#many inadvertent head bumps

[gottagobuycheese]

so tired, so cold, so totally worth the minor hypothermia

[Image ID: a faint photograph of the comet c/2022 E3 (ZTF), which appears as a vague greenish smudge with a slightly brighter central part. /end IF]

#out of context this is an extremely unimpressive picture lol #heck maybe even with context #but HOLY FREAKING MOLY #c/2022 e3 (ztf) #comet ztf #Cheese's personal molasses #THE J O U R N E Y TO GET THIS SMUDGY LITTLE THING PHOTOGRAPHED #the cold broke one of the clasps of the telescope's tripod so we had to shorten it all the way down and just sit on the cold lake deck #looking back and forth between an online simplified star chart the sky and the scope #meanwhile the moon is rising higher and higher and making everything brighter #so we're just taking random cool night pictures because even if we didn't manage to see the comet at least we got to see a cool night sky #then like an hour later my dad texts from 5 hours away asking if this one little tiny smudge in my housemate's picture is The One #then comparing everything we realize that that smudge is exactly where the comet's supposed to be tonight #so THEN we're both using the telescope at the same time trying to find this smudge #him with the tiny viewfinder and me through the main scope #many inadvertent head bumps #so he's telling me to move a little this way and that way to find specific stars #and I am totally guesstimating because his head's in the way of the viewfinder #but then we found it! #solidly smudgy and faintly green exactly where it was said to be #then trying to line up the phone camera with the telescope which is hard on a normalday but on a day with minimal light from the subject #darn near impossible #but by SHEER LUCK happened to snap this photo on the first try #we tried to get longer exposure afterward but couldn't manage it #fingers were frozen and couldn't see a thing and our other friend was freezing inside the car #so we had to bail #but WE SAW ITTTTTTTT #and now that we've found it I think it'll be easier to find in the future #dunno that I'll be able to line it up long enough for a longer exposure picture though #ahhhhh but I'm so satisfied right now you have no idea

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 11 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, Reader has a baby bump and stretch marks (briefly mentioned), talk of insecurities

WC: 1.2k

A/N: this was inspired by an ask that I got for Eddie feeling so grateful when he witnesses a sweet moment between Ms. Sweetheart/Reader and Harris, but I can't find who sent it. If it was you, thank you!

November 1999

“Har? You ready for bed?”

Harris nods, peeling back his Spider-Man comforter and slipping beneath the covers. He points to the laminated list that’s Velcroed to the back of his door. You run your finger down the column where he’s used the dry erase marker to check off each task in his routine: shower, comb his hair, brush his teeth, pee, and change into his pajamas.  

“Nice job!” You walk—though at this point in your pregnancy, it’s a bonafide waddle—from the doorway towards the small bookshelf in the corner of his room and pluck the newest Magic Treehouse from its spot. Removing the bookmark, you cautiously lower yourself onto his bed, resting your free hand on your belly to keep steady. 

He snuggles into you, head nestled against your arm as you read aloud. “Chapter four,” you begin, but before you can continue, Harris speaks. 

“Mommy?” His voice is tiny, very much unlike his usual boisterousness, and you can’t help but feel worried. 

You brush an unruly lock of his hair from his forehead. “What’s up?”

Harris pauses for a moment, singular front tooth scraping over his bottom lip anxiously. “What if Baby Brother doesn’t like me?” His hazel eyes are shiny with incoming tears. “What if he doesn’t think I’m a good big brother?”

Your heart splinters into a thousand pieces when you hear the concern in his voice. “Oh, Har,” you murmur, shifting your weight to find a more comfortable position, “he’s going to love you. More than that; he’s going to look up to you. You’ll be his role model.”

“But I don’t know how to be a role model.” He keeps his gaze trained on the webbing shooting from Spider-Man’s fingers. “An’ everyone keeps saying that being a big brother is a really important job, but I’ve never been one before! What if I’m not good at it?”

You consider your words for a moment. “Can I tell you a secret?” you finally ask, softly smiling when his attention immediately snaps back to you. “Do you remember when I was your teacher, and you wanted me to be your mommy?”

“Mhm. An’ now you are.”

“And now I am,” you agree with a laugh. “But when your dad and I first started talking about me being your mommy, I was so scared.”

Harris’s eyes widen in disbelief. “You were scared?” His nose wrinkles as he tries to discern your reasoning. “Why?”

“Well, being a mommy is a super important job, too,” you tell him, tucking the bookmark back between the pages and setting the paperback down on the bed. “And I didn’t want to mess up or make any mistakes. But guess what?”

“What?” He places his hand on top of yours. 

You lean in and whisper, “I’ve messed up and made mistakes.” Your tone stays lighthearted, but both of you know that the words are spoken with truth. “There have been times where I should have been tougher, and times that I should have been more easygoing. And sometimes, I look back and think, ‘why did I do that?’” You shake your head to combat the memories of missteps you’ve inadvertently conjured up. “But you still love me, just like Baby Brother will always love you.”

Harris exhales with a heaviness that’s almost comical coming from a seven-year-old. He’s not wholly convinced, so you continue. 

“Har, you are gonna be the best big brother the world has ever seen.” The promise is honey-sweet and just as natural. “There are so many things you’ll get to teach the baby that Daddy and I can’t.”

He allows himself to look at you once again, curiosity overtaking nervousness. “Like what?”

“Like…drawing,” you say, scratching an itch on the side of your stomach where a stretch mark has formed. “You’re our resident artist; no one draws a family portrait better than Harris Munson.”

He giggles at this. “Yeah, an’ you guys don’t know a lot about superheroes; only a little bit.”

“Exactly. Only what you’ve taught us.” You kiss the crown of his head. “Baby Brother is so lucky to have you.”

Harris nods, letting out a yawn that alerts you to the time. 

“Come on, let’s get you into bed so you’re not snoozing in school tomorrow.” You lower his pillow from where he’s propped it against the wall, but he doesn’t move from his spot.

“I wanna say good night to Baby Brother.” He rests his cheek on the swell of your stomach with his hand just above your belly button. “Good night, Baby Brother. I love you, and I can’t wait to meet you in…” he rotates his neck so you’re looking directly at his nostrils, “how many days?”

“Thirteen, if he comes on time,” you say, adding a gentle reminder, “but sometimes babies show up a little late, so he might not get here until closer to Thanksgiving.”

“Oh.” He considers this for a second, his gaze shifting back and forth from your belly to your eyes. “If he comes on Thanksgiving, do I still get to eat mashed potatoes?”

You shrug. “I don’t see why not. As long as you save some for me when I get home.”

Harris harrumphs at the prospect of sharing and you laugh, which gives you the urge to pee—again. “Sweet dreams, Har Bear.” You kiss his scalp again, slowly rising to flick off the light switch. There will be a time when he eschews the nickname, labeling it babyish, but it lives on for another day. 

In your beeline for the bathroom, you find Eddie waiting just outside Harris’s room. His cheeks are pink as though he’s been caught, and you notice the glassiness coating his chocolate eyes. 

“Eds? You okay?” You murmur the question under your breath, not wanting to alert Harris. 

“Mhm. Yeah, ‘m fine.” He hooks his fingers into the white cotton sleeves of his undershirt and wipes at his face. “Just pregnancy hormones,” he teases with a soft chuckle, and you nudge his hip with yours. “Really, though; everything’s good.” 

You want to press him further, but the full-term baby tap-dancing on your bladder has other plans, so you have to surrender. 

Eddie sighs, contentment flooding his body as he blinks away the blurriness and closes Harris’s door. Domesticity has wrapped itself around him, and the softness with which you talk to Harris only has him falling deeper into its embrace. 

He used to describe himself as lucky, but you’re always quick to point out that luck has nothing to do with it. He’s deserving of his little family and the unconditional love that comes with it. 

But deserving doesn’t explain you showing up at the Hideout three years ago, or him picking you out of the crowd, or you being Harris’s teacher and fostering an awkward but necessary reunion. There’s a solid chance that he’d still be the angry and defensive man who’d shoved his dreams away, because holding hope that they would come to fruition was simply too scary to consider. But now, despite years of self-sabotage, he’s got everything he could ever want. 

So, yeah. Eddie Munson is a lucky man. 

--

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

[dark-fics-4-you]

My Girl

(Childhood Friends)Rafe CameronxReader with a side of TopperxReader

Synopsis: Rafe Cameron doesn’t like that you’ve been hooking up with Topper. He decides to show you who you really belong to.

Warnings: noncon !! smut, unprotected sex, alcohol, drugs, gaslighting, toxic!Rafe

The haze of the party envelopes you after your fourth tequila shot.

You speak to friends in a blur, in one conversation before blinking your eyes and across the room in another when you open them. You don’t mind though, the booze makes you feel more social, more comfortable.

Your attention is caught by a voice calling out, “Who wants a bump??”

You turn your head to see the man offering to share his drugs. Rafe Cameron.

“I’m game.” You step over to the table, and watch Rafe set the line up for you.

You and Rafe had known each other since kindergarten, having attended all the same schools growing up.

He was arrogant, quick tempered, and one of your best friends. Despite his negative traits, Rafe had stuck by you for many years, and you appreciated him for that. Sure he could be a bit clingy, and overly flirtatious, but you always knew he had his sight set on other girls.

“Ready, princess?” Rafe drawled, eyebrow cocked in a challenge.

“I was born ready,” you joked, and leaned over the table, taking the rolled dollar bill from Rafe.

You snorted the line, enjoying the pleasant head rush that followed.

“Not bad, not bad.” Rafe conceded, before leaning over to do a line himself.

You spun on your heel as you heard someone else enter the kitchen.

Topper greeted you with a wink, and you felt your cheeks flush, averting your gaze.

You had been secretly hooking up with Topper for a few weeks now, and you had been trying hard to keep that from the rest of your friend group.

You glanced up to see Rafe staring at you, a strange look in his eyes. One that you couldn’t quite place, but unnerved you nevertheless.

He stepped back to the table, quickly setting up and snorting another line. His jaw ticked and you watched his pupils grow unfocused.

He poured himself a shot, setting the glass down after. Rafe turned to a friend and you relaxed, venturing out of the kitchen to find more friends.

The rest of the night, you floated around different groups, talking to different people, but all the while, you swore, you felt like you were being watched.

You glanced around nonchalantly, hoping that it was just your nerves playing tricks on you. No one seemed to be paying you much attention.

You needed another drink, now.

Back in the kitchen, you made yourself a strong rum and coke, bringing it back out to the living room with you.

You sat down, sipping your drink and trying to relax, but the prickling feeling that you were being watched burned the back of your neck, and you swiveled around to lock eyes with Rafe, staring at you from across the room.

His eyes were cold, calculating, but you didn’t have the first clue to what he was thinking. Your eyes flicked away, not wanting to start any confrontation. What the fuck was that about?

You finished your drink, head swimming and vision starting to get blurry. The coke was mixing with the alcohol, making you feel incredibly intoxicated.

You could hear the muffled voices of your friends, but you felt far away, like they were calling to you from some distant shore.

“Y/N? You good?”

“Duude she is out of it right now.”

“Probably should just let her sleep it off.”

“I could bring her to one of the spare bedrooms upstairs. Let her lie down there? I’ll make sure she doesn’t throw up.”

You wanted to protest, ‘i’m fine! you guys are being dramatic!’ but your brain was disconnected from your mouth. You couldn’t have lifted your head if you tried.

The voices seemed to be in some agreement and a tall figure appeared in your vision, strong arms reaching out to lift you up off the couch.

Still out of it and surprised to be picked up, you took a deep breath through your nose, inadvertently smelling the cologne of the man carrying you. It was a pleasant smell and you thought you recognized it as Topper’s.

“Mmm you smell nice, Topper,” you slur, not fully sure if your words came out audible. You felt safe in his arms.

He started to ascend the stairs, and you pressed your head against his firm chest. “So warm,” you murmured. “I’m so tired.”

The man carrying you was silent, the only sounds you could hear were the din of the party and the music thumping below.

The door opened in front of you, and Topper walked to the bed in the dimly lit room before gently laying you down on it.

You rolled over, ready to fall asleep, listening to the sounds of the footsteps leave your room.

Only, he didn’t leave your room. He walked to the open door, then closed it and turned the lock.

You slowly flipped over in bed, ready to question Topper, and your eyes met Rafe Cameron’s seconds before his lips were on yours. Adrenaline shot through you, and you tried to push him away in shock.

The stronger man climbed on top of you in bed, straddling you and catching your wrists in his hands.

“What are you do-“ your frantic question was swallowed by Rafe as his lips smothered yours again.

He let go of your arms to drag his hands to your chest, eagerly pulling at your top. He groped you roughly, fingers edging under the thin material of your shirt, setting a blaze of heat on your skin.

Your voice trembled, tears prickling at the edge of your eyes, “Rafe, what the fuck are you doing?? Stop!”

“What, you think you’re too good for me or something?” Rafe murmured darkly, one hand snaking around your throat. “You’ll give up for Topper but not me, hm? Little slut, I can fuck anyone I want.”

The weight of his threat was almost more suffocating than the fingers at your throat taking your breath away.

You thrashed, kicking your feet against him, desperately trying to squirm out from under him. Rafe rolled his eyes, loosening the pressure around your throat.

“Y-you’re high,” your voice wavered, weak from his strong grip. “Stop it Rafe I’m not kidding, this is-”

“Shhhh. This would be easier for you if you just relaxed, Y/N, I’m gonna make you feel good,” Rafe purred into your ear, but his cold tone made your stomach churn with nausea. His rough fingers groped at your skirt, pulling it off and tossing it over his shoulder. Rafe removed his shirt and you took in the rippling muscles of his chest and arms.

He nudged your legs apart with his knee, and slowly grinded his now obvious erection against your barely clothed core.

His fingertips traced under your top to feel your lower back and he pulled the shirt off over your head. You squirmed against him, trying desperately to cover yourself, but his fingers wrapped tightly around your wrists and you let out a yelp. Rafe glared at you, jaw clenched, and he let out a long breath through his nose, seemingly trying to calm himself, “Don’t make me hurt you, Y/N. This doesn’t have to be difficult.”

Rafe let go of your wrists and brought his hands down to your breasts, cupping them over your bra. His fingers traced up your chest and he slid the straps of your bra off your shoulders, pulling it down to your stomach and exposing you despite your breathless pleas for him to stop.

Your head was spinning and your skin broke out in goosebumps where his fingertips grazed you. He plucked at your chest, rolling one nipple between his fingers before turning his attention to the other. Rafe slowly leaned in and took the hard bud into his mouth, tongue flicking against your tender skin.

Your fingers gripped his muscular arms, nails digging in, futilely hoping it might deter him.

Rafe nipped at your breast, lightly biting the sensitive bud and you could barely stifle your moan.

“Mm that’s my girl,” his blue eyes glinted as they met yours, and you shivered at his words, bile rising in your throat. My girl.

Rafe trailed a hand down your leg, fingertips roughly pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. One finger looped around the elastic of your panties, and he pulled the flimsy material down your legs.

He pressed his lips to yours again, tongue probing into your mouth this time, before slowly pushing a digit into your slick core and lazily circling your clit with his thumb.

You gasped against his lips at the intrusion, giving in to a pathetic whine as the pressure between your hips rose. Hot tears spilled past your lashes while your conflicted emotions warred within you.

It all felt wrong. Very wrong.

The man you once trusted, who you once would have called your best friend, met your eyes with a dark gaze, blown pupils trailing from yours down to your exposed body. “God you are so fucking sexy. I should have done this ages ago.”

Your skin crawled at his words and you tried desperately to squeeze your legs together, but he was much stronger than you, swearing under his breath, “Don’t be such a fucking tease,” and forced your legs open. You threw your head back in a silent scream when you felt him roughly press a second finger into you.

He slowly pumped his fingers in and out, thumb meeting your clit again before his blue eyes flitted to yours. They widened as a moan escaped your lips and a cruel smirk spread across Rafe’s face.

“Are you going to be a good girl or are you going to make this difficult?” The blond purred, fingers curling inside you.

“I-I’ll be g-good,” you stammered, barely able to process what was happening. Your stomach lurched as the full weight of the situation finally hit you. Why was he doing this??

Rafe pushed down his shorts, wrapping a hand around his hard length. He stroked himself a few times before pressing his cock against your slick folds, teasingly rubbing the tip on your clit before entering you in one thrust.

You yelped in pain, the pressure unbearable. Rafe laughed mockingly, “It’s a big dick but I know you can take it.”

His eyes never left yours, even when you tried to look away, his tight grip on your chin forcing you to meet his gaze. Rafe slowly grinded his hips into yours, a sick grin on his face while you struggled beneath him.

“Really, Y/N, I have been thinking about fucking you like this since high school. Always acting so sweet and innocent, but I know what you really need, sweetheart,” Rafe taunted, picking up his pace. His fingers roughly pressed into the back of your upper leg, and he hooked his hand around your ankle, bringing your foot to rest on his shoulder while he pounded into you, the change of angle allowed him to fuck you deeper.

His fingers circled your clit, drawing shameful whimpers of pleasure from your lips.

“Did he ever make you cum?” Rafe’s words surprised you and for a second you didn’t register what he was saying. “Did Topper ever make you cum, Y/N?” He repeated the words slowly, like you were stupid for misunderstanding him.

Your cheeks burned and hot tears threatened to spill over again. You shook your head ‘no’.

“Aw don’t cry, princess,” Rafe cooed, never slowing his relentless pace. Your stomach turned at his familiar pet name for you, now it just made you feel sick. “You’re doing so good. I’ll help you through it.”

Rafe leaned in to kiss you again, this time you didn’t have the willpower to fight back. “Oh my god you’re so perfect. Gonna make me cum in that tight little pussy.”

Icy fear shot through your veins. He wasn’t wearing a condom. Your head was pounding, and the overstimulation was too much for you to bear. Rafe sneered triumphantly and another twitch of his fingers and snap of his hips finally pushed you over the edge.

You bit down on your lip, whining as your vision was dotted with stars, and Rafe fucked you through your orgasm. The pleasure mixed with the horror of the situation you found yourself in left you breathless.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna-” Rafe let out a groan, rutting into you with three long thrusts before stilling, forcing you to milk his cock as long as possible. The slick warmth between your legs turned your stomach and you wanted to cry.

Rafe’s forehead, now damp with sweat, pressed to yours and he gave you a tender kiss on the lips before pulling out. With disgust, you realized you could feel his cum leaking out of your sore cunt.

“I always knew you were my girl, Y/N. Now you know it too.”

#outer banks #rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron noncon #rafe cameron smut #obx #obx fic

[thunder-threnodies]

🌹 I was curious if you could write for Brett, even if he’s very clearly still committed to his missing Half Devil and not interested in anything romantic? Perhaps Brett simply has questions for a case he’s working on, and somehow the Captain gets him to enjoy the evening and it all stays very friendly :D

If so, Detective Brett Heroux is polite, even if he can be blunt when he’s annoyed or overfamiliar with someone. He doesn’t drink any spirits. He enjoys dancing- a lot, even if he’s been told he talks too much during it. He is perfectly content to ramble about the history of the dance *while* you are dancing it! It takes him a while to settle into fun, but when he does- he can easily join the festivities and inadvertently charm most he meets. 

You bumped into the Captain almost by chance. Someone told you to "go and pet a Blemmigan" after... Too much time spent In your office studying the last case's notes.

How many days? Yes.

Anyway, you were mumbling and slightly grumbling when your hand, deeply tucked in the pocket of your coat, finds a small box of matches. It smells like zee water and glass polish and....

Something else. You can see that the borders have been nervously picked on and that several matches are missing and yet none have been lit using the box.

Peculiar.

You also notice that there's some stains on it, droplets perhaps, as if someone had been drinking while this delightfully decorated little box was sitting very close to the person drinking.

You stroke a finger on a stain and sniff it: whiskey but not a regular one. This was brewed with honey and smoked in Dark-dew Cherries barrels. There's only one place, coincidentally located down Ladybone's Road where you're currently strolling, that serves this whiskey, as it's quite pricey.

On the upside of the box, there's a logo and a handwritten inscription:

"We shared a cigarette and a glass of Meadnight at Blue Skye's Palace"

in an elegant, yet slightly nervous, calligraphy. Now in a more curious mood, rather than mopey, you slowly walk towards the indicated address.

As soon as you arrive at the Blue Skye's Palace, you realize that this is a high profile place. Society members and occasionally some Masters aligned individual go in and out regularly untill you notice someone that gives off the wrong vibe: a dark-auburn haired zailor, with a Captain, or Admiral perhaps, coat over a faded blood-red jacket.

You follow them inside and spot them sitting quietly at the bar, while a melancholic and sweet song is playing as background, drinking the very same whiskey you've found on the match box.

And look at the little things spread regularly all across the bar! Many, many of the very same freebies you've found in your pocket.

You sit down right next to the Zailor and order two more: one for you (although probably you're only taking a small sip. You want to keep your head level untill you know more about this fella) and one for them.

They slowly turn their head and shoot you a side glance that make your blood run cold: for a fleeting second you felt like some sort of Zee monster was sitting by your side and not just a Very Tired Captain, with blue rings around their eyes and heavy bags right under. Peligin eyes but they do not look like a Monster Hunter at all.

And Cosmogone Spectacles? A Silverer, then. But why Zail and meddle with Parabola at the same time? So many questions, so little time...

They smile and nod at you and suddenly they look like a completely different person. Warm and welcoming.

"Oh the privilege of having caught the attention of the Dandy Detective Brett Heroux himself, in the flesh! I'm so pleased to finally meet you!" they say as they gulp down the last of their glass and begin the one you paid for.

For a moment you're stunned. But you recover rather quickly. You clear your throat and just tip the glass to your lips letting nothing but a few drops go down your throat. Head level, Brett, keep your head space clear and steady.

"I see you know me...?"

"Captain or Silverer will suffice, Detective. Or if you prefer a less formal approach... Francis Morgan, here on, well--" they smile with a hint of irony in their voice "Terra Firma as they like to call it. Even though, for me, it's not so firma anymore. If you catch my wave." another little, slow sip. "Pun intended, Detective. I am a big fan of yours, by the way. Absolutely brilliant on solving most of the open cases around London! Have you ever thought about writing a book about your adventures?" they empty their glass. Yours is still rather full.

"A.. a book? No. I- I mean all of my attention has been on a very important case and a book would take too much time from me. But please tell me, is this yours? And why did it make home in my pocket, out of all?" You gently put the match box near their hand, the one holding the glass. You notice many fading scars on all the hand and that hand is more suited for holding a quill or a pen rather than a sword or pistol.

They sigh a little and twirl the whiskey in their glass.

"I truly hoped my little sleight of hand would catch your attention because you see, I need your help for a missing treasure."

They drop a few echoes on the bar and gestures for you to go outside, where they join you shortly after.

"Well, Detective Heroux... Brett, if I may call you by first name... Card's on the table. I've been sent a letter. They took a pocket watch from me, one of my most treasured possessions" they pause for a moment "pun not intended, this time."

They give you a piece of paper: letters cut out from various different sources form a rather weird message. The grammar and spelling are all messed up.

There are stains of sweets, soot and reddish dust on it. It doesn't look actually dangerous.

As the two of you walk around, not yet with a destination in mind, you ask them a few questions.

Yes they're a Silverer. It's a personal choice they made long, long ago for the sake of a loved one. No they won't tell you who, although you might have an idea who this beloved is. Yes, they have Peligin eyes but it's more because of an incident happened in their youth at the Gant Pole...

After a while, when you both exchange generally known facts about yourselves, you notice three shadowy figures spying on you from a corner.

"There, Captain!" you discretely point at them. "Don't look directly! Agh, they've seen us! Quick, keep up with me and run!" you say as you spring to action, beginning a chase across Ladybone's, Spite, the Docks.

The three figures are rather quick and agile and do their best to drop obstacles and hazards on your path. The two of you follow the hot trail for the whole afternoon, finding new, weird clues every now and then. A knotted sock but not a Knotted Sock so not Urchins.

A wooden charm. A broken compass. A patch of worn out fur. What the hell is going on here?

The three enter Ms. Plenty's Carnival and disappear amongst the crowd: it seemes that there's some sort of improvised dancing festival or reunion.

You come to a sudden halt and look around. Not a single clue or trace to be found.

You turn and see Morgan smiling at you.

"Well, Brett, we seem to have come to a momentary dead end. What do you say, shall we dance? Perhaps drop some questions, like bait you know, while we change partners. What do you know about this kind of dance and gatherings?"

As you happily instruct Francis Morgan on the matter, a new round of dances begins and quickly the two of you are caught in the vortex of joyous music and swinging melodies.

You're more than happy to guide the Captain through the dance, calling for each step and explaining some fun facts when the sequences they have already memorized come again.

The atmosphere is colorful and happy, your dancing partners more than capable of keeping up with you and you can always see the Captain in the corner of your eye. They've got your back.

When you're partnered with them once again, you lean in slightly closer.

"I've spotted a rather... cranky gentlman walk towards some attractions. I suspect our three rascals ar headed that way. Not Urchins but surely children. They stole a bowler hat somwhere and a trench coat. When the music stops, follow me."

And the Captains nods and does exactly as instructed.

You resume your chase of the Weirdly Tall Man (Definetly Not Three Children in a Trenchcoat) across all the Carnival untill you force them to take cover in the House of Mirrors.

But where are the culprits? THERE! No... no no no just a reflection of... A Master? Surely your eyes must have tricked you... That way! A small shadow runnning and the sound of small feet on the floor!

That Master-like figure again... You're pretty sure it's a Curator but which one...?

As you arrive at the center of the maze, three children, clearly siblings, each dressed up as a Pirate-wannabe, look at you slightly amazed and smiling. What the hell?

In the mirror behind them, the Winged Shadow reappears and two arms, strong and used to hold and constrain, come out of it, grabbing the trio.

No, not grabbing, hugging.

The Captain themselves step out of the mirror and lifts up the trio in their arms.

"YOU LITTLE...! I knew it was you! How the hell did you sneak in my quarters, huh?"

"We missed you! You said you'll come visit but it has been almost two months! Dad and Mom came but you didn't so we did what Pirates do: stole a treasure!" the oldest produces a shining pocket wathc with an inscription on its casing that you cannot clearly read from there and in the dim light.

The Captain laughs and makes a gesture towards the mirror: a big, clawed hand puts a wooden box in their hands, big enough to contain some decently sized objects. A small dagger for the big brother, who appears to be soon a young man rather than a child or boy, a map and a sextants for the middle sister and a fluffy, cute little Rubbery Feline plush for the youngest.

You follow them for a while, as the Captain chit chats with the trio. They politely ask you to tell the three siblings some of your most talked cases of missing jewelry or precious wares and you oblige with a faint smile: it takes a lot to make these stories children-friendly. But they're rather enthusiastic about them and your fame so you don't actually mind.

They insist that you and the captain challenge each other to a shooting contest.

They're good, it's pretty clear they're an excellent pirate, it's pretty clear to you that they're no mere Zailor or regular Captain by now, but they're swaying slightly as if being at Zee and miss a few shots, leading to your victory.

They take the three siblings to a House for Young Children and is welcomed by a joyous chorus of 'hello!' and 'WELCOME BACK CAPTAIN" as they leave the trio in the care of a handmaid and waves happily to the small crowd as they rejoin you, just outside the gates.

"Well, Detective Brett Heroux. Your fame and renown are well earned! I thank you so much for this evening. It's hard to be a Pirate and a good example for those little rascals. And to think they absolutely meant to go to Zee, some time ago! They're almost ready for the real deal, don't you think?"

They shake your hand firmly and bows down in a very elegant way and salutes you, strolling along the Docks and humming a happy melody, leaving you all alone and quite exhausted. Have you been a good example? You sure hope so. A detective and a pirate... What a fun and quirky duo they must have had looked like, that evening, running around London.

The day after you find a copy of "The Hound of the Baskervilles" on your table, signed by Francis Dargor Morgan.

"To the True Greatest Detective and hopefully, a newfound Friend. Yours truly, F.D.M."

As you have breakfast, the idea of a book about some of your cases comes back and playfully torments you for a while, leaving your heart lighter and your spirit happier. At least, for a while.

#fallen london #thunder threnodies #oc:captain francis dargor #oc: captain dargor #oc: brett heroux #ehehe gods help me with typos

[nezumeanie]

𐐪𐑂 B a d H a b i t s 𐐪𐑂

no warnings | gn reader | fluff | uh...not proofread __φ(。。)

Shu Itsuki has a few bad habits, including the fact that he doesn’t realize how heart fluttering they can be

❝ Shu hasn’t quite realized it but he’s become attached to you in a strange way. Inadvertently, he’s made you a part of his daily routine, his dreams and ambitions…❞

…and his afternoon cafe runs.

ఌ Though his concentrated face while mulling over his stage designs are heart fluttering, the issue lies (as he would say) with y o u. ‘Ah, is there a hole in your chin? How did you get icing there? You’re this old already how haven’t you learned how to eat properly yet?’ Shu always presses your cheeks between his elegant fingers, takes his napkin, and wipes off the remains of your cinnamon bun while scolding you. His hands feel a little cold but soft and after knowing him for so long you can only hear the warmth in his voice. You can’t help but think it’s a little unfair—he’s already talking to you about something different while your heart is still pounding in your chest.

ఌ His bad habits also follow the both of you out in public. It looks like there’s a brand new craft store across the street from the cafe, though it’s wares look a little cheap it’s still worth a trip inside! You always have to walk a little faster to keep pace with Shu when he spots something interesting, smiling slightly while listening to him talk about how long lasting cashmere can be if you treat your clothing with care. When you can’t fast enough Shu finds himself sighing and grabbing your wrist to make sure you don’t fall behind. ‘It’s important for you to know these things! And you’re walking to slowly! How can you do your job properly if you can’t manage to make it from one end to the other without assistance?’ Because he’s still walking ahead of you, you can safely give him a lovelorn look, why does he hold your wrist but not your hand?

ఌ Possibly his worst habit rears it’s head in the small craft store aisles……besides openly criticizing the fabric and jewelry making supplies for being stiff and unmanageable. There’s many other customers looking for ways to begin their seamster journeys. Too many. Whether Shu is a repellent or you are a magnet—people just won’t stop bumping into you. The thread aisle, the button aisle, the velcro aisle…Shu begins to huff like it was your fault. Placing an arm around your side he pulls you out of the way of another shopper, bumping your shoulders together. ‘Won’t you pay a little more attention?’ As if you could in a situation like this. His soap has just the faintest scent of linen & peonies, even though he smells like laundry in an open field something about it reminds you of star gazing. The only thing keeping you grounded is the feeling of his hand around your upper arm keeping you out of “harms way”. It might be a blessing that he has a bad habit of not noticing when he manages to make you feel so flustered. ‘Stand right next to me. Ah, I can’t take you anywhere.’ …..He really has a bad habit of saying that, too.

#not it being 3am TT_TT hello〜 #sorry i didn’t realize ppl were following this blog… #but i got struck by lighting #no w inspo struck w inspo #aha #but ig i got over my weirdness abt writing abt itsuki but there’s just a specific kind of relationship u can have a him #bc he’s so……Like That hahaha or what i mean is #his casual intimacy is always in a corrective way but never in an affectionate way because he has a hard time with affection #which may b confusing but praise & affection are separate things so he may like it when ppl talk abt how intelligent and creative he is but #admiring someone looking up to someone is much much different than liking and loving those are scary concepts #so it takes a lot of years of this sort of ‘im dating him & he doesn’t know’ until he could even entertain the idea of liking u TT_TT like #maybe if u had been born a porcelain doll things could be different hahahah im kidding! it’s been so long now that he calls u and tells u #his unfinished works and that’s a big deal you know #uh…wait how do i tag again? #things written #ensemble stars #enstars fanfic #enstars fluff #valkyrie enstars #shu itsuki x reader #shu x reader #shu itsuki #enstars x reader #valkyrie ensemble stars #enstars headcanons

[astranite]

Squid Hug!

Not ThunderPride and probably late for Gordon day, but have some FishTank fluffy hurt/comfort instead! I am tired and the gender fluid/genderqueer Gordon thing I am writing is currently not cooperating. I just had a really clear image in my head of Gordon running up to people he loves and full body tackle hugging them!

Small warning for a mention of Gordon's hydrofoil accident but that's all I think.

Enjoy :)

------

“Squid hug!” Gordon exclaimed before taking a running leap at Virgil. 

Virgil barely had time to brace before kilograms of flying squid collided with him, all limbs wrapping around Virgil. The momentum made him stagger, and Gordon was lucky they both didn’t go down to the ground. His arms instinctively went around Gordon to support him even as Gords clung to him like a particularly insistent barnacle, or possibly cephalopod. 

“Can’t breathe, Fish,” he reminded, because those tentacle-like appendages were vice tight around his neck. 

Gordon loosened his grip with a sheepish, “Sorry Virge.”

Equilibrium and oxygen re-gained, Virgil was free to ask, “What’s up, Squid?”

“Nothing,” Gordon muttered and buried his face at Virgil’s shoulder. 

The obstinate avoidance rang alarm bells. It was characteristic for Gordon deflect using humour to play a bad situation off as a joke, but nearly unheard of for Gordon to outright refuse to answer his questions. Virgil’s brows drew together, knowing Gordon was unable to see his concern, with how he was hiding against his shirt.

“When it’s nothing, usually give me a little more warning.” Not much more, but there was something else going on here setting off Virgil’s big brother senses.

He jostled Gordon gently, “You okay?”

The only effect it had was to make Gordon’s arms and legs tighten once more. His fingers bunched in Virgil’s flannel and his ankles hooked together behind his back. It was pretty clear he didn’t want to go anywhere.

Virgil felt as if Gordon was attempting to press them close enough to turn them into a single, eight limbed entity. Which was a very Gordon thing to do.

But it was also so Virgil couldn’t let him go.

Oh Gords. 

Virgil rubbed a hand over Gordon’s tense back and shoulders and just held him. 

“I’ve got you, it’s alright,” he murmured. 

Gordon was physically affectionate as a rule, always bumping elbows with siblings and sitting near enough to lean on someone. He’d had been that way ever since he was small. The the nickname ‘Squid’ was given from the way he clung on, more than from his swimming abilities. Unlike Alan, who quickly got to the stage of whining to be let down to run around like the big kids, Gordy never grew out of wanting to be carried around. Unless he sensed you were trying to keep him out of some sort of mischief and then it was like attempting to prevent a slippery wriggling fish from escape.

Gordon was always most comfortable sharing a personal space bubble. On bad days he was downright clingy, refusing to be out of touching range of anyone. 

Virgil never minded. Not before and not after, when a teary Gordon in the thick of recovering from the accident had confessed to how much it scared him to be left drifting and unmoored when he was in pain and alone. How contact was one of the only things that could make the unbearable even the slightest bit better. Virgil spent many long nights in the hospital and after gripping Gordon’s hand when he was hurting too much for even a hug. This was better, so much better than that. 

Sure, having someone in his space could get annoying, especially when he was doing maintenance on his ‘bird or working on his art. A inadvertent knock sending delicate mechanical components skittering across the floor. Chattering commentary interrupting his thoughts. A shadow leaning over his shoulder to see what he was doing, blocking the light from reaching his page. 

They figured it out. Gordon would sit on Virgil’s workshop bench, swinging his legs, but careful of where he poked curious fingers. Virgil had a set of noise-cancelling headphones to play his own music through, for when everything got to be too much. He picked up a marine-themed sticker book, because a bored fish was a troublesome one, which occupied Gordon for several hours, tucked into Virgil’s side and engrossed in placing sea creatures just so, while Virgil finished colouring a drawing he’d been meaning to get to for some time. Gordon learnt not to get between an artist and their light source because Virgil’s old fashioned paper sketchbook does not glow like a tablet.

Accidents were forgiven. After a bump to Virgil’s arm sent his pencil scribbling across his page, he was hugging an apologetic Gordon to his side and working out how to incorporate the extra line into the rest of his drawing. When Virgil just needed his own space for a bit, he helped to find Scott or John or Alan instead. Gordon dealt with splatters of paint and mechanical oil finding their way onto his already colourful shirts too.

Sometimes, after rescues or his own nightmares, Virgil needed the contact just as much. Plus, he loved hugs.

Right now, he held onto Gordon, even if they were standing in the middle of the lounge, even if he had other places he could be. That didn’t matter. Virgil could take Gordon’s weight as long as he needed to.

Virgil felt Gordon’s chest expand against his own as Gordon took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“It’s okay, Vee. I’m okay,” Gordon said. 

Vee, another one of Gordon’s nicknames for him. Virge, Virgy. Vee. 

Virgil buried his face in Gordon’s blonde hair to hide his sappy smile, brought out by the fond affection in his brother’s tone. Gordon would tease him if he saw, as usual ignoring that he could be just as bad. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Virgil offered.

Gordon shrugged, as much as he could when still latched onto Virgil.

“Sure,” Gordon said, “It isn’t anything really. Missed you on rescues lately, is all.”

His casual words were belied by how he held on a touch too tight.

Virgil gave an encouraging ‘go on’ hum, in hope Gordon might open up a bit more. 

It was true they hadn’t seen each other much this week, rescues overlapping and running late. No one had time for more than a pat on the back and a scoffed protein bar before the callout alarms went off again. Virgil hadn’t spoken to any of his siblings aside from terse updates from John and Scott’s clipped commands. A rough week all round. 

Most of those missions he’d flown out without Gordon in his usual co-pilot’s seat. International Rescue was so over-stretched, sending them out solo was the only way to cover all the incidents without breaking flight hour limits into pieces. Then Module Four’s mechanism something broke, and Virgil hadn’t had a chance to even figure out the problem yet, so Gordon got send out all over the world in his Thunderbird alone. 

It was Virgil’s turn to cling to Gordon, because he’d dropped Four and Gordon into the Atlantic and hadn’t seen more than a glimpse of yellow submarine bobbing amidst inky waves since. They’d been ships passing in the night, caught up in their own oceans of sea and sky.

Yesterday, Grandma had called it, everyone was too exhausted and she pulled medical rank. She alternatively sweet talked and threatened the GDF into stepping up to allow the Tracys to take their mandated leave. This was their first off time together in a while.

Virgil rested his chin on top of Gordon’s head, inhaling the scent of chlorine and saltwater that no shampoo invented could remove. Comforting in its familiarity, because it meant Gordon was here and safe in his arms.

“‘M fine. Just need more hugs.” The words were mumbled into Virgil’s shoulder, barely audible where Gordon’s voice usually rang out loudest. But Virgil heard them. He always heard his little brothers. He heard the silent, ‘Don’t let go,’ too.

Virgil pressed a kiss to Gordon’s forehead, then carried on with his day plus one clingy squid passenger. 

Virgil manoeuvred into the kitchen easily, then jiggled Gordon up to free a hand for the coffee maker. His third cup, not his first because his flying fish catching skills weren’t up to scratch before his second, unless the situation was particularly dire.

He was well practised at the art of operating one handedly, while toting around kid brothers. Or not so kid brothers, in Gordon’s case. 

Virgil put his muscle to good use picking up more than a fair share of stubborn older brothers too. At this point it was really just a ready-made excuse to skip the gym weights on a given day. He could throw an exhausted Scott over his shoulder without breaking a sweat despite any protests, when he found him sleeping face down on Tracy Industries paperwork at dad’s desk. He’d caught John far too many times too, in a losing battle with gravity midway to the floor. Virgil would scoop up the jumble of flailing, lanky limbs to take the complaining redhead back to bed. There was a reason he was the heavy lifter in the family.

Gordon wouldn’t be considered light by most people’s standards, his compact swimmer’s build packing a surprising amount of muscle per centimetre of height. Gordon was the only one of Virgil’s brothers who was shorter than him, except for Alan. Though that wasn’t likely to be for long, Alan’s slight build set to follow Scott and John’s tall, slim frames the moment he hit his growth spurt. 

Point was, Virgil had lifted plenty of heavier and less cooperative rescuees for far longer distances. Carrying the cuddlefish around the house? No challenge. And Gordon would always be little to him, that was just the way the world went.

Virgil poked around the cupboards, reveaing John’s chocolate stash. The one his space brother absolutely knew everyone knew about, but hadn’t moved because it was mostly used for family emotional support chocolate. Gordon helpfully took the chocolate packet, with no ulterior motives whatsoever. Then the coffee was done, and Virgil inhaled the steam from his mug of warm, heavenly brew.

Gordon wriggled out of his arms when they reached the sunken lounges, darting away to retrieve blankets. Virgil settled with his back against the couch side, legs stretched out, his coffee sat in easy reach on the floor level. He turned on the holoprojector, flicking through moderately mindless television programs. 

A pile of blankets thrown down heralded Gordon’s return. He flopped on top of Virgil as if there was no other room on the couch, knocking the breath out of Virgil’s lungs for the second time today. Virgil just wrestled Gordon into a more comfortable position where his lumpy elbows weren’t jabbing his ribs. 

Virgil sipped his coffee with a sigh. This was more like it, especially after a week where he was lucky to get two gulps of instant into him before it went cold. Now, where had the chocolate gotten to?

The distinct crinkle of foil alerted him to brotherly treachery. “Gordon,” He warned.

“Viiirgil,” Gordon sung out, propping himself up with a hand on Virgil’s shoulder to wave the bar of chocolate in his face.

Rolling his eyes, Virgil snatched the packet back. He huffed in mock affront, because he wasn’t giving in easily, secretly glad of the return of Gordon’s cheeky grin and cheery teasing.

He stuffed a few squares into his mouth. Whittakers, because John had good taste and Virgil had dragged him along on the last supply run to Aotearoa.

With the sweetness of the chocolate and rich coffee, the holoprojecter murmuring in the background, the warm weight of Gordon resting on his chest, Virgil was content. They both were. 

Gordon laughed softly at the show, then shuffled around to cuddle up closer to Virgil, whispering, “Squid hug!” 

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #fishtank #astrawrite

[thollandx]

I am here

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Fluff

Uncertainly I looked around and tried to find my mother or my father in this crowd of people. But both were nowhere to be found. The more the hall filled up, the more fear and panic gripped me.

I noticed how the panic gripped my body more and more and before I had a panic attack in front of these people who were strangers to me, I ran away inconspicuously.

I had to get out of this crowd and calm down in some empty room.

My parents knew about my fear, but they dragged me from one ball to the next. Of course I understood them, they just wanted me to find a good husband at the balls. But it was all just too much for me.

Even as a child I got scared when too many people gathered around me in one place.

I quickly ran away from the people around me, I took my dress in both hands and lifted it up. Well that wasn't exactly ladylike, but I didn't care so much at the moment. Since the panic increased and I noticed that I could hardly breathe.

Without paying attention to whom I ran past, I inadvertently bumped into a young man. He turned around confused and looked into my face.

His blue eyes looked at me in confusion and I desperately bit my lips together to keep from crying or even shaking in panic. Without saying anything to the man I just kept running, but I could feel his gaze on me.

I would have liked to apologize to him, but I knew that if I had said anything, I would have had a panic attack.

Without thinking, I opened the first door I saw and entered the dark room.

I quickly closed the door behind me and leaned against the door, sinking down against it.

When I was finally alone, I let my emotions take over. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. Again and again I went through in my head that I was alone and that there was no more danger for me.

Slowly my heart and body calmed down and I could breathe properly without breaking into tears.

When I realized that there was no more danger of a panic attack, I slowly got up from the floor and looked for the light switch of the room. I quickly found it and opened the light.

I found myself in a studio.

There were paintings and artwork all over the room. Some were complete and some were not yet.

Smiling I walked past the paintings and stopped at one and looked at it, it wasn't finished but still looked beautiful.

I had always been fascinated by art but unfortunately I was not talented in this area, but I did not miss the opportunity to admire the art.

The painting showed a landscape and so far there was only a large meadow and many beautiful flowers to see, yet it harmonize wonderfully with each other.

"Do you like it?",

Startled, I turned around and caught sight of the man from before.

Panic-stricken, I widened my eyes and didn't know what to say at the moment.

Was this his studio?

Was he the owner of this property?

But then he would have to be a Bridgerton, wouldn't he?

Without looking at him any further, I briskly walked past him to leave the room.

But he grabbed my wrist as I tried to pass him and automatically I had to stop.

Slowly I lifted my head and looked into his blue eyes again.

"Have you been able to calm down? Are you feeling better?" he asked me softly, looking at me with such a loving way that you would think I was a very special woman to him.

I nodded silently and wanted to move away from him, because I just didn't know why he was interested in my condition.

We didn't know each other at all.

"Are you afraid in such big crowds? If so, why do you voluntarily come to a ball?" he continued to ask me bluntly.

"My parents hope it will help me find a suitable husband, but unfortunately it always ends up like today. I panic and run away. The whole evening I then hide in an empty room until the ball is over and my mother then looks for me," I explained to him, secretly wondering why I was telling him this at all.

Only my parents knew about my fear....

I honestly felt ashamed too, since all the other women my age, could enjoy these great balls....

Sadly I looked at this man and knew exactly that he would look at me pityingly and throw me out of this room.

But what surprised me was that he just gave me a gentle smile and pulled me along by my wrist.

He sat down on the sofa that was in the room and just sat me down next to him, then grabbed a stack of paper and a pen.

"Please stay calm and let me draw you, at the same time you can calm down like this and you don't have to go to the ball," he explained to me and winked cheekily at me.

Speechless I looked at him but nodded only slightly, I was just fine with that, as long as I did not have to go back into the crowd.

One could perceive in the pleasant silence only quietly the music of the ball and the gentle brushstrokes of the brush on the easel met. My gaze went to the window in front of me and I looked at the stars in the dark night sky.

I was allowed to change my sitting position after being addressed by Benedict Bridgerton, he gave me his name and I gave him mine.

Now I sat on the windowsill and looked out, which did me good and I was happy inside.

Mr. Bridgerton was now standing across from me at an easel drawing me.

Neither spoke a word, but no one had to. There was a beautiful atmosphere between us in this room.

Every now and then I glanced at Mr. Bridgerton and smiled gently at him.

I didn't know why, but when I looked at him there was an incredible calm feeling inside me and my heart felt good.

This man radiates a calmness which made me feel very happy.

When the ball ended, I said goodbye to Mr. Bridgerton and thanked him for letting me stay in his studio and for the good time.

He just smiled and said we would meet again. I was sure he was just saying that out of context.

But what surprised me the next morning was that suddenly Mr. Bridgerton was standing in front of me with flowers and a painting.

"Would you do me the honor of letting me get to know you better and continue to paint you?" he asked me, showing me the painting.

It was what he had painted of me last night and he had finished it after I left.

It was beautiful and I looked like a princess.

"I'm not that beautiful...", I whispered unintentionally, but Mr. Bridgerton heard it.

"Oh my dear, if only you could see yourself from my eyes...I can't even capture your beauty, the picture is nothing compared to your beauty. Please allow me to meet you, I will always stay by your side. Always, even if fear should seize you again," he explained to me in a firm voice and his blue eyes looked at me hopefully.

Happily, I nodded and invited him in.

I had always seen my fear as my greatest weakness and as obstacles, but it seemed it wasn't after all.

My fear brought me to Mr. Bridgerton and helped me find my happiness....Sometimes the greatest weakness can also become the greatest strength....

#he is so cute #he is my everything #he is so beautiful #perfect #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict x you #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict x y/n #luke thompson x reader #luke thompson #anthony bridgerton x you #imagine bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #colin bridgerton #bridgerton brothers #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you

[hypmicdaydreams]

hihi could i please request Sasara with "in the kitchen" and "missing the other" from the kissing prompt list? maybe him just randomly kissing s/o just because he missed being in their presence from doing too many shows? thx very muchu✨

This is legitimately the cutest thing anon. It healed my soul so tyvm for the request! I feel like this is a perfect prompt for him lol so I hope I was able to do our favorite clown justice! Please enjoy 🧡

kissing prompts: in the kitchen bc of missing the other

-pairing: sasara nurude x gn!reader

-genre: fluff

-word count: ~950 words

“god,” you snort, laughing contagiously so. your boyfriend had just made yet another terrible, no good joke, again. honestly, you should be used to it by now, that and sasara’s antics, but you’re still doubled down over laughing, completely neglecting the meal on the stove (that was showing beginning signs of burning). it wasn’t even that clever of one! but sasara had his ways. no wonder he was a famous comedian. “that was such a bad joke.”

yet, your words bring a smile to his lips, and sasara can feel the warmth spread all over his cheeks. oh.. he smiles, all wide and bright. this was a much better feeling than having the audience laugh at his jokes during his usual shows. actually, it wasn’t anything like this, didn’t feel remotely alike — having you laugh at him. his heart jumps a beat, and the fluttery feeling gets to him and his head, all lightheaded in the best possible way; this was his absolute favorite feeling in the world.

as much as sasara loved his usual audience, he still couldn’t help but favor you. it wasn’t good for a comedian to pick favorites, but he did so anyway. or well, his heart did, at least.

“aw c’mon, that one was funny!” sasara laughs, more so in response to you. again, yours was absolutely contagious, his favorite sound ever. “see! even you laughed!”

“only because it was so bad.”

god, sasara had missed this, he smiles: you laughing at his corny jokes, and sasara getting in your way as you tried to make lunch in that tiny kitchen. he was too big and kept bumping into you, you’d often scold; but he couldn’t help it! after not seeing you for so long, sasara couldn’t help but always be around you, perhaps a bit much.

really, he hadn’t realized how homesick he was feeling until now, despite well, being at home. sasara adored his comedy shows and routines, truly! but this was just oh so much better. he hadn’t spent quality time with you in so long, always having to get up early before you to go to the studio then coming back late, by the time you were already asleep. sure he was coming back home each day, but he also wasn’t. you were his home after all.

sasara had missed you, sorely so.

there’s a content look to him as sasara watches you. it’s been too long, he thinks. and his gaze inadvertently lands on your lips as well. well, he quirks his brows; it’s also been too long since sasara has given you a kiss, he realizes. and before long, the want to do so overcomes him. gosh, has he been this touch starved the entire time? it even takes sasara himself by surprise, especially since he believed himself to be totally fine.

i mean, it was entirely true that he didn't like not spending much time with you. his work had entirely taken him away from you, and it wasn't entirely convenient for sasara to come home by the time you were already fast asleep on the couch, having waited for him again today as well. but he totally thought he was, at the very least, fine. it was just for now after all, after this bout of shows ended. but well, sasara was much more homesick than he thought.

so he goes in for the kill: a kiss on the lips.

you guys are already too close together given the small space of the kitchen, after all, so it was perfect. he takes full advantage of it and pulls a fast one, sasara pressing his lips to yours so quickly.

you squeak (another of his favorite sounds) and try to move back naturally, but the counter is blocking your way. you should be used to sasara’s antics by now after all, but you never are, totally taken aback by how seemingly out of nowhere he kisses you. it’s welcomed though, and he finds it totally cute when you inevitably kiss back after that small scare. you had missed him just as much.

your lips — they feel strange to him, but also familiar. it’s been a while since he had given you a proper kiss after all, so as strange and foreign as it felt at the moment to sasara, it was still warm all the more. there were still those very same sparks he often felt, and it makes him nothing more but giddy. i mean, he had missed you after all. he tended to be slightly more jovial and cheery around you.

sasara can’t help but smile into the kiss. gosh, this felt so good! the way his heart thumps again makes him nothing short of excited again, as if it was your guys’ first ever kiss all over again! he hadn’t realized until this very moment how much he missed the feel of your lips against his.

he hopes he doesn’t taste of melon cream soda; he had one just before coming back home. though i suppose it’d be a bit funny if he did.

when he pulls back, sasara still has that grin to him. he’s in utter happiness, a cute sparkle to sasara really. he can still feel a tingle on his lips, the very same place yours were just at, and it warms him up all the more.

oh, sasara had indeed missed you so.

(“my heart is more burnt than this dish from our kiss~”

sasara laughs at his own joke, and you can’t help but throw a glare his way. lunch was burnt all because of him and his antics after all. while you pick at your food, he seems to have no trouble eating it, a brightness to him still, perhaps even brighter now than before.)

#asks #requests #kissing prompts #hypmic #fluff #gender neutral reader #sasara x reader #sasara nurude #fic #hypnosis mic

[mad-world-of-meyrin]

My savior, my blackmailer...

Notes : This writing comes from my Hogwarts Legacy story We had it all available on Wattpad in English and French (Nous avions tout). Enjoy !

_________________________________________

Synopsis of the story : ' All my life I've been heading for hell, but never had I thought I'd drag you down as well ' - Sebastian Sallow

' They sold their hearts for diamonds and gold. I refuse to go down the same path as them. You and I have everything. ' -Omnis Gaunt

❗Warning : Hogwarts Legacy game spoilers❗

Y/n is a young witch who entered Hogwarts in the 5th year, and who found her place among the Slytherins. Between her many outings to explore the surroundings of the castle, or her fights against poachers, giant spiders or even trolls, her year was eventful.

Ranrok now defeated, and Hogwarts saved from a disastrous fate, y/n must face new dilemmas : the death of her beloved professor Eleazar Fig; and her budding feelings for two of her closest friends, Omis Gaunt and Sebastian Sallow. Two handsome boys with tortured souls. They are the opposite of each other, but have one thing in common : their love for y/n.

The OWLs are fast approaching and the year is coming to an end. Y/n hopes somehow that her 6th year will go well. But between her mixed feelings, the responsibilities that will be entrusted to her at Hogwarts and the new threats that will hang over her and her friends, can she hope to one day find a peaceful and safe life ?

_________________________________________

After almost a fifteen minute walk, we finally arrive at our destination. We can already hear the music and smell the smells of food and sweets that characterize this place.

Garreth takes me by the arm and leads me down a crowded street. An orchestra is playing on the side, several passers-by come out of restaurants or bars, and I can see from the perfectly arranged hairstyles of some ladies that they are coming out of the hairdressing salon of Madam Snelling.

' Hogsmeade, my second home ! ' Said my friend while jumping like a child.

' What do you want us to start with ? Honeydukes ? Gladrags ? I'll also have to go to J. Pippin's Potions and Spintwitches. '

' Um...better do what you want first. I think that of the two of us, you will be the one who will take the longest. ' I said, laughing tenderly.

' As you wish miss L/n. So, let's go to J. Pippin's Potions, it's the closest. '

Garreth and I run around the streets like two excited kids, but we don't care, it makes us feel good. We laugh out loud for no particular reason, and inadvertently bump into a few passers-by.

Once we reach our goal, Weasley immediately buys everything his wallet allows. In total, it comes out with a dozen articles.

' What are you going to do with all this ? A new secret potion ? '

My friend nods with a smile on his lips.

' I want to know what it's going to be ! Something that will help us make whoever we want disappear ? Or being able to read other people's minds ? ' I said pulling his arm towards me to annoy him.

' Be more inventive Y/n ! Well, all I can tell you is that it will benefit a lot of people, mainly you. '

The smile on his face fades as he says those words, and his gaze is lost in space.

It's weird, but it's Garreth...I'm going to act like this conversation never happened, he'll tell me more when he feels like it.

' W - well ! Let's go to Spintwitches ? ' I said trying to change the subject subtly.

We head to the sports needs store. I know that before the cancellation of the Quidditch year, Garreth was on the Gryffindor team. I imagine he wants to buy some new gear in case Black decides to rehabilitate this practice next year.

When we walk into the store, Albie Weekes greets us with a beaming smile.

' Good evening ! What a pleasure to receive the visit of two of my favorite customers ! '

My friend walks up to the shopkeeper and shakes his hand as a sign of politeness.

' I need a new broom. Mine has had a few...issues lately. ' He replies, approaching the selection of flight equipment.

We spend a good quarter of an hour with Mr. Weekes, Garreth familiarizing himself with the brooms he likes the most.

After paying for the goods, we leave the store.

' I didn't know you had trouble with your broom. ' I told him looking at him, curious.

' It broke recently. I was flying in a too risky area where air currents are usual, and my broom swerved. Not only did I land in a frozen swamp, but my equipment also collided with a massive rock. ' He said mimicking each action.

' Wait... So that's why a week ago you came to potions class all soaked and you smelled like dugbog ?! '

Garreth laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

' Yes exactly. Sharp really didn't like it. And...how do you know what the dugbogs smell like ? '

' I was forced to face a whole bunch of them...against my will, believe me. ' I said, shaking my head from side to side as the memories flooded into my mind.

We continue to share with each other all the rather funny misadventures that we have experienced during the year, when we arrive in Gladrags.

' So, I buy the uniform, and then we go to The Three Broomsticks ? ' I ask, to be sure we're on the same page.

My friend nods his head smiling fondly at me.

I always feel confident by his side. I know he will never hurt me and that I can be myself with him without worrying.

We enter the store. While I look for a new uniform with the help of one of the shopkeepers, Garreth takes a look at the shirts.

After a little while trying on different outfits, I finally found the one that suits me.

The skirt is a bit darker than the basic uniform, the shirt is white, and beautiful silver roses are embroidered on the left side. The wizard robe is black and green, and a large snake, also silver, is embroidered on the back of the garment.

' It's a temporary collection, so the items in it are quite expensive. But since it's for you, Miss L/n, I'll lower the price. ' The Head manager told me.

And indeed, I was entitled to a great reduction. I only paid a quarter of the original price !

Garreth and I exit the store. I'm as happy as a niffler when he gets galleons.

My friend puts his arm around my shoulders, and points to the light emanating from The Three Broomsticks.

' Are we going to drink this butterbeer ? I'm starting to get thirsty ! ' He said grabbing my arm.

I sigh, laughing, and we find ourselves running like two fools again.

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

Sitting at one of the tables on the upper floor of the establishment, me and the young Gryffindor quietly await our drinks.

He grabs my hands and holds them firmly in his.

' Y/n seriously. Tell me why you were alone at the Boathouse earlier. I'm sure getting some fresh air wasn't the first thing on your mind when you went there. '

' Well... if you want to know everything, while Ominis and I were in the reception room, he started talking about a sensitive subject and...I preferred to leave. Usually I would have had to face it, but at the time I didn't have the strength. ' I say, squeezing one of his hands.

' Sallow, again ? ' My friend asks.

I respond by simply nodding my head. I must admit that he and Sebastian are not the best friends in the world. Yet they rarely spoke to each other. But they have harbored a powerful hatred for each other for a long time, from what Ominis had told me.

' I'm going to be honest with you Y/n. This boy is a real poison. Whether it's for you, for his friends or even for all the other students of Hogwarts. He is toxic and knows it very well, but as he manages to get everything he wants one way or another, it's not a problem for him. Tell me, how many times in the year did he make you cry ? Has he ever apologized for treating you so miserably ? ' Garreth said, a dark glint in his eyes.

' He...he's not a monster, you know ? He just doesn't think about what he does or what he says. He's spontaneous, that's all. But it's not necessarily his fault… ' I said, my voice getting weaker and weaker.

' You see, that's exactly the problem ! You are always looking for excuses for him, so obviously in your subconscious he never does anything wrong ! I know what happened Y/n. I know he killed his uncle. '

When the information reaches my brain, I can no longer move. How is it possible ?! No one else besides Ominis and Anne knows about this !

' How's that... '

I try to articulate a few words, but Garreth immediately stops me by putting his finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet. Sirona Ryan arrives at our table and places two mugs of butterbeer on it.

' These are for you ! Have a nice evening ! ' She said smiling at us.

I stare at the liquid in front of me, horrified by the revelation the young Gryffindor has just made to me. Then I raise my head in his direction.

The latter smiles as if nothing had happened, it's almost terrifying, and raises his mug to the ceiling to toast.

' To that siren attack ! We wouldn't be here if it hadn't happened. '

#hogwarts legacy #harry potter #wizard #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #x reader #fanfic #sebastian sallow x reader #ominis gaunt x reader #natsai onai #amit thakkar #poppy sweeting #ominis gaunt x mc #sebastian sallow x mc #romance #wattpad

[mindful-of-ideas]

A/N: I accidentally learned that Aziraphale’s bookshop is really not a normal one, but for the sake of this, we’ll pretend like it’s your usual independent bookshop. Also, this is for everyone who doesn’t have English as their first language (mine is French).

“Wow,” you said quietly upon entering.

“Glad to see my bookshop still gives you this reaction,” said Aziraphale making you jump.

“Hi!” you said.

Truth be told, it was the coolness of the bookshop that left you impressed. London was suffering from yet another heat wave. But Aziraphale didn’t have to know that.

“Hi,” he answered, “how come you’re here and not at work? It is the middle of the week, isn’t it?”

“It is, but I wanted to take a few days off. Knowing it was going to be this hot outside I would’ve waited. I hate having to lock myself inside with the AC while the sun is out!”

“Is it really that hot, I don’t really feel it?”

“The sweat vaporize out of your skin when you’re outside. But it’s really nice in here, you’re right.”

You smiled at him and he smiled back.

“I’m so sorry,” he suddenly said, “I should stop talking and let you look around. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Don’t be sorry, and I actually do need something… I need recommendations. What do you have for me?”

“What are you looking for?”

“Ummm… I only have a few days off, so something that I can read quickly.”

“Right…”

“And nothing too demanding or dark. I want to relax during my break, not get tormented.”

“Alright, well there is this author,” he said pulling out a blue book, “Emily Henry. The youth seems to be really into it but I haven’t gotten around to reading one of her books yet.”

“My sister read that actually, it’s too… 'romancy' for me…”

“That’s okay,” he said while walking over to another bookshelf, “How about this one, Ocean Rush. It’s a manga and I know you like those!”

“What is it about?” you asked taking the book from him and flipping through the pages.

“We follow Umiko, a 65 years old woman who recently lost her husband, as she is pushed to follow her dream in cinematography after inadvertently bumping into a student.”

“That sounds nice… what else you’ve got? I can get more than one actually.”

“Well… it’s a different genre and maybe you already read it, but…” he said once again leaving you to go to another bookshelf, “we have this.”

You quickly made your way over to him. Above him, you could read ‘biography’ written in white cursive.

“Page Boy, it’s Elliot Page’s biography. You like that actor, right?”

“I do, I do,” you said.

“And it’s really not that long,” he said turning the book to show you its thickness before handing it to you.

You barely had time to take the book before he left again. This time he was heading for the back of the store. You knew that whatever he was going to propose next was going to be good, as all your favourite sections were down there.

“Now,” he said as you caught up to him, “I know you said you wanted something you could read quickly, but this is just right up your sleeve,” he said handing you one of the thickest books you’ve ever seen.

“How many pages is that?” you ask.

“A little over 700, but that’s not important,” he said before quickly moving on, “It is a fantasy novel, Ordinary Monsters, that takes place during the Victorian era. It will take you all over the world, the United States, England and even Japan, while the main characters are off to find and save orphans who have some strange powers. It is similar to Miss Peregrine but with something a little more dark and twisted.”

“Alright!” you said excitedly taking the book.

“Next…” he said getting up on a ladder to grab a tall black book, “… we have a graphic novel, The Sandman!”

“Never heard of that one…”

“Oh, it’s fantastic! The author just gets it!”

“Gets what…”

“You just HAVE to read it! It’s fantasy and horror but also adventure and dark! But there’s this sensibility to it. The drawings are also wonderful!”

“Alright, alright, put it on top of the pile,” you said.

He did so eagerly before turning back towards the shelves.

“And finally, I have this one,” he said standing on his tippy toes to grab a book.

This time, above his head, you could read ‘children’.

“It’s a children’s book, I know, well more like a teenager’s book, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it,” he said without missing a beat, “Maybe it will compensate for that brick I gave you earlier. It’s called Lonely Castle in the Mirror. Again, fantasy and magic but it’s from a Japanese author, so you get a completely different perspective. I’ve heard it’s also a great intro to Japanese literature though I started by reading Murakami myself.”

“These are all great,” you said now struggling to balance all the books, “Thank you! I do wish you had some stuff in French…”

“How come,” he asked taking half your pile away and setting it down on a table, “you can read in English just fine, can’t you.”

He went behind the counter and pulled two chairs for you to sit on.

“Yeah, of course, it’s just that sometimes French is just easier… the references, the way the sentences flow… it feels more natural to me… I’m sorry, I’m probably not making any sense right now.”

“No, no, please continue. Let me just check something,” he said getting up, “keep going!”

“Especially with more contemporary stuff… There's something about it, when you read it, you just feel a little bit closer to home. Like, somehow, the author managed to capture a glimpse of your soul and put it into words. Everything you read is familiar and new at the same time.”

“Well, see,” he said coming back and showing you his records, “I did get a shipment from Canada a few days ago. It should be in the back. Want to check if there are some French books in there?”

“Sure!” you said eagerly before following him to the back.

The box was small but it turned out to be filled with pocket books making it a decent amount. You rummaged through it carefully. Most of the books were in English, which was to be expected, but you managed to find a few in French. You had read three of them, but not the fourth one.

“This one might just do,” you said turning to face Aziraphale, “I know the author but I never read this one.”

“What is it like?” asked Aziraphale.

You thought that was a weird question yet somehow you had the perfect answer.

“It feels like going on a road trip. It's slow but not too slow, you get to enjoy the view and the ride while still knowing it will ultimately come to an end.”

“That’s… very poetic,” he said, “Who’s the author, I should write it down.”

“Jacques Poulin,” you said putting the book on top of your already big pile, “Now, I just need to choose which one I’ll get.”

You took a few minutes to flip through the books again before deciding on two, Lonely Castle in the Mirror and Ocean Rush, to buy along with the one by Poulin, La tournée d'automne.

“I’ll take those, though I will come back to get the others. The graphic novel in particular seems really good!”

“These are great choices!” he said as you paid, “let me just bag them for you.”

“Oh, there’s no need, really.”

“It’s my pleasure, and I got these free tote bags to give away anyway.”

“Thank you,” you said taking the bag from his hands.

“You're very welcome! I hope to see you around soon and I’m expecting you to give me your review on all of those.”

“Will do for sure,” you said getting out.

You made your way home quickly, partially because it was still very hot outside, but mostly because we were really eager to start reading. Once you got home, you threw your bag on the couch before going for a quick shower and putting on a comfier outfit.

“Alright,” you said to yourself as you made your way to your bag, “which one of you will I read first?”

But as you took out the books, you noticed Aziraphale had slipped an extra one in there.

“Well, I guess I’m starting with The Sandman then!”

#mindful-of-ideas #good omens imagine #Aziraphale imagine #good omens #aziraphale #Benedict Queuecumberbatch

[teaberrii]

Water Fights with Childe

Your eccentric aunt, Tsaritsa, opens a new resort and invites you for the grand opening and a lengthy stay. There, you meet three young managers who are at your every beck and call.

Scaramouche/Reader

Childe/Reader

Dottore/Reader

Notes: Part of The Harbinger House (Light ver.) one-shot collection. Also on AO3

After parting ways with your aunt, you bump into Childe outside. The man is shirtless and only wearing swim shorts. He’s filling up a water gun by the tap. When he sees you, he smiles. “Do tell me you’re joining the events tonight, princess.”

You see a bunch of water guns on a table as you walk over to him. “I didn’t know it would involve water gun fights.”

Childe turns off the tap. “Oh, there are many events planned for later.” 

Then, he turns the filled water gun on you and lightly shoots in your direction. It gets on your bare legs, and you quickly take a step back. “Hey!”

Childe laughs and puts the gun over his shoulder. “A little revenge doesn’t hurt.”

“Revenge? What did I do?”

Childe smirks. “Try and figure it out, princess.” You frown. So, when he looks away, you quickly grab a filled water gun and shoot in his direction. Childe quickly turns once the water splashes onto his back. You smile at him, and he smiles slyly. “Oh, it’s on.”

You run in another direction with Childe chasing after you. You scream softly when you feel water hit your back. Then you turn around and get your revenge by hitting him square in the chest. Soon you’re soaked, and Childe is just as wet. But you don’t mind seeing how good he looks with water on his toned chest. You’re hiding behind a small building when you hear light footsteps.

When you turn around, Childe is smiling at you. He isn’t pointing his gun at you. Instead, his gaze quickly sweeps you from top to bottom. “I didn’t mean to get you this wet, princess.”

You give him a deadpan look. “Is that supposed to be an apology?”

“I’ll give you three seconds to run. How’s that for being generous?” You notice that the water in his gun is running low. So, you decide to risk it. You quickly point your gun at him and start shooting at him without any hesitation. “Hey!” 

Childe shoots back, but his water supply quickly runs out. In the end, he tosses the gun aside and blocks your attacks with his arms. You approach him slowly, but you may have overestimated yourself. As soon as your water supply runs out, you’re left staring at a playfully angry Childe. Before you can escape, he grabs you, and your back gently hits a wall. His hands are on either side of your head.

“I wonder who’s going to win now.” His voice is low, and your gaze inadvertently wanders down to his chest and his lean stomach. Then, suddenly, Childe tilts your head up. “You’re turning red, princess. Is it from the heat?”

Feeling embarrassed, you quickly look away. But then, his soft lips find your neck. Your eyes widen, and your knees almost give when his light butterfly kisses begin. "W-what are you doing?"

He looks up at you; his eyes are dark. “...Something I’ve wanted to do for a while now.”

One of his hands finds your waist, and you bite back a moan when you feel his kisses travel from your neck to your collarbone. You feel his hand on your waist travel lower… and lower…. Until…

Childe jumps back when a sudden burst of water hits him. You quickly look to your right and see Scaramouche and Dottore only in swim shorts. Scaramouche doesn’t look happy, while Dottore has a sly grin.

“You’re cheating, Childe,” Dottore says.

Childe glares at them. “What are you doing here?”

Dottore points his gun at him, and Scaramouche grabs your hand. “Come.” As you run with Scaramouche, you hear Childe’s loud protests behind you.

#genshin childe #genshin fanfiction #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact #childe and reader #childe x reader #childe x you #childe #tartaglia fluff #childe tartaglia ajax #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia #genshin tartagalia #genshin impact fatui #fatui fluff #the fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers #theharbingerhouse

[etcrow]

The sound of her poems

Genre: headcanon post, reaction post, fluff

Characters: Fem!MC x Lucifer, Satan, Solomon, Simeon and Barbatos [not simultaneously]

Universe: Obey me

Warnings: none

Summary: the boys react to MC that writes poems

A/N: @amberheavendremurr asked for a reaction headcanon post, so since I am confused, I've written both. Enjoy bby

➳Lucifer

Lucifer, as usual, was finishing signing and filling out documents, the music in the background kept him company as he performed his duties.  MC was sitting on the couch, writing one of her many poems, her eyes fixed on her notebook, silent.

The avatar of pride would occasionally look up to lay it on her, watching her in silence.  In the background of the music you could hear the sound of the pen writing on the papers, while MC did not emit any sound.

"MC" then murmured Lucifer, looking up at her. "Would you like to read me something?"

"Mh?" the girl had looked up at him, nodding and smiling at him. "Of course"

Lucifer had let slip half a smile, returning to write and fill out the documents, while MC's voice kept him company along with the music.

Headcanon bonus:

Lucifer is pleasantly surprised by her abilities;

He secretly reads her poems when he is down;

MC would leave poems on his desk to wish him a good morning;

MC would use his poems to seduce him;

MC would read poems to Lucifer while relaxing listening to music in his studio.

➳Satan

Satan couldn't sleep that night.  He had turned from one side of the bed to the other without success. He had observed his DDD, noticing a message from MC, so she had asked her to join him in his room and bring her notebook of poems  with her. The girl, confused, had taken the notebook and headed to Satan's room, knocking on the door.

"The door is open," Satan replied  on the other side of the door, and she opened it, finding him lying on the bed.  She had sat on the bed next to him, watching him. "Do you want me to read you something to sleep, Satan?"

He had nodded, bringing a hand over his temples.

MC then began to read, her voice perfectly punctuated every single word and it seemed that she was singing.  Satan had closed his eyes, listening to her read, and every time the girl finished a poem, he whispered 'Read another' and she then went back to reading.

After a few poems, Satan had not answered and MC had smiled, leaving him a kiss on the forehead.  "Goodnight Satan" had then murmured, snuggling up next to him to sleep.

Headcanon bonus:

Satan would ask MC to read his poems to him before falling asleep;

They would go around bookstores to look for books on poems;

He would try -and be embarrassed- to write poems for her;

Satan has a small notebook where he keeps all the poems that MC has written for him.

➳Solomon

Solomon couldn't believe what he was reading. He could not believe that MC, of all people, could write poems. In his defense, he had not opened his notebook voluntarily, but when he entered his room to look for her, he had inadvertently bumped into that notebook, causing it to end up on the ground. The sorcerer then picked it up and read a few pages.

"Look at this..." he had whispered as he read some of the pages of that notebook.

At that moment, MC had entered her room, being shocked by that scene. Solomon had her precious notebook in his hands. She had made a feline leap, trying to grab it, but the sorcerer had raised the notebook to the top, grinning.

"I must admit," the sorcerer later said, "That I did not expect you, of all people, to write poems."

MC had inflated her cheeks, managed to grab his notebook and secure it in her drawer. From that day she would use a padlock. "If you're going to make fun of me, do it, but don't hope I'll ever speak to you again."

He had smiled, bringing a hand under the girl's chin. "On the contrary, I find your idea of memorizing spells through your poems to be brilliant, my pupil."

MC was blushing slightly, looking away. That damn sorcerer knew how and when to press the right keys.

Headcanon bonus:

At first, Solomon would jokingly tease her;

He would leave messages in her poetry notebook;

MC would write poems to remember the spells Solomon teaches her;

Solomon would give her books of poetry and prose along with books of spells.

➳Simeon

Writer's block is the worst enemy of those who try their hand at writing books.  Simeon was sitting at the computer, staring at the blank page in desperation. For days he had not been able to write anything and did not know how to solve the situation.  He had tried to go out for a walk, he had taken a nap, he had even reread the previous chapters and dared to change the font to comic sans ms to have a minimum of inspiration, but nothing.  It was as if that blank page was staring at him, mocking him and taunting him. The angel had sighed, staring at the void, then he had an illumination.

He had called MC, hoping that she would answer, and when she did, he had not given her time to answer that he had immediately asked her to read him one of her poems inspired by one of his books.

The girl was speechless for a second, then took her notebook and started reading him one of her poems.

The angel had closed his eyes, listening carefully to MC's voice and suddenly an idea flashed in his mind, making him rejoice silently.

"Thank you, MC. I've found inspiration again, I love you"

The girl, although Simeon could not see her, blushed slightly, smiling. "Helping you is always a pleasure, Simi"

Headcanon bonus:

Simeon would read his poems to find inspiration;

He would ask her to write poems based on her books;

Simeon would read Luke his poems to make him fall asleep;

Simeon and Luke would write a poem for her;

MC would send him  poems using crows.

➳Barbatos

Barbatos had finally given himself a break after all the work he had done during the day.  He was sitting on one of the many sofas in the castle, while MC, who was there with him, was lying on the couch using the demon's legs as a pillow.

The girl was leafing through her notebook of poems, while Barbatos enjoyed his well-deserved tea.

"MC" had murmured then, between sips. "Would you please read me something from your poetry notebook?"

MC had smiled, looking for one of the demon's favorite poems. "I would be honored, Barbatos"

The girl had begun to read one of the poems, the soft voice accompanied by the music in the background that probably came from Diavolo's room, and Barbatos had closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the tea and that magical moment together with MC. Poetry could be magical if accompanied by the right person.

Headcanon bonus:

He would ask MC to write poems and read them during tea time;

MC would read him his poems to make him relax when he takes a break;

Barbatos secretly writes poems and MC is the only person authorized to know and read them;

They share a notebook of poems.

#obey me one master to rule them all #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me post #obey me mc #obey me headcanons #obey me female mc #obey me x female mc #obey me x female reader #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me barbatos

[twistedrunes]

Just getting some thoughts out of my head about people's vague posting about other people 'stealing' their ideas for fic. Because I gotta say my anxiety is off the scale. Warning: unfiltered rambling below the cut.

I'm going to be vague here because this isn't a call-out post. I don't want to start any drama; people are entitled to feel how they feel. But, I need to get this out.

As anyone who follows me for my writing (if you are, I'm so, so sorry) knows, I haven't put anything out there for ages. But I have still been writing lots of different things. I just haven't shared any of it publicly. Some of what I've been writing has been for one of a particular actor's characters; I even have 2 fics where OC has the same job! But they are, to my mind, very different stories (this will be relevant in a bit).

Part of the reason I haven't shared is because I don't want to let people down by not finishing a fic again (I'm not saying that I'll never finish George, but I also acknowledge it's been a LONG time since I updated). But also because I've noticed the rise of people criticising other people for 'stealing ideas' and honestly, I'm scared of putting anything out there that may bring a bunch of angry fandom peeps raining down on me if I inadvertently 'steal' an idea of one of the fandom darlings. I have way too much other shit happening in my life for my escape to be turned into something I want to avoid.

Over the last few days, I've seen someone (Let's call them VP1) vague posting about other people 'stealing' fic ideas. This person (and many of their mutuals) writes for a particular actor rather than for particular shows/movies/etc. It has come to light today that this person is upset because they posted about a specific au/trope (pervasive generally, but I don't think I've seen a single character this actor has played not subjected to this trope) and a specific character. VP1's post was a couple of pics of the character and a comment that the image made them want to explore this trope. Apparently, someone (let's go with SO1), posted a fic with said character and trope not long after. VP1 is pissed and has gone from vague posting to reposting SO1's fic with a link to the post of 'their' idea.

Now look, I can understand being a bit hurt or miffed, if you think perhaps someone has done something you wanted to do. But, like, my anxiety is going off. Because how on gods green earth does one avoid 'stealing' ideas if it means not writing about anything anyone has ever considered ever?? Especially when that idea is a common trope. How does VP1 know that this fic hasn't been bumping abound in SO1's WIPs for ages. How do they know the person ever saw their post. Or maybe they did see the post and remember that dusty old fic in the WIPs folder. But even if not, does a single post give you the right to stop anyone else from writing about that at all? I mean shit we, could all get a kick up the ass for writing fanfic if that's the case. It's one of the most common criticisms of the genre. Additionally, there is absolutely nothing to say that VP1 can't still write their fic and put it out into the world. I'm sure no-one will complain (two cakes and all that!).

Now, I have read some fics in my time that seemed on the surface to be similar to stuff I had written. And yeah at first there is a bit of a sting. But, given that there are generally a limited number of options for introducing a character into a specific universe, similarities are to be expected. I don't generally write AU's myself, but I have read a million versions of coffee shop AU's often with the same characters by different authors! But most of the fics quickly divert off into a thing all its own. Hell, I've written fics that were based on the ideas, fuck even the worlds, of other members of fandom (looking squarely at you @whentommymetalfie - admittedly, I do acknowledge the person whose thought sent me off to write - if it's immediately apparent to me. If something bubbles up days or weeks later, I may not remember - sorry). And that's what I love about fandom; it's collective, really; we develop fanon, we goad each other on to hurt each other's feelings more and more, and we drag tropes and au's in a million directions to see where we get.

Now, part of the reason I mentioned my own writing earlier is that a particular character played by the actor in question inspired me into 'recycling' original fic ideas I wrote aeons ago (ok, like 2016). I have three fics for that character living rent-free in my brain right now. Two of them both have an OC with the same specific occupation. It relates to how they met Main Character. However, the stories are vastly different in regard to their focus, character development etc. etc. So am I 'stealing' my own ideas?? Am I being lazy by not coming up with completely new everything every time?

I don't know what the point of all this is. Maybe I'm just feeling old and tired. But I just need to get this out.

All I know is there are a limited number of stories to tell but infinite ways to tell them. What matters and what makes them different is how 'we' tell them. Each writer brings their own stuff to it. I mean, 'Person Encounters Alien' has produced everything from "Alien" to "Paul"; they are all different, interesting, unique and influenced by the people who wrote them.

I don't want fic to feel like work or a competition. I want to write stories and share them without fearing fandom wrath. I want to read a dozen versions of the same characters in the same AU and find joy in how each person made it different.

#personal #may delete later #why can't people be generous in spirit #rather than assuming the worst of people

[wardlowsbabydoll]

Suspicious Minds- Kenny Omega and Hangman Page

So I recently watched Elvis and the Suspicious Minds Vocal Intro is literally the best thirty-something seconds right at the beginning and it inspired this so I had to include the link for the heaven that this was.

Also this is going to be a short little drabble with Poly! Kenny and Hangman with a Fem! Reader

Word Count: 787

‘Oh, let our love survive’

You were crying backstage at Full Gear, watching your boyfriends lay it all out on the line. What had once started as a teasing thing between Kenny and Adam had escalated into something more dark, twisted, and personal. More than once had they used you as a weapon in promos or sometimes (Kenny usually) would inadvertently use you as a human shield. Adam tried to keep you out of it as much as he could but it was of no use. It hurt you immensely to watch the two men that you loved more than life itself try to kill each other. You had been praying the whole time to anyone who would listen that once this was all over, once the final winner was decided in this battle that your relationship would survive, that your love would be strong enough to survive this very large bump in the road.

‘I’ll dry the tears from your eyes’

You didn’t even realize that someone had joined you at the monitor, and you jumped slightly when a hand touched your shoulder only for you to relax when you saw your older brother Matt; you figured Nick was already in Dusty talking to Tony. “You okay?” Matt asked you even though he already knew the answer; he and Nick had been watching you fall apart quietly this entire feud. You stared at your big brother for a moment before finally shaking your head no, more tears falling down your cheeks in a hot stream. Without thinking Matt pulled you into his arms and let you cry, it broke his heart to see you so upset, you were the baby of the family, you were what was usually called the “change your life” baby. Your siblings were almost all teenagers when you were born and they were fiercely overprotective when it came to you. Matt and Nick even threatened Kenny and Adam when your relationship first started out. After a few minutes of you crying, you pulled away from Matt and turned back to look at the monitor, flinching when Kenny took a bump a bit too hard. “Is this how it ends? Is this where I lose them both?” You whispered, terrified to find out the inevitable truth. “No. Your love for them and their love for you is stronger than this.” Matt said. You sniffled and wiped your nose slightly with your hoodie sleeve. Matt didn’t say anything as he turned your face away from the monitor for a moment and wiped the tears from your eyes; something he and Nick have done since you were a baby.

‘Let’s don’t let a good thing die’

It was finally over. They went at it for almost half an hour. You didn’t know what to feel. Happiness, for it finally being over. For Adam winning. Anger, that they had let what was a friendly feud off camera turn into an all-out blood bath between them. Sadness, for Kenny, losing. Fear, for both of their safety; neither of them knew where to draw the line. You were especially scared for Kenny, knowing how many injuries he had going into the match. Dread, because you thought this would be the end of your relationship and you didn’t want to choose. You loved them both too much to choose. You felt sick when you saw them coming down the hallway towards you. As they got closer they could see the worry etched in your brow and the tracks where your tears had streamed down not a few minutes prior. Once they were within arms reach Adam dropped the heavy and very expensive title onto the floor and pulled you into his embrace, Kenny soon enveloping you both. They could hear you sobbing as you attached yourself to them, mentally beginning to brace yourself for the fatal blow. They went to pull away but you just held on tighter, wanting the moment to last before inevitable heartbreak. As if they could read your thoughts they squeezed you just as tight and whispered sweet nothings to you. They told you that everything was going to be okay, that this wasn't the end of your relationship with them; that they were willing to try everything to fix what had been damaged during these past few months. They told you that they weren't going to let your relationship die, that your love would power through, and they apologized for letting it get so personal. They knew that had a lot of making up to do between each other and with you, in more ways than one. And they were prepared to do that, which only made you fall in love with them more.

#Spotify #kenny omega angst #hangman page angst #hangman adam page #Kenny omega #two of my favorite blondes #himbo cowboy #AEW imagine #aew x reader #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling angst #aew dynamite #aew full gear

[yesterdanereviews]

Men in Black: International (2019)

Film review #536

Director: F. Gary Gray

SYNOPSIS: Molly has been obsessed by finding out who the “Men in Black” are ever since she saw them and an alien as a child. She eventually tracks them down as an adult, and convinces them to let her join as a provisional agent. She is sent to London for training where she meets veteran Agent H, and the two inadvertently get caught up in an alien plot that threatens the whole world...

THOUGHTS/ANALYSIS: Men in Black: International is a 2019 sci-fi film and the fourth in the Men in Black franchise. The film focuses mostly on Molly, who when she was a young girl saw an alien in her home, and watched as the men in black came and neuralised her parents. Since then, she has been obsessed with finding out who they are, and about the existence of aliens. Now an adult, she manages to track them down and convince them to let her join. As a probationary agent she is sent to the London branch, where she meets Agent H, a veteran and hero of the branch. the two get involved in an alien plot that threatens the whole Earth, and only they can stop it. The film is a spin-off the the previous trilogy, with none of the characters from them making an appearance apart from one. The plot has most of the typical plot points you would expect from a Men in Black film, with the two agents having to protect a small alien artefact from evil aliens who intend on destroying the world. The plot generally takes a bit of a backseat role compared to the main characters and the general feel of the Men in Black doing their daily jobs, and the comedy that results form it. Unfortunately, this does not feel like a Men in Black film at too many points: the big action scenes are at odds with an agency that seems to be trying to keep their work a secret, the lore seems incompatible with the other films (such as the Eiffel Tower being built for a wormhole or some such, when the first contact with aliens was supposedly in the U.S. in the 60′s. Everything the characters do just doesn’t fit with what we know about the Men in Black. As a typical action film it has a variety of locations and some decent action, but again, just feels out of place. The story feels like a cheap imitation of the other films, and at nearly two hours, it goes on far longer than necessary. having the “international” element doesn’t really add anything new to the franchise, especially when the locations are ones we would typically see in films like this.

The biggest drawback in the film for me is the characters: the previous trilogy had some bumps, but was generally saved the chemistry between it’s two leads, which, while it wasn’t too original to pair a rookie and a veteran, they still generated plenty of strong interactions, comedy and emotions. Here, we get none of that. Molly as Agent M has a mix of personality traits that are jarring and don’t really endear her to her character: I get that she had to be different to a complete “rookie” so as to differentiate herself from Agent J, but her enthusiasm and obsession with the men in Black makes her an annoying character that just feels way out of her depth. Maybe it could have been interesting to contrast her extrovert enthusiasm with the secretive, repressed nature of the Men in Black agency, but I don’t think that has been accomplished here. Agent H is just...bland. I think he’s meant to be written like that partly, as the typical heroic and accomplished agent, but again, that heroic nature just doesn’t work in an agency that is supposed to be discreet and not stand out. The chemistry between them is just non-existent, and nothing ever develops between them. The aliens are altogether forgettable in their design, and supporting characters don’t leave a mark. There’s a fair amount of reviews that say the chemistry between the two is the only redeeming feature of the film, so your mileage may vary on this aspect. The only character that returns is O, the head of MiB, who is more or less the same as she was in Men in Black 3, which is not a bad thing, and we get a brief cameo of the worms and Frank the pug (Who are naughtily given prominent space on the poster despite being in the film for less than thirty seconds), but other than that, it all feels slightly disconnected to the franchise, and any attempt to build something new with the characters just falls flat.

As mentioned, there’s some okay action scenes and a variety of locations, but most of it feels like it doesn’t belong in the Men in Black franchise. I’m also not sure who the film is aimed at, as a lot of the more darker and complex elements have essentially been removed, so it feels less adult, but then again doesn’t seem like a film for younger audiences. The humour is way off the mark: I think I got a slight laugh at one joke: most of it is entirely predictable, and the banter between the two leads, which is supposed to be funny, just comes off as annoying and distracting. The film apparently had a troubled production and underwent numerous re-writes and tinkering, and it definitely shows: the film is all over the place, and not just literally in terms of locations. The film has the return of Danny Elfman for the music, and Steven Spielberg to produce alongside Barry Sonnenfeld (who directed the previous three films), but they just cannot save the script or offer a direction for the franchise. The original film was a tightly packed venture that, while not the best or most original film, was entertaining enough for a summer blockbuster, and built up a nice world for its characters to grow. Every sequel has been trying to match it, and they all fail to do so (Although Men in Black 3 does a good job in it’s own right). The constant recycling of the same plot has failed to give the franchise any room to grow, and while Men in Black: International tries to do some new things, it manages to change too much, so that it doesn’t feel like a Men in Black film for the most part. I appreciate that it it tries to create a new dynamic between the two leads that differentiates them from Agents J and K, but they just don’t come together to make something memorable or interesting (although I appreciate that they didn’t shoehorn in a romance subplot). The story is very thin and as mentioned, recycled, and it just feels like nobody knows what to do with this franchise after the first film over twenty years prior. The humour is predictable and never lands properly, the alien designs are uninspiring, and overall I don’t think there’s anything really interesting or entertaining enough to warrant a watch. I would have to say this is the worse film in the franchise, even below Men in Black 2.

#movie #movie review #men in black international #men in black #sci-fi #film #film review #2019 film

[justastrugglinghotchocolate]

Chapter 4 of the role swap fic

CW: Period-typical homophobia

Btw there was a double post, so make sure you read chapter 3 first!

Over the next few weeks, the American came by at least once a day. Since his Godfather demanded his presence at the parties of the English high society so visits either lasted hours or a few minutes.

When he was there, regardless of how long, he always brought some form of food or ingredients he'd need for the next time he planned to cook for Basil. He even brought accursed coffee grounds, for when Basil had to keep his end of their deal. The painter was sure to make his disgust evident that afternoon.

The day after he had missed meeting Henry, Basil sent the man a letter, apologizing and promising to meet next time. He had initially doubted the man would read it, but then received a letter back. The lord invited Basil to join him for tea later in the week. Basil had declined and offered to meet sometime later. Roland had already asked if the artist would join him for a walk on that particular day.

They got along well. Two outcasts, looking out for another as much as they were allowed to. Basil had never had a friend nearly as strange as Roland, the American claimed he never knew someone with such dry humor.

The matter of why the artist was held in such contempt by society was never brought up, despite Roland's clear interest. It seemed that he'd only accept the story from Basil himself, though he relayed that many in the upper class were dying to tell him. He would avoid them the moment they warned against associating with the artist.

“You aren't worried that so many advise against my companionship?” the painter had asked him once. They were in the kitchen, Roland insisted on making a stew he used to make often in Chicago. He had to use the closest vegetable equivalents, minus the 'squash'—not that Basil knew what that was besides a childhood game.

“Are you going to use that knife to kill me?” Roland smiled playfully at the artist's appalled look, “See, you would have done it, if you were dangerous.”

“It—that's not,” Basil shook his head, “You are so very strange. I worry you might get yourself in trouble.”

“I'm American, that's what we do. Hand me the…the…uh…?”

“The leek?”

“If it's the celery lookalike, then yes.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Basil handed him the leek.

“Thank you.”

Indeed, they got along well.

When they weren't cooking, they were usually out on walks. Roland was curious about the rest of London, the sides he never saw when his Godfather forced him to attend parties. Basil figured that if he wasn't going to ever draw the man, the least he could do was show him the city. During their walks Roland constantly asked questions, wanting to know everything about the city. The American focused on every word the artist said as if it were the gospel.

During one of their walks, Roland had asked if they could visit a small, seemingly hidden jewelry store they passed by.

“Are you looking to buy a ring?” the artist asked.

“No, I just want to see what's here,” the American opened the door for the other man, “Tell me if you want anything, I'll buy it for you.”

“You don't have to.”

“I want to.”

The American always offered to pay for whatever Basil seemed to want. Every time, Basil refused. Even though Roland said he wouldn't owe him anything, the artist feared he might bother the man. He didn't want to lose another person so soon.

The shop was quaint, most of its wares were displayed in the open. Assumedly, the most expensive gems and jewelry sat behind the counter, where a very wary shopkeeper eyed Basil. The artist stopped. He quickly realized he was not welcome here, but his attempt to leave was inadvertently stopped by Roland, who bumped into the other man.

“Is something wrong?” the American saw the clerk and waved to him, “Are you closed?”

“No.”

“Then we'll have a look around.”

Before Basil could even turn to object, the American interlocked their arms and cheerfully brought him around the shop. He pointed out the different gems and spoke about the histories and their importance. All the while, Basil felt the shopkeeper's eyes on him.

His eyes fell upon a gold brooch shaped like an azalea flower with a blue topaz set inside. It reminded him of Dorian, and he wondered if the young man might want it as a gift if he returned from France.

“Do you want that one?” Roland asked.

“I do, but I can't ask you to pay for it,” Basil sighed, “Besides, I was only planning to give it to someone else.”

“Well now I have to get it for you,” the young man chuckled, “If I buy it and give it to you, you can give it to your ‘someone else’, and then they can give it to someone else and so forth. It'll be wonderful, hundreds of years from now, it might just have traveled all over the world!”

Basil smiled, then watched in surprise and concern as Roland marched toward the shopkeeper. He opened his mouth to speak, but then Roland was already asking for the price.

“We don't sell to people like him,” The shopkeeper growled. He sneered at Basil, “Spreading your filth to the youth too? You damned devil.”

The artist paled. He looked to Roland, fearing that he would ask for an explanation. Would the American turn away from him? Be angry because Basil hadn't told him, or worse, disgusted?

The American shrugged, “Alright, then sell it to me.”

The man glared, “We don't sell to the likes of you either.”

Basil expected Roland to react angrily, not with genuine shock.

“You would deny yourself business because you dislike us?”

The clerk did not answer.

Roland narrowed his eyes. The room seemed colder. After a few seconds, he absently remarked, “How pathetic.”

He kicked the leg of a small display table, knocking all of the jewelry off. They clanged as they hit the ground and the clerk scrambled to pick them up. He turned and grabbed Basil's hand, “Let's leave, then.”

“You're disgusting!” the shopkeeper called after them, “You're a horrible plague on our country!”

As the pair walked out the man shouted out an obscenity specified to Basil. Before the door closed, he screamed, “They should have hanged you, you filth!”

Basil looked at Roland who remained completely unfazed, opening the door and leading him out as if nothing had happened at all. He released Basil's hand once they walked outside. The artist lagged behind him as they walked, stricken and dazed with worry and fear of what might befall the young man.

“Roland,” the artist called once he felt he could speak again.

“Yes, Basil?” the American slowed to the artist's pace so that he could see him as they talked.

“What you did inside that shop—”

“Admittedly, that was not one of my better moments. You don't need to lecture me about what I did, I knew it was wrong.”

“But, why—?”

“Because he was being a complete fool. Not to mention rude,” Roland looked ahead at the road in front of them. His eyes were hard and cold, his voice lowered, “Striking at the table was childish, I should've done more.”

“He might prosecute you,” Basil urged.

“He won't get far. Edwards will pay off anything that threatens his name, besides he has no evidence and I hardly committed a crime. For all the police know, I simply tripped and knocked into the table.”

He stopped to face Basil, “If he comes for you, tell me. I won't let him do anything to you.”

A silence fell upon the pair. Basil replayed the moment in his head, comparing the Roland in the shop to the one next to him now. He had noticed something shift in the man's demeanor between here and then—something he couldn't figure out.

“Why did he call you that?” Roland asked softly, breaking Basil's train of thought. The artist froze and watch in muted terror and the American turned to look at him. They stood still and a gentle breeze passed through. Basil wished he could sink into the ground.

Roland gently continued, “That's not just a random insult is it? It's only used for...”

His eyes widened as a realization dawned on him. He stared at Basil in silence. The painter shivered, awaiting judgment.

“It's cold, isn't it?” Roland smiled, like nothing at all had occurred, “The winters must be terrible. I don't know if I shall survive. Come on, Basil, let's go back to your home.”

Basil numbly followed, confusion defining his every thought. Roland wasn't stupid, he must have figured it out, but then why was he pretending not to know? Was it a ploy? Was he going to spend this last day with Basil and then never speak to him again? He didn't hear anything else Roland might have said, too caught up with his incoherent fearful thoughts.

Eventually they were inside of his estate. He looked at Roland, expecting to see disgust. But the American seemed to be the same as always; smiling and talking as he always did. He caught on to Basil's silence.

“What's wrong?”

“I—I would have told you,” the artist stammered. He looked down at his hands, “I was going to, but I didn't know what to say or how to say it. I thought you'd think less of me.”

“Basil,” Roland called. The artist looked up to see the man's impassive face, “Catch.”

He tossed a small object which the painter barely caught. He stared in shock as Roland began walking towards the door.

“I'll be back tomorrow,” he said, “If I don't leave now, Edwards will tell his servants to deny me at the door. I will see you tomorrow, though.”

“Roland,” Basil looked up from the topaz brooch the American had given him, “This is—you, you stole this.”

“Yes, but the bigger crime was his refusal to sell it to us,” the young man looked at the artist, “You can give it back to him or I can drop off the payment tomorrow. Whichever you want more, but I truly believe it's better off with you. Don't wear it outside for the next few days, though.”

“What we talked about earlier—”

“Tell me, tomorrow, if you want. But don't tell me anything now. It's been quite an eventful day, you might say more than you mean or need to.”

Basil watched as Roland walked to the door. Quietly he asked, “Why haven't you turned me away? How can you treat me so kindly after knowing what I am?”

“Basil, my friend, until you tell me, I know nothing at all,” the American grinned, “Tomorrow, tell me tomorrow.”

He closed the door behind him. Basil suddenly felt exhausted. He stumbled up the stairs and away to his room. It was too early to sleep, but too late to do much of anything else. He sat beside his bed on the floor, staring into space. In his hand he held the brooch.

He could give it back. That entailed being yelled at, getting dirty looks thrown at him, and possibly violence considering how volatile the shopkeeper had been.

He could have Roland return and pay for it. Then his young friend would be admitting to the crime and would be in legal trouble. Perhaps he could ask Henry to—no, the painter knew that Roland and Henry spending any more time together than necessary would lead to a house fire. They were simply too different and Henry had made his distaste clear enough already.

His eyes landed on the music box sitting on the desk above. He brought it down to the floor with him and opened it. There was just enough space under the glass orchids that he could fit the brooch under it. Surprisingly, the blue glint only made the display better, tinting the flowers every so slightly. Through the white orchid, the blue was the same shade as Dorian's eyes. A quick wind of the box showed that the display still spun normally.

He got up from the floor and returned to the sketch he had begun of the young man all those weeks ago. He sighed when he saw it. Like all the other sketches he had done since his former muse began his music career, it was wrong. He never knew what was wrong exactly, but it always was.

He absently tried again, sketching the profile, but a bitter, long held frustration began coating his movements. Dorian's kind eyes simply would not translate to the page, the hair wouldn't retain the same lively bounces the real man's curls did. Basil gave up mid way, resigning to moving in vague motions that resembled drawing.

He was so very exhausted from feeling that familiar flash of irrational resentment. It, like everything unpleasant in his life today, stemmed from that night. That horrible night that he only remembered in flashes of anger, hurt, passion, and fear. It was all a messy painting, still wet, dripping, and coloring the rest of his life miserable. Now it leaked into the tentative friendship between him and Roland.

Basil later realized as he put away the sketch that it bore a striking resemblance to Roland.

First/Previous/Next

Heads up, next chapter is going to take a little longer, got some life stuff happening!

AO3 link:

#the picture of dorian gray #tpodg #basil hallward #original character #fanfic #fanfiction #role swap au #alternate universe