#and her parents and jemima and that's about it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

murdleandmarot · 17 days

Note

Can you info dump about bluebelle, I’m very curious about her :3

SORRY THIS TOOK A HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS I WANTED IT TO BE PERFECT

Hi hello!!!!! I will very gladly talk about Bluebelle, she’s the love of my life forever :D 💙💙💙💙💙

Important note: I’m a very um dramatic person when it comes to creating oc backstories. I am nothing if not a little bit pretentious, and giving ocs weird and angsty backstories is my passion project, and that’s part of the reason it took so long to collect my thoughts, and come up with something concrete, (or as concrete as possible)

I’ll start with facts about her that I like and then backstory regarding the fabled music box :))

-her design/colors are based off of a stuffed animal I bought in Munich :)

-the songs I most associate with her, (I have a playlist because I wanted one), are probably A Dangerous Thing/Everything Matters by AURORA, The Sugar Plum Fairy from the Nutcracker, and I came to your party dressed as a shadow. Adore those songs

-the only jellicles that she has met, (by choice), are Victoria, Misto, Plato, and Demeter. Or rather, Demeter knows of her, but Bluebelle doesn’t know Demeter

-this is mostly bc she’s pretty paranoid about meeting new people, and prefers to stick to her people. It took her a while to warm up to Plato, but eventually she got used to him

-this is also despite Vicci’s best efforts to convince Bluebelle to at the very least meet Jemima

-SPEAKING OF JEMIMA, if you haven’t heard, here’s my little jellicle magic theory: The cat’s magic relates to their eyes, just vaguely. Jemima and Misto each have white eyes, and you may have noticed, Bluebelle has those eyes as well. Because she’s. Blue. And that’s not a typical cat color, I figured I should just run with it. I see Bluebelle’s magic as a combination of Jemima and Victoria! Yes, Victoria is magic to me and that’s not just because she’s lovely and beautiful, but because of the way she uses the music in the show, and the way some productions seem to use her as a metaphor for the Jellicle moon, relating it to her dancing. This is especially true for me when I hc Vicci as deaf, because it implies some sort of magic when her solo syncs with the music. Bluebelle has the same sort of music and dance magic as Victoria, and the same sort of eerie unearthly-ness of Jemima. Basically I combined all my favorite girlies into one and made her <33

Really incoherent n convoluted story under the cut lolllll

I’ve always imagined the music box has something Bluebelle has had since she was very young, as in some of her earliest memories are of the tune it plays. Her mother probably gave it to her before both of her parents disappeared like they were in a Disney movie. The point is that it’s one of her favorite things, and she loves dancing to it. Victoria loves the song as well, and they sometimes practice using the music box, and things continue as so until Misto appears, and starts practicing with them.

Because Misto insists that no music is coming out of the music box. He can’t hear a single note.

Neither can Plato, or any of the other jellicles, when Victoria borrows it, and plays the song for everyone else in the junkyard, (Bluebelle doesn’t go with her-she’d rather not meet the others, for fear they won’t like her, or will tell Victoria to stop visiting her).

No one else can hear the music. No one except, of course, for Jemima and the psychic twins.

Bluebelle starts to ask around town, playing it for different cats, until she finds an older tom, not far, though she doesn’t know it, from the Junkyard.

He can’t hear the music box of course, but he tells her that he’s bit of a collector of magical artifacts. Perhaps he’ll have something similar in his collection.

Would she like to take a look?

Bluebelle declines. Declines at least, to visit him on this night. She hands him the music box, and instructs him to take it back to his den, and look for himself. They will meet in the same place the next day, and if he cannot find anything, then she will go and see for herself.

The next morning, they meet again. He tells her that he’s sorry, he couldn’t find anything that matched the box, and that in his haste to meet her on time, he’d left the box behind. The tomcat invites her to his den, and again, she declines, saying she will visit on a later date, that she already has plans.

Bluebelle follows him home, and hides in wait. She watches as his friends gather to scheme, and doesn’t notice the staring of a golden queen hanging off the arm of a blood orange tom.

The acquaintances leave, and the old cat retires to his den. The fire is almost out, leaving her to sneak into the other tent.

…blood seeps from every item in the cramped space, leaving it to drip from the walls and stain the ground scarlet.

He is not only a collector of magical artifacts, but a collector of queens, as well. The music box is the only thing unmarred by the red, so she steals it back.

She swears she can hear him howling the whole trip.

Bluebelle doesn’t tell Victoria what happens. She tells her to steer clear of the cat who could very be Bluebelle’s father, with a coat as vibrant as the sea, and Victoria doesn’t ask any questions.

Bluebelle doesn’t want to meet any of the other jellicles after that. She barely wants to talk to anyone ever again, with the exception of the few cats she already knows.

She and Victoria still dance to the music box though. Misto tries to follow along.

#…so have any of you ever read or watched Bluebeard?#the 2009 movie is insane and I adore it with all of my heart #finally!!! bluebelle’s long awaited backstory!!! *checks watch* an entire month past its relevancy!!#if you read all of that I will do whatever you want forever I am kissing you gently on the forehead #anyway I was so scared to make this cringe and edgy and convoluted #like so scared #but then I watched the movie again #and I realized that Bluebelle is my creation #and if I like this as her backstory #then it is her backstory #guys you can do whatever you want forever and ever #I believe in you 🫶🫶🫶#cats the musical #cats musical #cats oc #jellicle oc #asks!!!!!!!#if this wasn’t what you were expected for a music box backstory I’m so sorry #unfortunately I am a freak for fairy tales

25 notes · View notes

esthermitchell-author · 3 months

Text

Creating fanart from fanfiction

The question has been raised several times about whether or not artists should ask fanfic authors before creating drawings/art off of fanfic pieces.

I'll be blunt -- have at it! If you're interested in creating art off of any of my fanfic, go for it! I'm all for it (I love art and artists, and we have some of the most talented artists here in the GO/Ineffable fandom. I'm seriously in awe of you all!), and would be super excited if anyone wanted to draw art off my fanfic (or hell, even my original fiction... I'd probably have a little squeal, then a cry, then a faint dead away if someone cared enough about my original fiction to want to draw it...lol Yeah, I'm super emotional about this stuff). Only thing I'd ask is that you tag/link me, so I can see it when you've done it, because I'd share the shit out of that. lol

And, if any of you lovely artists want to know what the scene I would MOST want to see drawn, from any of my GO fanfic, would be, here it is... from Born of Starlight (yes, I originally wrote the whole short story this came from solely so I could write this scene, because it was living in my head so much):

Queen's Somebody to Love filled the bookshop, along with a young girl's laughter. Aziraphale smiled indulgently as he closed the front door behind himself and stopped, letting the all-consuming adoration he felt sweep through him as he watched his demonic husband and their five-year-old daughter dance in a slow circle in the middle of the shop floor, Jemima's bare little feet resting with a trusting wiggle of toes atop Crowley's boots, her delicate little hands gripped carefully but securely in Crowley's larger ones.

Crowley's head was tipped forward, his shoulder-length hair -- he'd been growing it out a little these past few years -- falling forward to mask his expression, but Aziraphale could feel the love pouring from the demon. Jem, for her part, was looking back up at her lee-lee with the absolute, unquestioning trust and love a child has for a parent who dotes on them. They were the study of serenity, set to the backdrop of Freddie Mercury's voice, and the sight of them filled Aziraphale with so much tranquility and love he blinked his eyes against the sting of tears.

#good omens #good omens fandom #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable spouses #ineffable parents #jemima crowley-fell #fanfic #fanart #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanart #gomens fanfic #gomens fanart #go fanfic #go fanart #aziracrow #azicrow

21 notes · View notes

honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year

Text

𓅨 Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Chapter Two

Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Y/N Burgess is the granddaughter of Alex and Paul, and after having spent so many summers at their manor and always wondering why she was forbidden from entering the basement, she descends the steps into the world of the Order. She broke out the being that had been trapped in that glass cage, but what does he want with her now that he is free?

Warnings: Language, Psychological Trauma, Electroshock Therapy Gone Wrong (In The Real World You Are Fully Anesthetized), Flashbacks.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Female!GranddaughterReader, based on Netflix’s ‘The Sandman’, Reader now has long-ish hair for plot reasons (Just so Morpheus can tug on it later).

Word Count: ~2.6k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

“I cannot believe you are actually doing this,” Jemima sighed from where she lounged on your bed as you carefully packed away your belongings. “I mean, you handed in your two weeks' notice! This is not just visiting, Y/N, you are full-on bloody moving to Wych Cross. When I said to visit Paul and Alex, I didn’t mean for you to bloody quit your job and bloody move in with them!”

“I don’t think you’ve said bloody enough, Jemima,” You drawled out, glancing at her. “One more for good measure?”

“Bloody hell, Y/N! I’m serious!”

“So am I!” You retorted, flaring your fingers from where they gripped a packing bin. “Face it Jem, my parents didn’t fix me, they only found a place to shove all of my fears and dreams in, close and lock the door, and dispose of the key. I’ve never dealt with it, just medicated myself so I didn’t have the thinking capacity to deal with it.”

You stared at each other, not breaking eye contact until Jemima heaved out a sigh and her face morphed into one of concern.

“I’m worried about you, Y/N/N, you’ve been off since that night at the club. What happened?” You dropped your head and stared at the packed, wrapped objects from your room, pursing your lips. You wanted to tell her everything. She was your best friend and you told each other everything. But this, this wasn’t something you could talk to her about. You didn’t want her to think you were going crazy, you didn’t want anyone to think you were going crazy. You had been in that situation as a child, and you did not want to be subjected to the same treatment as you had in the past. Haunted by silver blue eyes in both your dreams and waking hours, you were determined to go to Wych Cross and get your answers.

“This is something I need to do myself, Jemima, and I love you, but I can’t do this with help.” You could tell Jemima wanted to argue with you, but thankfully she remained silent on that matter.

“What are you going to do about your finances, Y/N, you’ve quit your job.” You snorted at that.

“I’m Paul and Alex’s only grandchild and they smother me with gifts and love. I’m set to inherit the manor and they’re loaded, I’m not going to be in financial trouble any time soon, Jemima.” She didn’t look entirely appeased and was still clearly upset that you were leaving. Abandoning your packing, you walked over to your bed and climbed onto the mattress to lay next to her on your back. Staring at the ceiling, you pondered on what to say. You hadn’t ever strayed too far from each other, nor had you ever stayed away for too long. But you moving away entirely? You didn’t know how either of you would deal with this. “You’re always welcome to visit, you know. It’s not like I’m never going to let you come. I’d be a horrid friend.”

Jemima rotated her head to look at you laying next to her, her brown eyes still filled with worry.

“I don’t know what’d I’d do if something happened to you, Y/N. Whatever your great-granddad got himself into, I don’t think the rumors are just rumors. You know what they say about what he had in the basement.” You didn’t laugh at her worries or try to correct her statement that in all your years of visiting Paul and Alex, no demons had ever come out of the basement… not that you had ever been down there.

“Well I don’t plan on going into the basement and I’ve never heard anything while in the house. I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine. You know that Alex and Paul will never let anything happen to me.” Jemima sighed and rolled over, wrapping her arms around your body. You did the same as she buried her face into your neck. “I’m sure everything will be fine, you can come to visit during your summer break, and spend a few weeks there. I’m sure you’ll love walking the grounds.”

Your attempts at packing stopped for a moment as you and Jemima took a few moments to yourselves. That feeling of foreboding danger was still growing in the pit of your stomach, but you weren’t going to run away anymore. It was time to face your nightmares.

You had departed from Manchester Victoria train station at approximately 05:11 in the morning, to arrive in London at about 08:25. It had been a brutal early morning on the train ride despite riding first class and having comfortable seat. You hadn’t bothered trying to sleep, knowing that you would only be plagued by dreams you still tried to avoid. So you spent the morning texting back and forth with Jemima who had driven you to the train station. She was still a ball of nerves and you doubt they would subside any time soon. You hoped that by texting her you would ease her worry by letting her know that you were okay. While you were waiting for your train to Wych Cross, you sat down with a coffee and scone.

Paul had written you a full-length letter in the excitement of your coming to live with him and Alex. In the letter, he talked about everything that had been happening recently including Alex’s most recent decline in health. He was spending more and more time in his wheelchair and physical therapy was now coming more regularly. It was hard for Paul to continue to take care of Alex and your presence could certainly help with the strain. You were worried about Paul hurting himself and if you could prevent him from doing so by being there, your worry would lessen.

Upon boarding the train that would take you to Wych Cross, you found a seat directly next to the window and decided to just enjoy the scenery you hadn’t seen in so long. Greenery and quaint houses passed by and you had vague recollections of them in your memories. Leaning your head against the glass, you let your thoughts wander.

Sitting on the edge of your small bed in your equally small hospital room, you stared at your sock-covered feet and ignored the man trying to talk to you about your latest therapy session. You didn’t want to talk about it, talking about it usually ended up with more treatment, or medication, or more shocks. Shocks you could still feel running up and down your spine. The doctors told you that the therapy would help your apparent psychosis. You didn’t understand what that word meant, but according to everyone around you, including your parents, it was bad.

You worked so hard to pretend to be normal, to reduce the number of painful treatments you were subjected to. To reduce the number of times you were forced to swallow the medicine they gave you. It was never enough though, you could control yourself during your waking hours, but not when you were asleep. Your unconscious state gave you away every time.

“Y/N, I need you to work with me. It’s the only way to make you feel better.” Dr. Cunningham spoke, tapping his pen on the clipboard he carried around. Your bloodshot eyes finally lifted. Dr. Cunningham looked old enough to be the same age as grandpapa Alex or Paul. His hair was greying, his face wrinkled, and his dark eyes dead from life. You didn’t like him because he personified everything you hated in this place where you were alone and scared. Mama and papa said they would fix you here, but all you felt was terror and pain.

“I want to go home,” Your voice was soft yet scratchy, rough from the screams of pain during your shock therapy. You were supposed to be sedated, but every time you retained just enough consciousness to feel and remember every muscle twitch and spine-tingling shock that left your strapped-down body jerking place. You didn’t know what was worse, the shock therapy or the feeling of the sedatives they had started pumping into you at night to stop your dreams. You hated the lethargic feeling that bogged your body down so much you could barely move or speak.

“We’ve talked about this, Y/N, you can go home when you’re nightmares go away and you stop having those dreams of yours.” He reminded you candidly. His pen clicked on his clipboard a few more times. “Perhaps it is time to have another session with Dr. Springer, I think it’s been quite a few days, hm? Let’s see how this session goes and reassess.”

While your body started trembling in terror and crippling fear, Dr. Cunningham rose to his feet, wrote a few notes on his clipboard, and strode out of your room without another word. Drawing your legs up to your chest, you hugged your legs as hot tears leaked from your eyes. You wanted to go home, you wanted to go home so bad and forget that you had ever been sent to this place. No, you wanted to wake up from this nightmare and return to a life where you were happy. If only you didn’t have to forget about him to do so.

It wasn’t long before two orderlies arrived to collect you for another session with Dr. Spinger and herded you toward the treatment room, you let yourself fall into a state of numbness. Shutting down deep within yourself seemed to help you through your sessions, but it didn’t help the pain that crackled its way through your bones and body in sharp waves. Twisting through your nerves until your very fingers spasmed. You were lifted onto the treatment table by your arms and when the padded straps were strapped over your ankles and wrists, you stared at the same spot you always stared at before the treatment began. The orderlies moved around you without talking, poking and prodding you while sticking you with a needle and shoving a mouth guard between your teeth. As the electrodes were attached to your forehead Dr. Springer appeared overhead.

“Hello Y/N, Dr. Cunningham has told me it’s time to have another session. We’re going to up the frequency this time, and see if that makes a difference. Your mind is a tough nut to break, but don’t worry, we’ll make it crack soon enough and have you on your way home.” He said cheerfully. You didn’t like the way he spoke about breaking your mind. Your mind didn’t need to be broken to be fixed, did it? There was some chatter between the orderlies and the doctor and the metal probes were brought to your temples. Something was injected into your I.V., causing a wave of burn up your arm. Sleepiness started taking over, your body feeling heavier and heavier as each second passed, and just when you thought you would be able to slip into a sleep that would protect you from the shocks to come, intense lightning rippled from your temple straight to your toes, burning and tingling every inch of the body it passed.

Biting down on the mouth guard, you thought you’d break your teeth with how hard your jaw clenched. Your uncontrollable jerking limbs were caught by the restraints as Dr. Springer counted out loud. You couldn’t hear what number he counted to, but the intense buzzing stopped momentarily as you sagged back to the cold table and another machine in the room started beeping and making other sounds. Whimpering through the mouth guard, your blurry vision settled on one of the nicer orderlies who sometimes held your hand, letting you squeeze hers as hard as you could.

“We’re almost there, love,” She whispered to you gently, patting your messy, unwashed hair. “Promise.”

Maybe if you tried harder to let them break you, this would all be over. You focused on that thought as the next wave of electricity ran through your body, seizing your limbs until the leather restraints dug into your skin.

Jerking from sleep while feeling the painful ghosts of electricity running through your limbs, you blinked against bright sunlight and winced as your head hurt. Straightening up in your seat, you rubbed your forehead and tried to get the memory out of your head. That wasn’t a particularly helpful memory to remember, you’d have preferred to not remember the fact that you had been shocked until your mind had forced itself to forget all about your dreams and experiences. At times your toes still curled from the phantom pain rattling up and down your spine. Apparently, they had gotten your medication dosage wrong and the anesthesia you were supposed to receive before the procedure, failed to work properly, leaving you to fully experience and remember the treatment.

Your mind might have blocked out most of the memories of your experiences with your dreams but it had no issue remembering what you had gone through while at the psychiatric ward. It protected you for some time, but now you were remembering what it had worked hard to keep a secret, and you weren’t sure you wanted to remember what your brain had repressed. But then there was the raven-haired, silver-blue-eyed man who continued to haunt you even after all this time. Who was he and what did he want with you? Continuing to run your fingers through your hair, you noted that the train was slowing down and that the conductor was speaking over the intercom system. You had arrived in Wych Cross.

Exiting the train and collecting your luggage was easy enough, finding a taxi that would take you to the manor was another story. Even today the locals were wary of approaching the old manor, but eventually, you found one willing to take you after explaining that you were the granddaughter of Alex and Paul and that they were expecting your arrival. It wasn’t that long of a trip to the manor and after paying for the taxi, you picked up your luggage and walked over to the grand front doors still just as polished as you remembered. You hit the door knocker and waited. It was a few moments before the door creaked open to reveal Herman, the steward of Paul and Alex.

“It has been some time since you last visited us, Little Miss,” Herman spoke, opening the door wider and holding out his hand for your luggage.

“You’re going to have to get used to seeing me around, Herman, are my grandfathers in the study with tea?” Herman bowed his head while taking your luggage.

“As you suspect Miss, I shall bring your luggage to your room?” Nodding in thanks, you glided through the familiar halls, heading in the direction of the study where you would find Alex and Paul enjoying a cup of afternoon tea. They were creatures of habit after all. Quietly letting yourself into the long room, you saw Alex sitting in his chair, sipping from his cup while Paul held a paper in hand, reading the morning news no doubt.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” You spoke up, emerging from the shadows. Paul beamed at you as Alex’s face glowed with happiness in his old age. You were honestly surprised they were both still living given their ages, but you were glad to have them as long as you had.

“Y/N! You’ve arrived! We’ve missed having you running around the manor in the summer.” You went to Alex first, leaning down to kiss his cheek and hug him before doing the same with Paul.

“You needn’t worry about me leaving, grandpapa, I’m here for good now,” You reassured Alex as Paul prepared you a teacup from the tray on the table. He handed you the cup. “So, do tell me what you two have been up to as of late?”

Date Published: 8/19/22

Last Edit: 4/25/23

Previous | Masterlist | Next

#dream the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus #lord morpheus #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless x reader #dream the endless #dream x reader #dream of the endless #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader #the sandman

70 notes · View notes

caps-clever-girl · 10 months

Note

28 for Mike and bassment ghosts

questions from the ghosts ask game HERE!!! please send more i am very much enjoying these •w•

28: top 5 headcanons for [insert this character here]?

YES!!!! UNDERRATED CHARACTER QUESTIONS!!!!!! i fucking love mike, he deserves SO MUCH on this show, and kiell is SO FUNNY. he had me howling on taskmaster and he really is just playing himself on ghosts with a different name. LOVE the plague ghosts!!!!! i wish we had so much more (esp nigel he's my favourite), i loved them in the newest christmas special <3

MIKE

- adhd KING.

- mike is actually pretty good mates with julian and robin specifically - as good as you can be with incorporeal enteties you cant see or hear. he and robin both learnt a sort of morse code to communicate with general lights, and a stranger things system in one of the non-public rooms of BH. julian uses fridge magnets (word ones and letter ones) to talk to him, as well as keyboards. yes they often use their skills to take the absolute piss, but sometimes they INVOLVE him in their mischief.

- similarly, he can sort of communicate with mary? she walks through him if she really needs his attention, or sets off a smoke alarm (not the house ones, but extra ones they put at person-level). she always says good morning when he and alison come for breakfast :)

- even after he figures out the ghosts arent floating above him, he still looks up and away from them if they've been pricks just to piss them off.

- him and obi have known each other since nursery or reception. when alison married mike she FULLY understood that she was getting obi as part of the package. mikes parents ring obi every christmas and send him presents. they are like his second set of parents.

PLAGUE GHOSTS

- mick absolutely has a crush on cap after s4. cap is far too oblivious to notice though.

- geoff and jean are absolutely an item now. divorce wasnt really a thing back in their day? so geoff and his wife (lollys ghost) just kept on trucking until news of divorce trickled down to the basement (DECADES late) and they immediately were like "oh fuck this marriage." they're better friends now, and jean and geoff are happy :)

- speaking of jean, when walter left nigel behind during "about last night", jean absolutely tore him a new aresehole when she found out. nobody can stand a sad nigel and his big baby blue doe eyes.

- jemima isnt part of the plague pit. shes from a later plague, but she visits reasonably often because the basement folks are like her. she doesnt scare or disgust them, they're like a big family of uncles and aunts to her. however... she doesnt stay down there. she knows she makes the basement folk a little sad, since she reminds them of their own kids - none of whom have stayed as ghosts until the current time. so she drifts in and out. the basement folk are actually delighted by her visits and encourage her to stay more - yes, she does remind them of their long gone kids, and that is sad, but they dont hold it against her and love her company enough it doesnt matter. she doesnt quite believe them though :(

- nigel is very much a caretaker of the group. which is funny because ALL the other ghosts take care of him <3. especially jean. shes very much a mum of the group.

#bbc ghosts #mike cooper #plague ghosts #nigel the plague ghost #mick the plague ghost #jean the plague ghost #walter the plague ghost #ask game #squeak.txt

17 notes · View notes

missperfectlyfinewrites · 4 months

Text

open to: any muse 35+ muse: tabitha edwards / early twenties / pastor’s daughter & church volunteer / younger sister to jemima / submissive / virgin possible connections: parent of a friend, friend of her parents, one of her father's colleagues , church goer, doctor, etc.

"I think I'm broken."

Tabitha's words don't seem to discourage their hand on her knee. At first, it was comforting, but as it creeps higher, up towards her thigh, it feels strange, it feels unusual. She almost feels a flutter of her core, a sensation that she's tried to ignore so many times before. She knows it's not right to lust after people, to want people like that. She's not married, it's not right yet, that's what daddy says, that's what the bible says. She hates to think about what her parents would think about her if they knew she was admitting this to somebody.

"I shouldn't be feeling like this. Not until marriage. It's wrong, right? How do I fix this? I can fix it, right?"

#indie kink rp #indie smut rp #tw: religion

12 notes · View notes

munkustance · 2 months

Note

What do you think about Dema parents? What happened with them? How did she end up in the junkyard?

I don't think her parents are any of the current Jellicles that we see in the musical. I've seen some headcanons that it could be Skimbleshanks, Jennyanydots or even Grizabella but I don't personally think so. I like to believe that Demeter's parents were former Jellicles. That, when she was still a kit, passed away under mysterious circumstances.

It was a normal day and everything was fine. Demeter was out playing with the other kittens. Bombalurina and Rum Tum Tugger were playfully fighting together, both trying to impress the ginger cat currently sunbathing on the broken car trunk infront of them. She herself was currently busy chasing Munkustrap around the clearing. She was having so much fun that she didn't even realise some of the adult cats slowly entering the clearing until Munkustrap, whilest looking behind himself to take a glance at Demeter, ran straight into his father. Suddenly, Demeter felt the air around the clearing change. Something was wrong and it didn't help that all of the adults were looking straight at her. They all looked worried and scared. Finally Old Deuteronomy cut the silence. She still to this day wishes he hadn't.

Whoops, how did that pop up there? Hm... Anyway! Last question!

As you may have gathered I like to think Demeter was born into the tribe and that it wasn't until Macavity left that she did the same. Years went by until she finally understood the magnitude of the abuse she was under but sadly it took a bit longer until she finally managed to escape. I've seen the headcanon that Mungojerrie help her and I love that, so yes add that in there aswell. Mungojerrie took her back to the tribe and even though there were some hesitation from the adults and younger adults about her relation to Macavity, they all were convinced eventually thanks to Munkustrap and some of the others.

She wasn't alone escaping from Macavity either. She had Bombalurina with her, Bomba went to join Macavity a few years after Demeter and him left but only for Demeter's sake. And a small malnourished kitten named Sillabub, later renamed as Jemima for the kitten's own protection from her father.

#I hope you didn't mind the quick little fanfic I added in. It just popped up in my brain and I had to write it down immediately #and I hope I answered all your questions the way you wanted them!#thanks for the ask!#cats the musical #demeter cats #asks and replies #my writing #my post

4 notes · View notes

theimpossiblescheme · 1 year

Text

What’s Fair

Here is today’s entry for @flame-x‘s Kitten Week! Trigger warnings ahead for implied neglect and abuse of a child.

There was a part of Jemima–a troublesome little part, like a hangnail that drew blood when you tried to bite it off–that felt jealous of her baby sister. She knew it was awful and made absolutely no sense, but she couldn’t get it to go away. No matter how much she tried.

After all, Sillabub was born in the safest place in the entire city, surrounded by cats who loved her and all came together to sing her a welcome into the family. She got to sleep in a proper den full of soft blankets and stuffed animals, and whenever she cried someone would be there to feed her, play with her, or rock her to sleep. Jemima wasn’t so lucky. Her memories of when she was that small were still foggy and indistinct with long shadows along the edges, but she could remember the cellar of the Palace (that was what Macavity called it–she didn’t learn its full name until later) very vividly. She could remember how quiet it was except for when cars passed the transom window overhead or the pipes rattled and hissed in the winter. Sometimes that rattling and hissing got so loud she had to cover her ears for hours and just listen to her own breathing until the noise didn’t make her want to cry anymore. She remembered how cold it was and how little that tiny wooden box she and Mama had to sleep in helped at all. The blankets were so thin, and it was even colder when Mama was called away upstairs. Oh, sure, sometimes Uncle Jerrie or Aunt Teazer and Bomba would bring her a bird they’d caught or an extra pillow or an old toy from a rubbish tip; but the older Jemima got, the more she realized how much they risked getting in trouble for those tiny gifts, and she almost wished they wouldn’t bring her anything. So on those lonely days, she would just curl up and try not to bother anybody until Mama came back.

Sillabub would never have to worry about being cold, or getting anyone in trouble, or not having anybody by her side all day. And Jemima wanted to resent her for that, but she knew it wasn’t right. She couldn’t help where she’d been born. She had no idea what her parents or sister had gone through before she came along, and Jemima didn’t particularly want to tell her. There was a lot she still didn’t understand herself, that Mama and Daddy said would wait until she was older… maybe then everything would make sense.

Maybe there was a reason she’d been born in the cellar instead of the Junkyard. Or that Macavity had to be so horrible. Or why she felt like such a bad sister some nights, looking after Sillabub and knowing she loved her, of course she loved her baby sister, but still wanting so badly to scream It’s not fair!

“Sometimes life isn’t fair,” her Papa told her one of those nights, after she’d already cried on his shoulder for what felt like hours and he’d reassured her that she wasn’t a bad cat for feeling this way. All the while talking in that slow, gentle way, like he wanted her to understand every word. “We can’t control everything that happens in the world… believe me, I wish we could. But what we can do,” he added with a squeeze of her shoulders, “is try to protect the ones we care about. That way we can make life a little bit fairer for everyone.”

Jemima remembered nodding at that before frowning thoughtfully as the idea settled over her. “It sounds hard.”

Papa gave her a sad sort of smile. “It can be. But I usually find it’s worth it in the end.”

She tried to keep that in mind. Every time her mind cycled back to those days in the cellar and felt that horrible pit-of-her-stomach feeling return, she reminded herself that it truly wasn’t Sillabub’s fault. That she’d never wish that on her baby sister, who was too small and innocent to know, much less deserve any of it. That if anybody tried to drag her down and keep her in some dark, noisy place, Jemima would fight to get her free. That she really did love her, no matter what the worst part of her mind might try to tell her. That she had a duty now to be a good sister… and to make Papa feel less sad about making the world a little more fair.

It didn’t fix things–not completely. But on nights where Sillabub fussed in her sleep and Jemima was the first one awake to hold her and her favorite toy in her lap for a while, she could feel it starting to help.

#cats the musical #kittensweek #jemima #sillabub #munkustrap #fanfic

20 notes · View notes

jemimahay112 · 5 months

Text

My younger sister, Antonia, has been in Intensive care in hospital for the last few weeks fighting for her life, after an absolute nightmare that has left our family broken. Antonia has had multiple operations and procedures (including removal of a section of her bowel), before it was found that she had contracted STEC-HUS, caused by shiga toxin-producing e-coli, (which affects 1-3 people in 100,000), suspected to be from a Christmas market, causing her kidneys to fail and to be put on dialysis. She is currently lucky to be alive and has continued to show amazing determination and strength throughout this time, despite the immense stress, pain and trauma - all combined with an extreme phobia of injections. She is the youngest person to ever be admitted into the ICU ward she is currently in.

Anybody who has met Antonia will know that she is the most kind, caring, outgoing person and lights up any room she walks into. Despite going through the toughest time in her life, all she has cared about is everybody else and how they are feeling, still trying to make everybody laugh. With her kidneys still not functioning, it is likely that this will impact her for the rest of her life and as a singer, dancer and aspiring actress, it is important that we support her through everything, as she feels as if her dreams have been ripped away from her, as her studies on her performing arts course will be severely impacted. It is thanks to the kindness of her friends and family and support from people in the community that she has made it this far and will continue to stay strong.

Normally I would not ask for donations, but this money will go towards Antonia’s future, as she is already worrying about costs further down the line. She is also talking about wanting a gathering when she is well enough to see people again and it is really keeping her going, so I would love for this to come true, although this is looking likely to be months down the line currently. As well as this, my parents have been at her hospital bedside all day everyday, leaving them unable to work, as she is still fighting for her life. My dad’s job are not paying him for any time off, so we currently have no income, which is creating further stress on our family at this really difficult time, when we are trying to be strong for my sister.

Thank you so much for your support, it is greatly appreciated by myself, Antonia and the rest of my family ❤️

#fundraising #donations #donate #gofundme

6 notes · View notes

ioannemos · 1 year

Text

and when the wind blows through it, it makes no sound

Whatever became of the moment when one first knew about death? There must have been one. A moment. In childhood. When it first occurred to you that you don't go on forever. It must have been shattering – stamped into one’s memory. And yet, I can’t remember it. Tom Stoppard

day six: oh, yes, the past can hurt / childhood | regrets | secrets rating: pg-13 for murder, violence, probably language? still don't know how british cursing works tbh words: 900

───────────────────────────

They come inside without speaking and separate at the door: Lucy to the attic, George to the kitchen, and Lockwood to the basement. He leaves their kit bags for the moment, deciding to come back for them later.

Familicide. The word rolls around in his head as he lays out his chain for oiling and double-checks his flares. The police couldn’t conclude what had happened, but there were certain hints. The twins were poisoned first, which suggested the hand of Mrs. Baldwin; the older two were shot in their sleep with Mr. Baldwin’s gun, a more masculine action. “Mothers don’t shoot their children,” a policeman was quoted as saying in one of the articles about it.

Lucy heard a woman crying and saying, “I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it.” Couldn’t bear what, he wonders as he restocks his bag. A suggested motive was the loss of Mr. Baldwin’s job. She couldn’t bear to be seen as poor? To lose her pretty things? There were things they could’ve sold to make ends meet, like her jewelry and a silver set. They could’ve moved to a smaller house. But no, that wouldn’t do, he thinks in disgust. They couldn’t be seen as failures. Never mind that Baldwin lost his job because he wouldn’t stop drinking. God forbid they experience the consequences of their actions…

He realizes he’s been staring at the shelf for several minutes without moving, hands gripping the edge of his bag so tightly that his knuckles ache. He drops the bag and heads for the training area, drawing his rapier.

“A HORRIFYING SCENE”: PARENTS KILL CHILDREN, THEMSELVES screamed the headline of the main article. Four children, dead in their beds. The twins’ room was clear of furniture but the Beatrix Potter wallpaper was intact, little scenes of Peter Rabbit eating carrots, Benjamin Bunny in the tam o’shanter, Jemima Puddle-Duck in her bonnet and shawl. Two faint death glows along one wall.

Lockwood misjudges a swing and his rapier hits one of the pipes hard enough that he feels it jar up his neck. He stumbles sideways, shaking the vibration out of his arm. It won’t do to get sloppy. He ducks back in, dodging a blast of air.

The older two had bedrooms across the hall from each other. Both were found laying down with their eyes shut. Did they both sleep through it? Did their father close their eyes after? Their death glows were just as faint, though bigger. The eldest slept curled up on her side.

Running into her room after a nightmare, crying and tugging on the sheets, calling her name as her face scrunched up and her eyes flickered open. The fading scent of citrus and lilies surrounded her like an invisible halo. The comforting darkness of her raised blanket; a sigh and she was back to sleep. He’d lay awake waiting for his thundering heart to slow, which it always did. The peace. The relief. The quiet.

He misjudges again, this time his sleeve catching on a nozzle and tearing a hole in his coat. He sheds it impatiently and throws it to the side of the room, rolling up his shirt sleeves. As always he sees the minute scar on his right thumb that's the only physical reminder of the day Colin died.

Slight, small for eight, white-blond hair, milky blue eyes that made him look ghost locked. The shocking brightness of the blood around his mouth when the poltergeist had thrown everything from around the fireplace at them both. Lockwood got nicked by a corner of the ash shovel; Colin had been skewered by the poker. He’d given a single startled cough and then died. Lockwood hadn’t realized at first, expecting a change of expression, a rattling exhale, eyes fluttering shut. He didn’t even have time to shout for help: the death glow appeared while he stared.

Colin’s mum had him cremated. It was the only time Lockwood saw her. She was also slight, but tall, with flaxen hair and eyes the same odd shade of blue. She’d stared around without interest, looking through rather than at anybody.

“Lockwood?”

He turns and slams his cheek into one of the nozzles, sending a white-hot burst of pain across the entire right side of his face. He drops his rapier with a choked gasp as the world ceases to exist for a minute or so. All he can do is clutch his cheek and try to remember how to breathe.

Somewhere in the background noise underneath the siren of the pain, the machinery cuts off and then Lucy is trying to pry his hands back. “Let me see, let me see.”

He has to force himself to let her. The general glow of pain is settling into a pulsing hot line beneath his watering eye. At first he thinks a tear fell.

“Oh, shit.” She pushes his hand back. “Push pressure on it. I’ll get the first aid kit.” He’s found a stool to sit on by the time she returns. He allows her to direct things: hold this, open that, hold still. “What’s wrong?”

It takes him a moment to figure out that the question needs an answer, and a much longer moment to realize he doesn’t know. He tries shrugging.

“Bollocks. You were fighting something.”

“I don’t know.” She gives him a look. “Honestly, Luce. Do you think it’ll scar?”

───────────────────────────

@lco-angst-week

squeaking in under the wire here... i'll add more thoughts in a sec

okay SO

i love lockwood. he's emotionally self-aware to a POINT, but he's gotta like, sit down and think about it, and this one runs deep. probably wouldn't wanna touch it with a ten-foot pole. it would be hard enough for him to express what he's feeling if he even knew what it was, and listen *slaps lockwood on the shoulder* this sad boy can fit SO many suppressed emotions in him

also lest anyone accuse me of libel, lucy and george are also affected and sad by this particular case, they're just expressing it in different ways and lockwood slamming his head into a steam nozzle kinda derailed lucy's "hey so. these are some Unfun Feelings Huh" talk

#lockwood & co angst week #lockwood and co #tv shows #fanfic #mine #anthony lockwood #you pierce my soul #lucy carlyle #my favorite #writing is hard #my muse is a monster #abbie writes a thing

9 notes · View notes

pendanticalcats · 10 months

Note

Hi!! I love your Flickerswish and I was wondering how you came up with him?? Also any fun little facts about him you wanna share??

OC making is such a vague process for me that discribing it is difficult. I came up with Dillydally's name and design first before I had come up with Flickers as a next gen OC. That got me thinking about what the junkyard looks like in the next gen and who lives there. None of the existing cats fit with his design or vibe so someone new was needed as his parent. I wanted to give Jemima a love intrest and am intrigued with parrallels between Jemima and her parents so Flickers backstory came from that. I then drew his design a year later but hes very inspired by a franken cat cosplay I saw years ago. the hardest part is names which only come to me in dreams and I have to trust myself to remember. Most of my OC creation is finding gaps in canon characters dynamics and then filling them.

Fun Facts:

If Flickerswitch was to live in a house (he doesn't they scare him) any guest would never see him because he would hide inside the couch or armchairs.

He is the smallest cat in the junkyard by a bit. He'd be 5'0 on a good day if human. Even though he is very small he can't regularly sing very high and is an alto/tennor that doesn't stop him from trying. All of his kittens are taller than him he does not like it.

His favorite style of dance is ballet but his favorite style of music is swing jazz. He'd make an amazing flapper.

He is afraid of Etcetera. No reason she's perfictly polite and they have many close mutual friends he just refuses to interact with her.

In the Jellicle Ball a few years after he joins there is the song "The Dancing Cats" (the dancing cats! the dancing cats! the beautiful marvelous dancing cats!) about him and Victoria doing a pantomime and big dancing stunts. It has a circusesque feel.

#cats the musical #cats 1998 #cats oc #if you wanna know more about him and any characters or any of my other oc pls ask i love talking about them #if i remember i'll make a cheetsheet for my ocs bc i think i havent posted about half of them

5 notes · View notes

the-cat-at-the-theatre-door · 2 years

Photo

Okay, so, @sillybub asked for Sillabub and Jemima playing forever ago - how about I give you that, and also dump some other drawings on you, and the compromise is that I don’t colour any of them because I’m lazy 🙃 (Silly’s first discernable word was “’mima” - I wonder why)

#CATS Musical #Jemima #Sillabub #fanart #my art #see i told you it takes me 60 years to get to anything and i can't even produce full quality - for shame #i hope you like them anyway robin - perhaps i can offer quantity over quality and you will forgive me <3 #you'll also forgive that these became self indulgent and i can't draw jemima the same way twice - just like her mama T_T #that third one is just them chatting in the most indiscernable mash of several languages you have ever heard #if the three parents listen to them carefully they can piece together the gist of a conversation #jemima was poking at sillabub's eyes when she was born and getting 'oh honey that's so nice' when she would kiss her and snuggle her #she loves her - they talk about things telepathically #i also finished the lineart for another oc request - the colour palette is not cooperating with me #alas and woe

48 notes · View notes

uppastthejelliclemoon · 1 year

Text

@bombawife's OC Week Day 2: Kitten OC

It's Tate time!!!!

Tate always knew there was... something off about him. Even when he had a human family, he knew that he wasn't as affectionate, wasn't as attentive as others of his breed.

When he met Jemima, it felt as though things just clicked. Here was a new mother for him, a mother who drew him as close as possible to her side, and snuggled him close, peppering his face with soft kisses.

He got a sister, a twin, who was fiercely and passionately protective over him, especially upon realizing that they shared similar trauma from human treatment.

Munkustrap and Demeter completely dote on their grandson, he and Ramona are spoiled rotten, and Jemima always beams when she sees her parents interacting with her kittens.

Tate struggles with completely relaxing around strange cats, but finds himself adoring sitting in Tugger's company. Tugger becomes like a second grandfather to Tate, always ready for a cuddle or to make the kitten let out a soft laugh.

As shut away and quiet as he is, Tate would do absolutely anything if it meant protecting his family. They're his world, and he's firmly aware that they deserve all the happiness in the world.

#next-gen kittens #tate #cats oc week #jemima #ramona #cats the musical #Tate is just #he’s my beloved boy #like charon and anthea obvi are my babies #but tate is so special 🥰

12 notes · View notes

esthermitchell-author · 8 months

Text

(3/5) The Starmaker's Daughter (FanFic based on Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett)

Part III: Visitors

Aziraphale glanced up from the paperwork he was filling out to get all the appropriate, human-required documents little Jem -- short for Jemima, which they'd settled on after minimal debate and a shared smile as they both recalled Job's youngest daughter fondly -- needed to be part of the human world he and Crowley had long-ago adopted as their home. His gaze turned toward where his demon lounged on the settee, humming quietly to Jem, who in turn stared up at him with a look of complete wonder on her little face. The two were very clearly utterly smitten with each other.

Aziraphale smiled to himself. He had no doubt at all who the favorite parent already was, and he couldn't have been more delighted by it. Jem's innocent, unconditional love would no doubt heal the hurts in his demon even his own love could not, in time.

He closed his eyes for a moment, soaking in the beautiful sound of Crowley's happy voice humming an old lullaby. The past year of their lives was the happiest he imagined either of them had ever been. Still, he doubted either of them had imagined a miracle of this variety. He certainly hadn't, but he welcomed it with his whole heart, and could only imagine the best was yet to come, now.

"You should sing more often," he murmured to Crowley, now, even as he turned his attention back to his task. "You have a beautiful voice."

"For a demon, you mean."

"For anyone. Don't twist my words, Anthony." He cast his demon a stern but loving glance.

Crowley sent him a smirk and a wink, letting him know he'd only been teasing, then turned his attention to having an entirely gibberish conversation with a happily-babbling Jem.

The bell above the door sounded, drawing both their attention, and he caught the protective way Crowley hunched his upper body over Jem and looked up like he was about a second from turning into some feral manner of creature. Aziraphale forced himself to relax, so they didn't both manage to frighten their newborn daughter, and then relaxed in truth when he saw who paused just inside the door.

"Maggie! How lovely to see you, my dear!"

Maggie waved and held aloft a cloth bag adorned with a stylized musical score wrapped around a coffee cup and emblazoned with the name of her and her partner, Nina's, combined business, Roast'n'Records.

"I have to get directly back, but I got in those new records you requested, so I thought I'd drop them by, and..." Her words fell away and her eyes widened as she laid the bag on the counter, and caught sight of Crowley and the baby. "What the...? I mean..."

Aziraphale heaved a small sigh, aware this was a minor crisis they were going to have to address repeatedly, for a bit. "Maggie, this is our new daughter, Jemima."

She took a tentative step around the counter, and Aziraphale rose from his seat as he watched Crowley tense further. He knew why, and this was something they'd have to work on. Crowley was too used to having people -- well, Heaven and Hell, but the concept was the same -- try to take away what and who he loved. And he'd watched his demon fall head-over-heels in the most parental way, the moment Jemima landed in his arms this morning. There wasn't a doubt in the angel's mind that his demon would destroy Heaven, Hell, and everything in between if it threatened their child.

Not that what he felt was any less strong. He was just quieter about it.

"Crowley," he soothed in a soft whisper, moving to reinforce his certainty Jem wasn't in any danger with the gentle stroke of his hand against the side of his demon's face and head.

Thankfully, Maggie and Nina, of all their human friends, seemed to understand Crowley's trauma better than most. Maggie offered Crowley a small, friendly smile and asked, "May I?"

Slowly, the demon drew a breath, then nodded, before relaxing enough to wave Maggie closer with the arm not currently cradling Jem.

Maggie moved to look down at the baby, and immediately sighed, "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Crowley's gaze sought his, those goldenrod eyes full of a softness becoming more and more common to the demon over the past year or so. "Just like my angel."

Maggie straightened, her expression curious, but confused. "When did you pick her up?"

"Muriel brought her down, this morning," Crowley murmured, his attention back on Jem, now that he'd been reassured there wasn't a threat.

Maggie's eyes widened. Over the past year, they'd been explaining in detail to her and Nina who they really were, and how they ended up in Soho. "Muriel? But then... She's an angel?"

"Half," Aziraphale supplied, laying a comforting hand on Crowley's shoulder when he felt the demon bristle protectively again.

"Wait." Maggie's gaze went between them, then to the baby, before she shook her head. "Never mind. I don't want to know, do I?"

Crowley smirked at that. "Probably not. Sure you can figure at least part of it out on your own."

"Crowley."

"She asked, angel." Pure wickedness danced in his demon's eyes.

Maggie glanced around, then, and frowned. "You're going to need things, for a baby. I don't suppose you have any of that, yet."

Aziraphale shared a quick glance with Crowley. They hadn't even thought about it. "Yes, well... It's all rather sudden, so..."

Maggie's face lit. "Don't you worry about it, Mr. Fell. Nina and I can help with that."

"How, exactly?" Crowley's tone was vaguely suspicious. "You don't have kids."

"Nope. But I have brothers. And they have a gaggle of kids," she supplied with a grin and roll of her eyes. "I'll just call my sisters-in-law. We'll have you a list in no time."

"Excellent. Thank you, Maggie."

"It's nice to be able to help, for once. And speaking of, I need to get back over the road to help Nina open up shop." She waggled her fingers at them both in a little wave, then headed for the door. "I'll drop that list by in a couple of hours."

Returning to his desk after Maggie left, Aziraphale finished his task with a final flourish of his signature on the page, then looked over at Crowley. "You need to sign these, too."

"Later," Crowley acknowledged, then held out his hand. "Come sit with us, for how. Let's just be a family, yeah?"

A family. Aziraphale met Crowley's gaze with a smile, rose to his feet, and went to join the love of his life and their new child on the settee. "Sounds absolutely perfect to me, love."

In fact, he couldn't think of anywhere in all of Creation he'd rather be than right here, right now.

#good omens #good omens fandom #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #azicrow #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #ineffable spouses #crowley #fanfic #good omens 3 #go fanfic

18 notes · View notes

honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year

Text

𓅨 Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Chapter One

Warnings: Language, Mind Fuckery (Possessive Boi Morpheus), Mental Health Discussion, Medication Discussion.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Female!GranddaughterReader, based on Netflix’s ‘The Sandman’.

Word Count: ~2.4k

Masterlist | Next

You remember the summers you spent at your grandfathers’ manor quite well. The large stone building and sprawling grounds were massive, with plenty of space for you to roam, and roam you had. As a child, your imagination ran rampant and your dreams even more so. You had so much freedom your parents would have been mortified, well, you could go where you pleased save for one location: the basement. Naturally, you were curious about what was down there. But grandpapa Alex told you that a monster was locked away and he didn’t want you to get hurt going down there.

It made sense with all of the guards coming and going in shifts, so you had left it alone and never spoke of it again. But then the dreams started coming, they were of a place that seemed to be rotting away to black and gray. Splendor to ruin. A kingdom crumbling without its ruler. Those dreams had made you afraid as a child. In fact, it had gotten so bad that your parents had to come and retrieve you because you were so terrified of sleeping for fear of dreaming about that decaying and dismal place. You had stopped visiting the manor at ten, terrified of what was in that basement and what came to your dreams at night. It had taken hundreds of sessions with a therapist and medication to rid your child mind of those dreams.

Now an adult, you were less inclined to take the medication. You were an adult and you knew that dreams were exactly that, dreams. Why did you need to fear them when upon waking up they would no longer be real? So you stopped taking them and moved on from that chapter of your life. If only things were that simple.

“Come on, Y/N, it’s Friday, we’re at the club, we look hot, relax a little will you?” Jemima protested from where she sat across from you, drink in hand. The Friday after work you had been dragged out by Jemima, your childhood best friend, and coworker, to the club to let loose from a stressful work week. “You aren’t still thinking about your ex, are you?”

“Mmh?” You sounded, your eyebrow lifting as you rested your chin in your palm. “Oh, no, totally over that twat. I’m glad he’s gone if I’ll be honest. He was a lazy sod I was glad to kick to the corner. Kind of embarrassed that I dated him in the first place actually.”

“Then what’s on your mind babe? You’ve been spacing out a lot lately.” Jemima returned, setting down her drink. “You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“Nothing, really, I’ve just been thinking a lot about my childhood lately… don’t exactly know why.” You said with a shrug. “I keep feeling like I should visit my grandfathers', I haven’t been since I was ten.”

“So… why don’t you?” You hadn’t thought about that. Deep down inside you was that yearning to visit, a strong urge to go into that basement and find out what had terrified you so much as a child. But your conditioning was so strong you had been unconsciously resisting the idea even as an adult.

“Honestly I have no idea, my parents told me that I was to never go back, nightmares and all. I’ve kind of just accepted that I should just stay away. Plus, you know I’m busy with work.”

“But you loved Fawny Rig! You raved about it when we were children. Are you really going to let your parents tell you what to do now that you’re an adult? Babe, you're a grown-ass woman. Live a little, I’m sure Paul and Alex would love to see you.” You tilted your head to the side, honestly thinking about her words. Yes, you were an adult, and no, your parents couldn’t control what you did anymore. Besides, what they didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt them.

“Alright, I’ll pen it in when I get to work on Monday.” You told her, your mindset and that gut feeling, finally appeased. Jemima beamed at you and picked her glass up.

“Excellent, now that we’ve gotten that business out of the way, can we finally let loose and have a little fun, you look like you need a proper fuck.” You snorted and rolled your eyes.

“I didn’t come here to have a one-night stand, Jem,” She shrugged at you before pointing to the bar. It was only half filled with men and women, but in half an hour it would be packed with patrons wanting their beer and chips.

“No, but you did come to have fun, at the very least go kiss someone. You need a good snog, Y/N.” You had to resist rolling your eyes a second as you slipped from where you sat and headed for the bar. It was time to get a drink in hand, preferably your favorite, and forget about all your troubles and stress.

Alcohol ran through your veins like blood as you laughed at what Sam, the man who had managed to charm you enough to hold your attention, had said.

“So I told him if he didn’t want to botch up the job he should have just told me. Pretty sure the lad isn’t just a prick, but a fucking cactus.” Your laugh dissolved into giggles while you gripped your stomach.

“My God, how in the bloody hell have you put up with him this long? He sounds worse than my ex and he was a piece of work.” Sam’s eyebrow went up and curiosity filled his soft brown eyes.

“Oh?” You took another sip of your current drink and shook your head at the ridiculous your relationship had been.

“Believe me, I’m wondering why I stayed with him for so long, he’s the type where if you listen to him long enough, you start to wonder who ties his shoelaces for him. Absolutely useless. Wanker can’t even boil water for tea.“

“That's why you’re here tonight drowning your drinks like they’re water?”

“I’m not the type to cry over a twat like him, my mother taught me better than that.” You responded before lazily shifting your gaze to where Jem was dancing with her chosen man of the night. “Jem, my best friend who came with me tonight, brought me to unload after a stressful week at work.”

You both looked at her for a few moments. She was obviously enjoying her time and not worried or stressed at all. Envy nipped at your heart, you wished you could be as carefree as Jemima was. She hardly seemed to have any troubles in life, and if she did she just breezed past them like they never happened.

“I’m a little envious of how she can just let all of her stress go.” You sighed. “My life would be so much easier if I could do that.”

“You make it sound like you are a bore, Y/N.”

“Am I not?” You returned with a raised eyebrow. Sam tilted his head to the side and studied you, his eyes not really revealing what he was thinking.

“No, I don’t think so. Care for a dance love? You look like you could use more stress relieving.” Releasing your drink, you grabbed the front of his shirt and slipped from the bar stool you had occupied for the last hour.

“Come on, Brown Eyes, let the de-stressing commence.” Sam laughed as you dragged him to the dance floor and twirled in a circle. He took your hand and pulled your body against his as your body swayed to the beat of the latest song. You weren’t familiar with the song but the beat was nice and easy to dance to, so you let yourself get lost in the music and the light scent of Sam’s cologne.

The alcohol you had drunk surely helped with the nagging feeling deep in your gut and Sam provided a wonderful distraction you were all happy to indulge in. As the songs progressed your hands migrated upwards to wrap around his neck and you leaned your head against his chest. Song after song, the lights in the club twisted together in a kaleidoscope of colors. Sam was a temptation and you wanted to kiss that temptation until it was all you could think about. Sam finally dipped and you stretched.

Your lips connected and alcohol mixed with beer. Odd combination but you didn’t care, Sam’s lips were pleasant and delicate against yours. It was a feeling and experience you missed, but it didn’t entirely sate that need for comfort and intimacy. Beggars couldn’t be choosers and you were content to take what you could from what Sam was offering. So you did.

You sunk your fingers into his hair, wrapping them around his strands and tugging on them while his lips worked themselves across your own and drew out little delights. Sam’s hand slipped across your lower back and pulled you closer to him. He tugged at your lower lip and parted your slightly tingling lips, you let him sweep into your mouth with the same delicate precision he had when simply kissing you.

Your body trembled in delight, glad to have some form of genuine affection that didn’t come from a place of deception and disinterest. Sam then brushed a hand up your side, staying respectable as he reached your cheek and stroked your jaw with his thumb. You couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh against his lips, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes.

“I don’t normally kiss strangers I meet at the club, Sam.” You told him, your eyes twinkling with mischief and your lips begging to return to his. Deviousness sparkled in his brown ones as his lovely lips curved into a partial smile.

“Didn’t stop you from kissing back.” He returned with hesitation, still holding you against his chest delicately. You dropped your eyes down to the hand you had resting over his heart and drummed your fingertips against his shirt.

“Consider me charmed,” You mused with a soft smile. “But I hardly think snogging in the middle of the dance floor is appropriate.”

Sam’s eyebrow went up and his eyes didn’t stray from yours.

“That’s not stopping everyone else from doing so, fairly sure they’ve forgotten where they are…” His comment was filled with humor and you couldn’t help but huff out a laugh.

“I’m not that open with my affections, you can fix that if you want.” Sam was tugging you through the crowd by your hand in seconds as you giggled. You passed Jemima and her man of choice and cackling, her hand darted out and landed straight on your arse. You snorted in laughter, jumping forwards at the sting while glancing over your shoulder at Jemima. She had a massive grin on her face and was cackling her head off. You shot her a dirty look before disappearing into the edge of the crowd, breaking free of the dancing people.

Now free of the overheated bodies, you and Sam stumbled around each other, heading in the direction of a much quieter corner of the club. Back hitting a wall, Sam’s lips found yours once more. The entire time you kissed he never once was pushy or overbearing, no, he stayed gentle and delicate. You could appreciate that because you never once felt like you were being smothered by his desires. Your fingers scratched at his shirt and dug into his hair, tugging and pulling at what you could grasp. Lost in the feeling of being wanted once more, you barely noticed that Sam’s kisses had turned deeper, more demanding, and less delicate. You weren’t being smothered but you could definitely tell that Sam was now kissing you in slight desperation. Like he too was grasping for what little affection he could get.

The grasp on your jaw tightened, pulling your lips closer to his and you were all too happy to respond. Your fingers pushed through silky hair and your nails scraped against his scalp. Lips ravished yours with desperation, migrating to your jaw, and you found yourself floating away in a reverie of daze and delight. Letting out a small moan, your back arched and your chest pressed again his. Soft hair brushed against your cheek as lips migrated to your neck. His lips were now exploring the skin of your neck, softly and yet with barely restrained want. He was holding back and you could feel it. Your eyelids fluttered open, and staring up at the hazy lights overhead, it took you a few moments to make sense of what you were seeing.

The room was dark, its occasional flashing lights gone. There was a dampness in the air you could now feel, there was even a smell of must… but your surroundings weren’t what brought a shiver up your spine. It was the silky black hair you had in your grasp. A beautiful raven black longer than the strands you had previously been grasping and tugging. Not the shorter chocolate brown hair Sam had. Your heart leaped in your chest, taking off at an almost painfully fast pace. You weren’t kissing Sam anymore, but something else entirely. With shaky breathing, your eyes slowly moved downwards to the man now gently nipping at the underside of your jaw. Your eyes met intense silver-blue ones, and the moment you realized what was going on, you jerked back against the wall.

The world around you distorted and returned to the club, pulsating lights and music and all, and with a frown, Sam looked at you in concern. He touched your cheek, his thumb lightly running across your cheekbone.

“Y/N, you okay love?” You blinked rapidly, reaching up to run your fingers over your neck, still feeling those kisses against your skin like haunting echoes. Like they had been real. “You spaced out for a moment…”

Letting out a heavy breath and feeling your heart rate slowly ebbing to a normal pace, you slumped back against the wall.

“Sorry, my mind got distracted.” You replied breathlessly, shaken to the core but trying to hold a calm and collected demeanor. You nervously chucked. “I don’t think the alcohol is helping either.”

“Better get some water in you then, love,” Sam replied, returning the chuckle as he guided you back to the bar. He was the perfect gentleman, helping you up into a seat and ordering you water. While he talked with the bartender, you watched him, a growing new pit of dread forming in your stomach and one thought on your mind: he was back, and you had a feeling that this time, you weren’t going to be able to get rid of him with medication.

Date Published: 8/15/22

Last Edit: 4/25/23

Masterlist | Next

#morpheus x reader #morpheus #lord morpheus #dream the endless x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #dream the endless #dream of the endless #the sandman netflix #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader #the sandman

100 notes · View notes