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patolemus · 4 months

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Sterek fic recs: Fake Dating AU Edition

Because @oldefashioned requested a fake dating rec list, here it is. These are all very funny, as fake dating fics ought to be, so I hope you get a good laugh out of it.

1. Not Your Disney Romance by Wrennefer (Wrenegadeone)

After a long-forgotten agreement of an arranged marriage between Derek and the daughter of another pack's alpha resurfaces, Stiles takes it upon himself to become the most amazing fake fiancé that a clueless, desperate alpha werewolf could wish for.

Notes: Domestic pack, my beloved. Stiles and Derek are precious here, I LOVE THEM!! The visiting pack, not so much, but who cares about them?? It's all pretty lighthearted, all things considered. It's completed.

2. Electricity In the Contact by ladyblahblah

In which Derek has been invited to the Greater Pacific Northwest Alpha Symposium (that's not what it's called, Stiles, stop saying that), and showing up unattached would mean an arranged marriage. When the rest of the pack objects, he agrees to let Stiles come along to pose as his mate. Derek is reasonably sure that he's not going to make it out of this weekend alive.

Notes: Werewolf convention fics are so good! I actually haven't found all that many, considering how common a trope it is, and it's a tragedy because they're always so well done! This one is no exception, and the mini-world building is also great! It's completed.

3. can’t be hateful, gotta be grateful by HalfFizzbin

"Be cool, Dad, we've decided to con Grandma." (Or, the one where the Stilinski men drag Derek to Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma's and she gets the right wrong idea.)

Notes: this one is just *cheff´s kiss* wonderful! It's all pretty domestic and the humor is on point. College student Stiles and the Sheriff are strong armed into spending Thanksgiving with Stiles' grandma, and they find nothing better than to bring Derek with them. Pining and misunderstandings ensue and thus comes the fake dating. It's completed.

4. Gravity’s Got Nothing on You by zosofi

“Three weeks,” Derek says. “Still don’t want to,” Stiles says. “I’ll pay you,” Derek says, and that… that has Stiles interested. Alf’s Antique’s may be a great job, but it’s not a high-paying job, and half of Stiles’s tuition is coming from financial aid, so… “How much,” Stiles asks, “are we talking here? Because I know your family, dude. And it’ll be kind of awkward after.“ “My family thinks you’re some sort of fucking gift to the world,” Derek seethes, like he’s jealous, “they’ll probably be pissed at me when we break it off, so don’t worry about that. Five hundred bucks.” “A thousand,” Stiles says, because screw ethics. Also, the Hale family is loaded. Derek can deal.

Notes: this had such a chokehold on me when I first read it. Absolutely wonderful. Enemies to lovers?? Maybe. Assholes to assholes-in-love, is a better descriptor. There's werewolves, and magic, and it's awesome! It's completed.

5. He’s Not Mine by Sonnee

Derek comes home to find an abandoned werebaby on his front porch and Stiles volunteers to help him out. Surprisingly, that is just the beginning of his problems.

Notes: again, it's all very domestic, like most fake dating fics ought to be. It's a kid fic, Sterek are mates, we have all the love. Not much else I can think to add... it's completed.

6. Real life isn’t a movie (life doesn’t make narrative sense) by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)

Somehow accidentally insulting a hot guy in a coffee shop leads to pretending to be his boyfriend in front of a house full of werewolves. Stiles Stilinski is living his best life and making the most of his Hallmark movie moment.

Notes: this one had me cracking up because it's so funny! Stiles is living his best life, for real. Derek... suffers. But it's okay, because he gets a boyfriend out of this whole thing! They are disgustingly sweet in that assholish way they have. It's completed.

7. You look like my next mistake by Vendelin

“So, are you dating someone new? Someone who doesn’t mind that you’re frigid?” Kate cocks her head to the side, smiling as though she just asked him about where he bought his shoes. His entire body sighs in defeat as his shoulders grow square. Just as he opens his mouth, someone comes up to stand beside him, snaking an arm around his shoulders. When he glances to his side, expecting to see Isaac, his brain seems to malfunction. Because it isn’t Isaac. It’s Stiles Stilinski, the lacrosse talent of the year, a senior who Derek has seen multiple times from far away, but never ever talked to. In which Derek is a nerd jock, and Stiles is a frat guy, and Derek falls for him even though he knows he shouldn't.

Notes: this one had me HOWLING it's so good!! Frat boy Stiles, my beloved. It's technically not fake dating because it turns into an actual relationship pretty quickly, but it starts as fake dating so I'll take it. Stiles is an absolute sweetheart in this one, I love him! And Derek is shy, and insecure, but he's so great, and everyone gets a happy ending except Kate, which is always a good thing. It's completed.

8. All’s Fair In Orgasms and War by bleepobleep

AVN BREAKING NEWS-- DIAMOND VISTA RIDGE BREAKS HIS CONTRACT WITH HALE HOUSE "We haven't seen much of our favorite rock hard stud from Hale House ever since that indie twink dethroned him as champion in Orgasm Wars, but it's just been confirmed that Diamond will no longer be working for the legendary studio famous for producing some of our favorite werewolf-on-human works. Don't fret, Diamond fans, it looks like he's been spotted cozying up to True Alpha Studios! Apparently he couldn't get enough of that one human and then followed him home. Could it be true love? Keep your eye on this studio-- us at AVN think we're about to get a lot more of Diamond in a very new way!" ~ The one in which (almost) everyone is a porn star, and Derek just wants to curl up with his fluffy blanket and watch the Hallmark channel, but work and falling in love gets in the way.

Notes: okay but is this fake dating? Maaaaaybe. It's kinda complicated. Basically everyone here is a porn star and the pack has this studio where they cater to werewolves and have a whole thing about established relationships, which is where the fake dating comes up. It's surprisingly very fluffy, considering this is a porn au, and Derek is the softest goober in this one. Stiles is completely enamoured. It's completed.

9. Wanted from the You Are series by Asterekmess (Livinginfiction)

With the Hale pack finally settled and safe, it only makes sense that something would happen to screw it all up. To top it all off, Stiles has to pretend to be Derek's mate, or face a pack of angry Alphas. He's doomed.

Notes: Alright so this series is wonderful. The world building done for the Alpha pack is also great, and that's the center of the second part (which has the fake dating). I do recommend reading the first part before jumping on to Wanted because it is a direct continuation. Also, it's an amazing au! It's completed.

10. For Love is Not Ours to Command by weathervaanes

Where Derek's skills at thinking on his feet mean that he and Stiles have to act. For the sake of Stiles' dad, of course, for the sake of the pack. No personal interest interference at all, whatsoever. Right. -0- “Why does my dad say that you and your boyfriend are a bad influence on me?” “What?” “Yeah, what boyfriend? Dude, you are not allowed to not tell me crap like this. You didn't think I'd like be a douchebag or something. Right?” “No, wait, what? I have no boyfriend.” “He says you were with him at the police station.” Stiles blinks. “Uhm. Oh shit.”

Notes: Stiles just wanted to find dirt on Raphael McCall to blackmail him. Somehow, he got himself a whole ass boyfriend. It's complicated. That's it, that's the fic. It's completed.

11. Stiles Stilinski, Boyfriend Extraordinaire by MareLoup

“Beacon County Sheriff's Department, this is deputy Mahealani speaking.” “Oh thank god!” “Stiles?” “I, uh, I need some advice.” “Advice?” “Yeah. So, hypothetically, say you met your boyfriend’s mother and sister for the first time ever. Completely by accident. In the grocery store. And they convinced you to help them make a dinner to surprise aforementioned boyfriend when he got home after work. What would you do?” Danny paused, and then, “Stiles, you don’t have a boyfriend.” “That’s not the point! And I said hypothetically.” “Stiles...what are you doing right now?” *** Stiles never imagined he’d be in Derek’s kitchen cooking a surprise dinner with Derek’s family while they waited for Derek to get home from work. Partly because their visit was a complete surprise. But mostly because Stiles didn’t have a boyfriend. Or even know who Derek was. But he’d already come this far and Papa didn’t raise no quitter!

Notes: this is to date one of my favorite Sterek fics. I laughed so much while reading this, I'm not even joking. The whole thing is a comedy of errors gone right. Stiles somehow finds himself pretending to be Derek's boyfriend, only he has no idea who Derek even is and why his family knows Stiles at all. His inner monologue is one of the funniest I've read, and his slow descent into (good natured) madness is wonderful. It's completed.

12. Love Like An Ache In The Jaw by Anonymous

“So let me get this straight,” The sheriff massages his temples, “You found a magic book, and performed a magic spell that has backfired and magically bound you to Derek Hale, rendering you both in agony if you’re not in the same room.” Derek and Stiles exchange a look. “Um. Yes.” Stiles says sheepishly. “Right. And just to be clear, when we’re talking agony… exactly how agonizing is the agony?” Derek clears his throat. “Sir, I’ve had a pole stabbed through my chest and held there for an hour. This was… similar.” - In which boredom, magic and dumbassery come together to produce a Christmas miracle slash disaster. Oh, and Stiles' grandmother who knows absolutely nothing about the supernatural happens to be in town. Oops.

Notes: another hilarious one. Stiles does Stiles things and ends up magically bound to Derek. No one is amused except Stiles' grandmother, who's having the time of her life, here. It's completed!

#fake dating #fake dating aus are great #and sterek has this natural chemistry that makes it even better #derek hale #stiles stilinski #fic recs #fic rec #sterek #sterek fic recs #eternal sterek #eternalsterek #teen wolf #ao3

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gene-nine · 1 month

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night at the museum (j.p x fem!reader)

hi !!! this is my first pic post so please don't bully me.

pairing: james potter x reader

synopsis: your good friend james invites you to go on an "unauthorized" trip to the museum with your friends.

warnings: not proofread :)

words: 2385

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you knew James Potter. everyone did.

only, you had the ‘wonderful privilege’ (as he liked to call it) of being his friend. this duty of yours involved watching quidditch games you didn’t particularly care about all that much (with Remus as decent company), struggling to pay attention in class because all this kid does is talk, and, as you’ve found yourself now, going on adventures through the city outside Hogwarts.

when James first started apparating off the Hogwarts campus with Sirius, you had told him he was an idiot and that he was going to get in trouble. after the fifth or sixth time, you became intrigued. even Remus and Peter had begun accompanying them, which meant that it wasn’t entirely the wreckless free-for-all that usually followed Sirius and James around. James hadn’t ever actually invited you to go with, but he hadn’t invited Lily, Marlene, or Mary either, so maybe it was just a guy thing. regardless, you started (not so subtly) asking James about what kind of stuff they did when they went out.

“and why are you suddenly so interested?” James chuckles quietly from beside you in potions. you were supposed to be taking notes, but you had stopped listening a while ago.

“you guys always come back so talkative and happy, i was just wondering what you got up to.” you feign being nonchalant, looking up at the chalkboard for the first time in 10 minutes and scribbling something down in your notebook. you can’t let him know that he’s been the more academically productive person between the two of you.

“i mean, usually we just go to bars. we followed Remus to a few bookstores one time. Sirius found an antique shop he liked, bought a jacket there once,” he whispers back, still taking notes, “why? jealous you haven’t been invited?” he taunts, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“no. i was just curious.” you roll your eyes, but it’s no use. he knows you’re interested.

“what happened to ‘you’re going to get caught, James’ or ‘this is such a stupid idea, i can’t believe Remus is going along with it’?” he mocks in his best (worst) impression of you. you scoff in annoyance.

“nevermind, sorry i asked.” you raise your hands slightly in surrender.

“we were actually going to go this weekend. Lily said there’s a cool museum out there and Remus seemed excited. wanna go?” he finally looks in your direction, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face.

“sure. but only if the other girls are invited. i don’t want to have to babysit.” you can’t let his ego get too high, knowing you wanted to go with him. he mutters back, something between a ‘mhm’ and ‘yeah right’. the rest of the lecture goes by in silence and you can finally focus, except for the incessant thump on the leg of your chair as James swings his feet (an annoying habit you’ve grown to ignore).

by the time the weekend rolls around, the museum was all you, Lily, and Remus could talk about. apparently, it opened in the early 1600s and has roughly 20,000 paintings (statistics that Lily had found in some library book). you were more excited to get out of the stuffy castle, the fall air not quite making it through the stone walls.

James insisted upon leaving the castle at 7:00 a.m., claiming that’s the best time to apparate without McGonagall seeing you. James and Remus were at the meeting spot at 7 sharp, with you, Lily, Marlene, and Mary arriving shortly after, and Sirius and Peter getting there at 7:10. the feeling of apparating never improved. it felt as if every molecule of your being was shrunk down and shoved forwards simultaneously. even though you’re apparating by holding onto James (you have yet to learn how to on your own), you’re still terrified of getting splinched. no matter how many times he assures you it won’t happen.

you appear a few blocks away from the museum, all a part of James’ plan supposedly. as the group walks, James slows to walk beside you.

“pretty cool, huh?” that cocky grin on his face taunting a silent ‘i told you so’. he earns a gentle shove, but there’s nothing fake about your excitement. you hadn’t spent a lot of time outside of Hogwarts during the actual school year, and the fall season is certainly not disappointing. despite the early hour, there are people walking on the sidewalks in scarves and boots. some carry a warm drink in hand, and James can hardly miss the way your excitement peaks at the sight of a dog and their owner passing by. it feels more magical than the school grounds ever did.

“it’s incredible.” you reply genuinely. you can’t even think of a banter-ish comment to respond with. James swings an arm around your shoulders casually as the group is about to cross the street towards the steps of the museum.

“just you wait.” he whispers in your ear and you smile wide.

one thing you hadn’t expected from a Muggle museum was security. Wizarding museums didn’t need any, all the protective measures were covered with magic-blocking spells and tracking enchantments on every person and work of art in the building. but this museum had metal detectors and security guards the moment you walked in. even though security gave the group a long look (an even longer one at Sirius), you were able to get through without any problems. once your day passes were bought, you were off.

Lilly drags the group to go see a painting about Romeo and Juliet she had read about. it took one gross comment from Sirius about the ‘nakedness’ of Juliet before Marlene grabbed the collar of his jacket and dragged him off into another section. museum guidebook in hand, Mary leads the group to a section of landscape paintings by some artist named Francis Lynch.

“says here he completed nearly a hundred works before his untimely death in 1825 when he was bludgeoned to death by his wife...” Peter reads from over Mary’s shoulder, “cheery.”

“she probably went crazy from all the paint fumes in the house.” James snorts from beside you, earning an elbow to the ribs.

“hey! this one looks just like you, Prongs!” you exclaim to James, pointing at another painting of a doe in a meadow.

“if this is your way of telling me i’m majestic and a natural beauty, then compliment taken.”

“you wish.”

you wander off, loosely following the group through the giant rooms. you stop in front of a huge painting called Orpheus and Eurydice. it depicts Orpheus reaching for a glowing Eurydice as she’s pulled back down to Hades.

“remind me how this myth goes again?” a voice asks from behind you. you turn to see James, staring up at the painting with the same look of amazement you had been showcasing a few moments prior.

“Orpheus travels to the underworld to beg Hades to let his soulmate, Eurydice, leave and return to life. Hades agrees, but only if Orpheus can lead her out without turning around to make sure she is still following.” you explain. you had always been interested in greek mythology, and James is often nosy about what you’re reading.

“and Orpheus turns around.” he adds, “i don’t understand, though. why would Hades give Orpheus a challenge he so easily could have completed? you know, if he wasn’t a loser.” you snort.

“i don’t know. i think it’s the perfect impossible challenge. Hades knew he wouldn’t have bee able to do it if it was him and Persephone. plus, if Orpheus didn’t love her enough to turn around, he wouldn’t have loved her enough to go to Hades in the first place.” you’re both silent for a moment.

“would you? turn around, i mean. if it was the love of your life.” James air quotes that last part.

“i don’t know. would you?” you turn to face him.

“i don’t know.” he responds simply. you both pause for a moment to stare up at the painting that outdates you both by centuries. you slowly shift your gaze to the boy next to you. his hair is messy from him constantly trying to fix it everytime a girl his age walks by. his Gryffindor sweater sleeves are pulled down over his hands slightly due to the low temperature in the museum. his glasses are still slightly tilted on his face from his most recent prank that pissed off the Slytherin Quidditch captain, who then punched him in the face. Pomfrey was able to fix his nose up just fine while his messed up glasses rested in his pocket. Magic could only fix them so much, so now they fit his face all weird (you still think it’s endearing). you eventually realize that you’re staring and decide you need a change of scenery.

“come on, lets go see the sculptures. i need to see something not two-dimensional.” you grab James’ hand and take off towards a staircase going upward. you practically skip up the stairs before James has to tell you to slow down. still walking hand in hand, arms swinging obnoxiously, you two peruse through the sculptures. some are abstract, and you can see James trying to figure them out, his head tilting to the side with his tongue sticking out slightly before giving up and moving to the next. you can hear Marlene and Lily yelling at Sirius for something in the room next to you, so you head in there. turns out he had tried using a transfiguration spell on a ceramic tiger. Remus, Mary, and Peter weren’t far away, assessing some sculpture made from wood and nails. you drop James’ hand and skip over to Lily, throwing your arms around her shoulders from behind.

“how goes it?” you ask, casting an amused glance at Sirius, whose wand has been confiscated by Marlene.

“other than Sirius trying to cause a mauling in the museum and Peter nearly knocking over a multi-million dollar vase, pretty okay.” she responds, “i got to see the Ophelia painting i was interested in.” she adds excitedly.

“i showed Moony a painting of a wolf-looking creature and he was not amused.” Mary adds from her spot at the wood sculpture.

“can we just visit the gift shop already?” Sirius whines. at this point, you all had been walking around for the better part of an hour and to be totally honest, the gift shop had been at the back of your mind the whole time. after a chorus of enthusiastic agreement from everyone, Mary leads the group to the bottom floor where the shop is (she won’t let anyone else use her map). once in the gift shop, everyone disperses. Peter goes looking for the station where he can fill up a little velvet bag with tumbled rocks. Marlene finds an umbrella with the pattern of a famous painting on it. Lily and Mary find t-shirts with the name of the museum on the front and a painting on the back. Remus finds a pin to put on his bag and a set of museum postcards. Sirius gets a stuffed animal dinosaur with a museum branded backpack on it. Last but not least, you and James get matching green dad hats with the museum name embroidered on the front.

flaunting the new merch, James leads the group (with you on his back) out the doors and back into the autumn air. Mary convinces a random woman to take a group picture of you all in front of the museum on her new camera. she excitedly hands the camera to Peter to take a picture of her and Lily in their matching t-shirts before taking it back and taking a picture of you and James with your hats. despite your protests, James won’t put you back down, but insists upon giving you a piggy-back ride all the way to the café he wanted to hit up before he left.

he finally sets you down as you all enter the café. the orders are as follows: James gets one hot black coffee, Lily gets a chai latte, Marlene gets an iced green tea, Mary gets a hot earl gray tea, Peter gets an iced coffee, you get an iced matcha, and Sirius insists he isn’t thirsty but orders a chocolate chip muffin. drinks (and muffin) in hand, everyone wanders down the sidewalk towards the bookstore Remus likes which happens to be next to the antique shop Sirius enjoys. everyone splits up, Remus, you, James, and Lily entering the bookshop and the rest following Sirius. Remus and Lily disappear into the classics section while you wander towards fiction and fantasy. James follows you through the shelves, picking up random books and scanning over the synopsis before putting them back. you decide against getting anything and head outside while James checks in on Remus. eventually, James joins you and you both wait outside for everyone else to be done.

tired from all your adventures, everyone decides to apparate back to Hogwarts (Remus a few books heavier). the evening ends with everyone sat in the common room talking around the fireplace, James next to you with your legs slung over his lap as you lay against the arm of the couch.

“was that worth whatever punishment you might’ve gotten for going?” James teases to you, knowing damn well how much fun you had.

“shut up.” you retort back, not able to hide the smile on your face. James shifts a bit on the couch to grab something from Remus’ bag on the floor.

“oh yeah, got this for you,” he says casually as he hands you a hardcover book. it’s a book on the Orpheus and Eurydice myth. “figured you could figure out for yourself whether you’d turn around or not.” James’ smirk is unmistakable in the firelight. you’re not sure whether the heated feeling in your face is from the fire or from James. you flash him an appreciative smile.

“careful Prongs, someone might think you actually listen to me when i talk.” you half joke, looking over the book’s front pages.

“who says i dont?”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #marauders #harry potter #james potter fic #james potter x fem!reader #james potter blurb #the marauders era

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celestialprincesse · 5 months

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Hi Angie!

I was wondering - if you have the time and will - would you write some more poly stuff?

Could be whatever you want.

Thank you!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

One Xtra large helping of poly fluff coming right up 🤭🎀

Weekends are your favourite. When all the boys are home and you've got the time to just be. It's the little things, like how you go padding downstairs barefoot long after the sun has risen, stomach rumbling impatiently at the smell of freshly fried bacon and hot coffee, the kind from the expensive machine Kyle had bought you this Christmas just gone.

You can't help but grin when you feel Johnny's hands looping loosely around your waist, your head rolling back onto his shoulder with a contented sigh as he noses your jawline affectionately, murmuring about how lovely you look in the morning, how pleased he is to have a weekend with no plans. You, however? Oh, you've got plans. Having your four, massive military boyfriends home can only mean one thing.

Furniture shopping.

More specifically? Antique furniture shopping. Trawling the local thrift stores for anything that piques your interest, and might find its perfect place in your home. Seeing as the boys are back with the truck, and the the weather is just on the cooler side of summer, today is the perfect opportunity. Simon, John, Kyle and Johnny are also perfectly happy to indulge you in all of your roosting ways, just as house proud as the day they'd all met you.

Fortunately, it takes all of fifteen minutes to find the boys and be on your way, the perks of military men, you suppose. Punctuality is engrained into their very person. It's unnerving sometimes.

They're happy if you're happy, even if Kyle does have to hold in his sneezes until Johnny can subtly slip him an antihistamine, all whilst you're fawning over old paintings with an unenthused Simon (he's trying) and a pensive John, who thinks he's getting old and needs to learn how to enjoy a melange of meaningless paint splotches on a canvas. You just like the colours.

Admittedly, you've also been watching all sorts of antiques programmes on the TV during their last deployment, hyper fixating on the promise of buying some cool, vintage piece for the house only to find out that it just so happens to be a lost furniture piece from Versailles, or maybe a Picasso drawing gone missing from a collection. The dopamine is also nice. Almost as nice as spending time bobbing around with the boys, laughing at the way John reaches for his wallet the moment you so much as look at something for too ling, or how Kyle keeps staring at your ass, getting distracted and almost knocking stuff over.

It's not so much the shopping, you realise, upon going home empty handed, it's the getting out with your favourite people, and getting to spend the with not a worry in the world (except for Kyle's obvious dust allergy)

Short! But! I'm back on my grind! Now that visitors are gone (hallelujah)

I've been literally scrolling endlessly through Josh & Matt's tiktok as some weird form of self soothing and it's made me miss thrifting so pls enjoy this until I can get my little secondhand purchase fix 🎀

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max1461 · 1 month

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Kind of funny and incongruous that I'm a leftist because like, on a personal level one of my major personality traits is that I have a kind of "collector's instinct", and I get a lot of pleasure simply out of the fact of owning certain items. Like I love to Have A Cool Thing, it is one of my great joys in life. And yet philosophically like half the project of this blog (in my head, at least) has been to deconstruct the notion of private property and figure out exactly what its role is society is and could be. When like. I definitely have the disposition to simply take "ownership" as an unexamined primitive.

Except I'm too inquisitive and intellectually honest to do that. Too based, too levelheaded. I do hope they let me be an antique collector under communism though. That's something I aspire to.

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bignostalgias · 1 year

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just thinking about Jack learning Norse the long way without magic after dimension/time traveling to Berk. Rambling nonsense under cut

Ok ok as learning a language takes time and dedication, Jack mostly communicates non-verbally at first and slowly incorporates Norse into his vocabulary. He sporadically gets lessons from the Dragon Riders, but it’s slow-going as there’s always external shenanigans to resolve, and to be honest most of them are poor language teachers (with the exception of Fishlegs, who is very kind to make Jack flashcards to study with). He also visits with Gothi, as she sympathizes with his struggle to be understood, and he picks up on her symbols as they become friends. He thinks of Sandy and feels a pang of homesickness.

Both Jack and Hiccup are very expressive characters who often use exaggerated gestures and expressions to prove a point, so their friendship consists of a lot of pointed looks and unabashed flailing. Rolling their eyes. Goofy smiles. Smiles with Mischievous Intent. Sarcastic deadpans. Reading the tone of each others’ voices. As they become more comfortable with each other (and Jack becomes more comfortable being visible and tangible) this includes Jack holding Hiccup’s hand to lead him somewhere, poking each other to invoke a reaction, Hiccup steering Jack by his shoulders away from trouble, falling asleep haphazardly on top of each other while attempting to study. To an onlooker their conversations are madness.

Hiccup learns English as well as a fair trade. So he can know Jack a little better. So Jack isn’t alone in this. Similar to OTNWAS (fic of all time), he starts using English expressions and slang that Jack introduces him to (“Cool,” he says, drawing out the vowels. Jack nods at him rapidly. He exclaims something incomprehensible to Hiccup - but undoubtedly encouraging from the way his eyes are crinkling at the corners - before repeating, “cool beans,” and gives a double thumbs up. Flashbright smile. “Cool beans,” Hiccup says, still with only a fuzzy understanding of what it means).

Hiccup also spends a lot of time drawing with Jack, as a tool to aid communication and make new flashcards, but more often than not it devolves into stupid Pictionary doodles as Hiccup struggles to interpret Jack’s drawings. (“Uh, is that…. Stormfly?” Hiccup asks, and Jack pulls a face that is both distraught and amused. “So not - oh! That’s an axe! You’re drawing Astrid! Oh gods. I have to show her this, oh gods.” Something about the maniacal glee in Hiccup’s tone must have alerted Jack to his intent, as he received a sharp poke under his ribs as a reply, making him wheeze. In English, Jack says, “whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” and Hiccup, recognizing the last word, bursts into giggles.)

Jack is dedicated to making Hiccup laugh, of course. Jack is very willing to make himself the fool to do so. Toothless is happy to help.

Soon Jack can string Norse sentences together skillfully, drop some vibrant curses, and sing a few ballads as well (the ballads he picked up even before he fully understood them). And because Hijack has taken over my one braincell, Jack tells Hiccup he loves him in Norse after an eternity of fumbling to figure out the right words.

(antique fic trope alert, 5 times Jack tried to tell Hiccup he loved him in Norse +1 time he got it right. someone take me out to a dennys parking lot and break my kneecaps)

#mine #embarrassing. *posts*#frostcup #hijack #has this been done before. it’s nearly 2 am #translations au

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syncallio · 14 days

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Today's pen is all gold all the time:

I don't know what to say about this pen except that it's absolutely gorgeous with a nice soft nib. It's so, so GOLD, and how about that fleur-de-lis chasing!

Seriously, it's hard not to just ogle this thing.

And what blows my mind is that this was a company pen! Maybe a retirement gift? Because I've gotten some nice company gifts, but nothing as cool as this pen.

Y'know, knowing about antique fountain pen brands and where they were based, it surprises me that they didn't go with a local brand like Waterman. Was this cheaper? (Oh, and I misspelled the name. It's Ingersoll with two Ls.)

Another pen with a story that I wish I knew!

#fountain pen #vintage pen #fountain pens #ingersoll #redipoint #sheaffer ink

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hastalavistabyebye · 24 days

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did i see something about tusken inspo 👀

To be fair, it's like Tatooine inspiration at large. But yes, much many ideas :D

Oh this is going to be long... *crack knuckles*

Okay so Tatooine is inspired by Tunisia which is not a secret (for the folks that don't know, the name comes from the town Tataouine and the scenes in the movies were filmed in three other Tunisian cities). Added to that is the fact that the Tuskens were inspired by the Bedouins, a nomad people of north Africa.

Now, there is an Umayyad (medieval Islamic dynasty, 661-750) farm in Jordan named Qusayr Amra :

Which gives massives Tatooine vibes.

The Umayyads (and the Abbasid dynasty right after) rules over a large territory, which extend as far as the Maghreb. So the comparison of a Jordan farm to the Tunisia cities used for star wars is understandable.

Now those geographical and chronological markers give me a well of material to get inspiration for Tatooine and the Tuskens. (I includ the Abbasids because they're in the lineage of the Umayyads and the aesthetic match what I think would suit nicely for the Tuskens.)

The ceramic cup in the middle is Umayyad. The decor comes from an antic (Roman Empire) aesthetic that is still very present in this dynasty's art. Now you could replace those vigns by something more space looking, like space oasis flora.

The Kufic inscription would be out of place for the Tuskens. Except if we look into a Kufic calligraphy that appears a bit later which is composed with little characters adorning the letters. What I propose is that the Tuskens could have a sort of writing system composed of pictograms representing their signs. They could carve those pictograms on the cliffs as well as their ceramics or weapons...

This cup is not from north Africa I give you that (like the two next objects, it's from Susa in Iran. That site is way too rich and big....), but with it being Umayyad it doesn't betray the original inspiration for Tatooine. Plus it would look really cool and that's the most important.

(The vase on the left could also look really cool in a tusken hut I think)

All of those are Abbasids. I took the left picture for the bol in the centre but that green one looks great too (I think it's jadeite or nephritis but I'm not sure).

I just think they would look super cool as Tuskens ceramics. The jug on the right is a lil favorite of mine. It's a very luxurious object (both are really) because of the glaze. The blue is obtained with cobalt from Afghanistan (if I'm not wrong, I need to check) which was not an easy thing to get (we're at the 9/10th century here). But the technique itself and the forms are still simple enough that I think it'll mix well with a space nomad tribe culture in a desert.

Now we could look into other dynasties productions and I should look back at my notes on Middle and Near East Antiquity, because there most likely has more things to dive into there.

I don't think Tuskens would use much metal or if they do, it'll be forging with scraps bought from the Jawas. To cut and grave little pendants and ornaments, spikes, that kind of things. But I sort of think the only way to forge for them would be by using their ceramic kilns (if they have any and not just tempory holes dig specially for it), that's why I didn't look into Islamic metal production. I just don't think they'll have forges with them being nomad like that. But it's still a possibility of course.

Anyway, that was a little look into the ideas I've been munching on lately.

#heh not as long as i thought #(that's because i don't have access to my notes right now but that's just a detail)#sw #sw art and culture #tusken raiders #tusken #history #art history #hi tumblr void #tatooine

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creepedverse · 4 months

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Give us Arthur info dump

Personal Journal (tw for animal death!)

Entry 003, XX/XX/2008

Haaaaaah. Farnbury… What a place! I expected to be shell shocked when I got here, honestly! But, underneath the starry sky… I feel at home. I guess I’m home when I’m in the trees, no matter which direction I find myself! ^^ But, there are some differences compared to New York. For starters, it’s not as cold! I love the cold weather, so I never complained at home, but now in February, I feel overdressed! I also… I made friends!! Two of them!! Can you believe it!? Of course I can believe it, me! They’re both so… just wow!

I was just setting up my camp for the night when I met him! My first ever friend!! (Better late than never!) He seemed startled to see me out there, but I think he relaxed once he realized I wasn’t like a bear or something! (Even though being a bear would be super cool!) He was very quiet, and I started to fill the space by talking! I… I usually find it hard to start conversations, but talking to him came so easy! He just listened, and that was nice. I guess that’s what friends do! Anyways, that’s how we first met! Ever since then, I’ve been running into him here and there! He actually works at the diner I go to for breakfast! He’s probably used to my order by now, since I always get the same thing! (Pancakes, short stack, and coffee) His name is Tommie! And I think that name suits him marvelously! He is very much a Tommie! ^^

I made my second friend just recently! Here I am, braving the wilderness in hopes of solving the mystery surrounding the farnbury entity, but… well… this is taking longer than I thought it would! When I found that cursed picture online, it only took me two weeks to contain the entity! Bam! Done! No more silly dog! But… this entity seems… different. It’s… stronger than most. I have some theories about it, but I’ll detail them in my proper investigation journal. Anyways! Where was I? Right! It’s taking a long time to get to the bottom of this thing! So, I soon found myself almost out of money. And so, that means I needed a job! The only problem is that… well… no one wants to hire a guy living out of a tent! Except for one person! Bonnibel… Bonnie! My beautiful Bonnie! She saved me from total, utter despair!! Heh… okay that’s dramatic! But! She hired me to work at her antique shop! And I’m so proud to say we get along swimmingly! She’s so gentle and kind and doesn’t yell at me if I miscalculate change! Actually, now that I think about it… this is my first proper job! Huh! How epic!!!

Bonnie has a truly beautiful ability. She can see ghosts! What are the odds of her befriending me!? She’s surrounded by the paranormal, and I hope she’ll let me help if anything troublesome bothers her. I have a whole section in my notes dedicated to banishing spirits! I hope she can rely on me… She actually… She told me a ghost follows me. A small hare… hopping wherever I go. I… um…

Well I guess if I’m telling this journal everything, I’ll tell it everything. When I first encountered the farnbury entity, I lost control of myself for a second. The entity seemed to try and get in my head. It completely mixed my thoughts around, I couldn’t make out up or down, left or right. I started freaking out, in the woods, all alone. My tics started going haywire! I couldn’t control my body anymore and I just… spazzed. (I guess my high school peers were spot on with that nickname.) I ended up falling down a steeper-than-average hill. I must’ve hit my head because when I woke up, it was daylight. I was fine again. However… on my way down the hill, I… crushed… a rabbit. I felt so awful! The poor little thing! I started to panic! Luckily, my brother had taught me well, and I managed to calm my breathing (and my tears!) and took care of the rabbit by giving it a small burial. I didn’t really have any tools on hand, so I used what I could to make a little grave. I must’ve looked like I was going to faint when Bonnie told me she saw a hare with me! But, how I’ll choose to interpret it is that the rabbit is looking after me. After all, I think he knows it was an accident (I hope he knows!) Maybe he’s hopping around after me to keep me out of trouble! I’ll choose to look on the bright side!

In all my years, I’ve endured countless jabs and bullying and that one fight before I left high school. I can’t help but admit that I was losing hope I’d ever make actual friends… But… Here in Farnbury, things are different. I made friends. I have friends. And I will do anything to protect them, and any other future friends I might make. I will figure this entity out, nullify it, and invite Tommie and Bonnie to travel the whole country with me when I’m done!!!

#creepedverse #crv #creepypasta au #creepypasta oc #crv arthur #answered asks #crv asks

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pinkpinkmermayyy · 6 months

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some of my favorite YouTubers! Some of these are coquette but some of them are not, so I’m still going to tag the coquette tag but it won’t apply for all of these

CZsworld, a horror themed channel that focuses on the intricate histories, theories, characters and stories of many horror movies, books, and sometimes tv shows. He also talks about people/figures from real life in more parody-esque horror history videos. He’s extremely cool and an amazing channel to watch to get into the Halloween mood during October, but watching him at any other time is enjoyable as well

glamourdaze, a collection of different videos from the 20th century, such as beauty and healthcare videos, or just videos of people from different decades in this century living out their lives. What makes this channel one of my favs is that they revive the clips of people from decades such as the 1920s to color them and slow them down (to make it look less choppy and more realistic in how the people move) and it really gives a whole new different perspective on these eras and makes us realize that this wasn’t too long ago.

Erin Parsons Makeup, a very talented makeup artist and vintage collector who’s really cool and someone I love seeing talking about makeup and fashion from history. She’s very similar to glamourdaze except she mainly focuses on vintage/antique fashion and recreates retro looking styles in her looks and it’s just really neat :>

Schafrillas Productions… yeah he’s just very neat and I like watching his movie/tv show reviews. Though his content where he’s passionate and excited about a piece of media is enjoyable, watching him rip apart something he genuinely despises with an infinite amount of rage is funny as all hell

Micarah Tewers, a very talented, artistic, and funny seamstress who makes different types of dresses and outfits in her videos. I love how much dedication and detail she puts into her work to make it stand out and look amazing whenever she wears it, and I also really enjoyed her prom dress videos. She’s also really funny and I love all the extra hijinks she shows herself getting into in between making her project and the video itself lol

Nylijah Myeesah, aka the channel of @/lovesickbrat is a really great coquette channel, and she also has some very good points on different parts of the coquette community and how some aesthetics (such as traumacore or doelet) need to be criticized more because of what they promote.

Colin LooksBack, a Disney based channel that focuses on the characters and movies/other media from Disney, as well as the behind the scenes details of how classic Disney films were made, especially the animated movies made during Walt Disney’s life/career

Karolina Żebrowska, a history fashion themed channel that you probably have heard of. She makes a lot of historical videos as fashion videos and she’s just very talented and intelligent and you should check her out.

Finally, Lavendertowne, the channel I have the fondest YouTube memories of as she was the one who inspired me to start art. I used to love her creepydrawstas and her videos where she drew different stuff as people, as well as her art tutorials. I wouldn’t have gotten to my point in my art journey if it weren’t for her, and overall she’s very cool and sweet.

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sliceoflifeshepard · 6 months

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Thinking about things lately.

I'm sorry I fuck up sometimes. I'm trying to support you guys with good intentions, I don't want to be an asshole. I want a free Palestine, I want to care so much about real world problems but it's so draining and depressing that I'm genuinely not allowed by my psychiatrists and family to watch the news. I'm so tired of seeing my friends targeted for shit, simply for being queer, jewish, autistic, disabled, and more.

I've said some stupid things in my past but I'm trying to learn from my mistakes. I want my blog to be a positivity zone for writeblr and any arts and crafter. Or anyone for that matter

Fuck AI.

I'm happy doing what I do - reading, arts and crafts, tiktok, YouTube ect. I love interacting with you all.

My inbox is always open for venting, happy stuff, arts and crafts stuff, writing stuff. Whatever you god damn want except for hate. Hate is not wanted and I'm tired of tumblr thinking it's cool to promote hate and all that shit

If you're reading this: Stay awesome, stay cool, take care of yourselves and take time for yourself when you need it. Don't beat yourself up all the time

@albatris @antique-symbolism @blackandwhitecircus @bardicbeetle @bard-coded @dragonflylady77 @digital-chance @enchantedlandcoffee @elsie-writes @foxy-lisard @garthcelyn @howdywrites @heartshattering @icaruspendragon @irilenaps @insidedamienshead @jacqueswriteblrlibrary @joshuaorrizonte @multi-lefaiye @midnight-blue-moon-princess @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @n1ghtcrwler @owlsandwich @pheita @pluttskutt @philosophika @pen-of-roses @scribble-dee-vee @thorlokibrother @theprissythumbelina @thebejeweledwatercat @uccelletto-di-kokuyo @violetcancerian @vacantgodling @waltzshouldbewriting @whicheverwarrior @wait-a-minute-lassie

#ash shepard updates

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void-of-unparalled-chaos · 9 months

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This just in, my Principals of Archeology Professor is hilarious! Some quotes from the first lecture...

"Some of you are going to come up with some wacky ass shit"

"The one rule of archeology is don't die"

"Fuckin hell... today's gonna suck"

"Do not die for archeology. It's just not that cool."

"I don't care about the french unless they're dead"

"The King Tut shit pic is how I got my Job"

"killing each other, basic human things"

"Antiques Road Show is devils spawn"

"La Paz Bolivia is the one exception. The rich people live at the bottom and the slums are at the top because its frezzing in high altitudes. This means when it rains the shit from the slums is now on the rich peoples lot and I just- I feel like if more places were like that the world would be a better place"

"Stop being nice in this class" *starts encouraging students to be dicks and take pot shots at dead people*

*Actively encouraging students to pirate or steal the text book*

"After 1 week extension, you will need an act of God for me to take your paper"

"Classroom behavior policy... I prefer the term Don't Be A Dick"

"Threatening behavior... Don't."

"You gotta be the person who enjoys getting dysentery with 20 of your closest friends"

#science #college #collegeblr #archeology

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eleanor-bradstreet · 11 months

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Chiaroscuro - Part 5 (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Vampire AU Rated/warnings: T - language, blood, descriptions of violence Word count: 5.7k Art by @bridgertontess

Part 4 Part 6 Masterpost

When you woke the next morning Ben was gone. You felt wonderful, more rested than you had been in ages. You had dreamt of nothing. Not the terrifying maw of nothing but the blissful, refreshing nothing. Remembering everything that had happened you half convinced yourself it had been another dream until you walked into your kitchen and found a single red rose lying on your counter with a note in familiar handwriting.

I hope you slept well. I’ll see you again tonight. -B

Your insides knotted like a teenager with a crush. You still weren’t sure what you had done to attract the attention of someone lightyears out of your league but you decided to stop questioning it. Life’s outrageous curveballs were coming thick and fast. You’d be pummeled a bit less if you allowed yourself to catch one.

Thank god it was a Saturday because you were unable to focus on anything except the memory of Ben’s eyes, the cool trace of his long fingers, the glisten of his parted lips. You rolled your tongue in your mouth, wondering if you could still taste him. Giddy and horny in a way you hadn’t felt in years, you swanned through your day, donning one of your favorite outfits, splurging at your favorite bakery, reveling in the sunshine as you bounced between errands. At some point in your heady bliss you realized that you didn’t even have Ben’s number. He had said you would meet at night but you had no idea when or where. Granted, you knew where each other lived. But would he want to meet at one of yours? Would he want to go out? You smirked at what an antiquated dilemma it seemed to be - courtship without technology.

After a day of uninterrupted happiness you sat on your balcony and watched the sun sink, painting the sky with ombre pinks, oranges and purples. Then the anxiety kicked in. When would Ben show up? Should you go to him? After two hours of overthinking and the approach of dinnertime you decided to be proactive. You changed into a dress that wasn’t trying too hard but would look great whether he wanted to take you out or just take it off of you. Buzzing with anticipation you took the lift to the penthouse floor and hovered at his door. You knocked. There was no answer. You knocked again. Nothing.

Maybe you were being foolish. Overeager. Maybe he was out and planning to meet you later. Maybe he was awkwardly knocking on your door three floors below. You really needed to get his number to avoid this in future. As you pondered your next move, the lift suddenly chimed and Ben stepped out wrapped in his signature peacoat.

“Ben!” you chirped. “I was just…are you ok?” You were so elated to see him that it took a moment to register how oddly he was hurrying toward you. His arms were tight around himself. He looked up with something like panic in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. “I’m just getting back.”

He couldn’t hide the agitation in his voice and the urgency in how he marched around you to the door. Then you saw the dark stain seeping through the left side of his coat.

“Is that…oh my god, are you bleeding!?”

He averted his eyes. ““I’m fine, really, I just need to get inside.”

He opened the door and brushed straight past you into his darkened flat. You followed down a short hall and rounded a corner into a kitchen.

“Ben, what happened?” You were frantic. You hadn’t even gotten to know him and now he was grievously injured. Your mind was dredging up random bits of first aid knowledge gained through osmosis. Pressure…bandages…what were you supposed to do? You stood trembling with indecision in the dim overhead light and watched him peel off his coat and rest it on a chair at the island.

“Holy shit, oh my god…” you gasped. The entire left side of his pale grey jumper was soaked in blood. A crimson stain that ran from the arm to the hem and was dripping on the floor with a patter. It was more blood than you had ever seen outside of television and you had no idea how he was still standing. Ben looked down at himself and grimaced.

“I’m…should I call an ambulance? Jesus…” Your clammy hands patted your hips for your phone only to remember that you had no pockets and had left your phone in your flat. Without Ben’s number there didn’t seem any point in carrying it en route to him.

“I’m alright, honestly.” He was oddly calm, raising a bloody hand to placate you. This set you off. You would not allow him to be captain chivalry for your sake while he bled out in front of you. You would not hold him for just one night and then let him die on you the next.

“The fuck you are!” you barked, snatching a nearby dish towel and moving toward him. “You’re bleeding everywhere!”

Now he raised both hands to keep you back. “I was jumped in the park,” he explained. “Guy had a knife.”

It did not make you feel any better to learn he had been stabbed. “Oh shit, oh god, I…”

“It’s not my blood,” he said flatly.

“What?”

“It’s not my blood.” He lifted his soaked jumper and you swallowed hard to tame the part of your brain ready to swoon at the sight of his lean, rippling abdomen. You managed to focus enough to realize that though it was streaked red, he had no wounds. The blood had no discernible source. “See?” The cheeky grin had returned to his face. “I’m fine. You can relax.”

Between his mouthwatering body and your profound confusion over the entire situation, you stood short circuiting, trying to puzzle out his explanation.

“So…you fought him off?”

“Yes.”

“Is he…? I mean, is he bleeding out somewhere? Should we call the police?” Again you were kicking yourself for not bringing your phone.

“He ran off.” Something in his tone made it clear he didn’t want to explain himself any further. He closed the distance between you and gazed down into your eyes. Even without touching you, he made you breathless with his proximity alone. If he was satisfied to move on without further discussion, who were you to insist? “I’m sorry to scare you. I really just need a shower.” He chuckled softly and leaned in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek, murmuring honeyed words. “Will you wait here for me? Then we can talk.”

Your eyes rolled closed, powerless against him. You nodded and he kissed you, tender but with an underlying hunger. No one had ever kissed you the way he did; As if he cast a spell on you each time, his incantations pressed directly by his lips into your skin without the need for words.

“Good.” He pulled back and grinned. You felt yourself falling into the glittering light of his eyes, nearly forgetting the gore and drama of the moment. You would do anything he asked when he looked at you like that. “Stay right here. Make yourself at home.” Then with one final peck on your forehead, he turned and disappeared into the flat.

You took a steadying breath, studying your surroundings. You had been so caught up in panic you barely knew where you were. As expected the penthouse was luxe, but not in the shiny new construction way like the rest of the building. It was decorated in a traditional style, regency if you had to guess. And it was dark. You moved through the open layout from the kitchen to the lounge and switched on each light but they only cast a dusty glow among all the dark furnishings. Dark wood cabinets, rich jewel-toned upholstery and massive velvet blackout curtains that were pulled closed across every window. Perhaps it was a peculiar setup for a young bachelor but for Ben it seemed to make sense. His dabbling in old wines, poetry, art, antiquities - this was a realm where tastes like that could flourish.

And the stuff. There were things everywhere. The lounge was in a state of orderly chaos. The built-in bookcases overflowed with old tomes, papers and antiques. Small statuary, musical instruments, photographs. He really was a collector. Books piled on the floor and buried what appeared to be a piano in a corner. Nearly every inch of wall space was covered in ornately framed artwork and even more pieces were propped against each other in stacks throughout the room. It reminded you of the museum storage. How could you have shared so much in common and never realized?

There was a centrally hung landscape that drew your eye. Something was oddly familiar about the sweep of the countryside hills dotted with flowers and stretching back to a stately home in the distance. You looked closer and stopped dead when you saw the signature in the bottom corner. Two faintly squiggled Bs. Benedict Bridgerton. That was his mark. You had seen it dozens of times before. But you had never seen nor heard of this landscape. You peered even closer. It wasn’t a printed image, it was an original with the careful but sometimes counterintuitive brushstrokes that were characteristic of the artist. Your pulse picked up speed. How did Ben have this? Had he lucked out at some undisclosed auction? Was he ever going to tell you about it? Why didn’t he mention it when you were at the museum?

You inspected the painting beneath it, a still life bowl of apples, and saw it again - BB. A sickening sense of dread began to spread through you as you moved from painting to painting and realized all of them were signed the same way. A vase of roses, a riverside, a moonlit garden - another and another and another. You picked through the stacked canvases leaning against the wall and found even more. All of them originals. All of them bearing those initials.

Shaking, you stumbled out of the lounge and began to scurry for the door. What the actual fuck? Who was this man? He must have been some kind of thief or a replica artist, maybe both. And then it hit you - you were the perfect accomplice for someone like that. You had the knowledge and connections to the art world. You were his target. Tears surged in your eyes as it all began to fall into place. Of course he hadn’t been genuinely interested in you. How could he be? He was playing you; trying to schmooze you into his criminal enterprise. He was probably lying about the knife fight too. No doubt he ran with dangerous crowds. You had to get away, you had to report him. You’d have to move, it wasn’t safe in your building anymore, you had to…

Then you froze. Not intentionally. Just meters from the door you felt every muscle in your body tense and completely refuse to move further. You couldn’t command yourself to take a step. It was as if you had run into an invisible wall. You tried to scream but couldn’t do that either. You could still breathe as evidenced by the fact that you were starting to hyperventilate, but something in your brain wouldn’t let you continue down the hall. You found you could walk in any other direction and tumbled back into the kitchen. You had no idea what was going on in this house of horrors but you weren’t going to fall victim that easily. Strung out on survival adrenaline you began to tear through the drawers looking for a knife - anything to defend yourself.

The drawers were empty. All of them. The cabinets too. You pulled them open one after the other and found not a knife nor a plate nor an ounce of food. It was as bare as if no one lived in the flat at all. He was a psychopath. This was a setup. You didn’t know what compelled you to look in the fridge but you knew, instinctually, that you would find something gruesome. And you did. Three bags of blood, unlabelled and half-empty, were all that was inside. A visceral fear gripped you in a way you had never experienced. You were going to die here.

A noise behind you made you slam the door closed and spin around. It was Ben, sauntering toward you wearing nothing but grey joggers slung low across his hips. His hair was damp and a few drops of water still clung to his naked torso. You pressed yourself back against the fridge unable to breathe, heart pounding wildly, fueled both by terror and the unavoidable reaction you had to his body. He was magnificent. David cut from pale marble and stepped down off his dais to stand before you. Acres of white skin taught over perfectly defined muscles. His strong, tendoned neck flowing into broad swimmers’ shoulders; his arms impossibly long and etched with prominent veins; his chest and abs so sculpted they appeared unreal. The few freckles dotted across his sternum were the only thing to indicate that he wasn’t actually carved from stone. You didn’t know if you should feel grateful or bitter that your predator was so gorgeous.

You had nothing to defend yourself with and no way to call for help. You’d have to speak with him. Perhaps you could convince him to let you go. You could see in his eyes that he knew you had discovered his secrets. There was no playing coy anymore.

“Why can’t I move toward the door?” Your voice shook uncontrollably.

“Because I asked you to stay here.” His tone was low but not threatening. He almost sounded apologetic.

“What?”

He stepped closer. “I glamoured you. I don’t like to use it, but I need you to stay here so we can talk.”

Glamour? Was he implying he had some kind of magical power? Granted, you couldn’t explain why you had been blocked in the hallway, but…was he serious?

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I think you know who I am.”

There was something in the sureness of his statement, the incline of his head, and suddenly everything fit together. The blood, the paintings, the blackout curtains. For god’s sake his name was Ben. This had to be an act, there was no way this was real. You refused to give in to his delusion.

“I think you’re some kind of…Bridgerton fanatic. And you’re a sicko and you drugged me.”

He chuckled and shoved his hands into his pockets which tugged the waistband tantalizingly lower. “That’s an awfully convoluted fact pattern. And very impressive of me, considering I’d have to have drugged you with a kiss. There is a simpler explanation.”

Standing only a few feet away now, he looked up through his thick lashes expectantly. You knew he knew what you were thinking. He wanted you to believe it. Your world had been thrown entirely off the rails this week but you weren’t ready to acknowledge that it had veered into a fantasy dimension. But there was nothing you could do except continue speaking with him, hoping for mercy or an eventual opening to make your escape.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Suddenly he looked tremendously guilty and backed away. “No, no. Of course not. We were going to have this conversation sooner or later, you just caught me at an inopportune moment.” He moved into the lounge and gestured to one of the plush chairs. “Please, sit.”

You were still far from trusting him but at least you were buying time to find a way out. You walked stiffly to the seat, never taking your eyes off him as he perched in the wingback across from you. He sat with the same friendly air as always, waiting silently for you to initiate.

“You want me to say you’re Benedict Bridgerton.”

The crooked grin spread across his face. “It is good to hear someone call me that again.”

Now you knew you were dealing with a psycho. Maybe he wasn’t dangerous, maybe he was just run of the mill crazy. “And I’m supposed to believe you’re a fucking vampire.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as his eyes bored into yours. “Life can take incredibly odd turns. But it explains my disappearance doesn’t it? Explains where all of this came from.” He swept an arm out at the room and its antiquities. “It’s that or I’m an incomparably talented replica artist who is really into bloodplay and successful enough to afford a stradivarius.”

You followed his line of sight to the bookcase behind you and saw a violin perched on a top shelf. You weren’t an expert but you had seen originals behind glass and this didn’t look any different. You wouldn’t let yourself be swayed. If it even was authentic, all it proved is he was a rich cunt.

Sensing you needed more convincing, Ben stood and walked to the landscape that started your descent into disbelief. “This is actually a variation on your favorite,” he explained, nonchalant. “Dreams at Aubrey. I kept this one within the family. I never quite felt that I got Kent right. I kept adding in a figure then painting over her. I suppose I hadn’t found a muse worthy enough to be included.”

All you could do was gape at him. The painting did look like a companion piece to your favorite one in the gallery. How detailed was his delusion? Then he moved to a bookcase and pulled out a small blue volume. “You’ll have read this,” he mumbled, handing it to you before continuing to dig through the shelf. You turned it over in your hands. It was leatherbound and exceptionally old, the pages yellowed and brittle. You gently pried it open and felt your stomach drop into your shoes. It was Benedict Bridgerton’s diary. The same published diary that you had studied for your art degree. These were the same words but it was obvious ink had been scribbled directly onto paper in Ben’s handwriting. You looked at the date embossed on the spine - 1822. Holding your breath, you flipped through to find what you knew was tucked in the margins of page 58. It was there - his self-portrait sketch. Looking at it now, quick and sloppy though it was, you could see it. You could see Ben in his features.

You felt like you might be sick and focused on just trying to breathe. Ben was carrying on, not even looking at you. “I did keep more. Here’s ‘23, ‘24…” He was piling more diaries into your lap, all with the same binding, all containing the same handwriting, all impossibly old.

“I’ve fallen out of the habit after so long, I’m afraid,” he sighed. “And since you thought so poorly of my self-portrait doodle, how is this?”

From some hidden corner he produced a small painting and held it out to you. Trembling uncontrollably, you set the diaries aside and took it. It was a portrait of him. Unmistakably, it was Ben. But he was dressed in a high collar and colorful waistcoat, with longer hair and more warmth in his cheeks. You knew the art style. You knew it was regency. Stippled into the corner was a flourished signature - Granville.

This only added to the confusion. To the impossibility of it all. He had to have faked everything. You deliberately ignored all of your senses, honed by years of education, that were reluctantly admitting everything appeared genuine. But none of it made any sense.

It took a moment to find your voice. “It’s…Granville. You painted this.”

You looked up at him for confirmation but he only smirked.

“Don’t sell yourself short. Your eye is skilled enough to know that that paint is 200 years old.”

He was right. You knew he was. He knew you knew he was. You slowly began to accept that the man who stood before you was not your reclusive neighbor Ben Granville as you had always presumed. He was someone else entirely.

“Then who is Granville?”

He smiled faintly. “An old friend who did not get the acclaim he deserved.” He gently took the painting back and tucked it away.

Fighting both for air and to keep from either screaming or vomiting, you dug your fingers into the upholstered armrests and pressed yourself into your seat. “Holy shit.”

Ben moved back to his chair and studied you, looking concerned.

“I know it’s a lot to take in. But you are safe with me. You have my word.”

You were still struggling to believe the reality of the situation but you did believe his promise. You weren’t sure if he was still glamouring you, but the sincerity in his expression didn’t leave any room for doubt. You would live to see another day. But that would be the day you had to navigate the world knowing that vampires existed and that one lived in your building and had kissed you and slept in your bed. Even if this madness were true, why was he sharing his secrets with you?

“What do you want from me?” Your voice was still trembling.

“To talk to you. To tell you the truth. Now that we are getting to know one another.”

His lopsided grin exuded kindness and confidence. If he really was a vampire - and you couldn’t believe you were actually entertaining the notion - he would have to prove it and share his story. You were a leading expert on the life of Benedict Bridgerton. You would test him.

“When were you born?”

“1786,” he answered breezily.

Too easy. He would have to tell you something no one could know.

“Then in your thirties you vanished.”

His brow knitted. “I fell ill. Brain fever.”

“Meningitis?”

He nodded. “It would have killed me. But my maker…gave me an option.”

You tried to picture it, some alternate history from the one you had always imagined. You had believed the Bridgerton family’s account that Benedict had sailed to Europe and was never heard from again. Now instead of envisioning him on a ship in the English channel, you saw him pale and sweating in a sickbed, tilting his neck for some dark, amorphous creature to bite into.

“Who was that?”

He averted his eyes and moved to survey his paintings, keeping his back to you.

“It was a kindness,” he explained. “We had to travel a lot. We couldn’t stay in one place for very long or people would start to get suspicious. But we had each other. For a while.” There was something wistful in his tone.

“You’re not together anymore?”

He sighed. “We grew apart.”

“Where are they now?”

“I have no idea.”

It was clear he wanted to change the subject. If he didn’t want to talk about his past, he could explain how he lived in the present.

“Are there a lot of you? Your kind?” Your confidence and curiosity were growing, even though you felt like a character in an Anne Rice novel.

Ben shrugged, pacing slowly around the lounge. “Not too many. Probably a dozen in every city. We tend to keep to ourselves and stay spread out. It helps to maintain our own food supply without drawing undue attention.”

Right, the food supply. The factor that made him more than just a beautiful curiosity. The memory of his bloodstained jumper was now more sinister. “So you…eat people? The man in the park?”

“No,” he turned to face you. “He did jump me but he sliced one of the bags and I scared him off. I didn’t bite him. I don’t do that anymore.” You watched him pad to the kitchen and reach into his bloodied coat. “For over a hundred years that was the only option. But now…” From an inner pocket he gingerly pulled out the hidden source of all the mess. Two more bags of blood, one of them ripped and leaking. He popped them in the fridge as casually as if they were bottles of beer, then cleaned the dark spatters they left behind. “I’m trying to be more humane about it. I got tired of seeing the fear in everyone’s eyes. And disposing of someone…it’s a pain in the arse.”

You swallowed hard. No one had ever confessed to murder in front of you before, but given the circumstances it all seemed so natural.

“Where do you get the blood?”

He smirked. “I have a doctor who owes me.”

So you were not the only person he had revealed himself to. Your perception of the world was reorienting, having discovered two new communities that existed in the shadows of society. Immortal vampires and the mortals who knew them. Now you were one of them.

“Are all of you…adapting to be more humane?”

Ben scoffed, leaning against a counter. “God, no. Everyone has their own approach. Some get so tired of the whole thing that they starve themselves. Or toss themselves out into the daylight.”

“And you haven’t tired of it?”

“No.” The wistfulness returned as he became contemplative. “I don’t know that I could ever leave the world willingly. It holds too much beauty. Too many things I love, even if I can only see them in darkness now.”

The lyricism of his words echoed sentiments you had read in Benedict’s diary. He seemed to have an almost painful appreciation for the world. You had detected it in his notes, seen it brushed into his artwork, and now saw it etched on his face. Your heart fluttered at the notion that you may actually be speaking to the real Benedict Bridgerton. The mystery was finally solved. A man lost to history had suddenly showed up on your doorstep, almost as if you had willed him into returning. But the supernatural details of his existence were still enigmas.

“So the sunlight thing is true?” You already knew the answer given that your interactions had always occurred after dark.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Coffins? Garlic? Crucifixes?”

At this, he laughed. “I have to say it’s much more of a biological condition than one rooted in myth and religion.”

You couldn’t hide a bashful smile. Your curiosity was piqued and he could sense it. You had spent the night before snogging each other senseless and then fell asleep with him wrapped around you. How had you not noticed anything odd? A glance at his Adonis belt cresting over his hip provided a clue. You had been so entranced with the mere sight of him you had lost any thought for details.

He straightened and put his hands in his pockets, voice dropping low. “You can come closer. I won’t bite.”

Your stomach flipped. Desire was starting to cloud over your fear. If he was still glamouring you, you didn’t care. You just wanted to explore him.

“Cheeky,” you lobbed as he chuckled smugly at his joke. Rising slowly, you walked to stand in front of him, drinking in the devastating perfection of his body. The low light cut precise shadows across his toned form, enhancing the effect even further. He was alabaster and strength, predation and pleasure. “Fucking hell,” you exhaled, shaking.

“Membership has its benefits,” he lilted playfully.

“So you didn’t look like this when you were…” ‘Alive’ seemed an odd thing to ask someone about in the past tense. “Before?”

“I looked alright,” he shrugged, his boyish face contrasting with the statue of the male ideal it sat atop.

You returned his smirk. You knew he would have been considered exceptionally handsome in any era. You had seen as much in his portrait. You began to wonder how many lovers he had had. Likely as many as he wanted. But now, impossibly, he was offering himself to you. He stood completely still, letting your eyes rove. Cautiously, you brought a hand to his chest. Solid muscle and silken skin, significantly cooler than any healthy person should be. You had assumed it was the chill of the night air.

“Do you feel cold?”

“No,” he looked down at you, eyes smoldering. “I can feel heat pouring off of you but in my own skin, I feel comfortable. Heightened, actually. I can feel every ridge in your fingertips right now. I could count them.”

You trailed your fingers up to his defined clavicle, your breath growing heavier, equal parts fascination and arousal. He didn’t move. And that’s when you realized.

“You’re not breathing.” Now the unearthly was colliding directly with your senses. Your mind’s denial and flailing explanations were being overwhelmed. But you didn’t want to pull away. “It’s…weird.”

Ben hung his head in apology. “I know, sorry. I have to remind myself to pretend.” He took an imitated breath and you pondered how exhausting it must be to keep up the charade around people. Your hand continued its journey across the expanse of his chest, counting the freckles down his sternum, pressing your palm against his firm flesh. Then you gasped. He may not have been breathing, but something was moving behind his ribs. His heart was beating as hard and as fast as a hummingbird’s, so rapid that you couldn’t discern one beat from the next, just a steady thrum, practically vibrating under your hand.

He quirked a brow. “That still works. All this blood. Have to keep it moving somehow.”

“But I thought…”

“It’s like we become just a circulatory system in overdrive, trapped within a frozen body.” He cut you off, sounding as if he had delivered this explanation countless times before.

You pulled your hand away, nodding and straightening your glasses. You couldn’t rationalize this anymore. Whatever he was, he was something you had never encountered before and he wanted you to know it.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

His eyes grew gentle. “Because I know I can trust you. You know who I am. You’re not going to tell anyone.”

No, you certainly weren’t going to tell anyone that your favorite long-lost regency artist had been turned into a vampire and was in fact your neighbor and new paramour. “They would think I was mad if I tried.”

He grinned. “There’s that too.”

Something still didn’t make sense. You had been passing each other in the halls for years and it was only in the past few days that he had approached you. “But even before this. Last night you kissed me. You had to know I would learn your secret. Why me? Why now?”

Tentatively he brought his large hands to cup your face. You remembered how tenderly he held you the night before and were just as weak to his touch, even with everything you now knew.

“Because you reminded me how it feels to be human.” His tone was reverent; his pale eyes filled with a soft pain. “I felt your sadness seeping through the walls. Your melancholy heartbreak is eating into me. You have something to lose and that makes you appreciate how precious life and beauty are, which is something I was starting to forget.”

You were rooted to the spot, aching at the thought that your diagnosis had created a palpable cloud of misery he could sense. To know your pain was engulfing not only you but him as well, made you feel both guilty and comforted. You weren’t alone. He could understand. A tear ran down your cheek and he brushed it away with his thumb.

“I’m sorry you are suffering. I don’t want it to perpetuate. But it awoke something in me. It made me feel even more admiration than I already had for you, seeing you take such good care of my work.”

Maybe it was his attractiveness. Maybe you were half-mad with fear and adrenaline and hunger. Maybe he was playing mind games with you. But for the rest of the night you found immense pleasure in playing along and imagining he really was Benedict Bridgerton. Eventually you found yourselves back in the lounge as you peppered him with questions. You marveled as he answered them all with ease. He detailed his human years studying art, cool months in the countryside and summers in London for the social season. He blushed as you recited all of the accolades he received before his disappearance. He wouldn’t talk about his love life or other vampires he had met, but he shared stories of the world transforming as he had witnessed it.

He detailed the great artists he had known and mourned, the birth of railways and planes, the rise and fall of kings and continental powers. Some of his most riveting memories were of guiding refugees through France under cover of darkness during World War II. After seeing the horrors visited upon a captured group of fleeing Romani he had shifted to an offensive approach, prowling frontline villages at night to dispatch as many Germans as he could stomach. His reminiscing seemed so genuine, you steeped in the wonder of it all, losing track of time as the nineteenth and twentieth centuries were narrated to you firsthand. Eventually you noticed light beginning to gleam around the edges of the dark curtains. You had sat up until sunrise.

“I can’t believe this,” you gaped at Ben, your mind whirling.

He sat across from you in his wingback chair with an easy smile. “A part of you does.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m not glamouring you anymore and you’re still here.”

Your terrified dash for the exit seemed to have taken place years ago. Your entire understanding of the world had changed since then. You knew you should leave so you both could rest. Staggering under the weight of all you had learned, you stood and moved for the hall, turning to face him one last time.

“I’m going to wake up and think this was all a dream.”

For his closing argument Ben stood and walked to the window, tugging the curtain just wide enough for a sliver of daylight to pierce through the dusty air. Standing to one side, he stretched out a hand and brought the tip of his little finger into the beam. Instantly the hiss of sizzling flesh filled the room and a thin trail of smoke started to rise from his skin. You watched, speechless, as he nonchalantly pulled back and examined the charred wound.

“Get some sleep and see how you feel tonight. You know where to find me.”

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