things that are not mine

Moriel headcanons

Every morning when they wake up at the House of Wind Az has coffee waiting for Mor, with tons of cream and sugar because she needs, she has so many needs for energy because she is not a morning person. They sit together and it is sunny and his shadows are nowhere to be seen, and he will take her book from her and read it out loud to her while she drinks. She leans against him and she likes the rumbling vibration from his voice, it goes through her and, together with the calm, steady rhythm of the words, she nearly goes back to sleep.

Every morning he asks her what she wants to do with their day - it’s a new development since the war ended and they are not constantly pulled in a million different directions, trying to protect their friends and their court. She always tries to be diplomatic, but they both know that they will do whatever it is that she feels like doing.

One day Mor decides that she wants to make a cake for Rhys (who needs a reason why?) and so she recruits Azriel’s help in making it. She is not good at this. He thought he would be, but actually… baking is tricky. It’s not like cooking. They make a bloody mess of the kitchen, and she refuses to use any magic or powers or anything like that to help them. She is going to do this herself, whether she ends up covered in powdered sugar or not. She begins to get frustrated, but he reminds her that this was her idea, that she was trying to do something nice for her cousin. He tries to convince her that it’s ok if it doesn’t work out, because Rhys didn’t know about it anyway, and they’ll do better next time.

Instead of finishing the cake, they just eat the frosting from the bowl, because at least that part turned out well.

In the evening, after they return home from doing whatever they have felt like - usually something down in the Rainbow, Mor isn’t particularly artistic, but she can appreciate others’ work - she watches while he makes dinner. He moves with efficiency, and she tries not to laugh at how seriously he takes this duty.

Every evening he presents her with food, as a way to tell her that he will never, never take for granted the one time that she served him, and made their bond forever.

Leading Suspects: Master Post

Hooray for completed fics! As promised, my final post regarding this story, now that I’m caught up with cross-posting it, complete with links! For your convenience and reading preference:

Read it on AO3

Read it on

And for those of you who have too much time or just prefer tumblr reading or whatever: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Epilogue.

Enjoy! And…Platypus!!!


Mood Board: Genosha Is For Lovers 

After finally retiring from the Xavier-Lehnsherr Institute for the Gifted, Charles and Erik embark on a romantic getaway to the beaches of Genosha. Genosha is a sanctuary for humans and mutants alike, at least according to the travel agents.  

When they arrive, they find the brochures may have left a few things out. The island is being torn apart by political unrest and social upheaval. The escalating tensions between humans and mutants bring out old grudges. Torn apart by opposing factions, Charles and Erik struggle to hold onto their ideals and to each other. 

 Paradise has its price and they are all going to pay. 

elevenknope  asked:

Not sure why I'm requesting angst but can you do something for the OT3 with #26? (I will regret this in the morning when I'm thinking straight again!)

Val, I’m sorry this took a million years. And also that it sucks.

It started earlier that day in the cafeteria. Nancy had already ran off to class, while Steve and Jonathan slowly cleared their trays and made their way out. Past a familiar redhead who turned her head when she saw them and smirked. “Oh, Steve, are you a fag now too?”

Neither boy responded, just kept walking, but the silence between them was no longer comfortable.

It bothered Steve, because he hadn’t yet learned to not care. (But he already didn’t care about Nicole or the other wastoids; he just didn’t know what to think of himself. Sitting with his parents a few years ago, watching the nightly news, the new mysterious disease, his dad saying, “Good, maybe that’ll wipe them all out.” A memory he couldn’t shake.)

It bothered Jonathan because it clearly bothered Steve. (It was the word that dug into Jonathan, not the connotation. He knew he was different. But that word…it highlighted the ugliness in the world, he heard it in his father’s drawl. The word smelled like stale beer and felt like broken glass.)

And it was still bothering them at 8:30 that night, as they sat with Nancy in her living room, studying (or at least trying to). Her parents were out, Mike in the basement, Holly already put to bed. Nancy kept glancing at the boys, and could easily guess that something had happened. Neither seemed to be concentrating on his work. She was about to ask what was wrong when Jonathan stood up.

“I should go.”

“What?” Nancy asked, head cocked quizzically. Steve merely flicked his eyes up to him.

“I shouldn’t…be here. This..” He waved his hand, unsure of what to say. But Nancy knew what he meant, of course she knew.

“Wait, are you like, leaving?” All three knew what she meant by that, could hear the unsaid “us.”

“You guys deserve more. You were already perfect.” He rubbed his neck, unsure of how to say more.

Steve jumped up. “No, I should go.”

“What??” Nancy asked, whipping her head to look at him.

“I’m the one who doesn’t belong here. You two belong together. Everything you went through-”

Jonathan cut him off. “You went through stuff too.”

Steve sighed and looked at the floor. “But you guys know who you are and what you want and I…” He trailed off, thinking and I’m not sure. He shook his head. “I’ll go.”

“No, I’ll go.”

“No-” Jonathan interrupted him, grabbing his arm, memories of fist against face, memories of touches and smiles and singing at the top of their lungs in the car. They stood staring at each other, heavy breaths and trembling hands and wide eyes.

Nancy softly walked up to stand beside them. She clutched at their jackets and whispered, “Please stay. I love you.”

It wasn’t clear which one she was talking to but it didn’t matter because she loved them both. They didn’t answer but she knew they loved her too. And she knew deep down they loved each other. That was okay with her; they’d work up to that.

They stayed. They always stayed.