#boy resurrected

[cursebreakerfarrier]

Abbie and Carlisle of your choice for CrackShips?

-> Abbie and Perseus would be the powerhouse of crackships because they’d have the wittiest comebacks, they’d have the best enemies to lovers arc, and if they got married then Abbie would be Icarus’s step-mother and that’s just hilarious to me. Thanks for the ask- this made my day ❤️

[cursebreakerfarrier]

And 22 for Percy and 33 for Icarus, because I need to annoy them by making Percy gloat and Icarus dance.

This was a great ask- Perseus liked this one and Icarus absolutely did not 😂 thank you so much!

22. What one aspect of their physical appearance do they think is hot?

Both of have the ‘Carlisle eyes’- famed for being a deep blue, soul-piercing, and hawk-like. Perseus knows he’s good-looking and nothing will convince him otherwise, but he will always gets compliments about his eyes and he’s proud of it. He’s also not very modest about everything else that he thinks is handsome about him (his stellar smile, his silver fox hairstyle, his charismatic aura…), so don’t get him started lol.

Unfortunately for Icarus, 99% of the time people say ‘oh, you have your father’s eyes!’ and it irks him. His mother laughs, but she loves that her boys have the same piercing gaze.

33. Their crush / another hot character asks them to dance and pulls them to the dance floor. How do they react? Do they try to hide their feelings? And most importantly, do they dance?

Icarus hates doing anything but his job in the public eye- he even gets paranoid whilst grocery shopping sometimes- but especially dancing or playing his guitar/piano. Those are things he only wants to do in his own company (and is later comfortable enough to play his music in front of Sienna Jean). So for a stranger to pull him on to the dance floor is a recipe for disaster. You couldn’t pay him enough to dance. Icarus would just turn and leave and quickly as he could. There’s actually a scene like this in BR already where Icarus goes to a bar for an investigation and a woman grabs him by the coat collar to drag him to the dance floor ahdhdjsksk

[cursebreakerfarrier]

WIP search:

Wax or Memory or Badge

(Does that feel like I'm fishing for BR scraps? I'm totally not...)

Here are some BR morsels for you ❤️

"I'm Detective Carlisle with the NYPD," he began, flashing his ID badge and then the photograph. "Do you recognise this man? I've been told he's a regular here."

Icarus was cold when he awoke. The nurses had fetched extra blankets to warm him up, but it had been two hours and he was still shivering. He had no memory of what had happened apart from seeing his mother in what felt like a dream he wished he could return to. 

Send me a word, if it’s in my wip document I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in

[cursebreakerfarrier]

A 🌹 for you!

“... I had a tough time as a kid; work was always more important to my dad than my mother and I were and seeing anything about the films he worked on at that time just bring back bad memories...” — from my original story ‘Boy, Resurrected’

for every "🌹" received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing

[cursebreakerfarrier]

You know I want to send you a whole bouquet 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

“Galen, I love you and Hadrian more than anything in this world and I’d lay down my own life to protect you. Your father was never going to so either of those things even though I begged him just to give it a chance...” — from a young!Galen & Elspeth-centric fic that I desperately want to finish

Icarus handed the sheet of paper to Caleb. "You take this half of the cast and crew."

"Sure thing. You questioning your dad by any chance?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to torture you."

— from my original story ‘Boy, Resurrected’

for every "🌹" received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing

[cursebreakerfarrier]

🌹🌹

Perseus looked as though he wanted to hug his son, but decided against it at the very last second. Instead, he smiled and patted Icarus on the shoulder, saying, "we should do this again." — from my original story ‘Boy, Resurrected’

for every "🌹" received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing

[cursebreakerfarrier]

The angst of today has turned into fluff and now that I’ve started writing “flashbacks” in ‘Boy, Resurrected’ it’s a perfect excuse to write some of the simpler times between Perseus and Icarus when they were both younger :’)

• • •

"Hey, kid. Sorry I'm late."

"Dad!" Icarus exclaimed, sitting up and throwing his arms around his father. "You're home!"

For the young boy, it felt like all his birthdays and Christmases had come at once. The disappointment that he'd been experiencing the whole day had instantaneously vanished and had been replaced with glee. Icarus couldn't wait to spend time- whether short or long- with his father.

“This is for you,” Perseus then said, handing Icarus the plush dolphin he had hidden behind his back. It was made of ultra soft steel-blue fabric with warm brown eyes. It was immediately Icarus’s favourite toy.

“I saw some beautiful dolphins in California,” he added. “And since you couldn’t be with me, I thought I’d bring one home for you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Icarus smiled excitedly, hugging his father again. “I love it.”

Just as Perseus began to pull away, Icarus grabbed his hand and looked up pleadingly. "Can you stay here with me?"

"Sure. As long as I can get under the covers. It's cold!"

Grinning, Icarus shifted to the far side of the bed so Perseus could pull back the duvet and clamber under. He wrapped his arm around Icarus and made sure he was tucked in tight.

"Hey, kid," he then added. "How about you and I do something fun together tomorrow? You name it."

"Really?! You mean it?"

"Absolutely. What do you want to do?"

"I want to go to the fair and eat cotton candy."

Perseus mirrored Icarus's smile. "Okay, but I bet you won't be able to eat more than me."

"Bet I can!"

"If you do," Perseus uttered, lowering his voice. "I'll give you fifty dollars, but don't tell your mom."

Icarus pressed his finger to his lips, but mumbled "promise" anyway. He then clutched his new dolphin close to his chest before snuggling up to Perseus, beyond relieved that he was home.

[kc-the-writer]

When @farrradays drew my Abbie and her Icarus in a crossover, I could hear every word of their conversation and had to share it with the world. Brooklyn is big, but the need for these two to have their paths cross was bigger. I stan this new friendship.

Abbie Rhodes rolled her eyes as she studied many shades of red fabric samples for the seats in her new business venture. Finally, she tossed them to the side and began studying shades of blue. Blue felt different, better, as nearly every theatre uses red. Surprised to once again find herself in possession of a condemned theatre, she decided this time would be different. Though it once hosted everything from Shakespeare to hip hop musicals, this ruddy Brooklyn building had nearly seen its last days as a painful memory. By spring of the following year, after a full renovation performed almost entirely by Abbie and her nephew, the theatre would be a piano bar and art gallery. She smiled at the thought of not having a script or playbill in sight. It was exactly the way Abbie liked her surroundings.

The few exceptions to this were a couple of posters that remained on the wall of the old green room she used as her office. Abbie had been raised to keep the ghost light burning on the empty stage, never say ‘Good Luck” before a performance, and to never ever speak the name of the cursed play within the walls of a theatre. Her Macbeth poster wasn’t a decoration. It was a test. Anyone willing to utter the name of the play was instantly likable. Those who timidly crept around using the title didn’t stand a chance of getting on her good side.

Abbie held a scrap of seafoam fabric up to the paint swatch on the wall and shrugged. A knock on her open office door startled her; a man’s voice followed the knock. “Abigail Rhodes?” Her full name made her turn around in surprise. Not just a man’s voice, but a cop. He wasn’t in uniform, but her torrid affair with Detective White back in Boston had taught her all she needed to know, and she knew without a doubt, she was dealing with a detective.

“That’s me. Can I help you?” Abbie dropped the fabric samples onto her desk and crossed her arms, clearly looking as though she didn’t want to be bothered. Still, she motioned to the couch in her office.

Sure enough, the man introduced himself as Detective Icarus Carlisle. He pulled out a set of documents and set them on her desk. “There seems to be a problem with your permits for this theatre. Your last theatre’s documents are incorrect.”

“They sent an NYPD detective because of a typo in West Virginia?” she asked as she reviewed the documents. She saw the error right away. The deed with her signature as the owner of the building was dated 1965. Almost thirty years before her birth. “It was called the Rhodes Theatre when my stepfather purchased the building in the 60s. I can have my attorney take care of this. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

When the detective scanned the room, Abbie made a mental note to find a fabric in the same color of his prying eyes for the upholstery in the lounge. They were everything the scarlet in the theatre wasn’t. Cool, calm but vibrant, and a little sad. “The theatre is a family business?” he asked.

“You could say that. My stepfather is dead. I inherited the building you’re asking about. It’s where my stepdad got his start in the industry. My brothers and I renovated it a few years back. They’re dead now, too. So it is just my nephew and me taking a sledgehammer to the family business now,” she was afraid her attempt at humor fell flat.

He smiled for the first time since entering the office. “If the theatre where my father got his start was still standing, I’d be happy to take a sledgehammer to it,” he shrugged.

“Carlisle. You’re with Perseus! He’s got the option for my nephew’s book. You aren’t here over a typo. Get out,” her eyes narrowed. Of all the arrogant rats she’d met in the industry, few had been as dramatic on stage or off of it as Perseus Carlisle. She was disgusted by the lengths to which he would go to learn more about what had happened at the Rhodes Theatre and why it had been preserved in a novel and if it was worth preserving on film.

Detective Carlisle held up his hands as though he were on the other end of the interrogation. “I didn’t say he and I were working together or related. You came to that conclusion, Miss Rhodes.”

“In the chance that you are related to him, and you find that the NYPD psych assistance program isn’t effective, you are welcome to my theatre and my sledgehammer,” she shrugged as she made herself comfortable on the couch next to him. “ I thought my brothers were bad. I would have damn near died if I had to grow up with him around,” she scoffed.

Something in her words made the corner of his lips twitch. She couldn’t tell if it was a smile or stress-induced. The only thing that was clear to her is that Detective Carlisle was indeed the son of Perseus. Her heart broke for him. “Damn-near died,” he repeated. “I might take you up on the invitation to smash a few walls but I hope you don’t plan on getting rid of the Macbeth poster.”

Abbie smiled. “What was that?” she challenged with a grin.

“Macbeth. It is a nice poster,” his enunciation was unmistakably theatre trained but his blasé attitude toward superstition was the hallmark of a child traumatized by the industry.

“Ooh, Detective tough guy,” she smirked, pulling a cigar from the humidor under the couch.

“You’re not afraid to say Macbeth in a theatre, are you?” he asked, challenging her right back.

Abbie lit the cigar and offered him one. He declined but watched with envy as she exhaled the fragrant cognac-tinged smoke. “Sledgehammers aside, the most fun thing to do in a theatre is say, Macbeth,” she repeated with the same diction as she offered him the lit cigar.

“If I were to find myself back in the family business, I’d like to play Macbeth,” he grinned before indulging in a drag from the cigar.

Abbie took in the look on his face as he exhaled more than just smoke. True catharsis wasn’t to be found in a staged tragedy. She’d been where he sat and felt instantly connected to him. She hadn’t realized she was staring until she saw the orange tip of the cigar light up again. “You’d be well-suited for Macbeth, but I think Hamlet says something about the dangers of going into the family business.”

“I’m a cop, Abbie. That’s still less dangerous than the family business,” he shifted towards her as he returned her cigar.

She rolled her eyes before releasing a large cloud of smoke. “Your dad is such a pretentious bastard.”

“I know,” he shrugged, finally admitting he was who he was. She giggled at the acknowledgment of his birthright. “That’s some talent, tearing down walls without a hammer—your turn. I read your nephew’s book—obviously fiction. Why don’t you tell me what really happened to your brothers?” he asked, not as a detective but as a new friend.

Like she had with her time on stage, Abbie had never looked back on her last days with her family. Instead, her focus had been on her own healing. The truth was that she didn’t know the details of what had happened to her brothers. She went home to Boston and almost immediately moved to Brooklyn following her introduction to her nephew. Abbie shrugged at Icarus with a sad smile. “Maybe I should get a detective on the case.”