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bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove · 4 months

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Secret Admirer - S.Snape

Summary - Snape had been receiving notes, poems and gifts all year. They were just sitting on his desk waiting for him, he could only speculate who had been putting these things on his desk, until one day, he catches this secret admirer red handed.

Pairings : Severus Snape x Professor!Fem!Reader

Warnings : Female Reader, use of Y/N, not proofread

This is based on this request by @acupnoodle Thank you for the request!

Author's Note : I had a bit of a hard time writing this so please let me know if there was any mistakes or if there was a bit that didn't make sense. I can only become a better writer if I get feedback on how I can improve!!

My requests are open!

my masterlist

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged

Enjoy!

Severus was always curious about who had been leaving little notes and gifts on his desk. Now, he wasn’t complaining, his admirer had brightened his day every single time something was left on his desk. Even the students had taken notice that whenever there was a note or a little wrapped gift on his desk, he’d become happier, chipper even.

He had no idea who this admirer was and he so desperately wanted to know, he thought he recognized the handwriting but convinced himself that he was delusional. Even one of the students had recognized the handwriting, saying it was Professor Y/L/N’s handwriting. He hoped that it was actually her but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“Professor Snape?” He heard Hermione’s voice from behind him as he was getting himself ready for the lesson.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” He acknowledged the girl, still facing the blackboard.

“Who do you think is leaving you those gifts?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Not even a guess.”

“No. Let’s start the lesson shall we?”

That seemed to be his routine, until one day one of the house elves had delivered a wrapped box with a poem attached in the middle of one of his lessons. He eagerly took the box from the elf, thanking them before sitting at his desk, gently pulling the note off.

Severus,

I admire watching how passionate you get when you talk about something you like. I admire everything you do, you’re a great man, a great professor and a great person. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life.

Love,

Your Admirer

The students watched as a smile spread across the man’s face, color gracing his pale cheeks as his eyes scanned the paper over and over again.

“Are you blushing, professor?” Theodore Nott teased. Severus ignored the teasing as he opened the box carefully. Inside of the box was a signed book from his favorite potioneer, the color on his cheeks darkened even more as he handled the book with care. “Snape is blushing!” Theo pointed out to the class. The girls all giggled at the professor and the boys all let out teasing “oohs”. He quickly shut them up and continued the lesson.

The next day, he had decided out of the blue to go to his classroom early. He heard shuffling around in his room which put him on high alert, he peeked into the room only to find a woman placing something on his desk. When he looked closer, he noticed that it was Y/N Y/L/N, the professor he so desperately hoped was his admirer.

He didn’t understand why she chose him, he was cold and mean, he was unfriendly and sour, so why him? He stood by the door and waited until she turned around. She let out a shriek of fright at seeing the man she was leaving a gift right by the door. “Severus! You scared me!” She gulped. She hadn’t expected him to come to his classroom so early, her heart pounding in her chest.

“You’re my admirer. I should have known that was your handwriting! I second-guessed myself,” He admitted, “I was hoping to catch you one day, ask you on a date but I was too nervous.”

“No need to be nervous Sev. I’d love to go on a date with you!”

The two professors smiled at each other, walking towards one another. “I hoped it was you,” He smiled at her.

“Oh really? And why is that Professor?” She teased as she grabbed his hands.

“Keep it up, darling,” He taunted, a smirk overtaking his smile.

“Keep up what? I’m not doing anything,” She said innocently. He leaned down closer to her, giving her the space to decide if she wanted to lean in or lean back. She, too, leaned in, connecting their lips into a shy and gentle kiss.

They pulled away for a moment before leaning back, kissing each other with more certainty, more passion. Severus letting go of her hands only to move them to her waist, pulling her body flush to his, her arms wrapping around his neck, hands fiddling with his jet black hair.

The sudden cheers and applause had caused them to jump apart, Y/N accidentally biting his lip in surprise causing it to bleed. “Oh Merlin! I’m sorry! Are you okay?” She rushed out, inspecting his lip. Severus couldn’t help but chuckle, wiping away the blood with his cloak sleeve.

“I’m fine, darling. I promise. You’re going to be late for your class, I’ll see you tonight,” He assured her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before sending her on her way to her classroom.

The students taking their seats were still cheering and chatting about what they saw as they sat. “Snape is gonna get laid!” Theodore called out causing laughter to spread throughout the class.

“That is not appropriate Mr. Nott. I will be taking 5 points from Slytherin for that comment,” Severus told the boy, taking his own seat at his desk as he settled himself for the lesson. A permanent smile graced his face as he taught his classes throughout the day. Word spreading quickly that the Potions master and the most beloved professor were going on a date later that day. Bets pertaining to when the pair were getting married started even though they hadn’t even had their first date.

The students may not have enjoyed Severus Snape as a professor but they knew that Professor Y/L/N was the best partner for him. They wished nothing but the best for the pair.

Taglist

@bigsimperika

#harry potter #severus snape x reader #pro snape #professor snape #severus snape #snape #snape fanfiction #severus snape imagine #pro severus snape #severus #pro severus #severus x reader #snape community #snape love #request

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urfavoritegirlkisser · 4 months

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"To all the Girls I've Loved Before" Hazel Callahan x Reader

"And then she shoved them all into her closet, for her eyes only, and it would stay that way until she died…or at least that was her hope."

Tags: Fluff, Nothing big happens really, only one use of y/n, wlw, proof read but it's currently 4:44am and my eyes burn so just ignore imperfections

A/N: This is kind of loosely based on the scene in "To all the Boys I've Loved Before" where all the guys receive their letters, but make it gay, also please don't steal my writing...it would suck

Hazel always kept her romantic feelings to herself…well, she tried to at least.

Sometimes she would have a crush that made her want to just scream from the rooftops and parade around town confessing her love to whoever was the object of her desires at that time.

So, Hazel decided to write them out, to save herself from becoming an even bigger loser than she already was. She would write letters to all of her crushes but never mail them so she could look back and read what crazy things a simple crush can do to a person.

There was only three letters, one to PJ, one to a girl she had met at summer camp once, and then you.

You were the one crush that Hazel didn’t think she would ever be able to shake, PJ was simple to shake after a few arguments and harsh words thrown Hazel’s way…

But you seemed to keep Hazel in your grasp even if you only knew her from that one spin the bottle game during a party freshman year, which was the first time Hazel kissed a girl. Ever since she would still catch herself faintly blushing if you caught her gaze in the hallways.

She had written your letter first, the night she got home from the party freshman year. Hazel poured out all of her giddy feelings about the kiss and how pretty your eyes were underneath the cheap party city lights.

And then she shoved them all into her closet, for her eyes only, and it would stay that way until she died…or at least that was her hope.

It was a regular Friday afternoon. Hazel’s last period being gym which wasn’t exactly her favorite, especially since she had gotten caught up with fight club business and ran late causing her teacher to tell her she was running an extra lap because of her tardiness.

Hazel had been running for a while and stopped to take a breather as the sun shone down on her, and of course she forgot her water bottle in the bleachers in her haste.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hazel saw you approaching and tried to straighten her sweaty and wrinkled P.E. uniform. Not that it helped her appearance any since she knew her cheeks were probably a blotchy red and could feel her hair sticking to her forehead from the sweat.

“Hey y/n, what’s up?” she asks, trying to be cool but cringing at herself for not coming up with something less generic.

You smile sweetly, “Hi Hazel, look I wanted to tell you that I am very flattered, but I just broke up with Josh a few days ago” you say putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry…what?” Hazel says, confused and still trying to catch her breath from running, and that’s when she saw it

Oh fuck…

In your hands was a letter, Hazel’s handwriting clear as day with your name and address on it.

“And don’t get me wrong, that kiss freshman year was great for a first kiss, I wouldn’t say it was like a firework show but I mean I wasn’t in your shoes for it so…” You ramble on a little awkwardly

And that’s the last thing Hazel remembers you saying before she hit the ground

—————

“Hazel!” You say sharply while shaking her shoulder and she jerks awake with a sharp inhale

Hazel squints as the sun shines directly into her eyes, “Jesus…what happened?” she groans a little as she leans onto her elbows

“Well, you fainted” you say before helping Hazel sit up

She knows that you continued speaking to her after that, but she can’t really pay attention as she looks over you shoulder to see a confused looking PJ walking over, letter in hand

Oh no…no no no no no

“Oh my god…” Hazel mutters to herself trying to think of a distraction and then turning to you.

“Oh my god” she repeats before quickly pulling you down so she’s on top of you and quickly presses her lips to yours, while you shriek in surprise.

“Hey! You two! Get up and stop that!” the coach shouts, which causes Hazel to immediately break away in shock of what she had just done.

She looks over to see PJ staring at the two of you dumbfounded. Hazel jumps up and shoots you a thumbs up.

“Uh, thanks…i guess” she stammers out before running away from both you and PJ who tries to call after her.

--------

Thank you for reading!! This is my first time posting fanfic so I am actually so nervous, go drink some water you girl kissers, love y'all!

#hazel callahan x reader #hazel bottoms #bottoms movie #ruby cruz #hazel callahan #wlw fanfic

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marvelwitchergilmore · 9 months

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Bloody Pardon

Summary: Anthony Lockwood x Fe!Reader ~ Despite your feelings towards Anthony Lockwood, you're starting to think that nightmare you had about locking him in a trunk chest might have actually been a dream.

Disclaimer: no idea on legally binding marriages but we'll ignore that for this fic. Quill Kipps platonic relationship with the reader (frenemies + his crush on Lucy)

You laughed nervously. “What?”

Lucy stood up from her corner of the sofa to look at the wide-eyed George. “George? Please, please tell me this is an April Fools.”

“Given that it’s the middle of November, this is definitely not an April Fools.” George replied.

“George!”

You hadn’t meant to call his name so loudly, but the information he’d just given you pardoned your reaction.

“What if you just ask him about it? Maybe he’ll have an explanation.”

“An explanation?” you questioned before laughing. “Oh, he better. Or else, I’ll kill him.”

Lucy jumped in front of you and pulled you back. “Wait, no. Don’t. Not yet. Look, we don’t even know if he knows yet.”

“How can he not know?”

“You didn’t.”

“He’s the one who probably signed the papers in the first place, Lucy!”

“Look, why doesn’t one of us just go and ask him?”

“Great!” you forced a smile. “I’ll go.”

“Absolutely not.” Lucy pulled you back again. “George, you go.”

“But-”

“George.”

“Fine.”

George disappeared from the doorway and made his way upstairs towards Lockwood’s room. He’d been up there most of the day running through multiple papers on the business and the cases that had come through in the past couple of days.

“Lucy?”

Lucy turned around and found you slumped against the arm of the sofa.

“Hey,”

Pulling your hands from your face, Lucy held onto your wrists and knelt down. “Look at me.”

“How could this have happened?”

“I don’t know. But I do know Lockwood.”

Lucy paused for a moment. “I don’t think he will even know what this is about.”

“But if he has…”

“Then we’ll deal with it and I’ll help you bury his body in the back garden. You’ll get through this. We all will.”

“I don’t even know how this could have happened.”

Lucy pulled you in for a hug, tightly. “How about I pop the kettle on? Make us some tea? Two sugars?”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

“Come on.”

However, before either of you could get out of the living room, Lockwood came running down the stairs, George quick on his tail. “Lockwood?”

Lucy called his name but there was no breaking his concentration from the paper in his hand that had both his own handwriting on and somebody else’s. He rushed around the place before making his way into the kitchen.

Luckily, you managed to catch the door before it slammed behind him and you made your way inside.

“Lockwood?”

“Something’s not right.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Saint’s would have said something. Surely, he would have-”

He was talking about the case.

“Lockwood? Did you not hear anything George told you?” Lucy asked before turning to her left. “You did tell him, didn’t you?”

“Yes! Whether he listened or not, I don’t really know.”

“Lockwood!” you called his name again, but still nothing.

“Tony!”

Oh, boy.

You took the paper from his hand and slammed it onto the counter top.

“My- what? Am I in trouble?”

“Trouble? Have you not listened to a word George told you?”

“When? Oh, no. But I think I’ve almost solved-”

“We’re married, Tony!”

Lockwood’s face went from a smile to a confused and nervous look of curiosity. “What?”

“Surely, you would have known? After all, you were the one who was left alone in the courthouse three months ago.”

“Courthouse? What are you talking about?”

Sighing, you made your way to George who handed you the three pieces of paper he’d found when down at the CourtHouse himself.

“Mr and Mrs Lockwood.” you read the first letter. “Congratulations on your marriage, enclosed you will find another copy of your marriage certificate…” you continued to read the rest of the letter before shoving it into his chest and reading aloud the next two.

“A letter, sent to me by your Great-Aunt. Welcome to the Family. Now, as much as I love all of you as my family, I would have liked to at least be made aware that I was suddenly in need of changing my last name.”

The final piece of paper was a letter from Mark Smith-Kensington.

“We have recently been made aware of your nuptials. In this case, you are in need of updating all of your personal information for the Post Office, as well as medical forms and driving license.”

You pushed the final letter against his chest. “What did you do Lockwood?”

Lockwood’s head was spinning. How could this have- oh.

“Lockwood?”

Lockwood turned to both Lucy and George. He knew something. Maybe not what they suspected he knew, but he definitely knew something.

“Please don’t be mad.”

“Mad? Ooh, Lockwood.” you had to laugh, or else you might have cried. “I am so far past mad. We are married and you didn’t even bother to, I don’t know, ask me? Tell me, even, that you’d decided to use my name for a marriage certificate.”

“It was meant to be fake-”

“I beg your bloody pardon?”

“It was meant to be fake. Remember how I told you I managed to get into Jameson’s Club so we could prove Harold was the murderer. Well, they didn’t exactly let single people in.”

“Oh, my god.”

“I swear, I thought it was fake.”

“Well, it’s very, very real Lockwood. Very real.”

“Where are you going?” Lockwood called after you as you made your way out of the kitchen, grabbing your jacket that lay on the back of the kitchen chair.

“Out. Don’t follow me.”

You didn’t know how far you had travelled but eventually you came to a stop at a small, quiet park. You sat down on an old wooden bench that was donated by Harriet Smith - some wealthy heiress from New York who had spent her childhood in the park.

After a while, you heard a voice. And it definitely wasn’t the voice you were expecting.

“Hello.”

You sat up straight for a moment and looked around you before you found Quill Kipps standing behind you in a pair of jeans, a shirt and a grey woollen coat.

“Oh, hi.”

“Mind if I-”

“Sure.” you smiled before he made his way around and sat next to you, leaving enough of a space between the both of you.

“What are you doing this far away from the house?”

“I needed a break.”

“From…”

“Look, if you want me to shit-talk Lockwood, you can go and find someone else to do that with.”

Quill studied your face for a short moment as you looked at him before turning back to look at the trees in the park.

“What’s happened?”

“What?”

“No offence, but you’re not the best at hiding your emotions when it comes to Lockwood. What’s happened between the both of you?”

“Nothing.”

Kipps called your name in a soft tone. Despite your feelings towards him, you’d each found yourself in each other’s company in the time of need. And from that, a small friendship blossomed - despite the fact that both of you disliked it greatly.

After all, you were both still rivals.

You sighed. “Fine. You are looking at the new Mrs Anthony Lockwood.”

“What?”

You turned to look at him, “Lockwood and I are married. Apparently, the form he made me sign to get into Jameson’s was a marriage certificate.”

Kipps didn’t know where to put himself. He knew Lockwood could be reckless and stupid at times, but he didn’t think he would be that reckless and stupid.

“I’d offer to kill him but I’d wager you already have that planned.”

“Death certificate is signed, sealed and delivered to the Grim Reaper.”

“Need a clean up crew?” Kipps offered.

You laughed, “Thanks.”

“So that’s why you’re out here? Escaping your husband? I have to hand it to you, it’s a good alibi.”

You smiled again, keeping your arms folded across your middle. “Honestly, I…I don’t know whether to be mad and kill him or just…”

“Sit here forever?”

“Yeah.”

“Mind if I stick with you, for a while?”

“You don’t have your own surprise marriage, do you?”

Kipps laughed. “No. I just…I-I’m thinking about asking out a girl.”

“Is she cute?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you like her?”

“A lot.”

“Is she kind?”

“Yeah.”

“She Lucy?”

Kipps half answered you before turning his head to you where he found you with a smug smile on your face.

“How did you-”

“Oh, please. I see you when you’re around her. You’re either blushing like an embarrassed toddler or you’re as speechless as a toddler.”

“Do you think she knows?”

“No. Or, if she has, she hasn't said anything.”

“Oh.”

Kipps seemed a little defeated at first. “But you should ask her out for a coffee at least. I have a feeling she’ll say yes.”

He smiled. “Great.”

“At least someone in that house will feel good about their love life.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” you shrugged. “But once he reads that letter, he’ll realise that his Great-Aunt Violet is coming for a visit to officially meet her new great-niece. So, that’ll be fun.”

“Well, I’m here if you need any back-up.”

“Thank you, Quill.”

“Anytime.”

Eventually, Quill helped you up from the bench and you both made your way back to Portland Row. On the way, you both stopped inside a small cafe for some food and a tea, making sure to pick Lucy up a loaf of bread and some doughnuts for George.

Unlocking the door, Lucy met you at the bottom of the stairs where Quill called for her to talk.

“Are you okay?”

“I will be.”

Making your way into the kitchen, you placed the packet of doughnuts onto the table for George.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Where’s Lockwood?”

“In his room. He’s been on the phone to the marriage people since you left.”

You nodded your head and popped the kettle on, managing to make two cups of tea before Lockwood even thought to leave his room.

Knocking on the door, you entered and found him with the phone and the back of his hand pressed to his head, his eyes shut closed.

“Thought you might fancy a cup.”

Lockwood jumped at your voice but quickly tried to recover.

“T-Thanks. Thank you.”

Pulling up a chair, you sat beside his desk, crossing one leg over the other.

“I’m really sorry,” Lockwood began. “I - I know it was stupid. A completely stupid idea. And, I don’t want to just make an excuse.”

“But it was for the case.”

“I should have still thought. But, I swear. I swear to you, I really thought it was fake. If I’d have known-”

You nodded. “I know. I know you would have done. But…Tony, what are we going to do?”

“I’ve been trying to find out how to get a divorce but they keep sending me round the houses.”

“Did you read your Aunt’s letter?”

“Not fully.”

“She’s coming up to visit us in a week. Apparently wants to officially meet her niece.”

“That’ll be something.”

You nodded and the pair of you sat in a quiet silence for a few moments. “I’ll figure it out. I promise.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

#lockwood and co #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #quill kipps x reader #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #george karim #london #l&co #netlfix #lockwood x fe!reader #anthony lockwood x fe!reader #platonic ships #romantic ships

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reallyromealone · 11 months

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Rome Chérie, I'm sorry, but, could I please Request, if it's no trouble for you, a Heiji Hattori (From Detective Conan) x Male Reader? Something Angst and comforting fluffy?

(Perhaps a/b/o—MR-Omega, Universe, though only if you felt like it)

Though again only if it's alrighty with you, 🌻

-🌻

I gotchu my dude

🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷

Valentine's Day was stressful.

It shouldn't be but it is.

(Name) spent all night making chocolate and cookies and a lunch for his crush, a lot of things the Omega was not great at but tried his damned best.

(Name) got to school extra early, shy and awkward as he put the lunch and treats in Heijis shoe locker before running off, unaware the detective was walking in and saw someone run off and walked to his shoe locker.

A cutely made lunch and treats, obvious effort put into it.

Faintly he smelt (scent) in the air and looked at the handwriting, realizing whoever made it forgot to put their name on it, the handwriting (neat/messy) but kind of cute the Alpha noted to himself.

He had a new case now, find who his admirer was.

He didn't really get admirer gifts much less valentines gifts so this was exciting honestly!

(Name) went about his day, trying to not think about the Valentines gift but his heart fluttered when he saw him eat the lunch and treats with seeming bliss.

When he started noticing other people giving Heiji gifts, he felt himself deflate, the others things looked way nicer than his! Heiji wouldn't even remember his!

He tried to ignore his classmates flirt with heiji, why this year! Why did he need to be seen as a romantic interest by others this year!

(Name) was tired of looking at it all, quietly accepting to himself that heiji wouldn't want to go out with him, he didn't even talk to him! Even after he put in a note!

Heiji sneakily looked at people's handwriting to try and compare handwriting, then he noticed (name) in the far corner of the library taking notes and sneakily he went behind him and halted "it's you!"

"SHHH!" The other classmates shushed him and he looked sheepish as (name) looked startled "you're the admirer!" Heiji whisper shouted and (name) blushed but looked confused "y-yeah, I mean I put my name on it"

"No ya didn't!" He teased and showed the note and (name) groaned "I knew I was forgetting something..."

"Don't worry! I'm a great detective after all!"

"So does that mean?"

"Yup!"

(Name) felt his heart lighten and he giggled and packed up his stuff as Heiji walked the Omega home.

#detective Conan x male reader #detective conan x reader #hattori heiji #heiji Hattori x reader #heiji Hattori x male reader #male reader #omegaverse #omega male reader

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fbfh · 1 year

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rocks at your window pt. 8 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18+!! ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year

additionally, we're working towards a ricky x therapy plot so he's going to start expressing some symptoms of mental illness and bpd but he does get therapy eventually and has a good support system but he gets worse before he gets better yk. Obviously I'm not a professional and this is for entertainment so while I have done my research pls take this with a grain of salt!! or several!! /lh

!! contains some spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts, and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 3k

genre: fluff, slice of life

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: making out, more fake texts (please politely ignore that it's facebook messanger it's the only fake text app I could find that's actually functional), nina tries hoovering, nina is generally a messy bitch, kourtney is a good friend, ricky is a sappy down bad bitch

summary: you and Ricky spend the night before opening having a classic sleepover at your place. Ricky falls even harder for you. Nini follows a hunch.

song recs: when you're home - in the heights, better left unsaid - ariana grande, research me obsessively - crazy ex girlfriend soundtrack/brittany snow, home is in your eyes - greyson chance

a/n: I WAS SO EXCITED TO FINISH THIS CHAPTER I LISTENED TO THE WIZARD AND I FOR HOURS CAUSE IT WAS THE ONLY SONG THAT COULD MATCH MY TRIUMPHANT ENERGY. as always thank you to cici for beta reading next part posted at 10 good reviows prepz fuk off xxx666xxx. been reading more my immortal if you couldn't tell. I, like profesor trevolry, am too adikted 2 volxemortserum.

tags @yesv01 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @pikzel @demirunner @brinaslittlefreak @girlfriendwhoseawitch @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa @n-slayaaaaa @stormi-ames @brinaslittlefreak @rainforest-daisies @sunshineangel-reads

Sleepovers at your place are something that’s become a staple in Ricky’s life, and he doesn’t think he’s ever needed one more than tonight. It’s the one night the whole cast has off before opening night, so of course you’re going to spend it together. Tech week was one of the most intense things Ricky has ever experienced. It was one week straight spent at the El Rey, doing homework in between scenes, getting used to costumes, sets, lights, and props, and more importantly, getting used to all of it together. The first full run through felt surreal. If the last few rehearsals had been that exhausting and amazing and exciting, he can’t imagine how great opening night will be.

So what better way to decompress from a week straight of late nights and re-running the same numbers and scenes and working out the kinks, than being where he is right now. Ricky sits on your bed across from you while you sort through the snacks you’d picked up. There’s a comfortable, cozy energy between you, like there usually is. This is exactly what you both need, he thinks. A relaxing, fun night together before you gear up for show time. You’re trying to contain your excitement, but he can see it simmering, growing stronger in the back of your mind.

The door opens and your mom enters, holding the last few DVDs of shows you’ve been in.

“Took me a little while to find them, but here’s Matilda - regular, and the stripped down version - and Fun Home.” She smiles, beaming the way she does whenever she talks about you performing.

“Thanks mom,” you smile at how excited she and Ricky are about your shows. Ricky looks at the titles in her sharpie handwriting on the plastic cases, excitement fluttering through him at getting to see more of you performing. It might be corny to say, but you’re definitely his favorite actor.

“Which ones have you seen so far?” she asks, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorway, happy to have someone to brag about you with and talk about your shows. Ricky lists off all the musicals you’ve watched together over the last few days.

“...And we just finished Tuck Everlasting.”

“That one’s my favorite!” she gasps, beaming, and Ricky agrees. He can see why; you brought the role of Winnie Foster to life, and he can’t believe it had such a short run. She’s about to leave, when she remembers the paperwork she dropped off at city hall earlier.

“Oh, by the way,” she starts, “I heard back from Mitch in permits and zoning, and all the paperwork was expedited. Everything you need to perform at the El Rey has been approved, and you got a green light for opening night!” You and Ricky start yelling and freaking out - exactly what she expected - and you jump off your bed to squeeze her in a tight hug.

“Thank you!” you cheer, and Ricky echos.

“Of course!” she smiles.

“That’s amazing!” Ricky beams, “My dad said it might not be ready in time.”

“Well,” she continues, “I may have pulled a few strings to get it expedited…”

She barely gets the sentence out before you’re loudly thanking her again.

“Okay, okay,” she says, calming down your cheers and heading for the door with a smile “have fun you guys.”

She closes the door, and you’re alone again. He takes in a breath, embracing this moment, here in your room with you. He looks at your decorations, the snowglobe on your bookshelf, the posters on the wall and polaroids taped to your mirror. The jacket you had been wearing earlier is now tossed on the back of your desk chair, and your backpack is still where you’d dropped it earlier when you got home.

He’s overwhelmed with that big warm feeling in his chest he gets whenever he’s around you. He loves your room, loves sleepovers with you, loves… he chokes down the thought. He can feel the urge to spill his guts, to bear his soul, but he shoves it down. As easy as it would be to pull you close and kiss the breath out of your lungs and tell you everything he’s ever felt for you, he knows the timing isn’t right. He fights temptation, helping you unbag the rest of the snacks you got to distract himself from the unspoken words he’s barely holding back. You hand him the stack of DVDs and your fingers brush. His heart jumps at the contact.

"Here," you say, "pick one out." You smile with that easygoing energy that's become so familiar to him. Sleepovers have been a pretty regular occurrence for a while now, and they still fill him with a warm, bubbling excitement. He decides which one he wants to watch first, and you slide the disc into your laptop.

“Oh wow,” he starts laughing at the grainy camera quality, “Matilda caught in 4k.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, nudging him playfully, “this was from, like, 10 years ago.”

At first it was hard to look past the sketchy camera quality and low volume of the bootlegs - or slime tutorials as you jokingly called them - but now he’s learned to see past it. He latches on quickly to your singing, feeling himself get sucked into the story right away. He’s seen another version of you performing as Matilda, but this one is the infamous stripped down one. Even though he knows the reasons behind the drastic set change, the critics were right - it does add something to the way the story is told. He realizes that even though they’ve kind of been flying by the seat of their pants to make it to opening night, it will still turn out okay.

After watching Matilda, you practice your stage makeup, and have Ricky help you pick out the perfect shade of Sharpay pink nail polish. You had put on High School Musical - it was practically obligatory - and you made it about 15 minutes into the sequel before you were in Ricky’s lap. His lips are all over you, pressing into yours, your neck, your cheek. He squeezes your waist, arms snaking around to pull you closer to him. He bites your lip playfully, getting you to gasp a little, and pushes his tongue into your mouth. Your hands are on his face, in his hair, and he can’t get enough of your touch. He lets out a soft moan into your mouth, angling his head to deepen the kiss.

Your phone buzzes as he pulls away, kissing down your neck. He runs his tongue over your skin, biting, and making you giggle. You get so flustered when he kisses you like this, and he absolutely loves watching you get more worked up for him. You glance down, seeing the notification from the pizza place you ordered from on your phone.

“Ricky,” you start, and he hums in response, biting your neck again, “Ricky, the-”

You’re cut off by a knock at the door. He pulls away reluctantly, and you take in each other’s disheveled states.

“Pizza guy.” you finish, getting off his lap to go down stairs. He sighs, staring at the doorway you just disappeared through. He’s still full of that frenetic energy he gets when you touch him. You look so sweet when you’re blushing and giggling for him, he wants to make you even more flustered like that. His phone buzzes with a text from Nini. He’s still getting used to seeing her contact without the hearts that always used to be around it.

Before he can finish typing out a response, you reenter the room holding up pizza and breadsticks triumphantly. He smiles and sets his phone face down. He wants to be here with you, eating pizza and watching sitcoms, trying not to get too nervous and excited about how close opening night is. The only drama he wants to think about right now is the onstage kind.

Nina sits on her bed, homework forgotten as she rants to Kourtney over facetime. Ricky left her on read. Again. He never used to do that, not until he started hanging around you. Kourtney’s been listening to her talk about you to death for at least an hour, and she’s out of ways to respond.

“I am so done talking about this.” Nini laughs, shaking her head.

“Good, cause-”

“It’s just, like,” she continues, and Kourtney thinks she should have known where that was going. It was at least the third time Nini declared she was done with the topic at hand. Nini continues, “do you think hanging out a couple times gives you the right to be so possessive over someone?”

In the time they’ve been facetiming she’s cleaned her room, picked out her clothes for tomorrow, and finished her homework. She’s half way through her skincare routine, and secretly hoping this will wrap up soon so she can get some rest for tomorrow.

“Like, last summer Ricky went on dates with a few girls - not just hanging out - and by the start of school he only wanted to be with me. So, really she’s just making herself look desperate. It’s just sad that he’s going to dump her soon and come back to me like he always does, and she’ll have no idea it’s coming. Like, that’s going to be really embarrassing for her, right?” the faux sympathy in her voice turns into a chuckle.

Kourtney’s brow furrows. In spite of how sick she is of hearing about this, she can’t shake the feeling that you and Ricky are obviously closer than two people who have just hung out a few times. She’s seen the way you look at each other, the way you talk to each other. People who feel platonically about each other don’t do that.

“Uh, Neen, what exactly did she say?” she tries to sound casual so Nini doesn’t get suspicious, but she’s so wrapped up in her train of thought, she doesn’t notice the I have a hunch about something look Kourtney always gets when she suspects something is up.

“She was like, uh,” she begins in an exaggerated impression of you, “we like, totally hooked up a couple times, but we haven’t made anything official, but that still means he only likes me. Also you dumped him, so… like, you have no right to be in his life anymore, and he basically hates you now.”

Kourtney squints. Through Nini’s very biased recount of the exchange you had, if any of that was verbatim, if you really did tell her you hooked up with Ricky… what kind of hooking up did you mean? Nini seems to think it’s the casual meeting up kind - let’s all hook up at denny’s after the show - but Kourtney isn’t so sure. It’s none of her business, it’s really none of her business. Plus, pointing this out to Nini would just make her even more obsessed and freaked out than she is. She needs to move on from Ricky, and the last thing Kourtney wants to do is make that harder for her. She and Ricky aren’t together, and she’s certainly not going to be the one to enable any prying or backsliding, intentional or not. Instead, she redirects.

“Uh… I don’t think she can cut you out of his life for him.”

“Right?!” Nini exclaims, glad someone agrees with her. “Like, we’ve known each other since kindergarten. I’ve known him longer than anyone. You can’t get that close to someone that fast.” She sighs. “Also… there’s something about her that’s been bothering me…” Kourtney scoffs.

“What about her doesn’t bother you?”

“No, no,” Nini laughs, thinking back, “it was something Gina said…” it's been itching in the back of her mind for a while, and she can't ignore it any longer. She has to finally figure this out. She shakes her head, knowing she shouldn't keep Kourtney up any longer. "It's probably nothing. Whatever, I'll see you tomorrow night, Kourt."

"Okay. Night, Nini."

Finally, she hangs up. She should go to sleep. She has a big day tomorrow - it's opening night for god's sake - she should go to bed. Instead she opens her laptop, typing 'broadway matilda basement flood' into the search bar. She clicks on one article, then another. Eventually she finds a picture of three girls in matching Matilda costumes and is hit hard by nostalgia. She was obsessed with Matilda when she was a kid, always begging her moms to take her to New York so she can audition and be a Matilda on Broadway, be part of the friend group of other girls her age acting on Broadway together. The girl on the right was always her favorite, and she used to watch the backstage videos she was in for broadway.com vlogs all the time. She completely forgot about her Matilda phase, how obsessed she was with those girls.

She looks at the caption of the photo, caught off guard by her favorite's name. It’s the same as yours. But that can't be you, right? The last names are different. And her parents are divorced. She remembers when you mentioned it at rehearsal once. She opens another tab, continuing to search for an answer. Hours pass and she's deep into the Google rabbit hole. Hours pass, and she confirms it’s you. You played Matilda on frigging Broadway. After extensive research, she pieces together that you and your mom both had you last names changed to her maiden name, presumably after the divorce, and it doesn't look like you've acted professionally since. She opens the same tabs on her phone to look at later. She shuts her laptop and flops back into her pillows. She stares at the ceiling in disbelief that you've somehow managed to keep a secret this massive from everyone.

After eating a majority of the pizza and breadsticks, drinking several cups of tea, and watching some more Netflix, you and Ricky are finally ready for bed and curl up under the covers with each other. You're lying up next to his chest, your body heat minglinf together, and he doesn't think he's ever felt more at peace. Your hand is warm through his shirt, and he keeps pressing kisses across your face just to hear your sweet giggle. You smile at him, blinking sleepily, and when he looks into your eyes he feels it. He's home. He gazes at your face, enamored, never wanting to look away. You look so pretty like this, curled up next to him and half asleep. He's learned to tell when he's going to sleep really well and it's always on nights like this. He never knew how badly he needed to feel his breath sync up with yours, feel your hearts beating in time. He can't imagine being more content than he is right here, with you. Even the air in your room smells sweet to him, just because you're here so often.

He thinks back, running through the whole night again, returning again and again to being right here with you. Every moment with you is amazing. You have this way of transforming the mundane into something special. He’s still in disbelief that he’s the one who gets to lay next to you at the end of the day, he's the one you have whispered conversations with when you're both stupid tired. He gets to be the one to make you giggle and smile over nothing. He remembers a tweet he saw a while ago that said 'You're in her dms, I'm dancing in the kitchen with her while the bread we made bakes. We're not the same.' You might not be in the kitchen right now, but he really understands the sentiment right now. You're cuddled into his chest, melting into his touch, blushing and hiding your face when he looks at you too long like that. It’s him, not some other guy. He doesn't think other guys could be as devoted to you as he is, they couldn't love you the way he can, the way you deserve to be loved.

He's really glad you're with him and not with some fuckboy who would just want you for your body and break your heart. The idea that anyone could even think about doing that to you, even some hypothetical fuckboy, makes him sick. You're so sweet, so easy to love. He doesn't know how everyone you've met hasn't fallen in love with you, how every guy isn't throwing themselves at you. A twinge of jealousy passes through him at the thought. He brushes the thought aside, reminding himself that you're here with him. As if proving his point, you set aside your favorites squishmallow to cuddle him closer and his heart feels like it's going to burst. Girls don't do that if they don't really… really like someone, right?

You settle against him and let out a big sigh. He's had enough sleepovers with you to know that means you're about to be out like a light. He is too, and he fights off his heavy eyelids long enough to get one more good look at you before they close. He smiles as he starts to drift off. This is his favorite part, getting to fall asleep next to you do he can wake up next to you, just like he wants to forever. He can't imagine a morning where he doesn't get to see you, doesn't get to hold you in his arms, and he doesn't want to. He brushes that aside, and focuses instead on how nice you smell, how comforting your breath is on his neck. You're so warm, you make him feel so warm, and he can't get enough of your body heat and his becoming one under the mass of blankets. He doesn't know what tomorrow will hold, but he's so excited to experience it, to have his very first opening night with you.

#ricky bowen #ricky bowen x reader #hsmtmts #hsmtmts x reader #high school musical the musical the series #high school musical the musical the series x reader #rocks at your window

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nudgeling · 9 months

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Part one

The cheery tune of Queen's "Crazy little thing called love" rang out three times in the hungover silence. Each one chipped a little bit away at Pearl's unconsciousness, but the final third one became the straw that woke her up. She denied the call and turned her head back into the corner of the couch. Her head felt like lead. It rang out twice more before she groaned and finally picked it up.

“Hello?” she grumbled into the cell, eyes still closed.

“Pearl!” The volume made her head spin and ache. “Where the hell are you? I got home and you’re not here, and no one knows where you are, and you haven't picked up your phone in-”

“Please. For the love of God. Stop shouting.” Angry Scottish was annoying at the best of times, but at the moment it was straight up painful.

“I’ll stop shouting when you tell me where you are, I thought you’d been kidnapped or something!”

“Fine, fine, just quiet down, my head’s killing me. I’m…”

She sat up and nudged the sleep-fog out of her eyes with a yawn. When her vision cleared and her surroundings came into reality, she promptly nudged them again because she must have done something wrong the first time around. Then she did it a third time. Everything about the room she found herself was still completely unfamiliar. She came to the begrudging realization that she had no idea where she was.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Maybe I have been kidnapped.”

“What?”

It was a college student’s apartment, that part was clear. Barely three steps to her left was a kitchenette, to the right an ajar door she presumed led to a bedroom, and the hall and bathroom were squeezed in between the two, yet the host still managed to afford a flat screen TV and a PS5. Not to mention the place was as messy as a junkyard, which made her inner cleaning lady scream. Right in front of her was a low table with a collection of various paraphernalia scattered from one end to the other, one of them catching her eye, as it was probably supposed to.

“Oo, hang on, there’s a note.”

It was a striped paper with ripped off stapler-holes on the edge, with a handwriting that was thankfully pretty legible. She skimmed over the words and mumble-read it to Scott on the other end.

Hey, if you wake up before I do, don’t panic. You’re not kidnapped and we haven't hooked up or anything either. You were really drunk yesterday so I was giving you a ride home, but you passed out before you could tell me the address so I let you crash at my place instead. The door is unlocked so you can get out any time you want. Please don’t steal anything.

Martyn

“What does it say? Are you safe?” Scott asked. Apparently her mumbling hadn’t been that effective.

“Do you know who Martyn is?” she asked, ignoring his question because it was second nature to be petty to Scott. It sounded vaguely familiar, though she was terrible with names.

He went quiet for a second. “With a ‘Y’ or an ‘I’?”

“A ‘Y’, it says he brought me to his place when I passed out yesterday. I passed out?”

“I…”

“Not kidnapped anywho, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she muttered, a bit bitterly but she was only human.

“Pearl. Do you remember anything about last night?”

“I fear my head will explode when I think too hard, so no.”

“Oh. Well. Probably for the best. At least you’re safe… hopefully. Just, please be careful around Martyn.”

“Hah, sure, always am.”

“I’m serious, Pearl. If I were you I’d get out of there.”

“So now you care about me?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Naww.”

“Nothing has changed because I don’t want you to be dead. I’m just here to pick up some stuff, call me when you get back.”

“Scott, wait-”

The line went dead. Great. She threw her phone to the floor with as much force her hungover body could manage. It thudded weakly on the floor.

Getting up to a standing position made stars flood to her head and the floor tilt like a funhouse, and she soon fell right back into the squeaky couch. The second attempt was slower but better, and she only had to combat a slight dizziness, plus the ever present beating headache, as she made her way over to the door on her right. She gently pushed it open.

It was way darker inside of Martyn’s bedroom. Thick gray blinds covered the windows, creating black squares with sunlight edges. On the queen sized bed lay a bulging shape beneath the sheets, his shoulders and blonde head peeking out and both hands nestled underneath the pillow. His face was featureless in the dark. She leaned against the doorframe and knocked gently on the door until the figure roused. A couple seconds of bleary orientation passed before he seemed to clock the situation.

“Oh. Hey.”

“Hi.” She gave a small wave. “You said no stealing, but do you by any chance have some aspirin I could, uh, borrow? My head is murdering me.”

“Yeah, uh…” He propped himself up on his elbows and pressed his fingers into his eyes. Pearl sympathized. ��Ibuprofen ok?”

“I’ll take anything.”

“Bathroom cupboard, top shelf, blue box.”

“Thanks.”

She closed the door. She hadn’t recognized the voice, so maybe she didn’t know the guy after all. It would be nice to get a proper look at him before she left, but she wouldn’t go out of her way to wake the poor dude up again.

The bathroom was somewhat cleaner than the rest of the apartment. The shower had sleek green curtains, adding a bit of color, which was pleasant. There were two toothbrushes as well, one blue and one green with a red floral pattern. Girlfriend, maybe? She really doubted this guy had a roomie.

Less pleasant was the mirror on the cupboard where she caught sight of her reflection. She looked like she felt; like shit. Sticky hair, smudged makeup, baggy eyes. Her whole body felt heavy and sweaty, and a sniff beneath her arm made her wrinkle her nose and add “stinky” to her current list of adjectives. She hated not being clean. It made her itch.

The blue plastic box was easy to find, and so was the ibuprofen laying on the top layer of part medicinal items and part random junk like hair clips and rubber bands. There was also a fuck ton of bandaids, a bottle of adderall, and a testosterone injection kit, because she couldn’t help being nosy. However, there was a far more interesting item peeking out from the bottom, a prescription bottle that didn’t catch her attention until after she had downed the painkiller and was about to put the box back on the shelf.

It was one of those drugs, those who cartoon characters in TV anti-drug campaigns warned against and doctors only prescribe under uttermost vigilance. The kind she used to take great care to stay away from, the same way she did with cigarettes and alcohol. But that person felt very far away as she held the bottle in her hand. Funny how much 48 hours could change a woman.

She put three pills in her pocket, not knowing until far later the twist of fate that one action had just caused.

Martyn was heading across the living room when she got out. Her wish to see his face was granted. He was dressed in a green T-shirt and jeans, and had the same familiar headband around his head, just like he used to.

"It’s you!" She blurted.

He startled, stopping in his tracks. “It’s… what?” he buffered.

Martyn. That’s why it was so familiar. If she’d been asked to name Grian’s old friend with the bandana she probably could have shaken up the answer sooner or later, but as she hadn’t sent a thought his way for years at that point, the idea that this Martyn was that Martyn hadn’t struck her for a second. He was a background actor in a background memory. Considering the lengths he'd apparently gone to help her, it made her feel pretty guilty.

"I had totally forgotten your name and your voice has dropped by like an octave, I'm so sorry."

He seemed to connect the dots, and suddenly barked a laugh. "You thought I was a stranger?”

“Kind of?”

He chuckled. “I mean, fair, I suppose. Awfully confident asking a stranger for meds, though."

Pearl shrugged. "Fear don’t got much on me these days."

Martyn hummed, like he’d unlocked new character info and was storing it away under the 'Pearl' file.

"Right, well now that you figured out my identity," he continued, "I need to clarify that I'm not normally this messy."

"Girlfriend away or something?"

He went silent, cluing Pearl that she was wrong.

“Boyfriend?”

He went to say something, then hesitated and spoke anew. "I mean, yeah, in a sense. The first one, that is. She uh… we broke up."

“Oh.” As if feeling like trash wasn’t enough, she now felt like an idiot as well. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

Silence followed. Fantasies about sinking through the ground or being pelted by a legion’s stash of arrows floated through Pearl’s mind. She cleared her throat.

“Look, I’d like nothing more than to get out of your hair, but is there any chance I could borrow your shower real quick first?”

“Oh, sure, go for it,” Martyn perked. “Want a change of shirt?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I know, I know, just… Would you like one?”

"Uh… do you have anything that fits?"

"I'll see what I can find."

He walked off without another word, and Pearl, after buffering a bit herself, slid back into the bathroom. Scott’s words of warning came back to her, which she found increasingly hard to believe. If Martyn had been flawlessly charming and clean, then she wouldn’t have had any trouble judging him as a problem and potential danger. Instead what she’d been met with was a messy, awkward, probably heartbroken boy who still put his foot forward with kindness. Screw what Scott thought, she liked this guy.

She locked the door, just to be sure.

#hermitcraft fanfic #double life fanfic #trafficblr #pearlescentmoon #inthelittlewood #nudge.writing

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vaguely-concerned · 1 year

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A post-Inquisition comic about Hawke coming home, because my heart has been aching since 2014 and I needed some catharsis at long last haha. I drew most of this over Christmas but I never intended it to become a longer thing as I was doing the first page, which is why Hawke's outfit changes completely after that. Huge plus of drawing with a ballpoint pen: forces you into an anti-perfectionist YOLO whatever-happens-happens mindstate, since once you've put the mark down on the page you just have to live with it. Huge drawback of drawing with a ballpoint pen: once you've put the mark down on the page you just have to live with it. Ah well, c'est la vie

Transcript of the dialogue under the cut/some corrections, because some of it got lost along the way to digital or fell victim to my terrible handwriting, and in some places I changed my mind about the wording but as previously mentioned: ballpoint pen and all that entails lmao

Merrill: Varric said you tried to stay behind in the Fade.

Hawke: Yeah, well, there’s some BIG potential in the housing market in there. Could’ve made a killing. Alas, it was not to be.

Merrill: Hawke, I — I don’t think you understand what you mean to us. Or… or if you do, I don’t understand how you could still think — how you could act as if…

Hawke: …As if?

Merrill: As if you don’t MATTER!

Merrill: We would follow you anywhere, if only you’d let us. You have to know that.

Hawke: Yes, I know. I think that might be part of the problem. Maybe you guys should upgrade your standards for who to follow from ‘the first and best person in the group with any sense of direction’.

Merrill: To guide those who are lost is an act of hellathen — a noble struggle. There is no shame in it.

Hawke: There is when what you’re most likely to lead them to is grim and painful doom. I seem to have an unfortunate trend on my hands. If one is to be regarded as misfortune and two starts to look like carelessness, I shudder to think what I’ve been up to.

Merrill: Is that why you sent us away?

Hawke: I never —

Merrill: Hawke, you are wonderfully clever in so many ways, but please don’t act as if I do not know you.

Hawke: It… was my responsibility.

Merrill: Was it?

Hawke: My fault, certainly.

Merrill: We were there when you found Corypheus too, you know. And we couldn’t stop it either. Does that make it our guilt as well?

Hawke: It’s not the same.

Merrill: Isn’t it? Do you think Bethany’s to blame as well, through blood alone?

Hawke: HAH! No, I don’t. And it’s very unkind of you to call me out on it, by the way. Rude.

Merrill: I do know you pretty well by now.

Hawke: You do.

Hawke: It wasn’t about that, anyway. Not really. It was good old-fashioned run-of-the-mill cowardice.

Merrill: I don’t believe that.

Hawke: It was. It had already been on my mind, but as that demon spoke I could no longer pretend… I couldn’t ignore anymore that…

Merrill: …Hawke?

Hawke: …that I would rather die than have to see another one of you — to have to bury one more — to fail you all yet ag—... I can’t…I can’t.

Merrill: Oh, Hawke. I’m so sorry.

Hawke: I can’t lead anyone anywhere, Merrill. I’m lost too.

Merrill: I know. I know. We all are. But —

Merrill: But you gave us the gift of not having to walk that path alone. When there was no other shelter in this world, you gave us a home. Please, lethallin, let us give the same to you. You don’t have to lead to anywhere. Just allow us to walk beside you. It pains me to think of you all alone.

You know, I, um — I still have that ball of twine Varric gave me. We could share it, if you want.

Hawke: That’d be great, Merrill. Thank you.

Merrill: I missed you so much. All of you.

Hawke: Even Fenris?

Merrill: Even Fenris. And his scowl.

Hawke: …I missed you too. Ah! That reminds me — I’ve got something for you! A gift.

Merrill: Oh, you didn’t have to —

Hawke: Take it as an apology for all the Wintersend presents I missed while I was away.

Merrill: A feather? Ma serannas, lethallin, it’s lovely! I’ve never seen one like this, what kind of bird is it from? Hm. It’s so big… This is going to sound so silly, but if I didn’t know any better I would have almost though it was from a griff —

…a griff…

…a…???!! :D

Hawke: Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything. Well. What tiny part of everything I actually understood, anyway. …I’m sorry, Merrill. I’m back now, I promise. And you would have made a much better Keeper than you give yourself credit for. Let’s go home.

Merrill: Oh, yes, let’s! Varric let everyone know, so Aveline should be waiting outside the city, and Isabela said she’d pick up Fenris once her ship is ready again, and — and please tell me about the griffons, lethallin, I am dying to know!

(please imagine Hawke doing a frighteningly good 'no shit there I was' Varric impression and then explaining whatever the fuck went down at Weisshaupt here, THE END)

Also some clarifications: Hawke did not kill Anders, he just feels extremely bad about and responsible for everything at all times (he asked Anders to leave and sided with the mages), and Hawke has been travelling with (Circle) Bethany the whole time since Weisshaupt, so that's why Merrill doesn't mention her. She Is Okay, Baby Sister Safe and Accounted For, please do not worry.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #da2 #merrill #hawke #my art #this is not ship art but honestly if you want it to be I don't mind lol #my hawke is aro/ace and/or homoromantic demisexual. sort of (it's complicated)#but the friendship arc with merrill has always been special to me. so I made this about it

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simstryingtheirbestok · 1 year

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15 questions for 15 mutuals

I was tagged by simolemons. Thank you! It's always so nice to be included in these.

I am tagging: @kfvarela, @oasislandingresident, @strangerpxels, @ktarsims, @spaceapples98, @beresimsdreamworld, @ts3strayastray, @kriskalutz, @dandylion240, @miss-may-i, @hazely-sims, @robbybirdy, @tsims, @foreverasimmer, and @kamel-simmer-ts3. If you have already done it or don't care to, please ignore this with gleeful abandon and a song in your heart!

Answers below cut for those who prefer to scroll past.

Are you named after anyone? Not exactly? My mother can't remember whether she saw my name in a book or vaguely knew someone with it.

When was the last time you cried? A few days ago; it was the anniversary of my father's death last year. He was a great dad to me.

Do you have any kids? No.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? In my gameplay posts, constantly. In offline life, rarely. When I was in 7th grade our English teacher made us keep journals (in which I was always writing the assigned 5 pages/week on the day it was due in very large handwriting). But at some point I wrote about a growing unease I was having with sarcasm and the way it could be wielded destructively, and my teacher wrote in the margins, "Often sarcasm is a sign of weakness." My tiny mind was blown by this and I've never forgotten it. Thanks, Mr. Mortensen!

What sports do you play/have you played? My father, for all his fine attributes, did once insist his children play a team sport, so for one year I played what the rest of the world calls football. I was decent at it, but I don't have words enough to express how deeply I hated it. Team sports in general are simply not my thing.

What's the first thing you notice about other people? Their eyes and their energy. When I met my partner's mother for the first time, what registered for me was that (a) she had very twinkly eyes indicative of a good sense of humor, and (b) she was so tightly wound it's a wonder she didn't spontaneously spring into orbit. It's the oddest combination. You never know if you're gonna get good-sense-of-humor MIL or religious-mania-hellfire-and-damnation MIL.

Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings. I have the "horror" tag blocked and several horror-themed Simblrs filtered as well, if that tells you anything. I read The Exorcist when I was way way WAY too young to be reading The Exorcist, and it left me with a lifelong aversion to horror.

Any special talents? I was really good at medical transcription, back when that was still a thing. Now I suppose I could claim to cook decently.

Where were you born? One of the original 13 colonies of the United States.

What are your hobbies? Well, we know one of them! Also other games, crocheting, and sewing (badly lmao).

Do you have any pets? Two cats: one gray-and-white shorthaired female with an attitude, and one orange tabby male with neuroses galore. Both strays originally.

How tall are you? I am somewhere between 170-180 cm.

Fave subject in school? C++ programming and the sciences generally.

Dream job? I am firmly antiwork in the sense of performing labor for another person or entity's enrichment. Ideally I would live in a village-style commune and we would all pitch in to ensure our necessities were taken care of, then knock off for the rest of the time to go do things we enjoyed. But in this reality? Games developer.

Eye color? These things are always too nosy about personally identifying information. 😒 They aren't gray, how's that.

#tag meme #tag game #non sims

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valentinoappreciator · 2 months

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i'm back. with more alastor x valentino:333 you missed him, i know i did. and this idea came to me just because my birthday is coming up.

oh, by the way, this is somewhat explicit gore (i guess) so... don't read it if you're sensitive and just ignore this.

first of all, imagine a yandere! alastor with valentino. at first the radio demon doesn't understand this strange feeling in him at the mention, photo or even presence of valentino. he feels disgusted, why would he be interested in that nasty moth?

As time goes by, he becomes more suffocating and decides to make a stop at the Vees' tower. To Valentino's studio, to be exact.

I can imagine Vox noticing and intervening, believing that Alastor is coming to see him. The radio demon laughs loudly.

"Oh dear, did you really think I was coming to visit you? How adorable. But, please, move along. You won't let me see your dear pimp friend... I need a good view of him."

Valentino for his part is confused but the situation amuses him. Alastor came to see him...strange. Still, he agrees when Alastor tells him to go somewhere more private.

The radio demon is direct. Very direct. He tells him everything he's been going through, everything he's been feeling, everything he's been thinking about him and who knows what else. Valentino first looks at him silently and then bursts out laughing like he's never laughed before.

He doesn't believe him. Not at all. He thinks Alastor just wants to play with him and he finds it incredibly comical and absurd. Alastor just stands there, static and his smile seems to grow darker.

That's the end of the conversation. Alastor leaves and Valentino is left with the fact that it was all a joke. And of course, he tells what happened to Velvette and Vox who laugh and tease Alastor with him.

A few days pass, everything is normal. Valentino just goes on with his work and eventually forgets what happened with Alastor... until an anonymous letter arrives.

It's a neat and beautiful letter but the content is... disturbing. Or so Valentino feels for some reason when he reads it. At the end, a signature that reads "Your Darling." and a smile. Haunting.

He decides to ignore it. But more letters arrive. Same handwriting, same signature, same smile, same disturbing content. Now Valentino does begin to question what Alastor told him.

He sends Angel Dust to keep an eye on the hotel for him. To look for any kind of information, to watch him from afar, anything. But Angel gets nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Then Val's birthday rolls around. Usually, he's usually a little excited because well, it's going to be his day. So that serves to distract him from the letters, which he throws in the trash because he doesn't want to look at them because of how uncomfortable they make him feel.

His birthday arrives. He usually spends the day with Vox and Velvette but oh surprise, they're not there. He looks all over the building for them, texts them, calls them all the way to voicemail, but nothing. In the end he chooses to believe they went to buy a great gift for him.

What else could it be? Of course something didn't happen to them... did it?

Later in the day, a letter arrives. Accompanied by a large bouquet of roses. The letter has red ink but the page is stained with it in places. That makes it look weirder. Apparently, someone invites him to a special dinner alone, at the top of the Vees' tower.

Night comes and he goes up. Upon entering, nothing is visible and it is pure darkness. But there is a horrible smell that makes him nauseous. He tries to turn on the light but cannot. And suddenly, a candle is lit on a table that he didn't see in the dark. At the tip, Alastor sits and grooms himself.

"Greetings, my dear! You look ravishing, absolutely ravishing." suddenly, Alastor appears in front of him and takes his hand and kisses his knuckles "Like every day and night..." he murmurs in a voice... hoarse.

He pulls her hand away and walks away. He demands explanations and keeps asking questions and making threats until Alastor interrupts him.

"Easy, love. I'll answer your questions, but first.... let's have dinner!"

Alastor manages to light up the place and Valentino's expression warps in absolute terror.

Around the table, sit Vox and Velvette... or well, the corpses. Vox doesn't have his head, he's missing an arm and several of his wires were ripped out. Velvette has no eyes and her mouth is gagged with her own guts and her legs were ripped off.

"So, dear! What do you want first? Arm? Eyes? Legs? Liver? Or..."

Alastor shows him a cake and Valentino screams from fear.

It's a padtol full of blood, decorated compartes of Vox like his nuts, wires and that kind of stuff (I don't know what Vox is made of, so I'll use my imagination) and you can even see his fingers spread out. As the main decoration, Velvette's eyes and heart.

"Happy birthday, my dear, go on, try some! It tastes just like your friends...”

holy SHIT 👀 👀 This is BRUTALLLL 😍

I'm A FAN omgggg now I wanna try writing something like thisssss 😭

also, hello again!!! tumblr decided I shouldn't be allowed to see this in my inbox, so I had to do some workarounds to find it, but I hope this shows up alright 😭

ALSO ALSO!!! Happy birthday when that comes around!!! <3

#asks #valastor #gore #body horror #character death

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take-taker-taken · 11 months

Note

Both! I am greedy like that. Hah! But if i were to choose, i’ll take het. Thanks!

OK, lovely Anon - you tested me for sure and I’m sorry this took so long, but here’s my stab at a sub!Taker one-shot. I hope it’s OK…

Catharsis

He kneels, and he waits.

He’s always the strong one. He’s always the one to take the lead, make the decisions, give the orders. That’s what everyone sees and what they expect from him, but they don’t realise just how stifling that can be. That’s why he comes here… not often, maybe every four months or so for a couple of hours. It’s a small window of time where the burden of leadership and responsibility is lifted and all he has to do is follow orders.

Goes without saying that even in a position of servitude, he strives to reach the highest level of attainment. The sweet words of praise that he can earn are like music to his ears when he’s in this particular mindset and if for any reason he doesn’t please, then… well… He welcomes the punishment that’s dealt to him - he’s learned to. She doesn’t care that he’s nearly seven feet tall, broad and muscular - she rules with an iron fist and if she tells him to drop to his knees and crawl, then he’ll do it.

He’d fought against the urge to submit for the longest time… alone in bed at night the fantasies would appear in his head unbidden, seemingly triggered as soon as his hand wandered down between his thighs. At first he pushed them right back out - why would he, of all people, dream about being in chains, being ordered around, about serving another? But as much as he tried to ignore such thoughts, still they persisted until one night he’d been too tired to shove them away and just surrendered… images would settle in his mind, coalesce and tantalise him before shattering to be replaced by others. He’s cuffed and kneeling as someone stands over him with a strong grip on his hair. He crawls obediently across the floor with a collar around his neck, the end of the leash gripped by an unseen figure. He’s tied in place to a frame, a whip striking his back as he strains against the bindings…

The night he finally let those images stay, he came harder than he ever had in his life.

And so he kneels, and he waits - naked; just as the orders said. The handwritten sheet of instructions is always sealed in an envelope and waiting for him on the small table just inside the door. Sometimes there’s meticulous detail - those are the ones he likes best because it removes all doubt and allows him to prove how well he can obey commands. Other occasions, like today, there’s hardly anything… just… kneel and wait.

And so he does.

When he first found this place (on a recommendation from a trusted friend) he found he had to apply and wasn’t that a departure from the norm? People came to him for approval - he never sought it from others. But his need was so great by that point that he squashed down the feeling of embarrassment and attended as requested. They asked him what he was looking for - what he was ‘into’ and he was forced to admit that he didn’t know, exactly. That this was all new to him. Nothing had been new to him in years - another hurdle to overcome… but he told them about the images that came to him at night.

Over the course of a trial session he’d found that he liked - really liked - some kinds of pain, couldn’t stomach any feeling of humiliation and that he was OK with being restrained. At home the next day he’d been keyed up and unable to stop thinking about the things that had happened - they had told him that would probably be the case and he’d felt glad to have been armed with that knowledge.

Over time he submitted to both men and women, the latter being his preference - that added thrill for a generally dominant man such as himself that he would take orders from someone so much smaller and physically weaker than him; it made giving over control that much sweeter. He knows who he’s seeing tonight from the handwriting on the instructions and he’s already half hard in anticipation.

The door opens and heels click slowly across the slate floor, but he doesn’t look up. The black patent boots come into his field of vision and then stop. He knows by now what’s required and so he leans down and presses his lips gently to one foot and then the other before resuming his position.

“Good evening, mistress.”

The woman before him stands at maybe five feet eight in the heels (he’s never seen her barefoot) and lets out a hum of satisfaction as she walks behind him, stroking a hand up one bicep and across his shoulder as she goes.

“Are you going to be a good boy for me?”

He suppresses the shiver that wants to creep over him from someone standing so close and gives a small nod. “Yes, mistress.”

A small hand grasps the roots of his tied-back hair and pulls, dragging his head back until she can look down at him fully. “You weren’t a good boy last time, were you?”

He can feel himself blushing a little as his dick hardens the rest of the way, but answers nonetheless. “No, mistress. I’ll do better this time.”

The blush is because she’s brought back the memory of how he failed her three months ago by cumming without permission. As a virile man with - usually - a good level of control, he’d not been able to hold back well enough to withstand her teasing.

“Let’s hope so.” She lets go of his hair and so he returns to his previous stance, staring down at the floor. She sashays to a cupboard which he knows contains an arsenal of tools and can’t help wondering what she’s planning. “Put this on,” He looks up just as she tosses something over, instinctively shifting a hand up to make a perfect catch. As soon as the item lands in his grasp he realises what it is and suppresses a grimace as he reaches down and obediently fits the cock ring in place.

“That’s better - maybe that’ll help stop you getting overexcited this time around. Stand up.”

He gets to his feet and stands straight as she prowls towards him, automatically holding his arms out when he spots the cuffs that she’s carrying. He watches as she fixes them on - if they’re leather then he’s going to be in them for a while. She pulls the second buckle into place and he chances a look at her. Brunette hair in loose curls skim her pale shoulders, which are bare apart from the straps of a leather bustier top. The zip fastening is done up almost to the top, displaying a delicious-looking cleavage… He always thinks that she has a look that would have fit beautifully with The Ministry. She glances up and catches him staring, so clears her throat to get his attention.

Startled, he meets her eye like a rabbit caught in headlights and braces himself for the slap he’s sure is coming - she’s got a mean right hand. She does make contact, but her touch is gentle and that shocks him just as much as if she’d hit him.

“See anything you’d like, handsome?”

He knows it’s not an offer of course and bows his head slightly, averting his eyes again. “You’re beautiful, mistress.”

“Aww, aren’t you sweet?” Her tone is pleased rather than condescending. She guides his hands behind his back and clips the cuffs together. “Always so polite… makes me want to do bad things to you.”

His dick twitches hopefully and then oh, fuck she’s wrapped her hand around it and is pumping it slowly. He clenches his bound hands into fists, his head falls back and he grits his teeth. It never ceases to amaze him how his feelings of arousal are magnified tenfold when he’s in his submissive mindset - the slightest touch can fray his nerves and have him gasping.

“Careful now - you don’t want to disappoint me again, do you?”

He lifts his head, plants his feet and shakes his head. “No, mistress… no, I don’t want to.”

“Want me to help you take your mind off how horny you are?” Her hand repeatedly tightens and releases around his length and he grasps at the offer.

“Yes please, mistress!”

She lets go at this admission and takes a couple of steps back - the next thing he registers is that she’s holding a riding crop and realises too late what’s about to happen. The leather keeper snaps against the side of his dick and he bellows and automatically bends over.

“Who said you could move?” Her good humour dissipates and she grabs his hair again and yanks on it so that he stands upright. “You wanted my help and so you’ll take it, understand?”

His hard-on throbs - and not in a bad way. “Yes, mistress, I’ll take it… sorry.”

“Have to say… for all the fuss you just made, your dick sure doesn’t seem to mind.” He’s glad he’s looking down because he feels like it covers his blush… his reaction had been a little disproportionate - just took him by surprise, is all. And of course she’s correct in her observation that his erection is just as perky as ever, despite the pain. She extends the crop again and strokes the tip up and down his shaft as he watches, wondering when the next strike will land.

“Push your hips forward more - I feel like you’re trying to avoid my little toy, here.”

He does as she commands, biting down on his lip as the loop of leather slides over his flesh and this time when she delivers the blow to the underside of his weeping cock he’s better prepared and rides out the pain not just once but five more times. As he stands there, breathing hard and with gritted teeth, he lets himself really sink into his submission. No decisions here, no leading… just obey… bliss. The bliss is somewhat interrupted, however, when she takes hold of his balls in a grip that’s just the wrong side of comfortable and it takes tremendous willpower not to try and pull away.

“This doesn’t seem to be working, does it? I mean… here you are getting your dick whipped with a riding crop and,” She tightens her grip on his sac and he can’t help a whimper of pain, “I’m pretty sure that you’re enjoying it. Am I right? Look at me and answer.”

He raises his eyes and allows them to settle on his beautiful tormentor’s face, taking in her cute little button nose (not that he’d ever say that - he values his hide too much), the classic smoky-eye make up framing bright blue eyes and the silver ring that curves around her full bottom lip. He hopes that he looks contrite when he says quietly, “Yes mistress, you’re right. I… I like the pain.”

Her tongue slips out to lick her lips and he unconsciously mirrors the action, thinking how it’s so much easier to look out at seventy five thousand people in a stadium than to face down the woman opposite for very long. She releases his balls and smooths her hands across his broad chest and he feels the tiniest twinge of pride at the enjoyment he can detect in her at the action. It must be a trip for her, he thinks, to have a man his size under her control.

Her fingers settle on his nipples and she begins to gently stroke over and around them, teasing them into hardening and he feels his cock twitch of its own volition. Apparently satisfied with their increased prominence, she closes thumb and forefinger around each one and pinches… softly at first and his eyes fall closed and he flexes his shoulders, as though trying to encourage rougher treatment. She notices and huffs out a kindly laugh.

“Oh, you like that don’t you? You like the way it stings - bet it shoots straight to your dick, doesn’t it?”

“I really like it.” He nods quickly and then swallows thickly before adding, “I… may I have more, please mistress?”

“You are being a good boy,” She praises him with a smile. “You used to come here and be practically mute the whole time and now listen to you!”

He blushes again, pleased that she’s happy with him but at the same time a little embarrassed to think back to his earlier visits and how he must have seemed then. It had taken him a while to let himself be vocal in any way but he’s learned that if he is, then the experience is better all round. She grants his request and rolls the nubs in her grip - gently at first and then oh, so gradually she increases the intensity until he’s openly groaning with the pain. She tortures him like this for a while, backing the pressure off to suddenly bring it back hard, or letting go completely and blowing a cool, comforting breeze across the abused skin before replacing her fingers to pull and twist.

He’s swaying, partly due to her exertions and also because his mind is hazy now that he’s just letting himself be handled. He doesn’t notice her stop completely until her fingers wrap around his dick and she strokes him firmly and then her hand stills and she reaches up and pats him on the cheek.

“OK, handsome - let’s take a little walk.”

So saying, she begins to walk backwards still holding on to his dick and of course he follows, finding an undeniable thrill in being led around this way. They don’t go far and she brings him to a halt just before he steps on to a dark blue cross on the floor. She moves round and releases the clip holding the cuffs together and then crosses to the wall and cranks a handle, lowering a sturdy chain into his field of vision. As she reattaches the cuffs to the chain he understands the aim and steps forward on to the cross as his hands are raised above him. He lets his head rest forward slightly rather than staring at the ceiling - he’s never been in this position before and so he’d rather be able to see what’s going on.

“Mmmm… now that is quite the sight,” She comments as she stands back and admires the view. “Now just wait there for me, there’s a good boy.”

He watches as she crosses to a table and opens a large black bag, drawing out a large flogger that she clips to her belt. She then pulls out a second one… and a third. Another gets clipped on and she keeps hold of the third as she walks back over. She raises the hand holding the flogger up to his face and he knows what’s expected and dutifully brushes his lips against her knuckles.

She taps him on the nose playfully and then moves behind him and he takes a breath as he anticipates the first stroke, but when it lands it’s so light that he barely feels it - the horsehair flogger. This was one of the first implements ever used on him and so he settles, his shoulders relaxing as the speed of the blows across his shoulders increases. On and on it goes and then all of a sudden he realises that it hurts! Not in the ‘traditional’ way, but more of a cold kind of pain - like being sprayed with Icy Hot - that has him twisting to try and evade the falls, which of course is useless.

“Not as easy as you first thought, handsome?” Her voice is light, but knowing.

He shakes his head, still trying to evade the blows without realising. “N- No mistress,” he pants. “It’s… it feels cold… I…” He tails off, so distracted by the constant cold sting that he can’t concentrate on speech.

The blows start to slow down and eventually they stop and he feels both her hands rubbing firmly over his shoulders and that’s when he realises that his skin isn’t, in fact, cold. She drags her nails down his back and he hisses at the sensation and arches his back, even more so when one arm snakes around in front and grasps his dick which is still standing proudly and undeterred about any sensations visited upon his shoulders.

“I want to leave marks on you,” she says, still stroking. “Would you like that?”

He draws on every ounce of willpower he can find to stop himself from thrusting forward into her hand and raises his eyes to the ceiling as he nods. “Yes, mistress. Yes, please - mark me.”

“Good boy…” Her voice is low… sultry. “You’re making me very pleased today, handsome.” She lets go of his leaking cock and steps back into position.

He grasps the chain and relishes the force of the blow that lands across his back - he’s not sure what this flogger is made of but it’s hard and violent and the sting of it… He lets out a loud cry as he feels it penetrate down through every layer of skin and muscle. Two more follow it and his head falls forward with another cry and he fears he’ll pull the anchor point out of the ceiling.

“That’s it… let me hear you. I’m giving what you asked for - what do you say?”

“Thank you, mistress!” The words come out in rush and then another blow lands. “Thank you!”

She pauses and then her hand snakes back around his waist and down, seeking out his arousal. With his head hanging down he sees her neatly manicured and painted nails gliding towards his dick and nearly bites through his bottom lip as she yet again takes hold of it.

“Please, mistress…” He begins, but the intended words die on his lips and he watches helplessly as she jerks him slowly, torturously… the ring is stopping things from going too far - for the moment - but head of his dick is red and weeping pre-cum. “Please…” He says again.

“Please what, handsome?”

He bites back a curse, because she surely knows what he needs but just wants to hear him say it. She looks up at him and twitches an eyebrow, her grip loosening on his cock and shifting down to tease his balls which are drawn up tight. He pants for breath and tears his gaze away and closes his eyes because watching her torment him isn’t helping matters. Besides, there’s no way he can actually look at her and say the words, but safe behind the darkness of his eyelids - he can manage that.

“Please can I come, mistress?”

She laughs - though not unkindly - and moves her hand away. “Not yet. I’m not done marking you up.”

The flogger comes down again, twice in quick succession and shocks him into opening his eyes, the pain firing through him and he cries out again. The next blow lands square across his ass and brings him up on to his toes and the following three keep him there. Every nerve ending is on fire, his chest is heaving and his heart is thumping in his ears… and it’s so freeing. Another two blows are dealt to his shoulders and then she’s back in front of him and reaching for his pecs again. Her nails dig in and she scratches from the centre out, leaving behind white lines that fade to pink before grasping his nipples right at the tip and pinching hard, drawing the grip away until the flesh slips from between her fingers. The pain is bright and sharp and he bellows at the ceiling as the coil deep in his stomach and groin gets tighter.

She unhooks the third flogger from her belt and casually begins to swing it in a circle up between his legs - it’s not hard enough to really hurt, but his sac is drawn tight and the smatterings of unpredictable pressure nearly make his eyes cross. Just as he starts to really worry that he’s going to blow, the motion of the flogger slows and then stops and she gives him a smile.

“Let’s get you down from there.” She clicks her way to the wall and operates the mechanism to lower the chain and separates the cuffs from it, taking a moment to check each of his wrists for chafing. Satisfied, she walks to the other end of the room and takes a seat in the large chair - not quite a throne, but it’s an impressive batwing job. She leans forward, displaying that impressive cleavage, and beckons to him. “Over here. Crawl.”

He’d had difficulty making himself obey an order to crawl the first time but once he’d started and seen the look on the dominant’s face, it suddenly became easier. Again, few of them had ever had the chance to command someone of his stature and the way their eyes lit up spurred him on. He’d crawl over broken glass for this one, though and so he willingly eases himself to his hand and knees and begins a slow prowl over to where she waits. He goes to his knees when he reaches her, gingerly resting his butt on his heels and wondering for the first time about the state of his back. It still throbs, along with his nipples and he’s just as hard as ever.

“You’ve been such a good boy for me, handsome. Would you like to come?”

“Yes please, mistress.” He nods to reinforce his answer, as if his current state of arousal leaves room for any doubt.

“Take the ring off - slowly. And put this on so you don’t make a mess on my floor,” She adds, tossing a foil package down in front of him.

He sees the condom packet land just in front of his knees, but he’s already working carefully to remove the ring in small increments so that the inevitable rush won’t overwhelm him. Slow, deep breaths as he eases it off and sets it to one side and then he tears open the foil and slips the sheath on, the brief cool feeling of the latex helping him stay in control.

“Go ahead,” She says from above him. “I don’t care how fast or slow you do it… but I don’t think you’re much in the mood for teasing, are you?” She leans back and throws one PVC-clad leg over the arm of the chair as she gets comfortable for this private performance.

He closes his hand around his throbbing dick and sighs out a quiet, “No, mistress.”

He tries to string it out but it’s damn near impossible as the events replay in his mind, the cuffs that are still buckled around his wrists a reminder that he’s here at her pleasure. His stroking becomes surer, faster, more determined. Within a short minute he’s groaning out his orgasm, the sweet release ripping through him with a force that threatens to shatter his brain and leaves him gasping for air. A couple of small aftershocks are almost painful and he slumps slightly; sore, exhausted and elated.

“There’s a good boy - I knew you’d be good for me today.”

He looks up and can’t help a small, almost shy smile from playing about his lips. “Thank you, mistress.”

“You’re welcome handsome,” She says magnanimously as she stands up and runs a hand gently over his cheek. She gently takes hold of each wrist in turn and removes the cuffs before placing a small kiss on his temple. “Next time I’m really going to push you,” She says into his ear. “Perhaps a little sensory deprivation - blindfold you so you can’t see what’s next… maybe even a gag, too.”

“I - I think I’d like that, mistress.” His dick gives a hopeful twitch and she lets out a throaty chuckle and kisses his cheek.

She steps back, waiting, and he leans forward and kisses each of her boots again. Scene over.

A wink and a small wave and he’s alone again, naked and kneeling. The feeling of wonderful trepidation gone but replaced with a warm, satisfied glow. Sure, he’s back to being the leader and decision maker but he can deal with that, no problem - he’s got the best method of winding down that he could ever have hoped to find.

TTT

#the undertaker #undertaker #this character lives in my head rent free #taker smut #sub!Taker #Yes you read that right #TTT Tumblr Asks

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hellsitesonlybookclub · 7 months

Text

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

CHAPTER VI.

Clerval then put the following letter into my hands. It was from my own Elizabeth:—

"My dearest Cousin,

"You have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of dear kind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me on your account. You are forbidden to write—to hold a pen; yet one word from you, dear Victor, is necessary to calm our apprehensions. For a long time I have thought that each post would bring this line, and my persuasions have restrained my uncle from undertaking a journey to Ingolstadt. I have prevented his encountering the inconveniences and perhaps dangers of so long a journey; yet how often have I regretted not being able to perform it myself! I figure to myself that the task of attending on your sick bed has devolved on some mercenary old nurse, who could never guess your wishes, nor minister to them with the care and affection of your poor cousin. Yet that is over now: Clerval writes that indeed you are getting better. I eagerly hope that you will confirm this intelligence soon in your own handwriting.

"Get well—and return to us. You will find a happy, cheerful home, and friends who love you dearly. Your father's health is vigorous, and he asks but to see you,—but to be assured that you are well; and not a care will ever cloud his benevolent countenance. How pleased you would be to remark the improvement of our Ernest! He is now sixteen, and full of activity and spirit. He is desirous to be a true Swiss, and to enter into foreign service; but we cannot part with him, at least until his elder brother return to us. My uncle is not pleased with the idea of a military career in a distant country; but Ernest never had your powers of application. He looks upon study as an odious fetter;—his time is spent in the open air, climbing the hills or rowing on the lake. I fear that he will become an idler, unless we yield the point, and permit him to enter on the profession which he has selected.

"Little alteration, except the growth of our dear children, has taken place since you left us. The blue lake, and snow-clad mountains, they never change;—and I think our placid home, and our contented hearts are regulated by the same immutable laws. My trifling occupations take up my time and amuse me, and I am rewarded for any exertions by seeing none but happy, kind faces around me. Since you left us, but one change has taken place in our little household. Do you remember on what occasion Justine Moritz entered our family? Probably you do not; I will relate her history, therefore, in a few words. Madame Moritz, her mother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the third. This girl had always been the favourite of her father; but, through a strange perversity, her mother could not endure her, and, after the death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill. My aunt observed this; and, when Justine was twelve years of age, prevailed on her mother to allow her to live at our house. The republican institutions of our country have produced simpler and happier manners than those which prevail in the great monarchies that surround it. Hence there is less distinction between the several classes of its inhabitants; and the lower orders, being neither so poor nor so despised, their manners are more refined and moral. A servant in Geneva does not mean the same thing as a servant in France and England. Justine, thus received in our family, learned the duties of a servant; a condition which, in our fortunate country, does not include the idea of ignorance, and a sacrifice of the dignity of a human being.

"Justine, you may remember, was a great favourite of yours; and I recollect you once remarked, that if you were in an ill-humour, one glance from Justine could dissipate it, for the same reason that Ariosto gives concerning the beauty of Angelica—she looked so frank-hearted and happy. My aunt conceived a great attachment for her, by which she was induced to give her an education superior to that which she had at first intended. This benefit was fully repaid; Justine was the most grateful little creature in the world: I do not mean that she made any professions; I never heard one pass her lips; but you could see by her eyes that she almost adored her protectress. Although her disposition was gay, and in many respects inconsiderate, yet she paid the greatest attention to every gesture of my aunt. She thought her the model of all excellence, and endeavoured to imitate her phraseology and manners, so that even now she often reminds me of her.

"When my dearest aunt died, every one was too much occupied in their own grief to notice poor Justine, who had attended her during her illness with the most anxious affection. Poor Justine was very ill; but other trials were reserved for her.

"One by one, her brothers and sister died; and her mother, with the exception of her neglected daughter, was left childless. The conscience of the woman was troubled; she began to think that the deaths of her favourites was a judgment from heaven to chastise her partiality. She was a Roman catholic; and I believe her confessor confirmed the idea which she had conceived. Accordingly, a few months after your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine was called home by her repentant mother. Poor girl! she wept when she quitted our house; she was much altered since the death of my aunt; grief had given softness and a winning mildness to her manners, which had before been remarkable for vivacity. Nor was her residence at her mother's house of a nature to restore her gaiety. The poor woman was very vacillating in her repentance. She sometimes begged Justine to forgive her unkindness, but much oftener accused her of having caused the deaths of her brothers and sister. Perpetual fretting at length threw Madame Moritz into a decline, which at first increased her irritability, but she is now at peace for ever. She died on the first approach of cold weather, at the beginning of this last winter. Justine has returned to us; and I assure you I love her tenderly. She is very clever and gentle, and extremely pretty; as I mentioned before, her mien and her expressions continually remind me of my dear aunt.

"I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin, of little darling William. I wish you could see him; he is very tall of his age, with sweet laughing blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and curling hair. When he smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy with health. He has already had one or two little wives, but Louisa Biron is his favourite, a pretty little girl of five years of age.

"Now, dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be indulged in a little gossip concerning the good people of Geneva. The pretty Miss Mansfield has already received the congratulatory visits on her approaching marriage with a young Englishman, John Melbourne, Esq. Her ugly sister, Manon, married M. Duvillard, the rich banker, last autumn. Your favourite schoolfellow, Louis Manoir, has suffered several misfortunes since the departure of Clerval from Geneva. But he has already recovered his spirits, and is reported to be on the point of marrying a very lively pretty Frenchwoman, Madame Tavernier. She is a widow, and much older than Manoir; but she is very much admired, and a favourite with everybody.

"I have written myself into better spirits, dear cousin; but my anxiety returns upon me as I conclude. Write, dearest Victor,—one line—one word will be a blessing to us. Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his kindness, his affection, and his many letters: we are sincerely grateful. Adieu! my cousin; take care of yourself; and, I entreat you, write!

"Elizabeth Lavenza.

"Geneva, March 18th, 17—."

"Dear, dear Elizabeth!" I exclaimed, when I had read her letter, "I will write instantly, and relieve them from the anxiety they must feel." I wrote, and this exertion greatly fatigued me; but my convalescence had commenced, and proceeded regularly. In another fortnight I was able to leave my chamber.

One of my first duties on my recovery was to introduce Clerval to the several professors of the university. In doing this, I underwent a kind of rough usage, ill befitting the wounds that my mind had sustained. Ever since the fatal night, the end of my labours, and the beginning of my misfortunes, I had conceived a violent antipathy even to the name of natural philosophy. When I was otherwise quite restored to health, the sight of a chemical instrument would renew all the agony of my nervous symptoms. Henry saw this, and had removed all my apparatus from my view. He had also changed my apartment; for he perceived that I had acquired a dislike for the room which had previously been my laboratory. But these cares of Clerval were made of no avail when I visited the professors. M. Waldman inflicted torture when he praised, with kindness and warmth, the astonishing progress I had made in the sciences. He soon perceived that I disliked the subject; but not guessing the real cause, he attributed my feelings to modesty, and changed the subject from my improvement, to the science itself, with a desire, as I evidently saw, of drawing me out. What could I do? He meant to please, and he tormented me. I felt as if he had placed carefully, one by one, in my view those instruments which were to be afterwards used in putting me to a slow and cruel death. I writhed under his words, yet dared not exhibit the pain I felt. Clerval, whose eyes and feelings were always quick in discerning the sensations of others, declined the subject, alleging, in excuse, his total ignorance; and the conversation took a more general turn. I thanked my friend from my heart, but I did not speak. I saw plainly that he was surprised, but he never attempted to draw my secret from me; and although I loved him with a mixture of affection and reverence that knew no bounds, yet I could never persuade myself to confide to him that event which was so often present to my recollection, but which I feared the detail to another would only impress more deeply.

M. Krempe was not equally docile; and in my condition at that time, of almost insupportable sensitiveness, his harsh blunt encomiums gave me even more pain than the benevolent approbation of M. Waldman. "D—n the fellow!" cried he; "why, M. Clerval, I assure you he has outstript us all. Ay, stare if you please; but it is nevertheless true. A youngster who, but a few years ago, believed in Cornelius Agrippa as firmly as in the gospel, has now set himself at the head of the university; and if he is not soon pulled down, we shall all be out of countenance.—Ay, ay," continued he, observing my face expressive of suffering, "M. Frankenstein is modest; an excellent quality in a young man. Young men should be diffident of themselves, you know, M. Clerval: I was myself when young; but that wears out in a very short time."

M. Krempe had now commenced an eulogy on himself, which happily turned the conversation from a subject that was so annoying to me.

Clerval had never sympathised in my tastes for natural science; and his literary pursuits differed wholly from those which had occupied me. He came to the university with the design of making himself complete master of the oriental languages, as thus he should open a field for the plan of life he had marked out for himself. Resolved to pursue no inglorious career, he turned his eyes toward the East, as affording scope for his spirit of enterprise. The Persian, Arabic, and Sanscrit languages engaged his attention, and I was easily induced to enter on the same studies. Idleness had ever been irksome to me, and now that I wished to fly from reflection, and hated my former studies, I felt great relief in being the fellow-pupil with my friend, and found not only instruction but consolation in the works of the orientalists. I did not, like him, attempt a critical knowledge of their dialects, for I did not contemplate making any other use of them than temporary amusement. I read merely to understand their meaning, and they well repaid my labours. Their melancholy is soothing, and their joy elevating, to a degree I never experienced in studying the authors of any other country. When you read their writings, life appears to consist in a warm sun and a garden of roses,—in the smiles and frowns of a fair enemy, and the fire that consumes your own heart. How different from the manly and heroical poetry of Greece and Rome!

Summer passed away in these occupations, and my return to Geneva was fixed for the latter end of autumn; but being delayed by several accidents, winter and snow arrived, the roads were deemed impassable, and my journey was retarded until the ensuing spring. I felt this delay very bitterly; for I longed to see my native town and my beloved friends. My return had only been delayed so long, from an unwillingness to leave Clerval in a strange place, before he had become acquainted with any of its inhabitants. The winter, however, was spent cheerfully; and although the spring was uncommonly late, when it came its beauty compensated for its dilatoriness.

The month of May had already commenced, and I expected the letter daily which was to fix the date of my departure, when Henry proposed a pedestrian tour in the environs of Ingolstadt, that I might bid a personal farewell to the country I had so long inhabited. I acceded with pleasure to this proposition: I was fond of exercise, and Clerval had always been my favourite companion in the rambles of this nature that I had taken among the scenes of my native country.

We passed a fortnight in these perambulations: my health and spirits had long been restored, and they gained additional strength from the salubrious air I breathed, the natural incidents of our progress, and the conversation of my friend. Study had before secluded me from the intercourse of my fellow-creatures, and rendered me unsocial; but Clerval called forth the better feelings of my heart; he again taught me to love the aspect of nature, and the cheerful faces of children. Excellent friend! how sincerely did you love me, and endeavour to elevate my mind until it was on a level with your own! A selfish pursuit had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and affection warmed and opened my senses; I became the same happy creature who, a few years ago, loved and beloved by all, had no sorrow or care. When happy, inanimate nature had the power of bestowing on me the most delightful sensations. A serene sky and verdant fields filled me with ecstasy. The present season was indeed divine; the flowers of spring bloomed in the hedges, while those of summer were already in bud. I was undisturbed by thoughts which during the preceding year had pressed upon me, notwithstanding my endeavours to throw them off, with an invincible burden.

Henry rejoiced in my gaiety, and sincerely sympathised in my feelings: he exerted himself to amuse me, while he expressed the sensations that filled his soul. The resources of his mind on this occasion were truly astonishing: his conversation was full of imagination; and very often, in imitation of the Persian and Arabic writers, he invented tales of wonderful fancy and passion. At other times he repeated my favourite poems, or drew me out into arguments, which he supported with great ingenuity.

We returned to our college on a Sunday afternoon: the peasants were dancing, and every one we met appeared gay and happy. My own spirits were high, and I bounded along with feelings of unbridled joy and hilarity.

#frankenstein #mary shelley #october #spooky month #halloween #book club #read along

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r1999-transcript · 5 months

Text

A Nightmare At Green Lake 12 - Rush of Passion

The young staff of the Foundation are making deductions from the current situation. The city girl and the town girl lie in the sofa, snuggled up against each other, and fiddle with the clutter piled up on the table.

Blonney: Look, they are trying to solve the problem, yet we can do nothing but fiddle around. Maybe I should have worked harder in college, so that I can at least understand a thing or two from the conversation.

Anne: Don’t worry, Jennifer! I don’t understand any of what they said either! You are not alone. I’m here with you.

Blonney: I’m not like you. You literally don’t know anything. I remember when we first met, you asked of everything I had on me. You grew up here, in a small town in the middle of nowhere. It is only normal that you don’t know anything about the outside world. But I’m different. I’ve been to big cities, I’ve gone to college, I’ve read books, I pretended to be well-adapted to this lifestyle. But in fact, I’m still ignorant, knowing nothing but empty pleasures. My hair colour gives away who I am. I’m a silly blondie.

Anne: Don’t speak of yourself like this, Jennifer.

Anne sits up, frowning with anxiety. She raises her voice.

Anne: You’re not silky. You are smart! You make your own movie with a script you wrote by yourself! You’re pretty and kind, and you’re the best person I’ve ever known. Please don’t hate yourself.

Blonney: Fine, I get it, but can you let go of my hand first? You’re hurting me a bit.

Anne: Oh! Sorry! Are you going to be okay? Shall I get you some ointment for these red areas on your hand?

Blonney: Haha! You’re funny. I’m not some glass doll that breaks from being held too tightly. Heh heh. Oh, I can barely breathe. You are great fun!

Anne: You’re smiling. Did I make you happy? This is good.

Blonney: Heh heh. Don’t you find me weird? My attitude changes so rapidly. I’ve been mean to you for a long time. And all of a sudden, I started to follow you around and try to use you to survive from this.

Anne: Weird? What’s so bad about that? Even if you’re weird, it’s a good kind of weird. I like you … staying by my side.

Blonney: Even if I’m a benefit-driven fence-sitter who immediately embrace arcanists after being ditched by my human friends?

Anne: Jason and Michael shouldn’t hate you, if they knew you better.

Blonney: Hah …

The laughter makes her tired. She lets her body fall on the sofa, her head leaning on the shoulder of that small-town girl.

Blonney: You seem to really like me.

Anne: …!

Blonney: You would jump off the car to rescue me, you protect me, praise me. You would even be happy because I was happy.

Anne: Because I’ve never seen anyone as pretty as you are. You’re special. You’re different to the rest of us.

Blonney: Oh, stop. I will not be embarrassed for these nice things you said about me. I’ve heard enough of them throughout my entire life. Listen, I’m very sorry for mistreating you, and I’m grateful that you came to save me. I will reward you with a secret, my secret. Do you wanna hear it?

Anne: Absolutely!

Anne’s green eyes are filled with sincerity, shining like a puppy’s.

Anne: I’d love to!

Blonney: In fact, I don’t hate horror movies.

Tooth Fairy: This is the diary I found in the attic. There were many other things, like a full warehouse.

Blonney: I actually liked them a lot when I was a kid. I spent most of my time here, in Green Lake Campsite, writing my own horror movie scripts on paper.

Tooth Fairy: The handwriting is pretty childish, so the writer might be around 8 to 13 years old. Some of the narratives are straightforward, but the story itself is very creative.

Blonney: But later, we moved to another town. Huh, hah! My parents earned great success in business, and we moved into a high-profile community where only humans are allowed. We were also given privileges that arcanists cannot enjoy. It was then I realised—nobody wants me to be an arcanist.

Tooth Fairy: It was since that day, the diary stopped updating. It might be forgotten or taken away. The story ended there.

Blonney: That’s why I decided to break off my connections with arcanists and stop showing interests in emotive things like horror movies in order to hide the arcanist side of me. Huh! I took out my energy on other things which may ease my mind, like soap operas, new clothes, fashions … People like me this way. They said this is what I’m supposed to do. They believe that I’m a dumb bimbo, believe that I hate books. I led a life they want me to have, till I graduated from high school.

Anne: I don’t like these people. You shouldn’t have been out through this. You are the smartest person I’ve ever known.

Anne reaches out a hand and clenches a fist.

Anne: If one day I run into them, I will pull their noses and mouths off, like this!

Blonney: A wonderful idea. I wish I was as creative as you are.

…

Blonney: So, in the end, I attacked one of the jerks who didn’t watch his mouth at the prom. I slapped him in the face and smashed four sandwiches and a salad on his head. Then, feeling resentful for what had happened, I applied for a degree in filmmaking, a course which was considered to be “ill-fitted” to me. And next, I started shooting horror movies for an assignment “I have to finish.” Huh! Deep down inside, I think I have never really given them up. I’ve probably never stopped loving them.

Horropedia: Keep on shooting. I will buy you a new camera.

Blonney: Hello! Have you been eavesdropping? Where is your manners?

Vertin: Actually, I heard them all as well.

Tooth Fairy: So did I.

Horropedia: We are in the same room. You can talk, we can hear, and the air helps. That’s it.

Tooth Fairy: Well, we are all here, paying attention to your voices. We heard everything you just said.

Tooth Fairy walks up, gently putting a pink diary on Blonney’s knees.

Tooth Fairy: I think this is yours. Now I should hand it back to you.

Blonney: Where did you find it? I haven’t seen this for a really long time.

A reunion after a long separation. Blonney opens the diary carefully.

Blonney: I used to do some arcanist tricks with it, but I have lost control over my power since I threw it into the la- … lak- … Aaah-choo!

Blonney suddenly gives a shiver, perhaps because she is touched by the diary, or perhaps because of something else. She raises her head and looks around.

Blonney: Aren’t you guys cold? How come it’s so chilly?

A gust of cold wind, along with a bit of rain, swirls into the cabin. Outside the opened door, a wedding ring lies in a puddle, reflecting light ominously.

Blonney: That ring? Wasn’t it on my finger a minute ago?

Vertin: Watch out. Something is approaching.

…

Blonney: How many more dead men were buried here? I’ve had enough! Can’t we just get rid of that dead woman?

Ghost Bride: Boohoo …

Blonney: She’s approaching! This is a good chance …

Ghost Bride: Aaahhh!

Blonney: Ugh! She smells like a skunk in the sewer!

Sonetto: Blonney! The ghost bride took her down. We need to help her!

Critter Crowd: Chirp …

Sonetto: Not good. The critters are coming around again!

The ghost bride murmurs something and crawls over Blonney, who has fallen to the ground.

Ghost Bride: I do … do … I do … ah …

Horropedia: Hey! Blondie! If you wanna survive, leave that ring alone!

Blonney: Hell, you think I wanted this?! This crazy woman ghost put it on me! Get off! Get lost!

The ghost bride’s oozy body is kicked back several feet.

Ghost Bride: Uuuhh …!

Blonney quickly struggles to her feet and runs toward the back of the cabin.

Ghost Bride: Hmm, boohoo … uuuhh …

Horropedia: Damn! Her whimper can summon more critters. They are going out from the ground!

Tooth Fairy: Shh.

Shaking her head, Tooth Fairy walks to the centre of the monsters. She is surrounded by sparkling powder.

Tooth Fairy: What they need is a song.

…

Sonetto: This is Ms. Tooth Fairy’s singing! Ms. Tooth Fairy, behind you!

Horropedia: Jeez! What on earth is that!

Blonney: Ahahaha! What is it, do you think? Of course, a good surpriiiiiiiiise! Ha! I didn’t know I was a talented driver! Once we get out of here, I’m gonna get myself a driver’s license!

Horropedia: Within 30 seconds, you crashed over every critter in our sight. I don’t think you are qualified to be a driver. No, no. That’s not the point. Where did you get the car?

Tooth Fairy: Pink lines. This is drawn with an oil paint pen. This is her arcane skill. Your arcane skill restored pretty fast. Seems like you’ve accepted your identity.

Blonney: May be that, or may be because I retrieved this diary. I feel something has changed inside me, making me a bit hyped.

Tooth Fairy: A good try. Please keep up with the feeling.

Blonney: That song you just sang—can I take it as a gift?

Tooth Fairy: You mean …?

Blonney: Well, you still owe me a song. Please, I wanna song from you.

Tooth Fairy: Sure, take it as a gift. For making progress in life and for your courage to embrace who you truly are.

Blonney: Thanks. This is my handkerchief. Take it. Wipe your face. Ah!

The Hummer woven with pink graffiti horns melts in the rain. Blonney stumbles backward. It’s a misjudgement of her own arcane ability—a mistake commonly made by rookie arcanists.

Horropedia: Did you just get a bit woozy from putting up a big scene to the rescue?

Blonney: I didn’t.

Horropedia: Okay … uh-huh … yeah … uh-hum …

Blonney: What are you doing?

Horropedia: I know the rules of social courtesy. You just saved my life, so I won’t embarrass you by telling others you just overestimated your ability.

Horropedia shakes his head, a grin spreading across his face.

Horropedia: If you are willing to take advice from me, I would say don’t overburden yourself.

#reverse 1999 #events #a nightmare at green lake #1.2

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exoticbabe69 · 2 years

Text

Theseus Scamander x reader.

✨Love is magical✨

You’re still standing in the same corner spot on the side of the street flabbergasted. You don’t know what to think, as you come to, you say to yourself “I knew this city was magical but I didn’t think quite literally.” You’re confused, stunned, and just want to get back home. You take the horse drawn carriage that Theseus rented for your date back to your place. When you arrive home you run inside, lock your door, then sit in silence next to your warm fireplace for what seemed to be hours. “Was Theseus some sort of ghost? Was he part of the underworld? Did I just have too much to drink?” As you think all of these things your house lights begin to flicker. You hear a “coo” from outside your window only to see the same white owl from the restaurant sitting there. You rush over and shut the window blinds “this is all too freaky” you think to yourself.

It’s almost midnight and you hear a knock at the door, it’s Theseus. You can see him through the peek hole. He’s flustered and starts yelling “y/n! Please! It’s me Theseus! I’m so very sorry for having to leave our date but it was urgent work matters! Please just let me explain! I promise it will never happen again!” You’re honestly too scared to open the door so you ignore him until he leaves. For the next five days he comes to your door, everyday with a new beautiful bouquet of flowers and little notes that say “please forgive me, please let me explain, I miss you.” But you ignore each attempt, and never open the door while he’s there. He knows you’ve been home however, because every bouquet he leaves at the door is gone when he returns the next with another one.

Tomorrow comes, it’s early in the morning when you wake up to the sound of your rotary phone ringing. Stunned you think “no one has ever called me here, no one even knows my number.” You pick up the phone to hear the sound of an old lady’s voice “my dear y/n, it’s me your great aunt Naziya, I was told by your parents that you live in London now. Please join me for tea at my castle.” You’re honestly very weirded out, you don’t remember your parents ever mentioning you had a great aunt. “I’m sorry I think this is some sort of mistake” you say. “None sense dear, open your door your parents have sent a letter to you.” She replies. You slowly put the phone down, mouth wide open, walking towards your front door, you look down and see a letter on the ground that was slid in through your mail slot. You open it slowly, and it reads:

Our beautiful girl, we miss you so much. We hope all is well, and you’re enjoying your new job. We have forgotten to tell you about your Great Aunt Naziya that lives in London. It would be a shame for you to spend the holidays alone, you should meet with her, and remember to keep an open mind. We love you so much! Xoxo Mama and Papa.

You recognize your parents handwriting and realize you really do have a great aunt. You run back to the phone, and she tells you to come today around 3 o’clock, and you write down her address. Before she hangs up she tells you to “bring your handsome friend with you, so you don’t travel alone.” You feel uneasy about the entire thing, first of all how in the world does she even know about Theseus? Was she even referring to him? You had no other friends so who else could it be, you think to yourself. Mouth still wide open you start to panic and again the weather changes outside.

*Knock knock knock* someone is at your door again. Still in your night gown you look through the peek hole and it’s Theseus with yet another bouquet of flowers. “Y/n I know you’re probably home! Please just give me a chance to make it up to you!” You look back at the letter on your table the words “keep an open mind” from your parents, replays in your head. So you decide to open the door. Theseus is standing there with a huge grin on his face and red roses in his hand just like the night you went on your date with him. “Finally!” he says happy as can be that you opened your door to him. “Your night gown looks absolutely stunning on you by the way, just as gorgeous as you were six days ago” he says, eyes full of admiration. You blush, forgetting that you had not gotten to change yet.

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thedeathdeelers · 2 years

Note

📚🔥soulmates🔥📚

\O/

(please and thank yooou)

(3 months later)

SO HAVE I GOT A HALF-THOUGHT OUT (kinda soulmate) AU FOR U

so to start us off, this idea popped into my head when i was listening to an old boys like girls song i used to be obsessed with and these lines just stuck out for some reason:

“I got your little brown shirt in my bottom drawer baby //And your little white socks in the top drawer // You were always leaving your shit around

And gone without a sound

anyway below the cut cause this got long>

luke lives a pretty normal teenage life (if you consider a one track-minded teen who is hellbent on making it in the scene because he knows his band is bound for greatness normal)

he’s never believed in fate or magic or any of that — just the magic of music and its effect on people because he’s felt it and seen it firsthand

ANYWAY

so one day, luke wakes up in his messy room as he does every morning, turns his head to the side — and stops, blinking once, twice, even going as far to rub his eyes because he’s pretty sure he’s awake and not dreaming but — why is there a little purple glittery butterfly clip in his room?

he doesn’t know how it got there, whose it is or why it’s in his room. did reggie do this? did he leave his girlfriend’s clip in luke’s house? it’s obviously a girl’s and he’s confused but..a second layer luke remembers the lyrics to a song that he dreamt about that were about to escape him so he lets it go and reaches for his journal — and forgets.

but then, a few days later, it happens again. this time though, it’s a purple hair ribbon. he asks reggie, and reggie denies having anything to do with it. asks his mom — nope

the next week, a moon necklace shows up. and then a braided friendship barely. a ring.

it’s confusing and he’s worried someone keeps breaking into his room but…nothing he can do about it, right? he thinks about reporting the missing items but…maybe next week

he just makes sure he keeps his songbook on his at all times and he’s good (he ignores that weird feeling in his chest every time his eyes land on an item, or the tingling feeling in his fingers when he reaches out to touch them. it doesn’t make sense, he just needs to go sleep)

it only starts to get even more serious when suddenly he starts seeing faded scribbles show up on his notebook — a handwriting he’s never seen before. they become more legible as the days go by, and he can definitely tell it’s a more feminine style and he’s confused af cause his journal is always with him. it’s under his pillow or hugged against his chest when he’s asleep so HOW

but then he starts reading the actual writing — and…it’s good. it’s solutions to songs he gave up so long ago — additions to song he hasn’t even started writing down

it’s like music is trying to tech out to him and inspire him even more to keep going but — who is she? why is she leaving pieces of herself all over his room?

does he know her? have they met?

should be try to write back and see if he gets a reply?

——

luke is unsure, pen hovering over paper as he considers his slow decent into madness. he shakes his head, close to pulling his hand off the page, when he sees a new faint scribble slowly coming into view in the corner of the page. he watches it as it slowly solidifies, this now familiar purple writing.

he waits for it to clear up, strains his eyes to see what’s there — no words today, just drawings of a microphone and a doodle of a dahlia. he’s seen quite a few of those lately.

taking in a deep breath, luke closes his eyes for a moment as he makes a firm decision.

there was no point delaying the inevitable — he had questions, and there really wasn’t any reason why he couldn’t write down the questions on his journal..:it was his, after all.

putting pen to paper, luke only hesitates for a second before he writes out one simple word:

hey?

he waits…and waits and waits. eventually lets out the air he had been inadvertently holding in, and leans back against the back of his desk chair, head tilted up towards the ceiling. what was he expecting? some weird harry potter shit to pop out and have tom riddle write back to him?

luke shakes his head (again, he’s going to get a crick in his neck if he doesn’t stop), and looks back down, ready to dive into the chorus of sunset curve’s new anthem — when he stops in his tracks when he finds something new waiting on the page for him, just under his chicken scratch greeting.

hello :)

#HAPPY JUKE JEUDI!#sorry for the delay but i did warn you 😂#hope it was worth the wait!!#jatp #my fics #juke #julie and the phantoms

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