he realises what he’s doing. His feet plant themselves straight onto the ground, feeling too awkward to back out or resume the beginning of his rant. “H...How many times did I tell you?”

“What? What am I doing?” you ask, dopey arches framing a full smile as you dote on the way his lips purse.

“Stop swearing,” he speaks with his voice lowered, reproachful tone curling like tendrils as it gets to you.

“What’s wrong with that?”

While fairies adapted the language of the region they were residing in, swear words were rare and a clear sign of human interaction. A thing you weren’t supposed to do. The hopeful part of his conscience was praying for you to have heard it from Vidia, back from when the group had their own human encounters. But the realistic side of him, the one occupying itself with creating bonds and structures within his space laughed at the thought: your curiosity was too big to be restrained to a life of nature for eternity.

“You can’t do that here. We have manners, unlike you wind people.”

“You’re being mean, you menace in pink,” he hears Namjoon say from a low branch before you get a chance at a reply and Yoongi drifts his eyes to see his preferred acquaintance (not for long) painting over the wings of a ladybug.

The garden fairy squints at his companion, eyebrows furrowing over delicate features. “Talk about me when your rat stops eating away at my seeds.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes, taking a second brush to puncture the first dot. “It’s a mouse, not a rat. Where did you even hear that?”

“But? But...They told us rats were an accident.” 

“They were,” Namjoon nods, solemn as he continues his work. “Weird how that happened. We should ask Yoongi, he has the experience.”

“For the last time,” Yoongi says in the same fashion, looking ready to puncture Namjoon with those brushes, “My aim was off.”

You cross your arms over your chest as you lean against the stem of a dandelion, a small smile playing over your lips at their bickering.

“So was the smell. And the plant. And the root that kept growing.” Namjoon points matter-of-factly, accentuating every hit with a dot on the ladybug. “Seems like you couldn’t get rid of that green duckfoot.”

Yoongi’s jaw ticks, “Stop making fun of it, no one actually calls it that.”

“That’s true, in cities they call it oregano,” you throw and both men turn towards you with bulging eyes, prompting you to return the stare with even bigger ones, as if saying ‘what?’. Namjoon snickers and Yoongi asks Mother Dove what duty he omitted to deserve this. Was it this cursed ‘oregano’ that made it all like this?

The mint disaster happened more than twenty seasons ago, when he was a mere apprentice fairy. Nothing more than a distracted occurrence, where he did not pay much attention to the fact that bloom happened with intention, his thoughts drifted as his magic poured into the soil. When he snapped back to reality, he was met with a different smell and patterns which made him think he had created another type of grass, but with more of a scent. It was humiliating, and it took a lot for him to wash off the stain over his reputation in the following cycles. The realization sinks in as it dissolves, disbelief replacing his initial panic. Not only did you know about the incident, but also–

“She’s been to the cities.” Yoongi murmurs to himself in despair, lips trembling with his shaky exhale as he watches your blank face, no reaction to your slip.

“Of course she’s been to the cities Yoongi, where have you been?” Namjoon teases. “Who do you think gave them the oregano?”

“You're welcome anytime too, you know,” you say with a smile, treading with care on making a direct invitation to Yoongi and putting him in a position he might not want. High chances are he is never doing that, and by the way your eyes plead with him, he realises you think the same. The garden fairy contemplates changing the subject, but he knows you're trying to help, and again, you do this with everyone, so he does not feel as pressured. 

His traitor heart, however, has another agenda: it jumps at seeing you manifest a sense of empathy, a patience that goes against your nature. He assumes you mean to ease him into the thought you, or any delivery person won't be there forever. Still,

“There’s something else I have to do.”

The way he says it makes you sigh.

He is so dreamy when he rejects you.

i’ve Been Workin On THis For 2 MOnfs and still not getting close to the end please motivate me !!!!! Tell Me WHot U think praise makes my red bloodcells multiply!

[domesticandlovingmonsters]

Courtship

Request: Fluff with Pluck courting the female reader. Bringing them berries and little trinkets. Puffing up to seem bigger.

There was another small basket of berries outside your room this morning. This time there were flowers and little shiny objects as well as your favourite sweet bush berries.  You glanced down the hallway, expecting to see the Kenku druid peeking around one of the corners. But you spotted only Werblund shuffling out of his room yawning loudly and heading downstairs for breakfast.

Smiling, you picked up the basket and headed back inside your room. It was no mystery who left the gift basket. Ever since Ayna blurted out Pluck’s affections for you in-front of the entire Pretty Cook, you have been enjoying these gifts more and more.  Some mornings it was filled with herbs and flowers. Other times, Pluck had rummaged through trash and given you, what you expect, he thought you’d like. But it wasn’t the shiny trinkets or the foul smelling items; it was the thought behind them. But you were still to give back a gift of your own. It was just hard to decide what to give Pluck.  He was an awkward bird, so giving him an expensive, or something that seems like an expensive, gift would probably freak him out. And you didn’t want to be an under-gifter either. Since this was the seventh gift basket in the past three weeks. 

You decided you’d think about it over breakfast. Maybe even Anya would... no that was a terrible idea. The snake woman meant well, but she was horrible with keeping secrets. Trixia would be a good informant. Maybe should would even ask Pluck for you. She was... subtle in her own ways. And you really wanted to give Pluck something that he’d enjoy and maybe even use. Like a metal water canteen with gems?  That seemed too much. Pluck would prefer the gems anyway since he already had a new canteen.

A small pocket watch would be convenient. Pluck was infamous for missing dead-lines or missing mission meet-ups. Maybe a copper one, with intricate details. That would be a nice little gift.  Iron-Hoof would gladly make something like that. Or at least have something similar in his workshop. 

So lost in thought you wandered down the stairs to the Pretty Cook Inn almost automatically. And within your own mind, you were too slow to properly notice a town guard wandering past. He was just as lost in his own mind, that when the two of you collided, you both went down in a mess of limbs and curses. 

“Oh shit, sorry, love!” The guard immediately was on his feet to help you up. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright?” 

You chuckled to yourself as the young man took your hand and dragged you to your feet. Dusting yourself off, you waved away his concerns with an amused tone. “It’s alright, I’m ok. I was a million miles away too. Some thick armour you have on there, though. Bloody hell, it feels like I rain into a brick wall.” 

The guard laughed and clanked his metal chest plate proudly with his fist. “Newly forged. I really am sorry about that. Let me get you breakfast as an apology for-” 

Suddenly the room was blanketed in darkness. You felt the usual sensation of magic fill the room and you cried out in shock as you suddenly went blind. All around the Pretty Cook, you heard people curse and start calling out. Attempting to find their way out of the blackness. 

“Pluck! You stupid pigeon, why’d you go do that?” You heard Werblund snap somewhere to your right. “Oi! Pluck. Where’d you go mate? Fix this darn spell or I swear I’ll pluck you naked!” 

You chuckled. Imagining the gnome squabbling over the table to try and strangle Pluck. But then you felt a warm hand take hold of your wrist. You were pulled closer to a feathered body and suddenly the light returned in a blast of sunlight. You groaned and quickly covered your eyes. Attempting to at least protect them so you weren’t left without your vision for the next hour.  Beside you, Pluck had positioned himself almost protectively. His back was to the guard and he waited patiently for you to blink away the bright yellow light that was currently obscuring your vision. 

“Pluuuck,” You mumbled. “I’m blind now! Look! I can’t see!” You playfully started slapping your hands around in front of you. Making contact with Pluck’s tunic and the very fluffed up feathers that blanketed his body.  When your fingers felt the softness, you opened your eyes and dropped the blind act. He looked a lot bigger than usual. Not taller, but broader and it was the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen him do. Every feather was fluffed up to a point. He looked like one of those fluffy chickens you see running around every so often.  “Are you ok? Why are you all fluffy?” You asked and Pluck tilted his beak downwards. It was an awkward motion he did when he didn’t have an answer or was too embarrassed to say anything. He merely shrugged and then without a word, started dragging you towards his table. Leaving the bewildered and half blinded guard behind. 

“Well, well... jealous are we Pluck?” Werblund grinned as the two of you sat at the table. “You know, girls don’t like being thrown into darkness. It’s bad for their hair.” 

You scoffed at Werblund’s jab at you, throwing a piece of something you found on the table at him. He easily dodged it, merely laughing at poor Pluck’s embarrassment.  You cooed softly and nudged Pluck playfully, speaking quietly enough so only Pluck could here you. 

“Thank you for the berries. I’m going to bake a pie with them, and of course I would have to share it with the adorable druid who just saved me from an awkward breakfast with a guard.”  Your words seemed to brighten up Pluck immensely. He clicked his beak and nodded.  He then slid his hand into his cloak and pulled out a small wrapped up parcel. The cloth around it was soft like velvet, and as Pluck handed it to you, it felt heavy in your hands.  “What’s this?” You asked, beginning to unwrap it. 

Werblund leaned forward a little to get a better look as a small metal object was revealed in your hand. You smiled. Instantly recognising what the object was. It was your lucky charm, something you’ve had since you were a child. But recently, it had been lost in a fight from the last adventure you had with the gang. You expected to never see it again. Especially since the area was guarded by thieves and murderers and monsters. It almost brought a tear to your eye to see it again. And the realisation that Pluck had ventured back into the maw of danger to retrieve it for you was just as endearing.

“P-Pluck... you didn’t have too.” You were speechless. Unable to look away from the charm in your hand.  Pluck however was smiling broadly. Watching you as you moved to pin the charm to your clothes. Where it had always been since the day you got it. 

“I hated seeing you without it.” Pluck murmured. Looking down at the table as you looked up at him. “And... if you’d accept it as.. as um...would you accept it as a....courting g-gift?” 

His words didn’t surprise you, but the suddenness of the question made you pause for a second. You hesitated for that second too long that Pluck started to spiral into an apology, to which you immediately started to deny that you weren't interested that you’d very much take it as a courting gift. But the two of you were so heavily in your own embarrassment and shock that Werblund had to take it on himself to slap you both back to reality. And to do this, Werblund threw his empty breakfast plate at Pluck. Slapping the kenku in the face and promptly breaking the clay plate.  You immediately went into nurse mode and started cooing over the ruined feathers and removing bits of clay from Pluck’s head feathers. Glaring at the gnome who went back to staring at the two of you expectantly.  You sighed and turned to Pluck, dusting off his feathers before saying: “I would love you to court me...or that we court... or however the appropriate answer for a ‘yes’ is.” 

Pluck took a deep breath and sigh slowly. Smiling, he nuzzled his beak against your cheek. And for a moment, you let yourself enjoy his closeness. The gentle embrace of his arm around your shoulders holding you against his side. 

“Ok.. that’s enough lovey-dovey shit for today.” Werblund blurted out. “You’ve put me off my second breakfast.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tip Jar – Enjoy? Support Me For More!

Commission Costs and Rules – Want a personalized story? Purchase a commission and get a story dedicated to you and a monster.

Masterlist – Enjoy some more monster writing goodness

[advernia]

fic: coloring inside the lines

— as they say, you always need to keep your eyes on the prize. - queen of hearts/alice the second.

1: a bit late, but here’s a happy birthday to one jonah clemence! ◦°˚\(*❛‿❛)/˚°◦

These are a couple of the many things he just learned about the place she calls London:

Women, regardless of their status, are expected to maintain their elegance and decorum whether it be in thought, speech, or deed,

Another commonality, though not openly admitted, would be the pursuit of preserving natural beauty - whether rich or poor, any lady would put in some effort to maintain or enhance her appearance for her own purposes (and through her own means), but;

While makeup - powders, lotions, creams, rouges, lipsticks, you name it - was admittedly a valuable aid to the relentless pursuit, the sheer fact that it was masking one’s true beauty led to the use of makeup eventually frowned upon.

So maybe, just maybe gifting her an elaborate makeup set was not appropriate - oh no, it was totally fine if just not to upset her - never mind the fact that he just spent at least five painstaking hours in the finest cosmetics shop of the Diamonds Quarter, selecting from shelves and shelves of exquisite products with only her in his mind, urging him to focus on picking the most charming of colors and the most suitable of scents that were perfect complements to her loveliness. 

It was just eight bottles of cream and lotion, three different powder jars, six varied shades of rouge, three lip salves and two lip glosses. Not a big problem at all.

True, she hardly needed the aid of any makeup to make herself even more dazzling than she already was in his eyes (though any more effort on her part was something he’d always appreciate), but in Cradle, a man giving a woman makeup as a gift carried different implications:

To give powders, lotions, or creams suggested a budding interest, for the items were for the lady’s daily use. It gave off messages along the lines of ‘remember me’, or ‘I support you’, for example.

Lipstick and rouge had more intimate meanings as both items were applied to the woman’s face - gifting the latter implied that the man was drawn to sight of her and if worn in return, it meant that she was also interested in him and was open to the notion of courtship.

The former was applied to the lips, so this was more of a confirmation: if she wore it, it meant that she accepted his affections entirely and was ‘claimed’ by him; but if not, it meant that she couldn’t reciprocate his feelings, and finally;

Giving a personal and complete makeup set carried all the messages and implications of the aforementioned items but even more than that, it also signified that only he was worthy enough to influence the beauty of his recipient; a clear cut sign of a romantic relationship in bloom.

… Well, it’s not like he wanted her to know that and maybe it’s better if she didn’t; for what truly mattered was her opinion on the subject: did she frown upon the use of makeup as well? Now that he mulls it over, her vanity was spotless, save for the bottles of perfume he gave her in the past and a vase for flowers. 

Or rather than frowning upon it, was she not accustomed to using makeup? She was a confectioner, so perhaps she didn’t bother buying herself any of the sort when she already knew that she’d be too busy in the kitchen all day with little to no chances to mingle with her customers at all.

During their so-called dates the month she landed in Cradle, she didn’t look like she put any trace of makeup on, either. Then again, they were still on… unsavory terms back then, so… 

… Did London also place meanings into certain gifts? If yes, did she ever receive an item conveying -

Jonah Clemence scowls, shaking his head in an attempt to get rid of any more trifling questions in his mind. To vacillate is not characteristic of a Clemence, and if he had any more time to fret, then he might as well head over to her and hear what she had to say about the matter herself. 

                                He gets his answers that night:

Contrary to his fussing, no, she wasn’t upset receiving a very ornate case filled with his five-hour exhaustive effort of fine makeup choices. Instead, she was flustered and taken aback, but after some convincing she takes the box into her hands with a winning smile that makes all those five hours worth it,

She didn’t disapprove of makeup at all and if anything else, she was honestly curious about the whole thing: she tells him that she thinks of it as some form of painting or even decorating, similar to what she did with cakes and pastries - the sudden reference to food was very like her and he snorts at that,

She had a bit of knowledge on how to use certain types of makeup thanks to her friends but true to what he thought, she admitted to rarely using makeup because her job aside, there wasn’t much reason for her to frequently use it in the first place, and;

Yes, London also attached meanings to certain gifts. When he surly asks her if she had been offered gifts with special intentions, she twiddles her thumbs and she stutters, so -

- pinning her against the wall and watching her cheeks flush a shade of pink akin to the rouge he picked out for her, he lowers his lips to the shell of her ear, intentionally allowing his breath to fan over the flesh before whispering in a low voice:

… Were those gifts so wonderful?

Teeth nipping onto her ear, she lets out a small whimper.

                    … Ah, yes, he did get his answers that night.

                                She finally, finally makes good use of his gift for her appearance in the Red Army’s annual ball as his official partner, and he takes it upon himself to observe her in the art of applying makeup on herself.

He did ask her beforehand if she required professional help, but the sheer twinkle in her eyes when she told him that she’d try doing her makeup on her own was an… unfair move, in his book. How was he to say otherwise when she looked at him like that? Well, he’d like to believe that she really did have an inkling on how to use cosmetics, but just to be sure; he insisted in watching her in case she needed help - thankfully, she accepted without question.

Now, seated in the couch of her room where he could also see her reflection clearly in the vanity’s mirror, perhaps he didn’t need to be so critical of her skill at all.

He wasn’t able to properly see her process when she started with the exposed skin of her collarbone, but he’s left staring as her fingers cheerfully and repeatedly traced the curve of her neck to apply a fair amount of the vanilla-scented cream thoroughly, then followed immediately by patting it down lightly with some of the lavender dusting powder. He raises an eyebrow when she extends the same treatment to the nape of her neck - the wavy updo of her hair did leave that part visible to prying eyes…

Next she went about applying rouge onto her cheeks, and he quietly hums his approval upon seeing the color of her choice lightly dust her cheekbones: he had to hand it to her, out of the six rouges in her set, the pastel pink shade was the most suitable pick to complement both her dress and the overall image she was exuding so far - a youthful yet elegant look, the former defined by the light colors of her whole ensemble while the latter through the style of her outfit paired with her tasteful selection in jewelry.

And last but not the least she began to paint her lips, the tip of her index finger somewhat hesitant as she dipped it into a small jar. He sees the fingertip leave the jar tinted with a light crimson stain that she brings up to her parted lips but to land on one corner of her bottom lip, dragging slowly to a center point - she does the same for the other corner and he’s transfixed on her reflection, or rather the way that her finger moves oh-so carefully, oh-so gently across the smooth curve of her lip.

When she smacks her lips together, pulling her lips inward for a brief moment only to release them with a pop, he hears himself swallow a lump down his throat.

He’s still entranced as she continues to add some paint to her upper lip and before he knows it, she was already done with her makeup and had turned around on her seat to face him.

… What do you think?

Eyes snapping back into focus, he did his best to study her from head to toe: lengthy blonde hair tamed into an updo held up by lovely butterfly-shaped adornments, light pink cheeks a nice contrast to the vivid blue of her eyes, a complexion that still appeared natural even under the light, dangling earrings and necklace with beautiful pearls similar to those sewn on the front of her bodice, a tailor-made dress in varying shades of pastel peach flattering her curves in a most discreet manner, dainty feet slipped onto pristine white heels.

Yet…

He rises from his seat to stalk over to where she sat, briefly looking into those expectant eyes gazing back at him before looking down - back down, to those crimson lips.

… Unbelievable.

He barely gives her any time to react when he takes hold of her shoulders and swoops his head to capture her lips urgently in his: a little noise manages to escape her when he presses the tip of his tongue to that same corner of her lips where she first applied the lip salve, then drag slowly to trace the curve of her lips carefully like how he had seen her fingertip do earlier.

If he recalled correctly, the shop owner absurdly stated that the crimson lip salve was a delicious new product made out of a magically brewed concoction of plant butter and oils, then mixed with in with an organic blend primarily made out of strawberries - he dismissed it as nonsense but true enough, what tickles his tongue is a tart, so pleasantly sweet taste as he keeps his lips pressed to hers.

But as delicious as it was, nothing could ever compare to the taste of her so he coaxes her to let him in and she readily complies - as she received the taste of her own lips, he’s again reliving the taste of her mouth.

                                And she’s still as perfectly sweet unlike anything else in the world.

                                When they part for air, their foreheads are pressed together and their heavy breaths mingle, lips only a small distance apart - she meets the heat of an amber gaze with the haze of her of blue, but she does manage to lift a hand up and tenderly touch the delicate skin of his bottom lip with her thumb; wiping away at the faint crimson stains she saw there.

Voice a breathy whisper, she asks:

… Too much lip salve?

                    He laughs softly before setting her hand on the back of his neck, then leans over to kiss her again.

                    2: an interesting survey distributed in the office yesterday listed some… specific turn-ons, and this is one of them lol - it’s phrased as: taking a keen interest watching your partner apply makeup on themselves… weLL… lowkey spicy times, amirite ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ 3: on that note, makeup isn’t my thing but studying victorian era makeup was pretty fun and so was giving some meaning to cradle makeup, lol! thought those on the top of my head, and i think jonah would probably be the type to be hung over the meanings of certain types of gifts given the occasion + recipient, haha!

[noradarhkpalmer]

it’s just you and me

Title: it’s just you and me

Rating: T

Pairing: Darhkatom!

Warnings: darhkatom sauciness?

Summary/Notes:

The team has to find a gollum hiding at a high school prom. Avalance would volunteer to get de-aged again but Sara's out of commission. Next thing Nora and Ray know, they're teenagers instead. Slight spoilers for the end of season 4.

For @princesstomaz, on her birthday, because I love her.

“Who will be my lucky victims this time?” John rubbed his hands together, ready to say the incantation and make an unlucky pair return to their youth.

“Sara and I would volunteer again but she unfortunately is still down for the count after the banana incident.” Ava crossed her arms under her chest. She had come to the bridge only to make sure no one was going to do anything stupider than normal in their plan to infiltrate the high school the gollum was hiding at.

Behrad laughed. “Who would’ve thought the great Sara Lance would be taken down by a banana peel?”

Ava narrowed her eyes at the totem bearer. “Don’t say that around Sara, she’s still got one good leg and can kick your ass with it, Tomaz.”

Behrad held up his hands in defense. “Noted.”

John turned to Ray and Nora who were actively trying to not volunteer by staying as quiet and still as possible. “What about you two?”

Nora raised a finger. “No, John, don’t even think about it.” Nora sighed. She’d been a teenager once and it was awful. The tests, the mental institutions, the exorcisms, the rituals. Nora shuddered at the thought of reliving all of it.

“It’s just your bodies that change, not your mind. You two would go from being two horny Legends to two horny teenagers.”

Nora scoffed. “You’re one to talk!” Nora sighed and looked up at Ray. “I’ll only do it if Ray agrees too.”

Ray looked down at Nora and slung an arm across her shoulders. “If Nora wants to and I mean I think we’re really the only option. Nate, Mona, Gary, and Charlie are at the Bureau and we shouldn’t let Mick near a building that’s going to have highly flammable decorations.”

“Haircut’s right. Just send the two off to prom.” Mick tossed Ray a sleeve of condoms. “For after.”

Ray shoved them away in his pocket, not wanting to see them even laying discarded on the bridge’s control panel. “We’re fine thank you.” Ray sighed, exasperated and looked down at Nora again. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. No one will force you, Nora.”

“Well…” John started but Ray cut him off.

Ray looked John dead in the eye. “No one will force you, Nora.”

Nora looked at John. “We’ll just physically look younger? We’ll still have all of our faculties and memories?”

“And a few heightened hormones running through your body but I’m sure you’ll know how to put them to good use.” John shrugged.

Nora took Ray’s hand and squeezed it then shut her eyes. “Okay, John, just do it before I change my mind.”

Nora heard John muttering Latin and it grew louder until she felt her skin prickle all over, like goosebumps and her limbs falling asleep all at the same time. She opened her eyes and looked up at Ray.

They were no closer in height. Damn him.

Ray looked down at Nora and his breath left him. She looked so much the same as that scared 15 year old from the mental hospital two years ago. But there was something different about her at the same time. This was his Nora. The one who sacrificed her magic to save a friend, the one who had literally gone to hell and back to find him. A Mallus free Legend and Time Bureau agent. A hero. She still had those big doe eyes he loved so much, the familiarity in the soft grey made his heart swell. Her hair was a bit longer and her clothes hung a little baggy on her now that she was just slightly small in stature. Her features hadn’t fully matured but man, oh man, she was still Nora.

Nora looked up at Ray, still cursing the fact that their height difference was still there. He wasn’t nearly as broad but he still looked in shape. He was so much more limbs now than anything. He was still unmistakably Ray. His puppy dog eyes, his well kept black hair, his charming smile that radiated unwavering positivity. She wondered what he was like in high school, star athlete no doubt. That big brain of his probably made him top of his class as well. Nora looked down at their hands and intertwined their fingers, her hand was even smaller in his now.

“You look so handsome,” Nora said at the same time Ray called her beautiful. They both ducked their heads, cheeks turning red.

“Alright, you two, off to the fabricator you go, you have a prom to get ready for." John gestured toward the hallway.

Nora’s heart nearly stopped. What the hell did one do at a prom?

xxxx

Nora had kicked Ray out of their room. She was freaking out. She couldn’t go to a prom! She didn’t even have a high school diploma! She had been to a father-daughter dance in middle school before her parents died and that was it. Nothing else. She still thought boys were gross at that point! Now she was supposed to go to prom as a 17 year old girl as if she’d been a normal teenager? Nora paced back and forth, what would she do to her hair? Oh god how fancy would her makeup have to be? Nora sat down on the bed and put her head between her knees.

She heard the doors open. “Ray, I told you, I would be out soon! I’m not ready!”

“I didn’t think I stomped around that much but maybe Wolfie is changing the way I walk.”

Nora looked up at saw Mona with a dress bag in her arms and a pair of white heels on top of the bag. “Mona!” Nora made a beeline for her best friend and hugged her, causing her to drop the items in her arms.

Mona hugged her back and pulled away to really look at this younger version of her best friend. “We look so much closer in age now!”

Nora rolled her eyes. “Mona, that’s the point! Oh god, why didn’t you just go. No magic necessary! Now I’m freaking out because I don’t know what to wear or what to do at a prom? Why did I agree to this?!”

Mona held her by the biceps. “Because you want to help people. You’re a Legend and this was necessary for the mission. Now, you don’t have to worry about any of that other stuff because you have a best friend who has gone to proms within the last five years and will take care of everything.” Mona picked up the dropped bag and heels. “Sit back, Nora Darhk, I’m going to turn you into a prom queen.”

xxxx

Ray paced anxiously in front of the doors to his and Nora’s bedroom. He’d changed into a suit and after a crafty text from Mona changed his tie to a particular shade of red and was instructed to fabricate a corsage of red and green flowers. He held the box in his hand and sucked in a deep breath. He hadn’t gone to prom. Ever. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He had wanted to ask a girl he was in Science Club with but he’d chickened out when a football player had asked her instead. The football player being his brother, Sydney. They were married with three kids now, so he guessed he couldn’t really be that upset.

But Ray hadn’t been that social in high school. He was always friendly but he realized quick that people always wanted to keep him at arm’s length. Why? He wasn’t sure. That didn’t stop him from being nice but he stopped being surprised or hurt when he was intentionally left out. He focused on his inventions instead and got out of there as soon as he could.

Finally, the door opens and Ray snapped out of his thoughts. Mona stood in front of who he could only assume was Nora, seeing a floral pattern on top of white tulle peeking from behind his girlfriend’s best friend.

“Ray, are you ready to see your prom date?” Mona asked excitedly.

Ray nodded. “Yeah I’m sure she looks beau-” Ray’s ability to speak left him as Mona stepped aside. Nora was a vision. An absolute vision. She was in a white dress with red and green flowers embroidered all over. The dress had a plunging neckline that still managed to cover everything. It was floor length with just enough in the skirt to make her look like a princess. Her hair was curled delicately and there was a red flower pinned in her hair. All of her jewelry was delicate and she walked up to him, her heels slightly evening out their height difference.

“Hi.” Nora smiled up at him, her lips a beautiful shade of red.

“You look amazing.” Ray gasped. “Nora, you’re a vision.”

Nora blushed. “Well I guess I should dress like this all the time if I’m going to get compliments like that out of you.”

Ray sputtered. “No, no, you always look absolutely beautiful to me. I just… I think it must be those extra hormones John was talking about because I am kind of struggling to string words together.”

Nora placed her hands on his chest and smiled up at him. “You look very handsome in this suit of yours, by the way. I think those hormones are doing a little something different to me.” She winked and leaned up for a soft kiss. She spotted the corsage in his hands. “Is that for me?”

Ray nodded and Nora held out her wrist so he could slide it on. “Are you ready to go to prom?”

Nora let out a deep sigh. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose. I’m sure you’re no stranger to the drill.”

Ray ducked his head. “I actually, ummm, never went to prom.”

“What? You must’ve had girls lining up wanting to be taken to prom by Ray Palmer. Why didn’t you go?”

“Just didn’t. I wanted to ask a girl but she ended up dating my brother. I just kind of decided it wasn’t worth it after that.”

Nora pulled him in for a firmer kiss, heartbroken he never got a real prom either. “Well, I’m going to make this the most memorable prom of your life, Ray Palmer.” She smiled and pressed their foreheads together. She saw a flash go off out of the corner of her eye and looked at Mona. “Really?”

Mona grinned. “Sorry! You guys look so cute!”

Nora chuckled and looped her arm through Ray’s. “Go on, get all the cheesy pictures out of the way before we’re late.”

xxxx

Music Nora didn’t recognize filled her ears as they made their way into the black and white decorated gym. She looked up at Ray, spotting a photo booth and nudged him. “We might be on duty but we should at least try and have some fun. It’s our prom after all.”

Ray wrapped an arm around her waist. “If you want.” He kissed the top of her head. Most of the students were unfortunately already decently intoxicated so he doubted that anyone would realize they were party crashers. Nora and Ray made their way over to the photo booth. Nora pulled Ray down close to her and kissed his cheek as the camera went off. That was definitely going to get framed when they got home.

Nora smiled when the attendant handed them their picture and snuggled into his side. “We look like a real high school couple.”

“We are a real couple, who temporarily happen to look like high schoolers.” He chuckled. “Let’s go set our stuff down somewhere and dance.”

“Ray, we’re supposed to be looking for the gollum!”

“And we will, they’re probably trying to blend in as a student just as much as we’re trying to.”

“Okay but if we really wanted to blend in we could just go under the bleachers and makeout.” She grinned up at him and pecked his lips. “Because, seriously, you look so good in that suit.”

Ray rolled his eyes playfully. “If John’s spell hasn’t worn off by the time we’ve got the bad guy, we’ll see.”

Nora pouted. “You’re no fun.”

Ray tugged her out on the dance floor after they put their stuff in empty chairs. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

Dancing with Ray other than the slow dances was like watching a drunk giraffe thrash around. She had to admit it was pretty funny trying to watch him keep with a beat from music he didn’t listen to. Finally, a slow song came on and Nora took advantage. She glued herself to Ray’s front and swayed gently with him. She actually recognized the song so it must’ve been and oldie but goodie. She’d heard it on countless television shows when she was a kid. It was the slow song to dance to.

“Finally, a song I recognize.” Ray muttered in her ear.

Nora grinned against his neck. “Me too.” She laughed. “I like it. It reminds me of us. Just you and me. I like when it’s just us. When I can focus in and the rest of the world is just white noise.”

“That can be difficult with our lot so I cherish those times when it’s just us in our room watching musicals and eating Chinese takeout.”

Nora nodded. “One of my favorite pastimes.”

Ray pulled back and cocked an eyebrow. “One of them?”

Nora pulled his ear down close to her lips. “The other is fucking you into next Tuesday.”

Ray coughed nervously at her brazen statement. “Oh, I see.” The red from his cheeks wasn’t disappearing. “Nora, I think I see the gollum.”

Nora whined in relief. “Good because I have been dying to make out with you.”

Ray tugged her off the dance floor. “That’s so not the point of the mission!”

xxxx

Nora had her back pressed against a beam that held the bleachers up for probably the past five minutes. She didn’t care as long as Ray kept doing that thing with his tongue against her neck. Her hands were buried in his hair, wanting to touch him at all times. John was right about the extra hormones. And she was going to revel in them for as long as possible.

“HEY! What are you two doing under here!” They heard the gruff voice of a chaperone yell from the entrance to the underneath of the bleachers.

Ray and Nora sprung apart and Nora tugged him past the angry chaperone and over to their chairs. The team had come to pick up the gollum and now that they’d been caught, Nora wanted nothing more than to get out of there.

She grabbed her clutch and their picture and smiled. “Let’s get out of here.” She grinned up at him.

They made their way to Ray’s car and got inside. She finally had a minute to breathe and look at herself in the mirror. She knew there would be love bites on her neck come morning and she couldn’t honestly be bothered to care.

“Back to the Waverider?” Ray asked as he started the car, blasting the air conditioning to cool them down a bit.

“Or we could go to Lover’s Lane and go parkin’ or we could get a hotel room or we could go back to your apartment in the city. Take your pick, Palmer.” She grinned. “I just want to spend my prom night with you.”

Ray leaned across the console and kissed her. “I love you.” He smiled against their lips. “I think that Lover’s Lane sounds like a great idea.”

“As long as you still have the condoms Mick tossed you.” She giggled.

“When have we ever used those?”

“Well, I don’t want to be another teenage pregnancy statistic.” She joked. “Let’s go before I drag you to the back seat right now.”

Ray put the car in drive and felt Nora put a hand on his thigh. “Yes, ma’am.” And drove off, ready to enjoy the rest of their prom night.

[marvelsviking]

Idle Worship

Steve Rogers x Black!Supernatural OC  Summary: Steve wants Nyma(Ny-ee-mah) to be everything for him. But she just doesn’t have it in her. Based on the song “Idle Worship” by Paramore Warnings: Maybe a bit of angst, cursing, Witchcraft. Too much detail? A/N: Okay, so first things first, Paramore is my fucking shit. I’m so glad that @avengersandlovers put this song on her list for the Writing Challenge because this is my favorite song on the album besides Rose Colored Boy. Sorry if this is a bit long.

Masterlist

As a witch, there was a method that Nyma followed so that her energy could be aligned, and her physical form could be protected from spiritual forces. She would wake up at 3 am witching hour, cleanse her room, eat, then go to her rooftop garden that Tony had constructed for her, tended to her plants, meditated for a few minutes, practiced her magic and went on with her day. By the time she was done, It was 6 am.

She had woken up at her usual time, put her curly dark hair up with a clip, and went to the kitchen after cleansing her room when she noticed that the light there was already on. Her brows furrowed as she was the only person besides Wanda that would be awake at this time, but she was on a month long mission with Pietro, Clint, and Natasha. Her confusion furthered as she discovered that Steve Rogers himself was at the kitchen island, drawing in his sketch book.

“Steven? You’re up at an odd hour.” Her voice seemed to have startled him as his hand jerked over the paper he was sketching on. She let out a small laugh as he closed his sketchbook and quirked his brow at her.

“This is an odd hour for you?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes and Nyma didn’t miss how lethargic he looked. The dark circles and puffiness under his eyes were evident and Nyma suddenly felt a sense of worry for the Captain’s well being.

“No, But it is for you” Nyma opened the refrigerator and looked over the contents to decide what she was going to eat. She ultimately decided on cereal and pulled out her milk, closing the fridge.

“Nightmares,” Steve mumbled as he ran a hand over his face, letting out a deep sigh.

Nyma froze as she was reaching for a bowl in the cupboards. She’s not used to people opening up to her, she didn’t even open up to people so the pang that she felt in her chest. Sure she cared about people and looked after them, but she liked seeing the positive sides of people. She hated anything related to darkness, it fucked with her energy. She liked the color blue and yellow and sunshine because it was bright and positive. The only dark color she liked was gray, but as she looked over Steve and read his aura, all she saw was black surrounding him. She had to do something to help because not only would it affect her, but Steve in the long run. Nyma grabbed another bowl for Steve and placed it in front of him. She sat next to him with her bowl and poured both of them cereal and milk, and then plopped a spoon in each of their bowls.

“Eat. You need your energy for what we’re about to do.” Nyma instructed him as she began to eat. Steve was reluctant but gave in the bowl in front of him.

“What are we doing?” He asked with a mouthful of cereal. Nyma cringed and took her hand to gently push Steve’s head to face away from her.

“You’re already up so you’re going to assist me in my morning activities. I could actually use the help today. Tony accidentally overwatered the succulents yesterday morning when I was away for that overnight mission and I need to drain them.” Nyma explained as she slowly ate her cereal. She liked taking her time with things, believing that everything should be savored and appreciated in a world that moves so fast. Steve seemed to have caught onto this because he slowed down on his food as well.

When they had finished, Nyma lead him to the staircase that went up to the rooftop garden. She stopped to put in a code on the pin pad provided on the door at the top of the staircase and Steve wondered why he had never been up here when she opened the door to reveal the beauty of it all. His sight became ambushed with vivid colors of the most beautiful flowers he had ever seen. Some were in boxes on the floor, others were strung upon a wooden gazebo above them that almost stretched out to the edge of the roof. On both sides of the gazebo, dozens of tall wooden boxes were littered with more flowers, succulents and what looked liked to be herbs.

Some were fully bloomed, others were still growing. Even where the roof ended, Nyma had placed smaller wooden boxes along the wall that contained Venus Fly Traps. He followed her as she approached them and examined them to see if any bugs had been caught by them and stroked the ones that were closed with her pinky.

“No rarely comes up here with or without me. Only Wanda because she meditates up here and Tony because he built this whole thing for me and every blue moon Bucky when he needs chamomile so he can make sleep tea.” She said softly as she picked up a small watering can under the boxes and did a once over sprinkle of water to the roots of the fly traps.

“Bucky comes up here? He’s never told-”

“He told me not to tell anyone so don’t let him know that you know, okay?” She placed the watering can to its original place and blew a tight curl that fell from her clip, out of her face. Steve couldn’t help but feel a little warm on the inside at that. He had always thought of Nyma as a beautiful person. He was skeptical of her at first due to the intensity of her powers but with them, he began to fall for her. He admired her for staying so seemingly calm 24/7, she rarely seemed stressed or tired and Steve sometimes wished he had that trait as well.

“Okay, now what did you need help with?” Steve asked as he finally snapped out of the trance he was in from the beauty of the garden. He understood why Bucky or anyone would come up here, it had a soothing feel to it. And as he looked at the sunset rising, Steve realized that he had never felt so at peace in his life. 

Nyma examined her herbs and plucked small weeds from them and pointed to the other side of the garden. “The succulents. The boxes are doubled so the excess water wouldn’t sit in the roots too much but since Tony watered them, their roots are drowning. Just lift up the top box and just pour the water in the bottom into the drainage pipe on the edge of the roof there.” “And what makes you think that I can do all that?” Steve lightly teased as he stood over the succulents. Most of them were green, others were colors of muted pink and purple. Nyma picked up a watering can and began to water whatever was on that side of the garden. “You have super strength don’t ya? You can lift it much easier than I can, even if I do have telekinesis.”

 After Steve had drained the succulents and helped Nyma with pulling weeds and watering plants, she had led him to a nice looking shed at the far corner of the rooftop and stepped inside. Steve followed her inside and looked around in awe. The wall to the right was decorated with dozens of shelves where her crystals rested on. The left wall had shelves containing jars filled with different substances, Steve read a label that said Snakeskin and cringed a little. A couple of bean bag chairs in the corner with a shelf that fits in the corner with a multi colored candle and jars of incense, and finally on the wall ahead of him, sat a desk with different items like sage and different colored candles. 

 Nyma grabbed a few jars off the many shelves and placed them on the desk, then did the same with some smaller jars on the crystal wall. Steve looked over her shoulder as she lit a purple candle and began to mix small amounts from each jar into what Steve knew was a pestle and mortar. She then dumped the contents into a tall tiny cork bottle, stopped it and sealed it with the purple candle. Without looking at him, she handled the bottle to Steve over her shoulder. He took the bottle and rotated it between his fingers as he speculated what the contents were. 

 “Put this under your pillow. It’ll help you sleep better”  She explained as she began to clean up her desk. Steve pocketed the bottle and watched Nyma move around as she hummed a song he didn’t recognize. As the sun peaked through the window in the shed, Steve couldn’t help but let his eyes sweep over her body.The sun shone on her medium-deep skin and gave her a natural highlight along the side of her face. He watched as her thin fingers wrapped around each jar and placed them back on their respective shelf, standing on her tippy toes and smiled softly as her curls bounced when she set back down on her feet. When she finished, She invited Steve to meditate with her on the bean bags as she lit an incense from the jar labeled Sandalwood. 

“Just keep taking deep breaths and relax,” Nyma instructed as she crossed her legs and closed her eyes. Steve copied her actions and meditated with her for what felt like an hour. Steve helped her clean up and walked in silence with her back to her room. Nyma wished him good luck with the sleep bottle and opened the door to her room when Steve stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. She looked at him weirdly and closed her door as Steve tried to conjure up the courage.

“Steven? What’s w-”

Steve had pulled her in and kissed her full on the lips. His arm slid around her to hold her by her waist and the other to hold her by the nape of her neck where her curls tickled the back of his hand. It took her a few seconds but she finally kissed him back and wrap her arms around him. Steve felt the same warm feeling he had earlier spread throughout his whole body. Nyma was the first to pull back and looked at him with those big brown eyes with panted breath.

“Huh?” “I need you, Nyma,” Steve confessed. His heart palpitated as he awaited her answer.  “What do you mean that you need me?” She asked with a scrunched brow. “You’ve made me feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. I need you to help me keep this feeling.” He looked at her with pleading eyes as her face scrunched up further with confusion and a hint of anger. She pulled away from Steve’s body and shook her head.

“I can’t do that for you, Steve. You can’t just ask something like that from me.”

“Then why did you give me that bottle? Why did you have me meditate with you? Why did you kiss me back?” Steve began to rant as he couldn’t understand why she was reacting this way.

“Steve. I like you, I do. But I can’t save you. I can’t be a hero for you in that way. I helped you because you’re my friend and I don’t like seeing my friends stressed out, having black auras around them!” She waved her hands around as she talked. She couldn’t understand for the life of her where this was coming from. She wouldn’t mind a regular relationship with Steve, but she couldn’t be with him if he only needed her to help him with his problems.

“Nyma..”

“I’d hate to let you down, Steve but I’m sorry. I can’t do that for you. I can help you as a friend, you can talk to me about anything but I cannot save you.” She opened her door again and made to close it when Steve’s voice cut through the silence.

“Then who will if you won’t?” He looked at her through the crack of the door with tears in his eyes. Nyma hated to break his heart like this but he needed to know the truth.

“Yourself, Steve. Only you can save yourself. I hope we can still be friends.”

Steve’s heart finally dropped as she closed the door. He went to his room and placed the bottle under his pillow like he was told and laid down with Nyma’s words ringing through his head as he drifted off to sleep.

Only you can save yourself.

@avengersandlovers @blackcaptainrogers @lady-thor-foster @erisjade

@persephone-is-here-omg @soldatbarnes @capbuckybuchanan

[pistols-and-pastries]

250 Years Ago, Grothmar Wardowns

There was not much time to celebrate.  The Fierce Warband, with assistance from the most unlikely of sources in humans, defeated the shaman caste who were trying to claim the Destroyers as new gods for the charr.  Pyre, however, with the backing of his warband would have nothing to do with it.

Such battles do make for strange bedfellows.  The Fierce Warband was aided by Gwen Thackery, Pylia Temililu a Sunspear from Elona, and Villith Argith, a young ranger from Western Maguuma.  By now, the humans had all left, save for Villith.  She and her tiger stayed behind.

Villith marched through the ranks of the Fierce Warband, showing no sign of fear nor care as she carried a small bundle with her.  The human’s brash action took many of the charr aback.

“Mouse,” Pyre called out as Villith began to dig into the dirt under a tree hollow. “What exactly are you doing?” he asked as he and two of his closest friends in the warband approached Villith.

Villith looked back as her raven black hair, decorated with leaves and dried flowers, swept over her shoulders. “I’m burying a book for future generations to find.”

Cowl Fiercetongue perked an eyebrow and looked to Pyre as Swift Fiercejustice just rolled his eyes.  Pyre, for his part, merely sighed and crossed his arms. “You’re a strange one, mouse.”

“Do you want to see it?” Villith blurted out.  Pyre knew that Villith often scribbled something in a book of hers, drawings, poems, writings and whatnot, but she’d never shown it to anyone save for her tiger Fluffy. Pyre slowly stepped forward and nodded as a part of him knew the small human wouldn’t let him live it down. Villith grinned and took the book out of a metal box which looked to be something she had made.

At first, Pyre just glanced at the pages as Villith flipped through them and explained what was on the page, but he stopped her when she turned to a drawing on one page.

It was a drawing of himself.  Without a word, he took the book from Villith’s hands and as Swift and Cowl looked over his shoulder they flipped through the pages.  Cowl attacking a shaman.  Swift helping up another warband mate. Pyre holding his bow at full draw, ready to let loose as arrow.

“What is all of this?” Pyre asked in a voice that seemed demanding.

“It’s the truth,” Villith replied.

“Through your eyes,” Swift said with a growl.

Villith wrinkled her nose and thought before answering. “Were you not responsible for killing five Flame Legion warriors as the rest of us were pinned down?” Cowl sneered a bit, then reluctantly sighed and nodded.  “And was it not you who held back the Destroyers as they tried to overwhelm us?” Swift smirked a bit as he nodded, the memory was still fresh in his mind.  “And did you not send an arrow through the heart of a shaman?” Pyre remained stoic, but he acknowledged with a nod.  “It’s the truth,” Villith stated once again as she took the book from Pyre’s claws and locked it back into the box she had first taken it out of.  Pyre just perked an eyebrow at Villith, he’d grown used to her bold attitude.

“Wouldn’t it be better to put this in one of your human libraries?” Pyre asked as the three watched Villith continue to bury the box in the hollow.

She scoffed as she spoke. “And let the White Mantle get it? I think not.” She she finally tamped the dirt down once satisfied that the box was hidden well enough and rose to her feet.  Beside her, Fluffy lounged lazily in the shade of the tree.  “I have left similar things throughout my travels.  In Beetltun, Dry Top, along the Tarnished Coast, Rata Sum, the Crystal Desert, and even in Elona.  People will find these.  And they will remember.”

1330 AE, Township of Claypool

When the weather was good, it wasn’t unusual to see a group of children at the waters edge of the Clayent Falls.  And most often, that included a very small charr by the name of Mia Corpseburn.  Mia was the same age as many of the children, and herself had a gentle and quiet nature.

Mia lived at the home of Unia Wennemein, an older human woman who was one of the last who had talents in both elementalist magic and nature magic.  Unia was also the adopted grandmother of Flintlock Burnfur, a member of the very small Burn Warband for which Mia and her older brother Grifter was a member.

On this day, Mia was practising her elementalist abilites, playing with the water and trying to catch fish. When she would manage to do so, she’d flip the fish out of the water and let it land on the shore where one of the human children would smack it on the head.  After gathering enough fish, they’d take it all into Claypool where they’d be cooked up and all would join in on the small feast.

They had almost gathered enough fish when Mia spotted something in the water.  It looked metallic and seemed to be half buried in the sand.  She began poking it with her staff and soon the other children gathered around in knee high water to inspect what the small charr had found.  It took all of them, Mia to push back the water and the other children to dig the object out, but the managed to drag it onto the shore.

“This is really old,” one of the children announced as they finally got a chance to look at the object more closely.  It was a metal box, and had intricate etchings on each surface.  The lock was still sturdy enough, and while the text seemed to be old Krytan, Mia recognized one set of letters.

“This says Villith,” she said in her usual quiet voice. “I think nana Unia has mentioned that name before.”

“What do you think’s inside?” asked one boy.  “Maybe it’s treasure.  Or an ancient book of magic.”

“We should take this to Mrs. Wennemein, shouldn’t we?” one girl asked as she nudged Mia.  “If that says Villith and if Mrs. Wennemein knows who that is, then it probably should go to her.”

Mia nodded and reached down to pick up the box, but struggled a bit.  “It’s heavy! Whatever’s in here is really big!”  With the help of the other children, Mia managed to get the box and the fish all collected onto their cart and then they began their way back to Claypool.

((I guess this is where I announce the fun filled scavenger hunt I came up with that will go hand in hand with this story.  My idea is simple, from this point on, I will write a part of this treasure hunt from Villith’s point of view, giving all of the details of the location. Followers have to submit a screenshot of the area they think it is.  The first follower to submit the correct screenshot will get the next part of the story from Flintlock, Grifter and Mia’s point of view as the past is explored and as Villith Argith speaks to her adopted great great great granddaughter, Flintlock Burnfur.  This is only the first part, and it can be reblogged as a way to help promote this interactive story idea.  This means, as you read the story, you can then go into the game and find the location in 1330 Tyria where Villith would have hidden an item.  Followers can even write their own parts to the story, making sure to tag them with #past talking to the present.  That way, I can find all of the different story aspects and later put together a table of contents for each story step.  Really crafty followers that have Guild Wars 1 could take screenshots there as well and submit them after a complete description in Villith’s part is given.  I hope everyone can have fun with this little interactive story of exploration and discovery.))

[almostalyssamarie]

Jily Challenge: January

JILY CHALLENGE

@almostalyssamarie v @meggie-jolly

hogwarts locations + the quidditch pitch

AN: It’s a bit long, and I wanted to get it posted so I didn’t do too much editing. enjoy!

If there were ever a place James Potter would consider himself to be at peace, it would be here. Alone at midnight, bathed in the light of a thankfully waning moon, laying in the carefully kept grass of Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. Sure, it was a bit cold with the Scottish wind whistling around him as he wasn’t exactly dressed in his warmest clothes. The scarlet button-up he wore was thin, even with his thick woolen vest pulled over it. In his haste to flee the castle, the only cloak he thought to grab was great for subtly, not warmth. Even so, here, at night, with no crowd in the stands, no broom in his hands he took solace in the fact he was no one to the abandoned arena. He was not Number 07 Potter, Quidditch Captain, nor James Potter, Gryffindor and Head Boy, nor Jamie Fleamont Potter, sole son of the renowned potioneer and his loving wife. With no one around and only his thoughts, he could step away from his responsibilities for a moment. After all, the towering hoops gave no thought towards the sneered Potter, blood traitor and enemies of Slytherins and Death Eaters alike. The firm ground didn’t protest to bearing the weight of the well-worn Mr. Potter, who at age 17 had already been called to fight in a war he was all too aware of. He was too hidden from the thick cover of the forest to be Prongs, marauder, brother, and protector of his own as they struggled with their fear, their anger, and in Remus’ case, their curse. Yes, James Potter was nearly at peace, left with only one identity, one that these days seemed impossible to shake. Even here, he could not cease to be James Potter, the boy madly in love with Lily Evans.

Even out in the cold, James couldn’t forget how everything had seemed to be afire. With every fireplace roaring, and nearly every student from fifth year above filling the transformed Great Hall, James could feel the stray beads of sweat gathering at the nape of his neck. He would have tugged at his collar then if it weren’t for Remus’ arm resting casually on his shoulders. The fact that his dark eyes were alight in a way that rarely happened so soon after a full moon filled James with a warmth he could not so easily disregard. Especially when the low peals of Peter’s laughter beside him were so delightfully distracting. He didn’t have to taste the drink Sirius had practically forced in his hand to know that it was spiked, but the burn of Firewhiskey balanced the holiday punch well. If the first drink had him sputtering, the genuine smile on his best friend’s handsome face had him taking a second. Absorbed in his own corner of the world, he was still all too aware of the flame flitting across the room, fanning a fire inside him he had long since hoped to extinguish.

Lily Evans was a vision in her carefully tailored emerald dress robes, a single silk strap cutting across alabaster skin, her fiery hair curled and pinned elegantly to the side. She wore the color combination better than any of the other festive students, than the giant Christmas trees standing proud, than the mistletoe James had helped hang himself. If his field of vision were to extend beyond Lily, he might have noticed he was not the only one having these thoughts, as several other sets of eyes followed the beloved head girl across the floor. Instead a well-placed punchline from Remus had Peter drawing James back into the fray. With a fleeting look towards Lily conversing with Marlene McKinnon, he turned back to the Marauders.

There they stood, shoulder to shoulder with near identical grins that, if James weren’t used to, would be mildly terrifying. James barely found it disconcerting.

“What? Is my shirt on backwards? Did Pads shave a design into the back of my hair again? Oh god- you didn’t lace my drink, did you? Liquor is one thing, but you know even I have standards!” His expression was one of mock horror, and he was personally patting himself on the back for a riveting performance when Sirius shook his head. Looking to Remus and Peter, who gave him an affirming nod, he stepped forward, putting his hand on James’ shoulder.

“Prongs, my guy… Just go ask her to dance.”

Despite the fact he had spent a good deal of time watching the aforementioned her throughout the night, it took James a second to realize what Sirius was suggesting he do. Rolling his eyes, he shrugged his friend’s hand off, hoping it came across as casually as he was aiming.

“Nah, I mean, she’s having fun, we’re having fun-“ Peter snorted, earning a scowl from James and an elbow from Remus. “Guys, we’ve had this discussion. I’m done making moves on Lil- Dammit, Sirius! Stop giving me that look.” Remus, trying to spare himself of the wrestling match sure to ensue, stepped forward then, throwing another elbow into Sirius’ stomach as he caught sight of his wiggling eyebrows.

“What Padfoot is trying to say, is that you can ask her to dance without making any moves. You’re Head Boy, she’s Head Girl… It’s probably some sort of unofficial tradition.” The pointed look Remus gave him was encouraging, a direct contradiction of the crude hand signals being thrown behind his back.

James considered it, deciding Remus was right. After punching Sirius in the arm and ducking away before he had time to return an attack, James refocused, taking no time at all to locate Lily… her head thrown back in laughter, cheeks flushed as she spun in the arms of some Ravenclaw James didn’t recognize. He could acknowledge it was a rash reaction. But it didn’t stop him from disappearing into the hall, pulling the invisibility cloak from his back pocket and sneaking away.

And now, the boy who loved was here, sprawling under the watch of a sky full of stars and four decorated towers, his chest aching with cold and something he refused to name. Eyes closed behind his glasses, James intertwined his fingers with the frostbitten grass, yearning to sink just a little bit further, until Lily Evans was but a seed planted in his mind.

“James?”

A quiet, but familiar voice stoked the fire within like a hot poker, and he opened his eyes. Standing above him, green silk peeking out from behind a winter cloak was the flower herself.

Neither of them said anything, yet the silence was not awkward. It was accompanied by the rustling of the Forbidden Forest and punctuated by the sound of the Giant Squid breaking the surface of the Black Lake. A moment, or perhaps a lifetime later, Lily shrugged, making up her mind on an argument only she seemed to be having. With all the grace she could muster on a grassy field in heels, she sank to her knees, comfortable only when she was laying besides James, close enough he could feel the heat radiating off her in waves. He did his best not to scoot closer, to tiptoe, not sprint across the hot coals, but he couldn’t resist turning his head to face her. He was only half surprised to find she was looking back, no real explanation on her face as to why she had left her date to find him here. James could only hold his tongue for so long before asking the question that was plaguing him the most.

“Aren’t you worried you’re going to ruin your dress?” He inquired, reaching over to gingerly brush his knuckles across a piece of the fabric closest to him, all too aware of how close he came to brushing her side. Lily shivered, and James told himself it was because of the wind.

Lily shook her head then, proving she also lacked concern over the state of her hair, which James could see was already falling out of its pins, loose tendrils curling around her neck. Again he fought the urge to twirl one around his finger, to feel her pulse beneath his fingertips.

“I’ve heard magical dry cleaning does wonders. Besides, it’s just a dress. The real question is, aren’t you afraid you’re going to ruin your circulation?” Lily motioned towards his half extended hand and the reddened fingers now nearly clenched into a fist.

She made a disapproving noise before reaching for it, slender fingers shooting electricity up James’ arm as she pried them out of the ball they were in. “If you keep them like that any longer they’re going to freeze like that. Then you’re going to snap them off trying open them. And even you can’t fly without fingers” The statement was ridiculous coming out of Lily’s mouth in such a matter of fact tone, and James couldn’t help the short “Ha!” that escaped, nor the wide smile that continued to nearly split his face when she laughed too.

“Well then maybe you should help warm them up, Evans”

It was meant to be a quip, a sassy piece of banter not unusual for their interactions. Instead, it came out quieter, almost soft, inflections in all the wrong places. Lily didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she looked thoughtful before wrapping both her hands around his, closing the few inches of distance left between them as she shifted.

There was another silence, during which James considered the pros and cons of interrupting, asking how she found him, why she decided to look. He didn’t get any further than opening his mouth before Lily turned her head towards him, her voice somehow but steady yet unsure.

“You know, you could have asked me. To dance, I mean… I was waiting. Marlene told me there was no way you wouldn’t be over. But then Marlene suggested David show me how to Waltz- I was bloody awful, by the way. By the time I looked back over, you were gone…” She let her voice trail, but he could hear the question behind it, could see the concern reflecting in her gold rimmed eyes.

A million thoughts flashed through James’ mind, a million questions, an itemized list of three years’ worth of moments he had long since stopped trying to overanalyze that suddenly seemed to have new meanings. But…

If there were ever a place James Potter would consider himself to be at peace, it would be here.  With Lily past midnight, bathed in the light of a thankfully waning moon, laying close enough he could hear every breath she took, her hand in his.

Talking could wait.

Turning his palm until it pressed against hers, James let out the breath he hadn’t meant to be holding when she curled her fingers around his. Her smile was nothing extraordinary, just a slight upward turn of her tinted lips, but it was enough. Pressed shoulder to shoulder in the carefully kept grass of Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, James Potter was content with being the boy in love with Lily Evans.