#oc: leila ghazdari

[thee-morrigan]

Hi!! 7, 22, 30 & 52 for any ship you want to talk about, for the otp ask💜

several ships it is! :D

7. Would they build a pillow fort together just because? I think the only ones who would build a pillow fort together (or at least bc they’re both independently interested in a pillow fort) are Del and Felix. It would probably be hella elaborate, too, since Del’s background is in engineering. She absolutely draws pillow fort schematics.

As far as who would build a pillow fort and bully their partner into joining them? Petra. Petra has totally built a pillow fort and made Ava participate. I imagine the conversation goes something like this:

“If you’re gonna be my girlfriend, you have to do girlfriend things.” “And building a makeshift tent in your living room constitutes ‘girlfriend things’?” “Fort. And yes, that’s like, girlfriend things 101.” “This does not remotely resemble a fort.” “O-kay, if you’re so well-versed in forts then you build it.”

(in case it’s not super obvious, Ava builds her a pillow fort. And takes it way too seriously.)

22. What reminds each of their partner? I’m gonna do this one for Leila and Morgan. Something that reminds Morgan of Leila: the scent of murphy’s (lol) oil soap. Leila uses it to clean her paintbrushes — she almost always has a few freshly washed ones out to dry, so her kitchen often smells faintly of that soap. So really just the diluted smell of oranges, I guess, since that’s largely what the soap smells like. Something that reminds Leila of Morgan: the stars. especially during all those weeks she stayed at the warehouse, whenever she couldn’t sleep (not infrequent, unfortunately), she’d end up hanging out on the roof with Morgan, sometimes talking, sometimes not. so she spent a fair amount of time staring at the night sky. and, because Leila is nothing if not a hopeless romantic at heart, she started thinking about the shared qualities between Morgan and the night sky — a little mysterious, bright in spots because of the sharp contrast of the surrounding dark, and something that offers her a sense of calm and tranquility.

30. Your OTP gets to pick out each other's outfits; what is each wearing? Okay, I can’t resist doing this for Wren and Julia because I feel like they would both kinda be dicks about it. Like, Ortega would be thrilled for the opportunity to get Wren to wear something that a) isn’t at least three sizes too big and b) doesn’t look like she stole it from a lost-and-found box. Conversely, Wren would either take advantage of the chance to get Julia to wear something that doesn’t cost more than her rent OR would offer her like, orthopedic shoes while making a joke about them being appropriate for Ortega’s advanced age. (Their love language is just being affectionate assholes to each other, honestly.)

52. Describe their weekend getaway? Aaaand I’ll do this one for Holland and Nate bc I’ve actually had this headcanon idea kicking around for awhile and I don’t think I’ve ever talked about it on here! We’re also making it a long weekend, because I can (and because travel time).

For background: Holland lived in Boston for college and grad school (she may have been postponing moving back to Wayhaven just a bit), and she really loved it. So, at some point, she would absolutely want to take Nate for a tour of her favorite places. I’m thinking:

catching the commuter rail to Providence one afternoon/evening for Waterfire

wandering around mt auburn cemetery

the mckim building at the boston public library (because it’s pretty, but also bc Holland would want to take Nate to the map room tea lounge)

walking along the charles

Also, Boston has SO many cool museums and Walden Pond is nearby, so I think it’s a weekend trip that Nate would enjoy for more than just the Holland Lore (tm).

otp asks

[thee-morrigan]

champagne problems

Since Leila’s birthday happened this week (August 18), I gave her a little light angst with her not-girlfriend as a treat.

@wayhavensummer, week 3: ✨celebration✨

pairing: morgan x leila ghazdari

wc: ~1.4k

rating: T

content warnings: alcohol, language

[also on ao3]

Long after the sun had gone down, the last of its opal streaks faded from the horizon in the wake of star and moonlight, Leila still felt its warmth clinging to her body like a second skin. Even up on the warehouse roof, surrounded by dark sky and the looming shadows of the old-growth forest that formed a kind of enclave around Wayhaven. The roof was the only place she could be reasonably hopeful for the odd breeze to break the fug of late summer humidity, which managed to linger long after dusk and left her feeling like she might be encased in a literal cloud, all thick with oversaturated warmth and moisture, her body heavy and a little flushed with the weight of summer air.

Or perhaps that was just the wine.

She glanced down at the sweating bottle on the concrete beside where she sat. Somehow, a good half of it appeared to have gone missing. Must have gone missing — she hadn’t been up here long enough to drink half a bottle of wine. That was...

She paused mid-thought, linking her fingers behind her head and lying back against the cool concrete, the scratch of its porous surface digging into her knuckles in a way that was, strangely, almost pleasant. Wine bottles held, what, 750 milliliters? So half of that was -- 375 milliliters, then? That seemed like so many. Too many for her to have drunk in...however long she’d been up here.

Which had been how long, exactly? She wasn’t sure. She thought the sun, or traces of it, might have still been visible when she sneaked up here, half-pleased to find herself alone and half-disappointed. Of course, in summer, the reflection of sunlight off the clouds long after what should have been, by all rights, solidly within night’s domain.

She was just summoning the energy to sit back up and check her watch when she heard the soft scraping catch of the door to the roof opening behind her. She did sit up then, turning just as a low, lilting voice called, “Hello, sweetheart.”

Morgan. Not that it would have been anyone else. As far as Leila knew, Morgan was the only one who routinely sought refuge on the warehouse roof.

Not that Morgan was who she’d been looking for when she came up here in the first place. Not that she’d been looking for anyone. She didn’t want company; she wanted a respite from the relentless press of August heat.

She’d been pleased to find it deserted.

(Mostly.)

“Hi,” she said back, curving her legs to the side as she twisted to face Morgan. She considered standing, but thought better of it. The ground was wonderfully solid and almost cool against her bare calves, beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Plus, she’d apparently consumed three hundred odd milliliters of wine in an undetermined amount of time. So staying on the ground seemed wise.

Morgan didn’t stay standing long, anyway, crossing from the door to where Leila sat looking up at her, arching one dark brow at the half-empty bottle as she dropped to a seat beside her, forearms draped across her bent knees.

“Should I ask?”

“Isn’t asking if you should ask the same thing as just...asking?” Leila retorted, although the effect of a quick rejoinder was somewhat muddled by the syntax meant to deliver it.

She lifted one shoulder indolently, dark eyes still on Morgan but looking somewhere else entirely. “I’m celebrating.”

A rueful little spasm of a smile, flicker of a raised brow as her gaze refocused on Morgan’s face.

Morgan huffed a laugh. Whatever explanation she’d been expecting (if she’d been expecting one at all), it had not been that one.

“Celebrating,” she repeated, casting a dubious glance at Leila. Barefoot and slightly disheveled, nothing about the figure seated on the roof beside her seemed particularly celebratory. Tired, maybe. A little drunk? Definitely.

“Celebrating,” Leila echoed. She tilted her head to one side, sending a sheet of dark hair falling behind her neck, her smile widening if not warming. She looked back at Morgan for a beat, then stretched one hand out to wrap her fingers around the neck of the wine bottle and bring it to her lips.

“It’s my birthday.” She took a pull straight from the bottle, then continued. “So, I’m celebrating.”

She immediately regretted saying anything. She’d meant it to come out casually, and perhaps even a touch sardonic, but in a cool, slightly jaded way. She shrugged again, hoping the lazy shift of one shoulder would properly convey the volume of fucks she absolutely did not give.

It’s just a day like any other, said her shoulders. Just another year. Just the start of another decade. Who even keeps track of these things, anyway?

Not her mother, apparently, who’d only managed to send her a short text message a little over an hour ago, even though they saw each other more frequently now than they probably ever did when Leila was a child. Even though Leila had literally been at a meeting with her mother two days ago.

But, she supposed, people who spent their careers working with practically immortal beings wouldn’t think a measly thirty years of staying alive was particularly noteworthy.

And, when it came down to it, was it really that significant? Until recently, staying alive day after day hadn’t exactly been touch and go.

Why make it a whole big thing? her shoulder said. Keep it casual.

Like cynicism was an accessory she could wear, another chain looped round her throat like a necklace.

Cool and disaffected, that’s what she was. That’s how she had wanted to sound, when she told Morgan it was her birthday. Casual. Like the text from her mo— from Rebecca. Like her not-relationship with her not-girlfriend.

Instead, she was pretty sure it had come out sad and more than a touch embittered.

Because of course it had.

And now all she’d accomplished was sounding like she felt sorry for herself, which she wasn’t, and was fishing for Morgan’s sympathy or worse, her pity, which she absolutely wasn’t.

Morgan, for her part, only raised an eyebrow, settling into an easy perch beside her on the cement, outstretched hand pulling the wine bottle from Leila’s grasp.

“Cheers, sweetheart,” she said, sketching a salute with the bottle, a facsimile of a toast, before raising it to her mouth and taking a swig.

A moment passed and Morgan pulled a face like she’d been suckerpunched.

“Christ, that’s sweet,” she hissed, mouth stretched in a grimace.

Leila laughed, hand to her mouth like the noise had surprised her. “It’s kind of terrible, right? It’s like, a fiver at that shop on the corner. I felt like I had to sneak it in, like just having it in the warehouse might be an outrageous betrayal of Adam’s whole existence.”

Morgan snorted, passing the bottle back to Leila. “They overcharged you if you paid them for that.”

Another hiccup of a giggle from Leila as she accepted the maligned moscato, took another deep swallow, almost choking on it as she laughed again at Morgan’s disapproving scowl. “I kind of love it, though? It’s so sweet, I don’t know why, but it’s just…”

She trailed off, another, smaller sip. Set the bottle aside and leaned back on her hands, tipping her face up to the night sky. “I think I probably only like it because it was the most potable alcohol we could get our hands on in high school,” she finally said with a laugh that was more exhale than anything. “I think we thought alcopop was like, beneath us and too immature or something.”

She rolled her head to the side, looking at Morgan again, who was watching her with an inscrutable expression. “I like to think I have better taste now, but…it always feels weirdly appropriate for my birthday?”

She wrinkled her nose, tipped her head back up with another chortle of a breath. “That’s so weird, sorry.” Deeper inhale. “Anyway. Want me to leave you alone? I’m guessing you didn’t come up here at this hour to listen to a drunk girl babble about getting older.”

Self-effacing smile, aimed at Morgan. Morgan returned it automatically, a little sharper at the edges, a little thinner than Leila’s, but. A real smile.

“No,” Morgan said, her tone the exact shade of casual Leila had wanted to affect in her own words. Shifted, a hairsbreadth closer, one knee flopping softly against Leila’s. “Looks like I’m up here celebrating your birthday.”

[thee-morrigan]

ocs as spotify top songs 2020

it only took me 84 years but THANK YOU for tagging me, @natkins, @narrativefoiltrope, and @lacunafiction! <3

and sorry for the wild ride this is about to be since more than one entire taylor swift album is on this list smdh (interspersed with everything from relient k to ru paul bc ya girl contains multitudes or whatever). i'll spare y'all from doing all of my ocs, though (especially since a good chunk of these songs were on one or more twc ship playlists asjfkslfj)

holland townsend (twc) - "are you lightning," nada surf (i mean, i literally wrote a fic with this title it was the only choice)

The only thing I'm scared of is the secret that you keep I know where you are (I don't know where you are) Tell me what you're thinking Do not let me twist Just look at the size of you

delaney keaton (twc) - "shadow," kesha

So get your shadow out of my sunshine Out of my blue skies, out of my good times So get your darkness out of my damn way I'll be dancing in the rain

leila ghazdari (twc) - "in my head," ariana grande

Painted a picture; I thought I drew you well I had a vision, seeing what isn't there Caught in the moment, tangled up in your sheets

petra carlisle (twc) - "bravado," lorde

And I can tell you that When the lights come on, I'll be ready for this // I want the applause, the approval The things that make me go, "Oh"

bonus fallen hero oc because i just started and i'm already obsessed with her:

allegra peretti (fhr) - "hoax," taylor swift

You knew the hero died so what's the movie for? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars From when they pulled me apart But what you did was just as dark

tagging (only if you want to!): @impossible-rat-babies, @starrypawz, @ejunkiet, @queerbrujas, @roses-and-roo, @elmshore, @lilas, @winterkeys, and anyone else who feels like doing this!

[thee-morrigan]

wip wednesday

thanks @lilas and @elmshore for tagging me! I’m gonna be lazy and do an open tag, but if you want to do this, please tag me when you post (because I am ravenously curious about what everyone’s working on at all times).

I was going to post a new little wip for a Mind Blind piece I started working on literally last night, but it’s...a little rough and more than a little smutty, so instead, have some angst from Morgan and Leila:

“Hey,” Morgan says after a long moment, her voice so soft, so oddly gentle, that Leila is seized with the urge to do something, the impulse wild and driving. To throw something. Or scream. Or laugh, though nothing, absolutely nothing is funny. She can’t remember the last time anything was. Forget everything but me. And you. And this. No problem, she thinks, and she almost does laugh then. She hasn’t been able to think of anything except Morgan, and them, together but not, and whatever this isn’t between them. Not in months. Like ivy, vines tangling over her, in her, curling inside her mind and taking root, crowding out everything else. Thinks of something else Morgan had said to her, in one of those rare, strangely intimate moments they’d had alone and just let themselves be together. Sometimes touching, sometimes not. Sometimes talking, sometimes not. This time, they had been on the roof, staring up at the night sky, almost touching but not, shoulders a breath away from brushing against the other’s. Leila almost hadn’t asked, not daring to break the moment. But courtesy and curiosity won out, and she’d asked if Morgan would prefer to be left alone. The woman had looked almost puzzled for a moment, as though turning something over in her mind. Then — You don’t invade my space like others do. And, yet, Morgan had quietly managed to invade every crevice of Leila’s life.

[thee-morrigan]

Leila, what was the first thing you noticed about Morgan?

She hums thoughtfully, leaning forward to prop her elbows on her desk, steepling her fingers and resting her chin against her linked knuckles, one thumb idly rubbing along the ridge of the other.

“Maybe the audacity?” she grins, leaning back again, her clasped hands now stretched along the desk in her bright office.

She looks down, lips still curled into a smile, though it softens from amusement to consideration as she continues to think. After a long moment, she lifts her face, dark eyes soft, focused on something beyond the bounds of this room, this time. Tilts her head to the side, lips parting slightly as her smile shifts from soft thought to something more tender, fond.

“Morgan’s…” She starts, pauses again, seeming to turn over her words in her head. “She’s interesting, you know?” She gives a breath of a laugh, little more than a sharp exhale through her teeth. “I mean, I guess they’re all interesting. They’re vampires. Really old, vampires. Can you imagine how much they’ve seen? How much they’ve experienced?” A little shake of her head, like she’s trying to imagine herself.

“Anyway,” she continues. “I don’t think the first thing I noticed about Morgan is that important. But the first thing I saw, I mean, really saw about her, was how intensely, how fiercely protective she seems to be. Of herself, of her people. She’s not charming, but she’s not cold. She just…I don’t know how familiar you are with art, but Morgan always makes me think of chiaroscuro. It’s a technique you see a lot in Renaissance art — look at Caravaggio sometime and you’ll see exactly what I’m talking about. Anyway, chiaroscuro is basically an exaggerated use of contrast, usually a stark, dark background with a few sections of extreme lightness. And, to me, that’s Morgan. It’s so easy to see the swell of darkness, to think of the work as being ‘dark’ or whatever, and maybe that’s a fair assessment. But when you pay attention to the details, the obvious glow of focal light, the less emphasized but no less dramatic smaller bits of accent lighting…I look at Morgan and I see chiaroscuro.”

She pauses again, blinks, as if refocusing herself back to the present moment. Her smile changes again, too, shifting to something harder, more restrained. Bright, professional, but crystalline. “Sorry, that was a bit of a ramble! I guess to answer your question, I noticed underneath the foul smoke that she’s gorgeous, and there was a vibe, so.” She shrugs, casual and unaffected. “All that dramatic contrast can be pretty fun in the right context.” -- thank you for the ask! 💖 It was so fun to spend some time in Leila’s head (and a helpful warm-up for some other fic prompts!). 

ask my OCs anything!

[thee-morrigan]

day 22: slide on through my window

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles

Pairing: Morgan x Leila Ghazdari (f!detective)

Word count: 1.6k

Prompt: window (Day 22 of @31daysofwayhaven)

Summary: Leila leaves a window open.

Rating: T/M-ish? Definite allusions to sex (I mean…it’s Morgan.)

[read on AO3]

Notes: Me, disappear for two weeks then show up with a prompt 22 days in? more likely than you’d think. (it’s just as likely as you’d think)

--

“Planning on leaving this open all night, sweetheart?”

Leila yelped and whirled in the hallway outside her bedroom, a hand flying to her chest. “Oh my god, Morgan, what the hell?”

Morgan shrugged and stepped forward to linger in the doorway, resting a shoulder against the white frame. “You left your window open.”

“You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“I already knew I had a talent for that, sweetheart. Figured you’d be used to the spiked pulse by now.”

“I was getting ready for bed.” Leila protested, but stepped closer to the other woman, reaching out to hook a finger in Morgan’s belt loops, tugging her closer and tilting her head up expectantly.

“So I can see,” Morgan quirked a brow, her eyes roving over Leila’s body before she leaned down obligingly for a teasingly brief kiss, pulling her lips just far enough from Leila’s to murmur into her mouth. “Nice outfit.”

“I was getting ready for bed,” Leila repeated, tilting her chin up in an attempt to bridge the gap between them. “It typically involves pajamas.”

Morgan pulled back, smirking, but kept her hands where they’d landed on Leila’s hips. Although the thin poplin material of the over-sized button down she slept in provided a very poor buffer against the warmth of Morgan’s hands, Leila nonetheless felt that it was, in the current circumstances, still much too substantial a barrier between them.

“If you’d come a little earlier, you might have caught me in my robe,” Leila quipped, tilting her head with a similarly lopsided grin. 

“I’m sure there will be other opportunities,” Morgan’s mouth quirked upwards briefly, lazily, at the edges before she lowered her face to Leila’s once again.

Leila had never done drugs — she rarely even drank, when it came down to it, having rather lost the taste for it after a few disastrous, weeping landmark nights in college — but there were a few experiences in her life where she felt that she could almost understand why people did, where she imagined she felt some of the appeal of them. (The downers, anyway: she wasn’t sure she’d ever get the appeal of something like cocaine. Who needed to move that fast?) What she’d heard of people who tried to make homes out of opiates, though, or narcotic substances — she was a cop, after all, and in this climate, with scores of people falling victim to the opioid epidemic like they were, she’d been curious enough that she’d had to see what all the fuss was about. Not firsthand, obviously, but god knew she saw enough articles and pamphlets about it nowadays, the countless seminars and professional development workshops and “retreats” that went to exotic locales like the conference room, all cheerfully presenting glossy new acronyms for assisting citizens presumed to be under the influence. Not that there was a significant presence of addicts in Wayhaven. Well, she corrected herself, at least not of the kind presented in the pamphlets. Wayhaven had its underbelly, same as anywhere.

Still, hyperbolic as the seminars and concomitant propaganda were, they all seemed to more or less agree on the appeal of that particular flavor of escapism. Like you were walking into a deep, quiet wood, going deeper and deeper, not sure how or if you’d emerge again or if you even cared to retrace your steps at all. The dizzy, sound-dampening, wool-wrapped cocoon of contented fugue that heightened and diminished sensation simultaneously. She felt it when she painted for hours at a time, not feeling the fatigue in her eyes or arms or hands over the hours lost to the wide, careful sweep of brush on canvas. She felt it when she woke early, the grey predawn hours where it seemed she might be the only person in all the world who wasn’t still tucked away in dreamy slumber, as if she might have an entire day to herself before the world’s had really begun.

When she first moved into her apartment, she’d felt it on her first full day alone in the place, too. She’d taken the entire weekend off from her duties as an officer, and felt for the first time in a long time, that she had nowhere she needed to be, no one with whom she needed to check in, nothing she needed to do except settle into her new space. She was accountable to no one but herself and her apartment, which, in turn, was accountable only to her.

She’d never lived alone before. In college, she’d had roommates, and while she’d spent more time alone than not as a child, her mother’s house had never really been hers. Even after college, when she’d moved back to save up and look over the childhood home that her mother inexplicably kept but rarely used, like an ill-fitting or seldom-used article of clothing kept at the back of her wardrobe “just in case” its time should come, when the au pairs of her childhood had long passed its threshold for the last time, Leila always felt the house’s allegiance would forever lie with Rebecca (and, perhaps, with the housekeeper who seemed almost to have been dreamt up in its very walls, springing into fully-formed adulthood on the day Rebecca decided she had need of one).

But that first morning, for the first time, she had been well and truly alone. When she’d woken up that morning, boxes half-unpacked, furniture mostly in the right rooms, sunlight streaming through unshaded windows and bouncing off still-bare walls, Leila had felt that same cottony cocoon wrap itself around her mind, just as the freshly laundered sheets wrapped her sleep-warm skin and the echoes of sun-drenched silence wrapped her new home. Some narcotic synthesized from sunshine and silence.

And she felt it now with Morgan.

And, just as she felt every other time she’d let her brain wander into that dark, preternaturally quiet wood, Leila didn’t feel the least concerned about whether she’d be able to find the path out of it again.

Instead, she just wanted to wander deeper into it.

She tilted her face, angling to brush the tip of her nose along Morgan’s jawline, her neck, under her ear, breathing her in. She’d always found it strange and appealing that Morgan, who probably smoked enough to keep the entire tobacco industry afloat (although less now, Leila hadn’t failed to notice), somehow never seemed to smell of cigarettes. Smoky, perhaps, but in the way of incense: a sensual halo of heady, aromatic warmth, all fig and balsam and vetiver.

It was uncharacteristic, she knew. To wander into the woods, no fear of the dark unknown.

The woods are just trees. The trees are just woods. The snippet of song popped into her head unbidden and she smiled to herself, almost laughed, a sharp little exhale through her nose that quickly turned into a sharp little inhale when Morgan’s hands on her hips tightened, slid lower on the outsides of her thighs, fingers dancing first along and then under the hem of her nightshirt.

It was fitting, she knew. To be reminded of Little Red and her foolish cocksuredness as she trekked dutifully, carelessly into the woods

to Grandmother’s house!

where she saw no need to fear, cape as red as blood wrapped snugly around her for the journey.

Into the woods

Then out of the woods

And home before dark!

But it was dark now, and Leila, well. She was just entering the woods. She was all too aware, though, what may be lurking on the journey. Still, hadn’t Little Red herself acknowledged scary is exciting?

(And a little bit not)

Uncharacteristic. The relationship that wasn’t a relationship. The woman who’d appeared in her window. Who was nothing to her. Who was everything to her.

There are always wolves…

That narcotic, heady, red-as-blood wool wrapped round her senses, dulling all her sharpest neuroses, covering those prickly spines of attachment that usually snagged at her, that would have been too sharp for Morgan’s sensitive (warm-soft-velvet) skin. Leila wanted to fill more of her senses with Morgan, if she could just figure out how to taste and see her at the same time. Morgan’s hands had slid further up her thighs, the fabric of her nightshirt bunching around her waist as she felt herself lifted, hands gripping her ass, legs wrapping around Morgan as though of their own accord.

“You wanna lose these?” And it takes a moment to even understand the question, she’s so distracted by

(lips pressed to her neck, fingers tugging the waistband of her underwear, dull graze of teeth against the soft swell of her shoulder)

everything, to understand which sensation went with which pronoun, blurted a string of affirmative sounds and almost-words then cursed the incorrigible number of buttons on her nightshirt, then cursed again for different reasons as Morgan’s hands and mouth continued their exploration of Leila’s body. 

Granny said, The mouth of a wolf’s not the end of the world.

After, Leila still hadn’t lost that dreamy sunshine-and-silence feeling, and let herself build a sort of literal cocoon of duvet and pillow, curling on her side to smile at Morgan. “Will you close the window on your way out?”

Raised brow, shadow of what could have been a frown. Not unhappy. Considering. “Am I on my way out?”

“Aren’t you?” Leila considered propping herself up on an elbow to look at Morgan more fully, then decided against it, nestling her face further into the cool linen of her pillow. She wanted to keep her cocoon. “Got what you came for, right?” She joked.

Uncharacteristic. But so easy to slide into. The woods are just trees. The trees are just woods.

No need to be afraid there, her brain supplied, song snippet still floating around her head.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Morgan gave a wry smile. The creases of almost-frown from a moment ago had vanished. “What’s the rush? There’s hours until we have anywhere else to be. I haven’t nearly gotten everything I came for.”

(There’s something in the glade there.)

[thee-morrigan]

Oooh, Dark Room for the WIP game? :D

EJ, yes!! 🙌🏼 this game is making me realize how many half-finished (or half-started) Leila/Morgan docs I have lmaoooo

This one is meant to be a slice-of-life, relationship/character development piece (obvi pre-b*kery rip me💀)

At least, Morgan hadn’t noticed, and Leila hadn’t said anything. In fact, in a turn that was boringly predictable (to Morgan’s supreme annoyance), the first person to notice and say so was Nate. “You’re spending a lot of daylight hours at Leila’s lately,” he’d commented, casually, ostensibly without pretense, but it prickled at Morgan nonetheless. “And you’re spending a lot of time tracking my whereabouts,” she’d retorted. “Worried I’m clocking too much overtime?”

Thanks for asking about this one! 💕

ask me about my WIPs!

[thee-morrigan]

"every ribbon you used to tie yourself to me" i have to KNOW <3 <3 <3

Bunny!! an *excellent* choice~

...assuming hurt/(eventual)comfort is of interest :) :) :)

this one is an angsty-ish Leila/Morgan piece (I’ve shared another piece of it before as well) - I’m really excited to finish it, despite how long it’s taking me adkfjldasdklf. Leila’s going a bit rogue, as a treat:

At one time Leila might have been — probably would have been — touched by the difference, by the idea that her mother was…well, acting like her mother. Today, however, the hesitation and worried look only served to make Leila feel itchy, kicking her restlessness into a higher gear. She was glad (for once) that her mother wasn’t particularly given to physical affection; given how claustrophobic she already felt, the idea of Rebecca trying to touch or hug her had her bristling like a cat.

ask me about my WIPs!

[thee-morrigan]

For the spotify game, leila/morgan nº 81? ♥

Thank you for the ask! This turned out longer than expected – hope you enjoy <3

pairing: Morgan x Leila Ghazdari (f!detective)

wc: ~1.2k

warnings: Book 3 spoilers! Otherwise, none.

#81: “Blood in the Cut,” K. Flay

All I do is pretend to be okay so my friends

Can’t see my heart in the blender…

Say a word, do it soon

It’s too quiet in this room

This is super appropriate for Leila/Morgan because Leila is hurt and also offended by Morgan’s behavior at Haley’s (particularly after such gratuitous PDA!).

--

Finally alone in her office, Leila couldn’t decide if she was more annoyed by Morgan or her own reaction. Normally she preferred silence to clangor, but right now she felt fizzy with restless energy. First the embarrassment at Haley’s, then running into Bobby, the absolute last person she’d want to see on a good day, let alone after being publicly humiliated by someone whose tongue had been in her mouth less than a minute prior.

Morgan had only said the same thing – albeit incredibly tactlessly – she’d said from the start. This was just a bit of fun. They were both single, both very clearly attracted to each other. This was a no-strings, friends-with-benefits situation. Leila had known that from the start. She’d consented to that from the start. Eyes wide open. She hadn’t asked for more. She had made the decision to sleep with her, and keep sleeping with her, knowing full well that that was all that would come of any intimacy between them. She didn’t get to feel hurt or confused by Morgan’s consistency in her interest. Right?

She shut her eyes for a minute. Deep breath in, hold for four beats, then out for four more. Visualize a square.

Deep breath in. Visualize a square.

It was too quiet in here. She couldn’t visualize anything but Morgan. Morgan, caressing the back of her neck with surprising tenderness, pulling her close across the café table. Morgan, kissing her so thoroughly, so hungrily, like she’d been underwater, and Leila was air. Like kissing Leila immediately, lingeringly, was essential, surroundings be damned.

Deep breath out. Connect the dots of a four-cornered box.

Kissing like that in the middle of Haley’s was something Leila normally wouldn’t be comfortable doing. Leila generally felt weird engaging in any kind of public displays of affection, even really casual ones. It had taken an embarrassingly long time to get in the habit of tamping down her instinct to pull back when past partners had tried to hold hands in public. She still felt a little curling pull of shame every time she thought about her first boyfriend, who’d tried to hold her hand at a movie and she’d almost upended the popcorn in her surprise.

Except with Morgan. With Morgan, she couldn’t bring herself to care. With Morgan, she felt like they were in their own private bubble. With Morgan, she wouldn’t actually mind if they were always touching.

Deep breath –  

She opened her eyes with a sigh and slumped forward, resting her elbows on her desk and steepling her hands over the bridge of her nose. Mindful breathing exercises weren’t going to work, apparently. She needed to move.

She thought of the yoga mat propped against her filing cabinet. Decided against it. If mindfulness wasn’t working, even more demanding vinyasa poses were likely to require a great deal more focus than she could muster, between her frustration and the emotional exhaustion of literally everything today.

She needed noise. She needed movement. She needed whatever the hell feelings were simmering inside her, whatever hive of waspishness was buzzing around in her brain to go, go, go.

Maybe it was best that things had been so weird in the café. Clearly, she was feeling things about Morgan that she’d told herself she wouldn’t be feeling. It would probably be best for them to just end whatever this was now. It wasn’t fair for her to be secretly expecting or hoping for something more, when she’d very openly and clearly agreed that that was not what this was.

Dammit. Dammit. She thought. What are you doing?

Leila bolted upright, desk chair rolling back into the wall behind her with the momentum.

She needed to move.

Grabbing her bike helmet off the hook by the office door, she checked to make sure her keys were in her pocket and strode out of her office. In her haste, she didn’t even notice that she’d left her phone plugged in to charge at her computer.

“I’m taking lunch,” she called to Len as she breezed past. If they were caught off-guard by her abrupt departure, they didn’t show it.

Or she was too focused on getting out of the station to notice.

Finally outside, she felt like she could almost breathe again without wanting to just scream. Ferocious and feral and tempestuous.

Never any words she’d applied to herself. Until Morgan.

She thought about The Incident at Haley’s again and groaned. She was actually going to have to find a new bakery. This was outrageous. This was unacceptable. She was going to have to go to that stupid trendy cupcake place that used too much frosting and was all style, no substance.

Maybe she could just get Tina to go to Haley’s for her. Or wear a wig.

She felt a stinging pressure on the bridge of her nose and looked up, eyes wide, refusing to blink. The turgid feeling grew, and she stalked over to where her bike was chained, detaching her water bottle and drinking deep.

You can’t cry if you’re drinking water.

It was something her elementary school guidance counselor had said to her once, when she’d been upset about…something, clearly not that important since she couldn’t bring it to mind now. Well, now with the view of an adult, she knew what she was upset about. She just couldn’t remember what triggered that particular afternoon. That had been the year after Rook died, first grade, when she’d decided she couldn’t be sad anymore because too much time had passed. Even so, she was still deeply, bewilderingly sad, like she’d been pulled apart. Ignoring those feelings only made them explode out of her at random intervals. Whatever had triggered it that afternoon, she’d been on the verge of a full-fledged meltdown, in the way only little kids had them, gulping down air, tiny body shuddering with the effort to not cry at school.

Her counselor had noticed her loitering in the hall and, upon seeing the total state she was in, had suggested they take a walk to her office, take a minute to find some space. Once safely ensconced in her office, Ms. Sandoval had filled a little paper cup with water from the cooler by the door and handed it to her.

Leila had been even more bewildered. “I’m not thirsty,” she had hiccuped.

“Try to drink a little anyway. It’s helpful if you want to calm down. It’s always okay to cry if you need to. Crying is good for you. But sometimes you don’t want to cry right then. When it doesn’t feel like a safe time for crying, I find that drinking a little water helps. You can’t cry if you’re trying to drink water at the same time.”

Leila had tried and found, to her relief, that Ms. Sandoval was correct. You can’t cry if you’re drinking water.

By the time she drained her water bottle, the impulse to have a total first-grade-level meltdown had subsided just enough for her to get on her bike and take off toward the forest path. The pleasant strain in her thighs as she pedaled helped quell the remains of her urge to scream at the sky.

Back at the station, where she wouldn’t see it for another hour or so, her phone lit up, vibrating urgently on her desk with a call until, unanswered, it lay silent once more. And outside the station, where she’d never know she’d been, a dark-haired woman lingered, shoving her phone back in her pocket, something like regret on her face.

[thee-morrigan]

May I hear about the dark room fic? ❤️

(and thank you for asking! 🥰)

Another snippet from the little slice-of-life (pre-b*kery nonsense) Leila/Morgan fic. In case it’s not obvious, Leila has a makeshift dark room set up in her apartment bathroom (as an additional fun fact, I had a flatmate one summer who legit had a home dark room - it was super cool and gave me the idea for this story, many many years later).

“That’s the last time I try ringing the bell like a ‘regular person’,” purred a voice behind her, and Leila started so violently she almost upended the tray of solution nearest her. She whirled. “Jesus Christ, Morgan,” she breathed, shoulders slackening as she studied the glow of Morgan’s silhouette in the doorway behind her, leaning between the cracked door and wall, and backlit by thin streams of sunlight from Leila’s living room. “I’d think you of all people would have better ways to get someone’s heart rate up, sunshine,” she said dryly, then paused abruptly, registered where she was. Where Morgan stood. Crap. Sunshine.

ask me about my WIPs!

[thee-morrigan]

summer asks 01, 13, 15 for holland and leila??

(--and that CAT HEADER OMG <333333)

FIRST of all, sorry it’s been 84 years since you sent this, but tysm for the ask!!

also - the header, yes!! isn’t it fantastic?? I found it on unsplash! I don’t even remember what I was looking for lmao but those stupidly bright cats seemed very ~on brand ahahaha.

dropping these under a cut for length -- 

1. What are your detective’s favorite places to travel? If they haven’t traveled, where do they want to go? 🧳

Holland wants to go anywhere she hasn’t been before. She did a lot of study abroad in college/grad school (mostly field experiences related to anthro), and she speaks six languages, so she’s pretty travel friendly, and loves experiencing new places. One of her favorite places for return visits is Boston - she has a lot of fond memories from grad school there, and it’s pretty enough even in the winter that she almost didn’t mind that it was freezing six months out of the year.

Leila will go anywhere with good museums (are all my detectives giant nerds? signs point to yes). One place she really, really wants to revisit: Mexico City. She’s been once, and she felt like she could have easily spent her entire stay just in the Museo del Templo Mayor (as it stands, she almost spent an entire day there, but was lured out by the call of the sidewalk taco stands - so much good food!). She’s still devastated she didn’t make it to their natural history museum, as it’s supposed to be fantastic.

13. How do they dress for the summer? Any clothing they refuse to wear in the hot months? 🩳 answered for Holland here and Leila here! 15. Favorite summer activity to spend their time? 🏐

Leila is super into kayaking - river or sea. If she’s got a whole day free (unfortunately rare lately!), she will almost certainly spend it on the water. It’s one of her favorite places to think, and it can be as active or relaxed an activity as she wants depending on the stretch she chooses. When she has a free morning, she also enjoys going down to the marina and painting en plein air for a few hours before it gets too hot. (...i just re-read that last sentence and jfc it sounds like a pretentious tinder bio akfjskf)

Holland takes advantage of the extra sunlight and all the wooded trails in Wayhaven and spends a lot of time doing trail runs either early morning or in the evening, when it’s not suffocatingly hot (or at least she did before the whole supernatural-bounty situation rip). She’s even convinced Tina to join her once or twice after work (turns out Tina is much more open to running in the summer heat if the route ends near their favorite bar). (Wayhaven Summer Asks)

[thee-morrigan]

2, 13 and 18 for Holland and Leila?🥺

ahh, thank you for the ask (and sorry it took me so long!)! 💛 I’m dropping these under a cut since I let my headcanons run away with me (as usual tbh):

2. Do they have a favorite summer memory? 💭

Leila said “canon whomst?” and spent most of her childhood summers with her paternal grandparents, which she loved because it helped her feel closer to her dad after he died. it also helped her feel more in touch with her heritage - she’s Iranian, and she really loved summers with that side of her family (and also with family who cared to spend time with her askfjds).

Her two favorite memories of those summers are: 1) learning to make proper tahdig and ghormeh sabzi with her grandfather (and waking up to a kitchen that always smelled of saffron and fresh herbs); and 2) the fact that every year without fail, her grandparents would have a belated Nowruz just for her, complete with a haft-seen and a little bonfire for her to jump over (Nowruz - aka Persian New Year - happens on/around March 21, so Leila never really got to celebrate with them during the actually holiday).

Holland had pretty unremarkable summers as a kid (spent a lot of time alone, unsurprisingly, but she also had a pretty good time that way, too). She spent a lot of time in the woods surrounding Wayhaven (frankly, probably too much time unsupervised at too young an age, but, hey, she survived), and like most kids, let her curiosity and imagination dictate her days.

The summer she was 10, she found some half-buried eggs in the woods bordering her house, and promptly took them home. Anežka (her nanny, who was very probably a witch) let her keep them, and helped her set up a terrarium for them in the kitchen until they hatched. They turned out to be coral snake eggs, which Holland released back into the woods after they hatched.

(so, tl;dr, Holland was a weird kid who fostered some baby snakes and considers that one of the highlights of her life)

13. How do they dress for the summer? Any clothing they refuse to wear in the hot months? 🩳

answered for Holland here :)

Leila wears SO many dresses once it's warm enough to forego tights (although, admittedly, she almost always wears them with bike shorts underneath, since she also prefers biking to driving whenever possible). Her aesthetic is basically middle-school art teacher, so if it’s loose/drapey and has interesting details (unique prints/color pairings, or novelty button shapes), she’s all about it.

Her wardrobe between work and home stays more or less constant, with a few deviations: off-the-clock, she might wear shorter hemlines, or flowy, patterned shorts. If she’s painting, though, she’s usually in baggy overalls and a tank top.

As far as things she refuses to wear (although this obvi doesn’t apply to the office): shoes. she’d spend her whole summer barefoot if she could.

18. Any summer traditions? 🌻

Holland doesn’t really have any - she’s not really a person who intentionally creates traditions, and it’s rare that she notices if she’s fallen into an unintentional one.

for Leila, summer begins when her first batch of cherry tomatoes is ripe. She has a little raised bed on her balcony (that has since been moved to the warehouse rooftop) where she grows tomatoes, garlic, and a few of her favorite herbs. She saves subsequent batches for cooking/canning/baking, but eats that first batch like candy, preferably outside while they’re still sun-warm and perfectly sweet.

(Wayhaven Summer Asks - accepting!)

[thee-morrigan]

🎵Holland, 🎵Leila,🎵 Petra

thank you, Meggers!💕 (and sorry it took so long!) Since there’s 3 (and I know how I am askdfljs), gonna drop 'em all under the cut!

starting with Petra for this one, let's go with Taylor Swift’s “Mirrorball.” Other than being the obvious artist choice for former child prodigies everywhere, the song always makes me think of Petra because, underneath the dreamy, shimmery melody/instrumentation, it’s a pretty sad and raw song from the perspective of being about a person who is used to performing and then suddenly not having that role anymore, which is quintessential Petra in a lot of ways:

And they called off the circus, burned the disco down When they sent home the horses and the rodeo clowns I'm still on that trapeze I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me

For Holland, I’ll go with No Doubt’s “Platinum Blonde Life.” To be honest, other than the obvious hair color connection, the song’s pretty simple lyrically - the big draw on this one is the overall sound and the vibe. This is one of the earlier songs I put on a playlist specifically for her, and I feel like it just fits her really well. The whole vibe of responding to off days by just holing up, dyeing your hair and being alone for awhile is a big mood lmaooo.

And for Leila: Paramore’s “26″ - the whole song feels very Leila to me - it’s pretty in a kind of quiet, almost delicate way, and the bittersweet combination of optimistic lyrics and sadder sound of the strings. The idea of maintaining a stubborn optimism even in spite of everything is very much a Leila trait.

Hold onto hope if you got it Don't let it go for nobody

Reality will break your heart Survival will not be the hardest part It's keeping all your hopes alive When all the rest of you has died So let it break your heart

Send me a ♫ + a character’s name (or ship!) and I will respond with a song that reminds me of them

[thee-morrigan]

57, 89, and 77 for Leila please! 😘

thank you for the ask! ♡♡

57: What makes them stand out among others?

Leila is one of those people who really pays attention to others – she’s a classic “mom friend,” and she is fiercely protective of people she cares about, especially when they need protection from their own insecurities. Leila’s got confidence to spare and is always down to be her friends’ number one hype woman.

89: Have they ever been in a sword fight before?

A real one? No. A fake one? Several times. She was super into theatre in high school and college and has definitely had some stage sword fights before (her favorite was probably the time she played Captain Hook in a production of Peter Pan – she was very into the hat).

77: Who would cheer them up after a long day?

Even though she only sees them a couple times a year (at best), Leila’s been really close with her grandparents (especially her grandfather) since childhood and calls them most weeks. So, after an especially long day, she’d probably call her babajoon for a pick-me-up – or a round of Words with Friends. Since she taught him how to use his iPhone as more than just a phone, he’s been an absolute fiend, and they play together a lot.

ask my OCs: prompts

[thee-morrigan]

Wayhaven Asks: 29, 30, 50, 51, please! (~agentnatesewell)

These are fairly short, so I’ll do all 3 of my mains rather than randomize :)

29. At the start of the books, was your detective close with Rebecca?

Holland and Leila were not. Leila has always wished she and her mother were closer; Holland’s life motto is “bottle that shit up” (“that shit” being her emotions) and just decided if Rebecca didn’t prioritize their relationship, she wouldn’t either.

Petra isn’t super close with Rebecca (how could she be?), but she’s pretty satisfied with their relationship, all told. Kids are resilient, and she had a pretty happy childhood in spite of everything. Plus, as an adult, she’s very into her work, so she has respect for Rebecca trying to juggle single motherhood and a demanding career – and that was before she learned what her mom *really* does for a living!

tl;dr: Petra buys Holland and Leila shirts that say “Ask me about my mommy issues!”

30. Has your detective gotten closer with Rebecca as the books went on?

They’ve all gotten a little closer to her on the whole. Petra more so than the other two, probably, for the reasons above. Actually seeing a fuller picture of Rebecca’s work only increased her respect for the fact that Rebecca tried to show up for the big things, even when she missed the in-between moments.

Leila jumped at the chance to have her mom in her life; unfortunately, that also led to her making some choices she might not have made on her own because she’s kind of internalized the idea that she’s “earning” Rebecca’s love/attention by being useful.

Holland’s relationship with her has improved the least (shocker), but she’s started to understand Rebecca as a whole person more in the past few months. Despite her better judgment, she’s gotten slightly less frosty.

50. Any HCs about Wayhaven (the town itself)?

I’ve got several half-baked ones! One of the more thought-out ones is the relict sea caves along the coast, past the more developed section by the docks. The main inspo for these are the Wemyss Caves along the coastline of Kirkcaldy in Scotland. A few are now above sea level (for the most part) and the largest have traditionally been treated as indoor playgrounds by the locals (definitions of “play” varying depending on age: they’re used for everything from particularly adventurous hide-and-seek to clandestine meetings – romantic or otherwise).

51. Describe your detective in one word.

Holland: fierce.

Leila: gentle.

Petra: curious.

Thank you so much for the asks! <3