#connor & odette.

[dragynkeep]

Me whenever I get into something new: oop time to make more OCs-

[cotiere]

     “  it’s seven in the morning. someone better be dead.  ”   @soulwounded​

[differenthead]

Volume 266

0:00:00 — "Winner Takes It All" by Marie Cain (1984)

0:04:13 — "In Your Wildest Dreams" by Keni Yarbro (1991)

0:06:01 — DJ

0:11:58 — "Love Salvation" by Odette Springer (1991)

0:14:42 — "Talk Nasty to Me" by J.C. Jackson (1988)

0:15:49 — "Over Anxious" by Craig Safan (1985)

0:18:51 — "Pass the Loot" by Perla Batalla (1988)

0:19:58 — "Here with You" by Suzy and the Knockouts (1995)

0:20:58 — DJ

0:25:55 — "Pistol Whipped" by Marky DeSade (1989)

0:27:27 — "Move" by Antony Alda (1987)

0:28:06 — "Spring Break / Come Together" by Jeff Mills & Asrock (1989)

0:29:34 — "Tender is the Night (This Side of Paradise)" by Andd More (1987)

0:32:22 — "Motion City Moves" by John Tucker (1984)

0:33:53 — "Illusions are Real" by Carol Connors & Patrick Gleeson (1987)

0:37:04 — DJ

0:42:49 — "Lost in Illusions" by Dorian Harewood (1989)

0:44:54 — "Someone to Love Me Right" by Jimmy Hodges (1993)

0:49:17 — "A Fool for Love" by Jim Gilstrap (1986)

0:53:36 — "Taking a Stand" by Jim Gilstrap (1986)

0:54:35 — DJ

0:57:50 — "Through the Eyes of a Child" by Keni Yarbro (1991)

1:00:49 — "Black and White" by Amy Robinson & Keni Yarbro (1991)

Stream

Download

[museblr]

smash or pass for connor -> odette emma jack diego kai, separately or all together up to you

collectively, it's a hard pass. mister man is a a water moon. i don't know what anyone expected. separately? emma and diego are smashes. odette, jack and kai are passes.

[musealist]

💍 for kai: jack, emma, connor :eyes:

THREE (3) CHOICES  — 💍- fuck, marry, kill.

" Well, I think Odette might kill the both of us if I said I'd marry or fuck Emma, so unfortunately — marry Jack, fuck Connor, kill Emma. "

[hype-blue-fixation]

don't know if you're still accepting audio suggestions, or if this sorta thing is even something you'd be interested in, but if you are could you maybe do something with lee!alastor gettin' wrecked by his momma? momma's boy needs some tlc BIG TIME

I ABSOLUTELY LOVED this suggestion. We definitely need more Al and Mama Al content.

I headcannon her name to be Odette, and perhaps she became a sheep themed angel. I wasn't really sure what her voice would sound like, but maybe something related to the telephone? Especially if she spent a lot of nights alone, I can see her calling up all her lady friends for comfort. Maybe she even called into Alastor's radio shows and did different voices to be his "fan callers."

The audio mixing was a bit hard since there was weights vs raw voice acting, but overall I'm pretty happy with how this came out. Enjoy!

[eilidh-eternal]

Chapter 2 - Places!

Simon Riley x Johnny MacTavish x F!Reader 4.4K words Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, mild swearing, feelings of loneliness/isolation, imposter syndrome, feelings of anxiety, reader is oblivious to Johnny and Simon's advances. Masterlist

Delaney O’Riordan, despite her petite frame, pulls you along with a strength that rivals some of your male counterparts in the English National Ballet, iron grip wrapped firmly around your bicep as she berrates you for making her come looking for you. 

“What on earth are ya’ doin’ down here?! An’ drinkin’ no less!” She doesn’t let you get a word in as she hauls you out of the hotel bar away from the two men, through the lobby, and herds you into the lift. “We’ve forty-five minutes to get to the theater and you’re down here flirtin’ with strangers?”

“Laney, it’s fine. My bag is packed and I’m dressed to go, all we need to do is grab it from the room and catch the bus. It’ll take thirty minutes, tops,” you assure the fiery-tempered woman as the doors to the lift close and she presses the button for your floor. “And I wasn’t flirting.” You weren’t, right? You just lost your balance. He’d caught you–they’d caught you–and set you upright again. That was it. No flirting. Even if the way the dark-haired man had called you pretty made your stomach flip-flop the same way it does every time Connor has to toss you through the air in rehearsals, and the way the blond wearing the mask, Simon you think he was called, made your skin warm with the hand that lingered on your back for longer than any polite touch should have.

“Aye, so you admit you were drinkin’ then?” Delaney crosses her arms and fixes you with an admonishing glare.

“It was just a cocktail, a mint julep. There was hardly any liquor in it,” you say in an attempt to placate her, knowing her irritation comes from a place of concern rather than annoyance. “Just something to calm the opening night jitters.” Despite decades of experience and many, many opening nights for productions big and small, for company exhibitions and tours abroad, some of them still had you tapping your fingers methodically over your thighs and shifting your weight from one foot to another every few seconds.

Her gaze softens but her arms remain folded tight to her chest. She knows tonight is important. It’s your first show as the company’s first principal dancer. The prima ballerina of the English National Ballet, dancing the lead role of one of the most quintessential ballets—a night that will define the rest of your career. “You’re going to do just fine tonight. I know it feels different, having the title now, but you’ve danced this role before. You’ll dance it hundreds of times more, no doubt, now you’ve made a name for yourself. The Bolshoi will be beggin’ ya to dance for ‘em in Moscow after tonight. I know it.” 

You scoff at this. “Bolshoi made Swan Lake, Laney, they don’t let just anyone dance for them. Especially for Odette and Odile.” You couldn’t imagine being asked to the Bolshoi Ballet. It’s one of the oldest, toughest, companies to dance with and for. Their dancers are all hand selected, scouted for their looks and physique in their youth, and train with a militaristic intensity to be the best of the best. The Soviet and American schools of ballet are both similar in that way. Aggressive. Emphasizing and attacking their movements and the sharp lines of their form with an energy the English and French schools lean away from. But that was the very reason why you’d been offered a contract with the Kensington-based company. For your ability to dance the part of Odette with the elegance and grace required for the demure damsel, and simultaneously portray the brazen and arrogant seductress Odile, who moves with much darker intentions. A duality that is coveted among dancers.

The soft ‘ding’ of the lift alerts you to the fact that you’ve reached your floor, heavy doors sliding open to reveal the gaudy carpet and busy wallpaper lining the hallway of the hotel you’re staying in for the time being. You nod a brief goodbye to Delaney, promising to meet her in the lobby, and step off the lift. The room is comfortable, has everything you need and is by no means lacking, but still it’s less than ideal. You miss your cozy apartment in the suburbs, the early but peaceful mornings before rush hour and all the sounds that come with it, and the beaux-arts architecture giving way to modern urban highrises. Soho isn’t that different, all things considered, but staying in a hotel until you can find a new apartment in London leaves you feeling out of place and untethered with just a few suitcases full of essentials and a contract for work in your possession. It makes you feel temporary. In this city. In this job. Easily replaced at a moment's notice. You try not to imagine what your life would look like if those things were true, pushing away the poisonous and intrusive notion that at any moment you’ll wake up from this dream and mourn it for being just that–a subconscious fantasy–as you sling your duffel over your shoulder and head back down to the lobby to meet Delaney and catch the bus. 

Backstage at the London Coliseum thrums with the typical pre-show chaos. Last minute adjustments to props and the set before rolling everything into place behind the curtains, mending any overlooked rips or tears in costumes sustained in dress rehearsal, and hundreds of dancers, crew and musicians fluttering about the narrow halls between dressing and storage rooms. Hairspray lingers thick in the air of the dressing rooms and the scent of gels and pomade have a cloying effect that leaves you grateful for the privilege your status as first principal affords you. A green room. 

It’s not very big. Just enough space for a backlit vanity, a rolling costume rack, small loveseat and a powder room. It feels odd, not sharing a room with fifty or sixty other dancers as you prepare for the show. Feels even stranger that someone else is doing that for you now, slicking back your hair and affixing your headpiece, rouging your cheeks and lining your lips in a blush tone. One more thing you’ll have to get used to.

Once the hair and makeup artist deems their work is finished you waste no time breaking in your pointe shoes and allowing yourself a final warmup before leaving your little bubble of calm amidst the chaos of opening night. The sound of the orchestra checking their pitch and tuning accordingly mixes with the chatter of the settling audience, and as the stage manager announces five minutes to showtime the wings of the stage begin to fill with all manner of performers. Everyone stretches, marks choreography, and goes about their pre-show rituals, wishing one another a good performance with smiles and encouraging embraces. Across the stage, you find Delaney smiling at you among the other dancers in the wings. She lifts her hands, presses them together in the shape of a heart over her chest, and you mirror the gesture. ‘Good show.’

“Places!” the final call rings out, and the house lights dim. The audience falls silent as the opening bars played by the orchestra signal the opening of the stage curtain, and with a deep, steadying breath, you leave behind the wings to take the stage.

By the time you step off stage you’re exhausted but elated. You had a stellar performance, a standing ovation from the crowd, and your directors sing their praises to you all the way from the stage after curtain call to your green room. However, the theatrics aren’t quite done for the night. There is to be a rotation of swans to pose with families for photos after each performance, and as first principal you are expected to set an example. That’s how you found yourself back in front of the vanity with another hair and makeup artist taming your hair back into place and making adjustments to your makeup. A costumer comes to help you change, guides a pair of wings onto your shoulders and shows you how to fasten them to your wrists, how to pose with them, and you’re sent off to the lobby.

You greet each child with a hug, mindful of the extra berth required to do so with the wings, and smile for cellphone cameras through the pain radiating from your knees and ankles. Some of the smaller children are too enamored with the feathers and the rhinestone-dusted gossamer to pay attention to their parents, and it takes several attempts to steal their attention away and take a satisfactory photo. Parents throw apologetic smiles your way as the children all take their turns, and you assure those who voice them that it’s really no trouble at all, though the twinging of your right knee would beg to differ. You’re holding a back attitude, relying on the small section of barre hidden behind the small recreation of the lake erected around you to maintain your balance and sustain the pose with your leg high in the air behind you, and you nearly sigh in relief when the child in front of you darts back to their parents once the photo is taken.

That relief is short lived, however, as you come back down on two feet again and turn to greet the next family. You’re wholly unprepared to find the dark-haired, blue-eyed man from the bar, masked, blond companion at his side, towering over you.

“Hello, little bird,” the former greets you and a roguish grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. 

He has a mohawk. You hadn’t noticed in the bar, and you tell yourself it must have been the dim lighting that had kept that detail hidden from you. It certainly wasn’t the way his arm had felt wrapped snugly around your waist, or the way concern shone in his eyes and made them look more like sta-

“Yer friend carted ye off before we could have a proper introduction. Name’s Johnny. Ye remember Simon,” he says with a gesture to the statuesque, masked blond, and you force the shocked expression from your face and replace it with a polite smile, nodding in recognition.

“Yes. It’s… nice to meet you both. Officially. Would- would you like a picture together?”

Simon’s eyes dart towards Johnny and the shorter man turns his face up to meet his gaze. There’s a moment of silence between the two, an internal conversation you’re not privy to. When Johnny looks to you again there’s an impish look about him, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he steps forward, leaving Simon with his phone.

“Si isn’t fond of photos,” he says as he approaches, sidling up to you between the wooden props. He bends down to whisper into the shell of your ear, “We’d like to have a photo of ye though, pretty little bird that ye are.”

Heat blooms across your cheeks, and before your brain can fully process the implication of his words he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. Your lips part on a yelp of surprise as you’re suddenly being hefted into the air and-

He’s perched you on his shoulder, you realize with no small degree of shock, a large, steadying hand firm on your thigh and the other resting on your shin just above your ankle. The look in his eyes and the sultry smile he gives you as he peers up at your shocked expression causes your stomach to flip and you grip onto his other shoulder to balance yourself. “Sorry for the scare, hen, but I can’t have our pretty bird stranded on the ground. Ye should be up there,” he says with a wink. 

What do you even say to that? 

“It’s ok, I just- I wasn’t prepared is all,” you reason aloud and cross your ankles, willing yourself to relax in his hold. When you lift your gaze from Johnny’s you find Simon right where you left him, brows pinched together in what you think is exasperation, but the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that suggests amusement. 

“Quit your yappin’, Johnny, and look ‘ere,” he grumbles, and Johnny does as he’s told, reluctantly tears his gaze away from you to look at Simon, holding up his phone for the photo.

You plaster a demure smile over your features, hold yourself steady with a hand on Johnny's shoulder, thick, corded muscle rippling beneath- No. Stop. Now is not the time for thoughts like this. This man is a stranger and you’re still at work. You inwardly chastise yourself and extend your free arm above your head, attempting a loose fourth position, posing prettily for the photo, and dutifully ignoring the warmth of Johnny’s hands on your legs, how solid he feels beneath you. 

Just as easily as he’d hoisted you upon his shoulder he guides you gently back to the ground, hands lingering around your waist, unwilling to let you go again. “We want to ask ye somethin’,” he says as Simon steps forward, hand finding its way to the small of his back and Johnny’s hands pull away from your waist reluctantly to lean closer to Simon. “When yer done here with…” He pauses and gestures broadly to your wings and costume, and his smile turns apologetic. “Performance? I’m sorry, I dinnae ken what to call it. But, we’d like to have a proper drink with ye.” He looks hopeful as he slips his hands inside his pockets, and Simon’s head tilts ever so slightly to the side as they wait for your response.

You? They want to have a drink with you? You shift your weight nervously from one foot to the other, fighting to hide the scrunch of your nose as your knee barks under the pressure. “I won’t be done here for at least another hour, it will be quite late.”

“That’s not an issue for us,” Simon quickly supplies. “You’re stayin’ at the Broadwick?”

You nod.

“We’ll meet you there then, at the bar. Same place as before.” His voice is confident. Commanding. He says it like it's a fact, like you’ve already agreed. And at this point, you might as well. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about the two men. Curious about Johnny’s flirtatiousness and Simon’s encouragement of it. And you need friends outside the company. Someone who you can talk to about boring and mundane things like the weather or how outrageous the price of a latte is at that little corner bakery you’d been frequenting. Something other than commiserating over long rehearsals and the blisters they cause, or how the director was in a sour mood with the cast that day over something beyond their ability to control. Anything other than work.

“Ok,” you finally agree, and you think Johnny's face might tear in two if his smile were any wider.

An hour and a half later you’ve returned to the hotel and rushed yourself into the shower, scrubbing at your skin with a soapy washcloth and carefully avoiding getting your hair wet. It’s still done up nice enough, and there's no sense in going downstairs looking like a drowned rat with damp hair when it’s already been… Shit, they’ve been waiting nearly an hour. You speed through the rest of your routine, washing the thick show makeup off your face, digging around in your suitcase for the sweater dress you know is here somewhere- Ah! There, buried under a mountain of leotards, and, graciously, next to the comfy flats you planned to wear with it. You trade the generic hotel bathrobe for the dress and step gingerly into your flats, mindful of the blisters already forming, and spare a few minutes more to swipe some mascara over your lashes and conceal the ever present dark circles of exhaustion under your eyes before heading downstairs.

Your heart pounds behind your ribs the same way it had earlier in the evening standing in the wings at the start of the show, and you take slow, deep breaths as you approach the hotel bar, half expecting to find it empty after you've kept them waiting for so long. You wouldn’t blame them if they’d left already. It’s nearly eleven p.m. on a Thursday, well past late for most of the working professionals in the city.

And yet, there they sit, occupying the same seats at the bar they had hours earlier. Johnny spots you first, beaming at you from over Simon’s shoulder, and your heart calms a bit, flooding with relief at the sight of his smiling face and easing some of your fear that they would be upset having waited so long.

“I’m so sorry for making you wait down here, I didn’t want to show up covered in sweat or looking like I’d come straight from the shower-” you say by way of greeting, and Johnny is quick to smother your apologies.

“Dinna fash, hen,” he interrupts, standing from his seat and guiding you to take his place on it with a warm hand on the small of your back. “We didn't mind waitin’. Had ourselves a nice little chat, eh Si?”

You settle yourself on the barstool and Simon hums thoughtfully beside you. “We did.” 

Johnny takes the open seat beside you, angling his body so that he can brace an arm on the bar top and sit facing you. “So our little bird’s a dancer?”

“‘S a bit obvious, Johnny,” Simon quips.

Johnny huffs an exaggerated sigh as he retorts, “Aye, but what if she’s not really? Could be a spy. The Russians have done it before,” he says and winks in your direction.

Simon groans but you can’t help grinning at Johnny’s teasing. “Yes, I'm a dancer. Not a spy. I don’t think they could keep up with our training.”

Johnny lifts a curious brow and leans forward. “How long do ye train for somethin’ like that?”

You make a show of pausing to think before answering. “Hmm, it’s been a little over twenty years now, twenty-two I think?”

He mutters something under his breath that sounds like swearing. “Twenty-two years?!” 

Simon’s eyes shine a rich, amber color in the low light of the bar, and a glimmer of something akin to recognition passes through them as he nods appreciatively. “Ya must be good at it then, if you’ve worked that long for it.”

You feel warmth blooming across your cheeks and a similar warmth working its way from your chest to your stomach, lower, as his eyes, the only part of his face visible above the mask, continue to study you, and your dress suddenly feels too tight against your skin. “I’m as good as any other dancer who’s worked most of their life for it.” A modest answer. 

“Which one were ye then, on stage tonight? Were ye one of the swans?” Johnny’s voice pulls you out of the hold Simon’s wandering gaze has on you. You blink several times to clear your thoughts, and when you finally turn your attention back to him he's smiling down at you with a glimmering fascination in his own eyes.

You hesitate, briefly consider lying so they don’t make a fuss over the truth, but ultimately can’t find it in yourself to do so. “Yes, two of them actually. Odette and Odile.”

Johnny’s brows furrow, and Simon sighs with feigned annoyance but explains for him anyways, “She’s the swan Johnny. She’s the leading lady.”

“Christ, yer the star of the whole thing and yer playin’ it off like yer just in the background! I’d be tellin’ everyone if it were me.”

“Thankfully she’s not. She has class, something you could use more of,” Simon chides and you laugh quietly to yourself at their back and forth.

Johnny looks as if he’s about to come back with another smartalec comment but the arrival of the bartender defuses his need to have the last laugh as a glass of scotch is pushed towards him, a mint julep for you, and a tumbler of bourbon for Simon. Johnny takes the drink without question, swirling the contents of the glass and taking a slow sip, but it’s your turn now to pinch your brows in confusion.

“I didn’t- I haven’t ordered anything?” 

“The bartender came by while you were explainin’ your trainin’ to Johnny. I ordered for us,” Simon explains.

You look from Simon to the drink in front of you, brows still pinched together.

“‘S what you ordered earlier, would ya rather have somethin’ else?”

“No! No, this is perfect, thank you. It’s just… I don’t think anyone’s ever bothered to pay that much attention to me?” you quickly explain, pulling the mixed drink towards you.

“Aye, he’s a charming bastard like that. Observant to a fault.”

You hum in answer and bring the glass to your lips, taking a slow, savoring sip.

“How long have ye been in london?” Johnny toys with the glass in his hand as he watches you, tracking the movement of your throat and your tongue as it darts out to swipe across your lower lip.

“We’ve just come back from tour a few weeks ago, so not long.”

“And you’ve been stayin’ in a hotel?” Simon seems perturbed at the notion.

“Hard to look for a place to live when you’ve been on tour for three months.” You take a longer sip from your drink this time. You really need to dedicate some time to that this week, maybe contact a real estate agent.

Simon and Johnny share a look, another unspoken conversation between themselves, and that glimmer of recognition returns to Simon’s eyes. “We’re… familiar, with that particular struggle.” When you turn to him with a puzzled expression he explains, “We travel a lot for work.”

“You work together?” 

“Somethin’ like that,” and that’s the end of it. Their closeness makes sense then, if they travel together often. It’s hard not to get close to someone when you're obligated to be with them all the time. Hell, it’s the reason why you and Delaney are so close, having shared a room while on tour. 

“D’ye have a borough in mind?” Johnny asks to redirect the topic of conversation back to you.

“The studio is in southern Kensington, close to Stamford Bridge, and we perform at the coliseum and Royal Albert Hall when we aren’t touring, so I’m hoping I can find something centrally located. Maybe in Belgravia or Westminster.” The few places you've been able to find online are quite pricey, but your contracted salary is enough for a decent flat in either neighborhood. It’s not like you order takeaway every night and your busy schedule certainly doesn’t allow you to party every weekend. Well, maybe the takeaway part isn’t exactly true. Frozen dinners from Tesco don’t count as takeaway, do they? Either way, if you have to spend the money, it may as well go towards a comfortable and conveniently located appartment, even if it’s overpriced. 

“Bit of a highbrow area,” Simon comments and Johnny does his best not to outright snort when he starts to laugh, taking a long swig from his half-empty glass of scotch.

“Highbrow is an understatement. Ye’d be a stone's throw from the palace in either borough,” he seems to agree, and tacks on under his breath as he drains his glass, “The whole south of London is full of posh bampots.”

Simon huffs from behind you and when you peer up at him you’re met with a simmering glare pointed in Johnny’s direction. 

“Och, dinnae gi’ me tha’ look Si. Ah Ken yer fer Queen an’ country, but ye ken well enough how Ah feel aboot-“

You try and fail to hide your amusement, doubling over to clutch at your sides in a fit of giggles and half-suppressed laughter, finding both Johnny’s thickening accent and disdain for the richer neighborhoods and the stuck-up personalities they breed within them comical in an ironic sort of way. You’d always been of a similar opinion, holding contempt for the privileged and entitled attitudes of the people who lived in gated communities—and now you would be one of them. 

When you regain your composure and right yourself once more, your lungs take longer to catch up, breath stalling in your chest as you realize you’re being watched.

In the dim lighting, Johnny’s eyes are luminescent, the reflections of headlights as cars pass by the window like comets blazing a path across the steely-blue night, and it reignites the warmth you’d felt under Simon’s gaze. He regards you with the kind of rapturous intensity you think a soul ascended to the gates of heaven might behold a guardian angel and the heavenly fire they wield, and it leaves you breathless. It sucks the air from the room like a raging inferno, rips the oxygen from your lungs and replaces it with delicate whispers of smoke and a burning need to draw lungfuls of the very thing he’s stolen from you, but all you can do is inhale the intoxicating fumes it leaves in his wake. 

“Sorry, it’s just… the irony, and your accent. I didn’t mean-” 

“No dove, don’t apologize. Not for makin’ such beautiful sounds for us,” he says in a husky voice and that spark of heat flares brighter, low in your belly.

Oh. Oh… Your denial of all his flirty comments and your resolve to ignore them begins to disintegrate as you realize this isn't just some bit for him. He really means it. He simply watches you for a moment longer, and you shift nervously under the scrutiny of his gaze until you think he must know you're having trouble breathing because a slow, confident grin splits his lips as he looks past you, over your shoulder to where Simon leans casually against the bar. His glass of bourbon is somehow empty despite never seeing him drink from it and he’s bent forward at the waist, elbow braced against the bar top and his fist pressed to his temple.

“Think I could get drunk off’a that,” he murmurs, and you know that no other proclamation has ever sounded as delightfully dangerous as those eight words.

En Pointe>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[reviewdiaries]

Ace and the paradox of finding peace in 4x09

Ace is very isolated this week, and it allows for some quiet introspection - the possibility of getting into his own special kind of trouble. And isn’t that something Ace has always been spectacularly good at? Whilst I’d love to see more episodes like the last two with entire Drew Crew shenanigans and hijinks, I’m also really loving the separate threads that each of the characters are following. The writers have a beautiful ability to weave seemingly disparate threads of stories together into one cohesive whole that makes the season even more satisfying by the end.

So he’s thrown himself into work, because that’s what he does when the snarls of feeling become too much. And yes, the last we saw he and Nancy were very much more on the same page, starting to feel their way through to an understanding, a want, a please I want to be with you more than anything, I don’t care what anyone else says. But that doesn’t magically fix everything. Doesn’t iron out the creases in his mind where the fears have taken root. That he’s not enough, not worth it, that Nancy will die and he’ll be left with nothing but a fistful of memories and a crippling guilt that it was all his fault.

But it’s still there. In the distraction as he picks up the clipboard and nearly shatters Connor’s mug. In the distant half aware way that he greets the latest addition to the morgue. His mind is half on his job and half on Nancy and the way his heart is tied to hers, a tug beneath his ribs whenever he thinks of her.

And then he is offered a distraction. A beautiful shining puzzle all his own. And he can’t resist, he’s never been able to resist, that’s part of why he and Nancy work so well together, so attuned to the frequency of mysteries to untangle, problems to solve, locks to pick. He’s used to the supernatural - the idea of the morgue being haunted barely rating in his top ten creepy situations he’s found himself in. So of course the latest body has brought in its ghost, and of course they’re trying to communicate with him. And he’s part running through all of the things he remembers from Tiffany haunting George, from Odette, the tips and tricks to try and draw them out, help them move on. Part engrossed in the who and the why and the what of it all. Metaphorically putting his fingers in his ears over all of his own feelings and problems and focussing entirely on this.

By the time he makes full contact, Ace has had time to think about this, to puzzle out the problem of his supernatural visitor. I don’t think you’re here to hurt me - famous last words Ace, but he’s also not wrong on his assumptions so far. The entity could have hurt him when they first announced themselves. He drops to the floor expecting an attack, for something to fall, to electrocute him, for danger of some kind. But nothing comes. He’s realised they, whoever they are, want his attention. Want his help. 

But it’s the phrasing of the next part that gets me.

Maybe I can help you move on. The slight pause, the stumble over the idea of moving on. And doesn’t everything come back to Nancy at the moment? What they have, how they’re wrapped up around each other, tangled beyond hope, uncertain how to move forward, impossible to move back. Pandora’s box where once they admitted how they felt, once they had those first delicious illicit moments - conversations, touches, kisses - they couldn’t ever go back to not knowing. 

Find peace.

He can’t find peace. As elusive as sleep when he thinks about kissing her. And things feel cleaner, lighter, since they spoke. But there’s still a disconnect, still the pain of a dislocated bone when he sees her, so it’s easier to avoid. Easier to stay here in his own space with his own mystery, and not think about the constant beating of what if that thunders in his chest when he thinks of her.

It’s tantalising, the possibility of helping something, someone else to find those things. Like maybe if he can find it for someone else he can see the roadmap for himself. Because it’s all one step forward, two to the side, three steps back. He’s lost and confused and throwing himself into his work at the morgue because it is his. It is separate, isolated, a haven away from the tangles of the rest of his life. And sure, Nancy has a way of finding her way in, even here, she always does, she wouldn’t be her if she didn’t, but on the whole it’s clean lines and antiseptic - impersonal and so far away from the riot of colour and knot of emotions he’s so used to.

So he doesn’t even question. Doesn’t wonder if this might be something bad, something that might hurt him. Just wants to help (doesn’t he always want to help - acts of service, acts of service, acts of service) wants to prove to himself, to the ghost, to Nancy, to the world that he is helpful, he is worthy, he can do this on his own. Wants to shut the feelings away and focus on something else if only for a little while. Plunge his hands into the cold water for the shock of something new, something different, something that takes him out of the loop of his own thoughts.

He’ll tell the others at some point, maybe, he’s not sure at this stage. Too lost in the here and now moment of the puzzle to think about caution, about the need for back up, for different perspectives. To wonder whether maybe he’s being incautious because he hurts, because he’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of the bay, because he’s terrified that Nancy is already moving on and what he meant to her was nothing compared to the size of his feelings for her. It was so much easier to stuff his feelings down and pretend they didn’t exist when he didn’t have the reality of his name whispered out on a gasp from her lips, the feel of her gathered close in his arms, the softness of her hair tangled around his fingers. Now it’s just a relentless barrage of knowing whenever he’s near her and can’t touch her. Worse since their body swap and he became intimately aware of her in ways he still can’t let himself truly think about. Can feel the heat of a blush staining his skin whenever the thoughts slip in. 

So he’ll keep pressing through and ignoring the warnings in his head, and not wonder about the curse in the jar that allows the cursed to talk to the dead. Not wonder about the way he fell when the wave swept over the boat. Not wonder at the way Connor doesn’t seem to notice the weirdness that’s been drifting over the morgue like a dark cloud since this body arrived. Just keep breathing and pressing through against the bruises where his heart ties to Nancy’s, and plunging his hands into cold water until he can hear the voice again. Because maybe if he can solve this, help someone else move on, he’ll work out how he can do it himself.

[world-of-wales]

Okay I’m obsessed with the enemies to lovers and marriage of convenience/arranged marriage/ fake dating trope

Recommendations please 🙏

Here you go anon, sorry it took me some time to answer this. I had to open my laptop to get my book lists. A lot of the books have overlapping tropes. If you want any other recs just send me a msg ♡

And most of these are okay and Clean books but a lot of them come with heavy stuff so please check your triggers before you dive into them.

ENEMIES TO LOVERS -

RWRB (Coz that started the whole boom Conversation) - Casey McQuiston

Serpent & Dove - Shelby Mahurim

Dance of Thieves - Mary E Pearson

Spanish Love Deception - Elena Armas

5 Rounds - Nikki Castle

Brutal Prince - Sophie Lark

To Hate Adam Connor - Ella Maise

Taste - Melanie Harlow

Eleanor & Grey (not exactly enemies to lovers but he's very grumpy and closed off) - Brittany C Cherry

From Lukov with Love - Mariana Zapaata

By a Thread - Lucy Score

Twisted Hate - Anna Huang

Until I get you - Claire Conttreras

Weak Side - SJ Sylvis

Grumpy Romance - Nia Arthurs

Rogue - Greer Rivers

The Summer We Fell - Elizabeth O Rourke

Beauty and the Baller - Isla Madden Mills

Things We never got over - Lucy Score

Mafia Royals (A LOT OF THEM) - Rachel Van Dyken

Heart Song Duet - Jennifer Hartmann

Crow - A Zaverelli

ARRANGED MARRAIGE / MARRAIGE OF CONVENIENCE -

Marraige for one - Ellas Maise

The Windsor Series (ongoing, 3 books out) - Catharina Maura

Terms and Conditions - Lauren Asher

The Penalty Box - Odette Stone

The Buff - Devney Perry

To Love Jason Thorn - Ella Maise

The Wall of Winnipeg - Mariana Zapaata

King of Wrath - Anna Huang

Forever after all - Catharina Maura

Twisted - Emily McIntyre

Fake Empire - CW Farnsworth (or Swansworth)

Sinners Anonymous - Somme Sketcher

First 3 books of Filthy Rich Americans Series - Nikki Sloane

Dark Succession - Katee Robert

Marraige Effect - Karla Sorenson

Beautifully Broken Redemption - Catherien Cowles

Duchess Deal - Tessa Dare

FAKE DATING -

The Love Hypothesis - Ali Hazelwood

The Cheat Sheet - Sarah Adams

Fix Her Up - Tessa Bailey

Addicted to You - Krista & Becca Richie

Hani and Ishu's guide to Fake Dating - Adiba Jagirdar

Redeemed - Lauren Asher

The Kiss Quotient - Helen Hoang

Overruled - Emma Chase

Play Fake - Maggie Rawdon

That Kind of Guy - Stephanie Archer

The Bodyguard - Katherine Center

The Boyfriend Candidate - Ashley Winstead

First Down - Grace Reilly

The Real Deal - Lauren Blakeley

Happy Place - Emily Henry

Foxe and the Hound - RS Grey

My Life in Shambles - Karina Halle

Twisted Lies - Ana Huang

Blind Side - Kandi Stiener

The Deal + The Risk - Elle Kennedy

Boyfriend Material - Alexis Mall

Faking with Benefits - Lily Gold

The Upside of Falling - Alex Light

Unfortunately Yours - Tessa Bailey

[deadal3x]

PJO ORIGINAL CHARACTER PLAYLIST MASTERPOST

All my OCs playlists compiled into one place! I wanna preface this with a reminder that not all these playlists have a lot of songs- I am always adding songs to them, if fact.

some just are shorter than others, currently. :D

There's this Form where you can recommend songs for OCS!

Damien Monroe (and his other 2 playlists. 1 2)

Joseph Monroe

Abigail Monroe

Cathy Monroe

Joseph Monroe JR

Grayson Bailey

Matilda Bailey

Canobie Nikolaevich Volkov

Ophelia Collins

Alexander Wayne

Audrey Wayne

Amanda Wayne

Pandora Bates-Wayne

Jasper Jay Chase

Simon McCarthy

Melody McCarthy

Camille Jones

Sirona Lewis

Warren O'Connoly

Wyman O'Connoly

Aster Williams

Juile Thatcher

Lake Wilson

Winnie McKay

Evangeline McCormick

Onyx Odette

Casey Legend

Yasmine Taylor

Melanie Green

Moriah Thompson

Averi Newman

Mitchell Castello-Sanchez

Lucius Marcus

Evreya Atiloe

Carmen Gonzalez

Ava Madden

Justin Golde

Marion Crane

Marjorie Joseph

Meghan Fletcher

Zane Hill

Elliott Taylor

James Wilson

Dakoda Calian

Jun Zhang AKA Noah Zhang

John Miller

Henry Whitelock

Levi Atlas

Jameson Connors

Forrest Merrick

Micha Smith

[depresshood]

@livlngdeadgrrrl : ❛  i don't know how i got this way, i know it's not alright.  ❜

words claw at his throat like a wild animal . it's too familiar . flashes of red , pure wrath can be seen underneath his eyelids & it would be too much if he wasn't with odette . he's explosive , rash . things happen way too fast .

he wants to joke , mention how he needs a drink to get a smile out of her , but connor knows it's not that easy for people like them .

" i don't think it's necessary to have a reason . " it helps , though . it would help , he thinks . to blame a circumstance , an event , a person , anything — instead of blaming yourself .

" you don't have to explain yourself . you don't have to be ' alright ' . who fucking cares ? "

[dragynkeep]

Love Odette! Can we have more context/story??

Thanks! Odette is such a child, I love her too.

Like Levi and Marina, and her half brother Elijah, Odette was born in Prehevil in relative luxury since her father, Connor Bonhomme, was a police officer and her mother, Marguerite Bonhomme, was an esteemed author. Since she was their only child after a long time trying, Odette was immediately spoiled and showered with everything at first, but that also made her a bratty child.

She only started calming down at eleven when Marguerite's health took a turn since she was already a disabled woman who struggled most of her life. Odette started to see a more vulnerable side and that fright kinda switched something in her mind.

It was shortly after that when her parents decided to send Odette out of Prehevil to study at a boarding school in the Vatican City for reasons she didn't understand. She went but came back three years later because she was extremely homesick and wanted to come home to check on her mother after their letters stopped coming.

Then she came back to Prehevil at the start of the festival, and the rest is history.

[w0nd3rplay]

SIMS GAMEPLAY LOG #1

08/08/2024 - happy bday mingi!

I just downloaded the sims freeplay some days ago and I wanted to share most of my experience here! i might update weekly somehow and here's what happened so far as I can remember @scentedcandleibex @laismoura-art

I started out with Aveline (who I used her other name from an au of mine) and added in harumi and my oc odette, soon enough miguel o'hara and hanzo join in. Miguel and Odette got married first after I unlocked the romance and marriage option.

I thought of adding in Haytham but at the time there wasn't enough so I had to abandon Aveline (I do plan on having her back in so dw). Then later on added Ziio. Then I abandoned them again and eventually settled on their son Connor (there wasn't enough space for his full mohawk name sadly) and his grandpa, Edward.

Barbie (yes, THE Barbie) was briefly there and I made her visit a neighboring sim town after I made Miguel move in to Odette's. I made it go to a resident and after being nice, she got shouted at. Eventually Kuai Liang is added in and I know it should've been Bi-Han but I made them beef AND work at the same place. Then I made Kuai beef with the resident Kenways too.

Harumi and Hanzo are the second to get married, after Odette and Miguel had Yoomi (they were supposed to work but I made them stay, I'm not gonna make Yoomi get a dr. doofensmirtz ahh birth).

Eventually I built a new house (building new stuff was needed to level up) and I placed Shay Cormac. I plan on making him the resident real estate guy but for now he's gonna be a babysitter since I'm not sure about if there's a babysitter feature in this version of the sims.

ADULT SIMS + CURRENT JOBS:

Odette Fabora - artist

Harumi Shirai - artist

Miguel O'Hara Fabora - scientist

Hanzo Hasashi Shirai - musician

Kuai Liang - musician

Connor Kenway - musician

Edward Kenway - fire fighter

Shay Cormac - unemployed (babysitter)

BABY SIMS:

Yoomi Fabora

PLANNED TO ADD SIMS:

Raiden from Mortal Kombat (+Kidd Thunder!)

Satoshi Hasashi

Aveline De Grandpre

[archiveofthemisconstellated]

mission title: stargirl’s interstellar image exploration ⊹ ࣪ ˖ aka archive of the misconstellated; AT(O)M

cosmonaut’s information & stats-

name: stargirl

age: 21 lightyears

training: media analysis, aesthetic curating, makeup skills, an eye for detail, an affinity for things that match, and an ability to pull a look together for many aesthetics

mission goals: locate, curate, and archive as many aesthetics as possible. create new ones and discover old ones, nothing is off limits. expand your idea of what is beautiful and worthy of love and attention. remember, feel, and express. have fun. love.

list of aesthetics being curated (in progress):

neopolitan*

mezzo teen * + **

girlhood

pretty pink captive***

90s & 2000s cybercore

frutiger aero

sweet lolita

2000s party scene

coconut girl

hello little red

connor****

charlie s.

odette

arabella

amorette

dove

meadow

fawn

moonee

bee

charlie k.

tuesday

[information (*)]

* - pink text indicates a current favorite aesthetic

** - blue text indicates an aesthetic personally created/named by stargirl

*** - red text is a trigger warning: these aesthetics can contain graphic material

**** - purple text indicates aesthetics based off of people stargirl knows

[museblr]

❤ + condette

AFFECTIONATE.

holding hands | cheek kisses | hugs from behind | cuddling | hand kiss | pda | spooning | shared baths | whispers | affectionate texts | caressing | stroke hair | no displays of affection

SEX.

shower sex | wall sex | neck bites | oral | morning sex | drunk sex | public sex | backseat of car | bdsm | no sex

DATES.

picnic | cinema | restaurant | sports game | hike | coffee | museum | club | bar | beach | no dates

WOULD MY CHARACTER ...

marry them? yes | no have sex on the first date? yes | no confess their attraction first? yes | no have children/adopt? yes | no die for your character? yes | no cheat on your character? yes | no lie to them? yes | no cuddle after sex? yes | no

[castle-dominion]

Part one of the blooper reel

Sorry for the bad quality filming, I don't have the ability to screenrecord.

RC: How do you run in these things? KB: Shut up & pull RC/NF: You say pull your shoes say pole SK (KB): What? NF (RC): Ahn? Ahn?? :D

NF: *sneezes like a kitten & flails his hands a bit* uwu NF mouthing/whispering: We'll cut that out *makes snipping motions with his hands*

SK: *dancing with an evil smile*

RC: Mother, get down! MR/SS: *looks around a bit before dropping down behind the desk* D: *Cut to them both laughing af*

KR: Found something you'd want to see SD (KR): *laugh/scoff* You have a line! *points one finger while walking backwards to where he is when he starts the scene*

[In the morgue] KB: Let's go update captain Montgomery. RC, spotting his daughter in the other room: Can you give me a minute? KB/SK: No-- SK (KB): wait-- SK (KB): Captain Montgomery is dead *someone says "ouh" & NF bursts out laughing, even the dead guy cracks a smile* ((I sort of wish that they keep small mistakes in, it would make it more real. Maybe if someone slurs or stutters their line a bit but not horribly idk I'm not a director or editor))

*Sophia Turner passes Castle a card or smth* *NF/RC drops it & needs to bend down to pick it up* JB (ST) loud-whispers: Loser

NF (RC): *come here gesture* NF mouths: come here Camera: *turns to him a bit* NF: *over here* NF mouths: come right here Cam: *zooms in* NF mouths: come on NF: *nods while still saying "come here" with his fingers* Cam: *continues to focus on him* NF: *makes the "ok" symbol with his hands & gives a little kiss*

Turner/Oliver/Connor/Tucker/Tanner (I can't hear his name): You guys are De-TEC-tives huh? *leans up on his toes during the "tec" of detective* JE: *Looks at Beckett in expressionless confusion* Uniformed Officer: Hahah I'm still in a squad car *a single "hm" laugh* JE: *looks back to uni* UO: I uh, almost made detective once but had a little *puts hand by his mouth* pRobLEm WiTh thE wEEd *ha* so anyway. Guys sent me down. I'm Oliver, I'm new. ((DANG I WISH THEY HAD KEPT THIS IN I LOVE HIM SO MUCH)) ((also this was before weed was even legal in california, before it was legal in canada))

KB, breaking down the phone sex door: NYPD!!! *part of the door frame falls on her*

SD: ... Did one of you fart?

KB/SK: He had a slight hitch in his walk. I think he had a physical therap-- JE/JH: *cocks head a bit* KB/SK: I think he had a phylic-- NF/RC: *recoils minutely* SK/KB: physical disability NF/RC: someone does

KR: Nao but we got unis canvassing... *bug flies around* KR con't: every eyewitness & street level... *bug flies closer* KR, a bit strained: security guard *bug flies wildly & then NF/RC comes behind him waving away the fly* KR con't: Just after... SD, unable to contain his smile: Let's do that again *runs backwards in a cute dancey canter* SD, to NF: You saved me

KB: But it-.. did get everywhere-- TJ (LP) I think: *fails at holding back a laugh* SK (KB): How does that damn line go? *laughs*

LP: If there's even some, it's probably-- TJ (LP), suddenly: What is it!? *makes wide eyes off to the side* Bitch... XP

PJJ/VG: some of my detectives keep me informed as to thei a whu cho'pa habakta

NF/RC: Odette paid for Barbara's f- sur ger y a.nd im ur mamnga ma mh

TJ (Betsy Sinclair/LP): Yes; & I don't appreciate you lugs mopping him with the floor the other night. ((Dang she's hot)) NF: Ooh/ew Director, OS & therefore echoey & muted: Say that line again TJ/BS/LP: I don't approve-- NF, overlapping: Mopping the floor with him TJ: *surprised pikachu* TJ: ??? What did I say? ((I feel her, I feel her))

NF/RC: He also admitted to making a low net vengeance em ne nem me 'h hm

RC: You change the letters around, you get ___ KB: Stan Lee. *writes Stan' then pauses & writes Lee* Comic book genius. StanA Katic (KB), leaning against the whiteboard: I found myself writing "Stana Lee" XD

Director: Can you do a little double take on that? SK: That- it's- it's a sexual thing? Director: Well,, Yeah. SK: Oh Everyone: XD