#a very 1920s au

[irenetheeadler]

Lady Iris Holmes

[tennessoui]

I'm begging on my hands and knees for more Twilight au, and those are words I never thought I'd say! Anakin being able to resist compulsion, and Obi-Wan seeming instantly obsessed, and poor Shmi! Pretty please 🥺🙏

hey!! sure! here's some more!

(2.5k)

Having a sheriff for a mom sucked a lot when he was a kid growing up in a small town. There was probably nothing Anakin was rebelling against more at eleven, at thirteen, at seventeen than the rule of law his mother represented. 

All things considered, she was pretty good at separating her home life from her worklife. It was Anakin who was bad at respecting the separation, Anakin who couldn’t keep son out of delinquent.  There’s only so many times he could be pulled out of wreckage and bars and buildings with Keep Out No Trespassing signs on them before he got The Sheriff at home and out in public.

He’d hated it growing up and had come to grudgingly respect it later and in fits and starts. His dad dying had, terribly and ironically, helped a lot. His mother had had a stroke just before and then Anakin had been faced with the possibility of being an orphan, and the terror of that had mellowed him out.

Sorta.

He still hates a lot of things about his mother’s job. Especially the fact that she’s the sheriff of a very small town.

And when people talk, she listens.

The thing about small towns is that everyone’s always fucking talking. And other people are always fucking lsitening so they can talk later. One big fucking community, which means when Anakin comes home from his weird doctor’s appointment with Dr. Kenobi, a few hours later because he took a detour biking along the edge of the seaside cliffs just to spit in the good doctor’s metaphorical face, Shmi Skywalker already knows more than Anakin ever planned to tell her.

Like, for instance, “Sheila says that Dr. Kenobi thought it would behoove you to spend some time at the local library volunteering.”

Anakin pauses, backpack half-slung off his shoulders. He hangs his stuff up slowly, careful to keep his tone very light. “Did Sheila say what I told him after he said that?” 

His mom’s silence is very loud.

“I don’t want to do i—”

“I asked the new librarian about it on my way home from the station. She thinks it’s a wonderful idea. Apparently we used to have a program like that in the forties but it died out during the war.”

“Mom, come on—”

“It’ll look good on resumes, saying you created and supported a local reading program.”

“Yeah, but I’m a bit too old to be applying for babysitting positio—”

“It’ll look good for me as well,” Shmi says in her sheriff voice. “Elections are coming up soon. It’ll be good, if my kid was involved in the community.”

Anakin’s glad that his back is still turned to the living room, where his mom is sitting. “Are you gonna run again?” he asks, paying special attention to his tone this time.

“Why wouldn’t I?” his mom replies. “I’ve been sheriff for a decade and a half.”

Anakin lets his eyes fall closed for a second, knowing that his face can’t be seen. This is how they end up half the time: Shmi’s ardent belief that she is invincible, going up against Anakin’s desperate desire for her to be so.

And they just don’t talk about it. As if they’re actually in agreement.

He knows how this is going to shake out.

“Do you have any plans tomorrow?” His mother asks.

Anakin’s eyes remain closed. “I guess so,” he says.

—--------

Mrs. Kenobi—call me Satine—is sort of scary up close. She’s tall. She glides between bookshelves. Anakin’s never met someone who glides before. And she’s so intensely, incredibly, blindingly perfect that Anakin would rather be anywhere but in her vicinity. There’s something incredibly unnerving about the symmetry of her face, the sharpness of her cheekbones. She’s obviously an absolute knock-out, just drop-dead gorgeous, but it makes Anakin’s skin crawl and his heart beat fast, but not in a good way or a normal teenage boy way.

Anakin tries to keep the unease off his face as Satine leads him through a tour of the library, a gentle hand on his forearm. That’s another thing Anakin doesn’t really like. She’s wearing satin gloves. He doesn’t know anyone who wears gloves anymore.

It’s just all a bit…unsettling.

“I put in a few words around the school yesterday afternoon,” Satine tells him. They pass by the mystery section, the fantasy section, and take a hard right into the young adult section. The shelves are smaller here, and Anakin feels rather stupidly gigantic as he and Satine walk through them. “To some parents picking their children up after school. They agreed it would be good exposure to bring them to the library for an hour or so of reading before supper.”

Anakin highly doubts it will be, but Satine hasn’t really asked him.

She sweeps past his figure and pushes open a pair of double doors with a flourish better suited for a Russian tsarina hosting an elaborate ball than a small town librarian showing off a small, cramped, and dusty room filled with padded seats and threadbare rugs.

And then, as if she has been waiting to put the last nail in the proverbial coffin, Satine adds, “A few students from the local high school will be here as well.”

“Sorry,” Anakin says, “are you saying I’m going to be reading to high school students? Can’t they do that themselves?”

After all, Anakin went to high school here. Academics hadn’t been too rigorously challenging, but they’d taught the fucking basics.

Satine raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow in his direction. “They’ll be volunteering as well.”

Oh. Right.

“It looks good on their college applications,” Satine waves a hand through the air and the words linger there. Anakin looks out the rather dirty window, jaw clenching. “I’ve already chosen a handful of books I think the young ones will enjoy.”

Anakin, committed to his fate, pads over to the titles placed carefully ontop of a short, stout side table. 

“Peter the Rabbit,” he reads off the top. “Peter Pan. Alice in Wonderland. Treasure Island. The Prince and the Pauper—look, you’re the librarian here, but don’t you have anything written this century maybe? Harry Potter, even.”

“These are classics,” Satine tells him, her nose raised into the air as if she has encountered something particularly foul-smelling. She turns away, presumably to return to the front desk so she can welcome half the fucking town inside the library so Anakin can read them fucking Anne of Green Gables and become a better person.

“These are fucking boring,” he mutters to himself, flicking the cover of the first book, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz open. Publication date: 1900. “I’d rather be in Kenobi’s office getting lectured at.”

There’s a sharp noise of disapproval from the doorway, and Anakin’s head snaps up to see the tail end of a very heated look from the librarian before the door closes behind her.

He shivers, alone in the emply room, and it takes several long minutes for his heart to settle back into its normal pace. 

—----------

After the fourth kid sneezes, Anakin closes his book with a snap and stands from the very small chair they’ve got him sitting on. “Come on,” he tells the cluster of children he’s been assigned to. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Are you kidnapping us?” One of them, a snot-nosed kid who’d started the sneezing says, rubbing at her cheek beneath her glasses. “Cause mommy says that’s not allowed.”

“I’m not kidnapping you,” Anakin snaps back, barely holding in his natural follow-up to the sentence which is of course, I don’t want to be around any of you in the first place. “Also, just for future reference, you shouldn’t ask if someone’s kidnapping you after you already start following them.”

The girl scowls and reaches up her hand to hold onto Anakin’s. 

For the love of Christ.

“We’re just going to go into the main part of the library,” Anakin tells his children, all six of them. “They have windows out there.”

They have windows out there and they also have parents. Parents who absolutely should be doing other things with their lives and precious hour of extra freetime.

Parents who are clustered instead around the library’s front desk as the town’s newest librarian holds court.

“Is reading time over?” one of the kids asks him, turning his head to look up at Anakin.

Anakin thinks about it. “Do you want reading time to be over?”

The kid thinks about it back. “Yeah,” he decides. “You don’t do the voices good.”

“It’s a boring book,” Anakin tells the kid. “Voices aren’t going to make it better.”

“Voices always make it better,” another kid says. “They make everything better.”

“Oh look,” Anakin says. “Is that your father?”

He gestures vaguely towards the cluster of drooling middle-aged somethings focused on Satine.

The kid peeks around his thigh and then shakes his head. “No,” he says. “That’s Dr. Obi.”

“Dr. Obi!” The kid holding Anakin’s hand says, and she lets go.

Anakin gets a bad feeling about this, a feeling that only doubles when he turns around to see Dr. Kenobi sauntering towards him, hands tucked into the pockets of a long dark jacket that makes him look even more pale than he already is.

He scowls automatically as the man gets closer. “Dr. Obi.”

Dr. Kenobi spares him a look that’s far too amused for Anakin’s pleasure before he crouches down to the level of the kids. “Hello there, young ones,” he says, opening his arms to accept a hug from the traitor of a girl Anakin’s just spent thirty minutes reading to. “Are you eating all your vegetables? Even the brussel sprouts?”

“I like brussel sprouts,” one of the kids reports sounding proud, and that starts a cacophony of opinions about brussel sprouts from all around Anakin.

“Wow! One of mine just absolutely hates them,” Dr. Kenobi says. “She refuses to eat them, so you’re very brave, Michele.” He lets go of the girl and turns his golden-brown gaze up to Anakin. “And what does Mr. Skywalker think?” he asks, raising a hand for Anakin to take. It’s very obvious he’s asking for a hand up and Anakin is obeying before he thinks about it. He snatches his hand free almost too soon, but Dr. Kenobi doesn’t even have the grace to lose his balance and fall over. 

His hand is like ice in Anakin’s, and Anakin stuffs his fingers into the pocket of his jacket automatically a second later.

“Do brussel sprouts help with circulation?” he’s biting out before he can stop himself. “Cause you may need some then.”

Kenobi’s head tilts very slightly to the side as his eyes catch and hold onto Anakin’s. “Oh?” he asks lightly. 

“You’re cold,” is all Anakin mutters in return. He swipes his other hand against the back of his neck. “”S poor circlutation, isn’t it? Something in your diet maybe?” Dr. Kenobi blinks at him and then breaks into a wide smile. “I can assure my diet is very…circulation-mindful,” he says. “Blood health positive.”

Anakin’s mouth thins into a line. He guesses that’s what he gets for trying to give health advice to a doctor, especially a doctor like Kenobi who just so happens to be devastatingly attractive and also smart.

And also an asshole. And also married.

Speaking of which. “Are you here to fend off your wife’s admirers with a scalpel?” Kenobi’s eyebrows raise. “Young ones,” he turns his head away from Anakin, down to the children.

The strangest feeling breaks of Anakin the second Kenobi looks away, almost as if a strange pressure he hadn’t even realized had been building was suddenly dissolved.

The very small beginnings of a headache begin to thrum in his temples.

“Young ones, it’s time to find your parents, isn’t it?” Kenobi says, and like fucking magic, the crowd of six children around Anakin disperse, children swarming away from him towards the group of adults surrounding the front desk.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” Anakin blurts out, even though he’d meant to ignore Kenobi now that he doesn’t have to make nice in front of small kids. Not that he was really making nice in the first place. But now he definitely doesn’t have to.

Kenobi gives him a half-smile, eyes heavy-lidded. “It’s a special sort of skill that takes, above all else, much practice.”

Anakin scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Does Kenobi think he can’t commit himself to something even as mundane as a fucking commanding persona? Does he think he doesn’t have it in him to be–-

Kenobi’s eyebrows go up again. “Has anyone ever told you that you are exceedingly defensive?” 

“You’re extremely nosey,” Anakin snaps back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t you have better things to focus on right now anyway?”

He gestures loosely towards Satine, who has started playing with one of the mother’s bracelets as the other woman stands and looks at her rather dumbfounded.

Kenobi follows his gaze and then lets out a huff of laughter. “Satine can take care of herself,” he says, even though it hadn’t really been Satine that Anakin was worried about.

He’s about to open his mouth to say so when Kenobi turns back to him. His eyes are piercing, a dark, captivating sort of gold. 

“Do you find my wife beautiful, Anakin?” he asks.

Anakin blinks. His headache is getting worse, which is probably down to what can only be a trick-question fashioned to look like a grenade lobbed at his feet. “I don’t think there’s a good answer to that,” he mutters, rubbing absently at his forehead. “What the fuck.”

“An honest answer is a good one,” Kenobi says lightly. “Tell me honestly.”

The words feel pulled from Anakin’s stomach, and he’s opening his mouth before he realizes it. “No,” he says. 

Kenobi’s eyebrows crinkle together. “No?”

Anakin curses his stupid impulse control. “She’s beautiful,” he adds quickly. “Really. But…it makes me uncomfortable.”

Kenobi’s lips purse, and then there’s something like disappointment in his eyes as he examines Anakin. “Ah yes,” he murmurs. “I’ve been told my wife can make countless young men feel rather uncomfortable. It’s normal in men your age, Anakin. Sexual ar—”

“Uncanny,” Anakin blurts out. He doesn’t mean to, but he also doesn’t want to listen to  Kenobi trying to lecture him on fucking arousal in the public library. When it’s not even relevant. “She’s so beautiful, it’s uncanny.”

“Uncanny.”

“Yeah, like. Monstrous.”

Kenobi’s mouth falls open, pink lips parted in what looks like honest surprise.

Anakin’s own eyes widen as it hits him that he’s just called Kenobi’s wife a monster to Kenobi’s face.

“Shit,” he says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m going to go.” 

He throws a look at Kenobi, whose eyes are lit with something a lot like interest and then across the library to where Satine’s head is turned, cocked, and eyebrows up high on her forehead, as if she’s just heard everything he’s said.

He decides rather immediately that he’s going to take the backdoor exit.

[a-roguish-gambit]

More romy for the turn of the century AU

again, I mentioned that gambit never went to a formal school. Public school didn't exist nationwide till the start of the 1910s. he learned to read and write and do math at a free Sunday school, but didn’t learn anything else unless he read it or had to learn it for his thief profession. He did learn quite a bit though through those things, but he likes having little tutoring sessions with rogue as a result, and she’s more than happy to teach him literary history in return for, learning some crafts like whittling, but mostly just for his company, alone, with a snack, in a nice quiet area where no one can bother them. ❤️

[libras-interactives]

I have two questions about the utdm gang, mostly just for fun. How would they dress in the modern age and what would their ideal day off look like?

Marius:

Dresses very well (when he can afford it...), clothes are always clean and hair always done even if his apartment is shit lol. In modern times he'd stand out bc he'd wear "old fashioned" 1920s dandy styles, or clothes "meant for women" like crop tops and cute shorts, and bright colors.

Ideal day off in both modern and 20's is going out to eat and dance with friends. You could convince him to stay in, but he'd still want to do something engaging and invite lots of people over. It's actually nice when he gets a boyfriend bc then hes out on dates all the time instead of bugging the far more introverted Jack and Eveline.

Jack:

Already has no sense of fashion lmao,,, doesnt change much in modern times. Jeans, work boots and a tanktop. Maybe a button down or flannel if he's gotta look nice. Denim overalls if he's gotta work, a baseball cap he got for free at a feed store to keep the sun outta his eyes. Owns more work clothes than "regular" clothes for sure, and knows how to mend them.

A day off where you actually got Jack to relax: walking in a nice nature reserve or forest with no people, or a friend or two. Maybe some fishin', and grilling said fish in the evening with some friends over a fire. Going to sleep actually at peace and content with himself. God bless.

Lottie:

Wears whatever's on trend at the time, albeit with her own spin. She can look good in basically anything, would def be one of those fashion insta girlies. An ideal day off would be a nice spa day followed by shopping or a night out with her best friends. They could be doing anything - restaurant, dancing, a horror movie marathon.

Eveline:

Likes thrifting (and antiqueing in general), and prefers to alter and sew her own clothes. She's very opinionated against fast fashion haha. She'd be the one buying handmade jewelry at festivals. An ideal day off would be some restful fucking sleep with no one interrupting her enjoying a quiet morning at a cafe, browsing an antique shop or little bookstore, and going home to cook something while listening to a podcast/radioshow. Marius can come over and bring his friends if they do the dishes afterward lol.

Little Lottie:

Buying clothing for LL is an Endeavor (tm) bc of her sensory sensitivities and the fact like, trying on clothes in Walmart or Old Navy would be an awful experience for her. Also, when she likes an outfit, she doesn't want to wear anything else. So when they find a favorite thing, Lottie buys like three or five of them in increasingly larger sizes so LL can still have that specific shirt or dress when she gets bigger. She'll wear her halloween costume for months if she loves it.

Little Lottie's ideal "day off" in modern is much the same as it would be in canon; she wants a warm, secure home with no sudden noises or women shouting or strange men coming and going. She'd want to have space to lay out her legos and books and stuffed animals, and not be bothered or interrupted, but not alone - she wants to look up and see Lottie or MC close by in case she needs them. And when she's done playing she wants to go to their side for a snack and juice and be read to.

(Playing outside would be fun too, but parks and zoos are overwhelming and have lots of people - so a big backyard with a sandbox would be like, perfect)

Slyvester:

Still dresses like he's in the 50's; he is not that old in the modern times, he's just stuffy and overly fastidious. At least he doesn't wear a hat and jacket all the time. Supposedly, there's photo evidence of him in a hawaiian shirt and sandals with socks in the myriads of family photo albums his wife keeps.

As for a day off - lord this man needs it - he has a list of places his wife Viviana wants to go, anywhere from museum exhibits to weird performative art installments to a tiny hole in the wall Greek place she heard about 4 years ago to the local Renfaire. In modern times it'd be much easier for her to get about with a wheelchair, so they can go out more. They're more restricted in the 1920s, but they try to make it work whenever Slyvester's off for a few days. Alas, big shocker, Flynn doesn't allow many of those.

Lightning bonus round Malwina is a normal happy teenager who likes going to ☆spooky☆ dead malls and doing tiktok dances with her friends and little sisters. Máire never left Ireland, is the reluctant mom-friend to her coworkers at the lesbian bar, and is v active in the Dublin punk & queer community. And is properly divorced LOL.

[mihrsuri]

ooooh so I would love to hear more about Helen Norwich, and about how the English Civil War might have gone in that 'verse!

Helen, I don’t know if I said but she’s Norwich’s niece. Which I want to be clear, he never did anything to her but OH BOY. She was also born not that long after Tom Cromwell escaped him (Helen was born in 1523) after he’d been expecting to be his older brothers heir for so long (his brother had been married twice before Helen’s mother with no children and they had Helen late in their marriage).

Helen is very quiet, very considered and sensible - but she is beautiful which Norwich, after his Annoyed At Her Existence was like ‘…oh yay BARGAINING CHIP’ - it meant he could hold her wardship and then find an appropriate husband for her that could best benefit him.

(Helen was preparing to make the best of this she could - at least Norwich didn’t actually give a fuck about the actual management of the Earldom and she’s fairly sure that any husband he would pick for her wouldn’t either and would be happy for her to stay in the country with their children while he was at court so…she’d have that at least, in between whatever cruelty)*

*I’m fairly sure Norwich wouldn’t suffer like extreme cruelty because Status Thing and Status Thing Only but also he would totally not care if Helen was miserable or not.

She gets the Earldom in her own right in the end and makes it a really lovely place again - I think Welles Hall is actually particularly famous for fine wool(s) but I’m still working that out.

The Civil War in OT3 verse is me going ‘what if I flip things and the Restorationists are pissed about the increasing democracy + their colonial attempts got slapped down HARD’ essentially.

Essentially there’s this but I’ll babble some more!

Baron Hugh Wake (Of Liddell) is based on a real historical family - the first Baron had a daughter married one of the sons of Edward I by his second wife. It is however by his son (in our history both of the first barons sons died but here his oldest lives) John that Baron Hugh is descended.

King Hugh/The Restorationist King essentially begins the rebellion, well I’ll go from my notes:

Started it after his father, son and some of his sons friends were going to be jailed for human rights abuses. Believed that England should be an Empire to be great, should expel all the Jewish people, should become a Christian nation and revert to the ‘natural order of nobility.  

(They attempted to start a colony in what we would call North America. (The Spanish had previously been kicked out of South America in a story that is not mine to tell but does happen). They failed Miserably)).

There are whisperings about the changes Thomas and Mihrimah make and things do happen but they really start in Turhan’s reign. And then it goes on and becomes louder. About how Not White, Not Christian the royal family has become. About how there are Jews and Muslims and…in England. About how there is no imperialism, no ‘glory of empire’ and how people are being penalised for trying to make one by like jail. 

So we get to Henry VIII’s great great (I think that’s enough greats!) grandson Arthur (Jahan) II (I call him Arthur II because of the Tudor Arthurian Fandom Thing). His first child is a daughter and he decrees that she’s going to be the heir regardless of any brothers born afterwards. The royal family takes the final steps to expand representative democracy. Also the eventual restoration king’s son, his sons friends and his father are jailed for a failed attempt to colonise North America. They rebel at all of the above (it is possible that I a biracial jewish etc woman am Having Some Feelings). Arthur is eventually beheaded, there’s a Restoration King for the same time Oliver Cromwell ruled and then..Arthur’s daughter Charlotte Askala is invited back. 

The Restorationist Reign included a lot of awful things happening - like I mentioned the reform schools here

But that was very much the idea - they also did that to the children of nobles etc who weren’t restorationists. It’s pretty heavy history and I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately (including Gregory Cromwell’s descendant(s) and how the chest with the Triads letters etc survived). The King Arthur Jahan was beheaded, his wife and daughter sent into exile. (I love them as well). Then Charlotte Askala (his daughter) is asked back because the whole thing falls apart after Hugh’s death (he’d styled himself essentially as protector of the realm for the quote ‘true king’

There’s a whole bunch of other things that will come up in the modern day with this universes version of the Abdication in the 1930s but I will stop now! (Also the other thing to know about Hugh is that he has two children he loves deeply - his son ended up in luxurious exile and never had children but his daughter had three daughters of her own but because Restorationists do not accept inheritance through the female line they are never going to be able to be held up as heirs which is a whole other Fuckery related to the abdication).

[corpsoir]

får jag lov?

[wool-string]

Modern versions

[ariadne-mouse]

For the AU game: Beauyasha in 1920s noir

Who can the smoking, drinking, slouching-but-hard-hitting private eye detective be but our Beauregard Lionett? She's hot on the trail of The Angel Of Irons, a mysterious organization that's been disappearing people. After a long day she finds her way to a bar where soft-spoken bartender-and-bouncer (and sometimes illegal cage fighter) Yasha Nydoorin pours her a drink on the house at least once per visit. It's love, or something. She's putting together more evidence with the help of her journalist friend-and-disappointed-mentor, Dairon, when suddenly Yasha goes missing too. Has the Angel of Irons struck again? It seems so, except when Beau starts digging into Yasha's past, it seems it might not be as simple as a kidnapping... the or something Beau has been feeling hurts a hell of a lot when when she realizes Yasha has been an Angel herself, but it could also mean Beau has an in to take the whole operation down...

"You can't smoke in here." Beau isn't going to get a smoke in anyway, because her fucking lighter isn't working. "Ah, fuckin-- you got a light?" "No." There's a clink of glass, then two fingers of whiskey, neat, just like always, slid across the bar. God, looking into those gorgeous mismatched eyes is a bit like doing drugs. Good drugs. It's also magic, apparently, because the lighter finally does its fucking job and Beau takes a sweet inhale. She tilts her head back to breathe the smoke away. Then, because she's not rude, she turns her wrist and offers cig to Yasha. "I'm working," Yasha says in that soft, quiet way that makes people underestimate her. (But not Beau - never Beau.) Then easy as anything, she leans on her elbow over the counter and takes a drag from the cigarette Beau's still holding. The paint on her bottom lip leaves a tiny blue smudge. Keeping eye contact, she sighs, blowing the smoke directly in Beaus face. "And I said no smoking." Christ on a stick. Beau is probably going to have to walk from here straight to the emergency room. Or into heaven. Yasha Nydoorin is going to be the death of her.

[send me an AU and I'll share the plot of the fic I'll never write!]

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

The vaguely 1920 mafia AU (based on vibes and vibes only✨)

(no historical research went into this whatsoever)

(part one, aka just notes on who does what „proffession“)

Everyone got assigned a non-magical crime/activity, again, based on vibes. Except the Hooks don't get piracy because where would be the fun in that?)

Harriet and CJ Hook are black widows.

Harry Hook has a bar (it's prohibition era, but when did he not have a deathwish?)

(Arson and harbouring fugitives could also be on their list, but we are not here to nit pick, are we?)

Uma has a gang, The Lost Revenge, cosisting mainly of orphans and petty criminals. Her main value is that she knows everyone and everyone owes her a favour.

The Faciliers are smugglers, among other things. They have the vibes, you know?

Freddie also sings in Harry's bar and Celia practises fortune telling.

The Tremaines are disgraced nobles and just trying to marry in peace and back into wealth, thank you for asking.

The de Vils do business with anyone. I mean anyone.

Also, arson.

And since Cruella is there, good few animals went missing.

Jay and Jade are children of foreign gang that specialises in over-border smuggling and probably tomb raiding and went to *Auradon City* on a joy ride.

Evie run away from home and cooks drugs. Sorry, girl. She doesn't sell on the streets, though.

Gil also ran away from home and is now playing self appointed bodyguard for Uma.

No one is sure what exactly is Ginny Gothel doing. No one wants to know.

Yzma, Yzla and Zevon sell stuff. (Don't ask.)

Frollo's crime is existence ✨

Just kidding. He would just never in a million years admit he is a criminal.

Also, Claudine is legally dead.

Audrey Rose is that rich heiress that is perpetually high to cope with society. And also because cocaine is considered a perfectly fine medicine.

Lonnie is a daughter of foreign emissaries who runs away from home occasionally to fight in some fight ring or another.

Who runs that anyway? Would it be a stretch to say Gaston?

Actually I have no idea what Mal is doing.

She is running around, doing the 1920 equivalent of spray paint and calling for revolution. Which is funny as her parents are two of the most influential people in town. Not sure on which side of law though.

Ben has no idea that this all is happening.

Yes I WILL elaborate.

@dragoneyes618 @hannahhook7744

[shinmiyovvi]

Last wip before school starts so have this some sort of Lena for that one lore change of Vampire Knight and Noble Prince Au

[tricoufamily]

i don’t do blood sports after this is the fall ends and i instead do my beckett and connor western au

[walkman-cat]

“i love doing costume designs” I say, as I once again design costumes which aren’t the actual costume designs I’m meant to do by september

[foxgloveinspace]

Ok so since I’m on the motorcycle hyperfixation again rn, let’s pick a fandom annnnnd:

Ok, so Andrew graduates, goes pro, moves states away, and he leaves the car behind. Leaves the keys with Neil, tells him it’s his until he goes pro too and they can move in together. And Andrew gets a bike. And since it’s Andrew he goes big right off the bat, let’s say (with my minimal two second research in to it) a 2005 Ducati Monster 1000s (it’s Andrew he thinks it’s funny) (goin 05 to be safe for whatever year you see tfc taking place in). That’s it, that’s the headcanon, anyone who knows more then me is free to talk to me about this, BUT NO ASSHOLE-RY ON MY POST.

[isfjmel-phleg]

{

[myriadxofxmuses]

🥃 x2

From X

"If you're wanting to get close like that, then we are going to need something to drink. And a good year too," he said reaching for a bottle from his private stock.

"Two things about me huh?" he asked rhetorically as he poured two glasses.

"For one, I know you saw me at the club the other night with Frank and I know you aren't naive to what our business is, so you should know I hold a very useful position for my boss. It is also very violent and not something a lady such as yourself should be around. But I feel no sympathy for any of the men I kill. In fact, I feel nothing. It's strictly just a job for me," he told her, being brutally honest. He took a drink, swirling the liquid in his glass. "And for two," he continued. "I find you very intriguing," he added with a smirk, letting his charm work its magic.