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sapphicrow · 2 months

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His Better.

(A lil Lady D drabble looking at her past)

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Dear Diary,

Today is the anniversary of his death. Of his complete and total departure from my world. Those who remember him perhaps view this day as a day of mourning, though I must confess I feel no such grief. A buzz of vibrant elation hums in my chest. His portrait sits in the main hall once more for today, but if not for Mother Miranda’s command for it to be in such an honorable place it would be fueling the hearth that warms my feet as I indulge in sapphic erotica, plentiful goblets of wine, maybe even a maiden or four on their knees begging for an opportunity to breathe the same air as I. He would call me a heathen and a whore. I shall call him, with phony tears in my eyes, a victim of times of political unrest. Patricide may be the more precise term, but alas, I shan’t spoil my lovely day with scandal. Mother does not wish for the truth to be spoken. I suppose it is a fair wish. I may not speak it, but I find myself needing to release this memory from my head, lest it rot in there and I begin to feel sorry for the bitch.

My father was not a good man. He was barely a man. He was a nincompoop who took advantage of his station, and his staff, and his abundant liquor collection. He was not kind. It is not for this reason I resent him, for I can hardly claim to be kind either. I resent him for his failure as a count, and his confidence in his incompetence. I remember watching his fat, clumsy fingers struggle to button his lavishly crafted waist coat with contempt. I knew from a young age that I was a far better leader than he. That my own hands, nimble and steady from years of the pointless needlework noble girls were expected to do, were suited for the control he fumbled about with so terribly. For holding the throne. I remember being fifteen years of age, watching him bumble about his office in a suit lined with silk he did not deserve the softness of. The war had threatened to touch his territory. Even then I knew that securing assets would be a vital defense for the empire he wished to construct. He did no such thing. He simply ran around like a chicken with its head severed and defiled more maids in his stress. The only measure he took was of how many drinks he could fit in his bulbous stomach. I couldn’t fathom being so irresponsible. If his land in the Carpathian Mountains was threatened, was it not clear as day that he should be worried about finding other means to protect his legacy? I recall creeping into his office in the dead of night to look over the correspondences surrounding the war and his rule and the financials that were spread carelessly about the big oak desk, my heist backed by the erratic growl of his snores. I felt as if I had forged his signature hundreds of times, even if it was my very first act of blatant treachery. It still felt so natural to use his name for my own game. It wasn’t as if he was using it for anything useful. That night he wrote a very fine letter to the duchies nearby asking for an alliance through these trying times, though the recipients would question the flair to his cursive, as well as the fact that there seemed to be a scribbled out A before his signature. I would not let this incompetent fool ruin my holdings. I would have the power that was my birthright.

For years, I would conduct similar such maneuvers. It became a performance of sorts. The key ring would leap from his belt loop to my gloved hand, landing with a graceful turn into the lock of his office. My slippered feet would dance through the slimmest crack of the door so as not to let light from the open curtains spill into the other room. My night gown would sway with me, it became synonymous with the robes of a queen in my mind. I’d Chassé from the doorway to his desk, all too eager to begin my work. The moon and I became partners in this secretive dance, for she was the subtle light I remained loyal to, granting me sight of the papers I now held under my midnight authority. And so began the unofficial, unnoticed rule of the new Dimitrescu, though the old one was oblivious to how he’d been replaced. Thankfully the old fool was a drunkard and simply believed he had managed to make all of these lucrative decisions in his intoxicated stupor.

As if.

Looking back, I cannot help but laugh heartily at how bold I was. I am much too good. But a large amount of my amusement is pointed at the pure egocentrism of the man who named himself my father. How humorous the thought of a drunk man taking the time to send out the decrees I painstakingly assembler was. There was a time when this did not entertain me, however. It was no laughing matter when my father took all the credit for my success. I had heard so much praise on the account of his wise conduct of the county. Barons and dukes and alike bowed to him, preening in his presence as if he exuded some holy power.

I grew bitter.

I was the one making these decisions! I was the one keeping him together! I had created this man’s legacy in the dead of night and neither he nor his adoring fans knew this. It infuriated me. Dear Diary, I am ashamed to admit that even now I’ve cracked the stem of my glass reminiscing upon it. For lack of a more eloquent response to this situation, it just wasn’t fair! Surely if they knew the raven haired girl with his nose and ten times his wit trailing behind him was the one truly in charge, they wouldn’t grovel to him the same way. He would be forgotten like the sorry bastard he was while everyone kissed the ground I walked upon. But they didn’t know. And so I was just his daughter. A material object he constantly strove to rid himself of. It was infuriating, I tell you, infuriating! I could only feed off of second hand acknowledgement for so long.

And so, a plot came to be. Or rather, a hastily conceived idea. I did not spend fortnights planning his death. I did not weave a technical tale of coverups and falsehoods. There was no subtlety. I was sick of hiding. You call it a risk, I called it a need. A need for his blood coating my hands as soon as possible. It was the eve of a grand event- which one it was escapes my memory for there was simply no end to the monotonous parties I was dragged along to - but all I knew was that I couldn’t stand to see him grin so smugly with the acclaim he hadn’t truly earned even one more time.

This night was not a ballet. I did not dance on light feet through the halls. I near slammed the door of my chambers as I tore through the corridors. The moon could not illumine me tonight. She would take no pleasure in seeing him torn to pieces, though I certainly would. I was near frothing at the mouth. One could paint my likeness as the lycans that now hunger in the shadows of the village.

I opened his door and closed it behind me without an ounce of gentleness. Let them hear. My nightgown billowed around me like the dark cloaks death was usually depicted wearing. The old man could not hear me over his snores. I clutched the previously ornamental dagger in my hand and snarled at the sight of his peaceful sleep. I was not going to allow him to slumber through this. In my rage I punched through the glass of his window (I dimly acknowledged it would be a good alibi for the later accusation of assassins, but mostly I just yearned for his terror) to the sound of which he shot up. He looked around frantically and saw the face of his daughter as the blade plunged into him without the courtesy of a warning. It was a wet, nasty slide of flesh around the metal of my blade. It was the sickest form of penetration. It was my finest act of political assistance to his county. I grin now at the memory of his shock. His greedy mouth parted in disbelief. He croaked my name into the night and I twisted the blade deeper. I only remember the sound from me being something between a growl and a triumphant laugh. He tried to cry out and I pulled the dagger from his side and forced it down his throat the same way I knew he had forced his foul chode down the throats of unwilling maidens. His lips curved around it and I looked down at him as his fat body flailed in agony. He deserved this, I had thought as I shoved my hand past his teeth and drug the blade along the walls of his esophagus, he deserves to die. I am greater at thirty than he ever was at fifty. I am not his daughter, I am his better. That was my mantra as I pulled horrific noises from this man. It was the most pleasurable thing I’d ever done. I had expected at least some remorse, but seeing him bloodied and dying brought me nothing but glee. I watched death tear him from his hideous form and I did not relent. I stabbed again and again until I felt calm. I had three decades of pent up anger to get out, so he was long dead before then. He looked like an oversized meatball when I was done, limp in the bed he spent most of his lazy fucking life in.

My white slip was dyed red with vengeance. This was my coronation long before I ever received the crown. I still keep that gown as a momento, though it is now far too small.

Today I contemplate that garment with all its dried blood and crusted on innards. Perhaps I have a wardrobe filled with fine dresses, but none is as fine as that one.

Can a normal dress be stained with the moment you gained independence? Can it tell the story of the rise of House Dimitrescu? Since that day we have done nothing but prosper. Even a century later I do not regret it.

Dear Diary, I am Alcina Dimitrescu. I am a cruel woman. I am power. I am not his daughter. I am forever his better.

#resident evil village #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #re8 #resident evil #resident evil 8 #okay so.#this is something #I saw a TikTok and I got the brain itchies so I had to write it out #I know this is nothing sexy or silly but I like to think Alcina had a pretty bad ass origin story even outside the cadou #does this count as a character study?#idk #I’m not an official writer #this is an unreasonable amount of words to expect someone to read #to those who did read this I love you and thank you #you’re a hottie #mwa #lady d #tw abuse mention

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the-al-chemist · 1 year

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The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 34

A/N: after an embarrassing encounter, Jim decides to face his fears at last…

Warnings: mild angst, pining.

OCs featured/mentioned: Bradford Pendleton @kc-and-co, Lysander Mercury @slytherindisaster, Selene Fraser, Alan the ferret, Henry Lovecraft and Carolyn Nyberg @lifeofkaze

April 1897

It was lunchtime, but Jim wasn’t hungry. It was also time for his Art Society meting, but he was not feeling particularly creative, either. He only felt nervous, but he knew that he could not let his nerves get the better of him. So, he took a deep breath and swallowed the hard to get the knot out of his tongue.

“Very well… I’ll just say what I wish to say, then,” he said. He cleared his throat. “And, er, what I wish to say is… Well, it’s this. I’d very much like to accompany you to the ball. To the Celestial Ball. As your friend. Actually, no. Not as your friend. I mean, yes, we are friends, but I’d like for us to be more than that. And perhaps, if you’d grant me the honour of… of your company next weekend, we might make our first, um, steps in that direction. How does that suit you?”

Jim’s offer was met with silence. He sighed.

“That was no good at all, was it?” he asked. “Well, if at first you don’t… Try and try again. Right. It’s the Celestial Ball next weekend, and I know lots of people are partnering up for it, and I wondered whether you might like to partner up. With me, that is, not... So,what say you, Héloïse?”

Héloïse said nothing, because Héloïse was not there to say anything at all. Jim was merely practising asking her, and her stand-in was the only person Jim could think of who would neither judge him for his stutter, nor interrupt him whilst he was speaking. However, he could have used some constructive feedback. Perhaps he should have practised on a person rather than a ferret.

“Okay, Alan,” said Jim. “Third time lucky, yes? Well, I really do enjoy your company, and I consider you to be a very dear friend. I also think that you are… incredibly beautiful and… I’d rather like to escort you to the ball on Saturday. Only if you’d like me to, of course.” Jim sighed. “I wonder if I perhaps should not mention the beautiful thing. It’s rather… forward, don’t you think?”

In response to Jim’s question, Alan the ferret twisted around on the desk to nibble at the base of his tail. He made no noise, but somewhere nearby a snickering noise could be heard. Jim frowned. The noise was coming from behind a cupboard.

He pulled out his wand and walked towards it, and the snickering grew louder, and louder, until he came around it to find…

Ethel and Selene, sitting with their backs against the cupboard, their knees tucked up by their chests and their hands pressed to their mouths, in a poor attempt at stifling their giggles.

At the sight of his sister and her friend, Jim lowered his wand, and at the sight of him, they dropped their hands from their mouths and gave into their laughter.

“For the love of Godric,” Jim said crossly. “This isn’t… It isn’t funny!”

“Oh, but it is!”

“It really, truly is!”

The two girls laughed even harder, their eyes watery and cheeks pink.

“Stop laughing, Ethel!”

“I cannot,” Ethel wheezed. “I cannot stop. Oh, Jimmy. I did not realise you held such strong feelings for Alan.”

“I can see for why you would,” said Selene. “He is a very fine ferret.”

“A beautiful ferret, or so I’ve heard it said.”

“Indeed, I believe I have heard that said, too.”

“Unfortunately, Jim, Alan shan’t be accompanying you to the ball. He prefers to form attachments with his own species. I’d strongly suggest that you do the same,” Ethel told him. “I know that Mamma and Pappa are rather liberal in their views, but this might be too much for them to take. And I dread to think what Héloïse would think of you having such an unnatural-”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Jim snapped at his sister, far louder than he had intended. Ethel blinked, but otherwise appeared nonplussed.

“Suit yourself, Jimmy. We have far more interesting people to spend time with. Ferret-fancier or not, you still bore us terribly.”

She and Selene stood up and crossed the empty room. As they did, Selene scooped Alan the ferret up into her arms and threw a dirty look at Jim over her shoulder.

“Don’t you fret, Alan. We shall take you far away from this nasty depraved boy.”

Jim sighed loudly as he watched them disappear from sight, before picking up his things and making his way through the castle to the empty classroom where Brady and Lysander were having their meeting.

“Jim, old chap,” said Brady. “You’re late. What kept you?”

“My sister.”

“Ah.”

Lysander frowned. “What’s the matter with frog-face this time?” he asked. “Bitter that no one’s asked her to the ball?”

“I’m not sure,” Jim replied. “Someone might have asked her.”

“Really? Who?”

“I don’t… What does it matter to you? You despise Effy.”

“It doesn’t,” said Lysander quickly. “And I do. I was simply wondering whether or not we might have a lunatic in our midst, that is all.”

“I see,” Jim nodded slowly. “Have either of you two asked anyone?”

“Indeed I have, old bean. I’ll be escorting Carolyn Nyberg.”

At Brady’s announcement, Lysander’s eyebrows shot up.

“Perhaps we do have a lunatic in our midst,” he muttered. “There is a fine line between lunacy and bravery, or so they say. Carolyn Nyberg… You’re a far braver wizard than I am.”

“And me,” Jim sighed. Brady’s eyebrows furrowed, and so he explained. “I cannot even pluck up the courage to ask Héloïse.”

“Really?” Brady shook his head. “But, Jim, this is your perfect opportunity to get closer to her.”

“Yes, I am aware of that.”

“So why on earth have you not taken that opportunity in both hands? Carpe diem!”

“Precisely for that reason,” said Jim. “It is too… I feel a lot of pressure, and that makes me too nervous. I try to ask her, and then when I do, my mouth goes dry and my words get stuck and I can’t say anything at all.”

“Not even a word?”

“No. Well, yes. In a way. The other day I managed to tell her that she has lovely handwriting.”

“Ah,” Brady said. Lysander looked up from his sketch.

“Does she?” he asked.

“Does she what?”

“Have nice handwriting.”

“Oh, yes. Very nice handwriting. Small and neat and pretty and French… Like you’d expect, I suppose,” Jim told Lysander, who exchanged glances with Brady. “Um… What?”

Brady rolled his eyes and placed his head in his hands. “I simply cannot cope with this,” he said. “You must ask her.”

“But… Excuse me!”

Jim’s mouth fell open as Lysander pointed his wand at his hand, the one holding his favourite sketchbook. The sketchbook shot up into the air and hovered above Jim’s head, tantalisingly out of reach of his fingertips.

“Here’s a bargain for you, Jimbo,” Lysander said with a smirk. “You can have the sketchbook back when - and only when - you ask Héloïse to attend the Celestial Ball with you.”

“But that’s… Brady, make him see sense.”

But Brady chuckled and shook his head.

“Jim, old chap, I think Lysander is making perfect sense. You require a - pardon my French - jolly good kick up the derrière.”

“That’s…”

“The library is two corridors away. If you hurry, you’ll have a companion for the Celestial Ball and your sketchbook back by the time we start afternoon lessons.”

Both Lysander and Brady’s faces were earnest, and Jim knew that there was no persuading either of them to give him back his sketchbook, not until he had done what he had so far failed to do. He sighed angrily, as frustrated with himself as he was with his friends.

“Go on, old chap. Be bold.”

“Carpet demon,” said Lysander, and Brady put his head in his hands again.

Jim left them alone and walked through the two corridors to the library, his heart beating faster and his feet growing heavier with each step. He was not ready for this, he would never be ready for this. What if he was unable to get his words out again? What if he did, and she laughed at him? What if she said no? Oh, Godric… What if she said yes?

He found Héloïse in a quiet corner of the library, far from the noise that was coming from the librarian’s desk, where his sister was pestering Madam Khanna about something, he did not care what. At this moment, he cared bout nothing but managing to be bold, to ask Héloïse to attend the ball with him, and getting his sketchboook back from Lysander.

“Héloïse,” he said as he approached her. Slowly, she raised her brown eyes from her astrology textbook and regarded him with a look of curiosity.

“Jim. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Héloïse.”

There was a long pause in which neither of them spoke. Jim swallowed hard three times and cleared his throat.

“Héloïse, I was wondering…”

“To what… Sorry. I am… intruding your speaking.”

“No, I’m sorry,” said Jim. “You continue.”

“I was to ask why you are here, but I think you are now to tell me,” Héloïse said with a wry little smile. “What have you wondered?”

This was it. Jim’s chance. He had to take it. He had to be bold.

“I wondered whether anyone had already asked to accompany you to the Celestial Ball, and if no, then whether you might allow me to accompany you.”

Jim spoke faster than he had intended. It potentially was too fast, for Héloïse frowned as if she had not understood his meaning.

“You are wanting to… escort me to the ball?” she asked, and Jim nodded.

“Yes. Yes, indeed. I… It would be my privilege. Only if you wish to do me that honour, of course.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Jim was half-hope, half-achingly deep despair and longing.

“I… Jim, this would be nice.”

His heart skipped a beat. “It would?”

“Yes,” Héloïse smiled sadly. “But… Unfortunately, I cannot to go with you. I am sorry. I have promised to my friend Henry that I will to go with him. I did not think… I am sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” said Jim. He forced himself to return Héloïse’s smile, in spite of the fact that he felt more like crying. “A promise is a promise, and… I am sorry.”

“Why?”

“For… asking, I suppose. I hope that this shall not ruin our… our friendship.”

“Friendship, yes,” Héloïse nodded. She swallowed and looked down at her book. “I must to study.”

“I must to go… I must be going. I shall see you soon. At the ball, maybe.”

Héloïse said nothing in response, just stared at her book, already clearly engrossed in it. Jim walked away from her, focusing on the sound of his footsteps echoing on the floor of the library, for her knew that if he did not focus on something, his thoughts would fly to Héloïse, and then he would look back. And if he looked back, then the tears that pricked his eyes would start to run away from him, and he would start to cry in front of everyone.

And if that happened, he might never be able to be bold again.

#the beginning of a symphony #jim hexley #ethel hexley #selene fraser #alan the ferret #bradford elijah pendleton iv #lysander mercury #Héloïse Perrault #harry potter hogwarts legacy

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dukesoakedoats · 1 year

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Ask game Dukie!

12 - Which character do you think you would get along with most in real life? And who would you not get along with at all?

if we are speaking show wise I think I would best get along with Paddy (wow no surprise there) I don’t know I just feel like we could bond over the same things. Yearning for love but being scared of it, being repressed for your sexuality or ethnicity and being a bit psychotic. I would love to read some pottery with him and listen to his input and his interpretations. He’s also constantly told how to act and forced to be this mad dog and with similar things like that happening to me when I was younger we could simmer in that angry hateful soup. I love Paddy Mayne , dare I say more than Eoin.

NOW I was gonna write that German traitors name but I shan’t. That one’s pretty obvious beacause 1- Generational Trauma and 2- MY POOR FRENCHIES😭😭.

But if we are talking like the MAIN boys I would have to say Jock Lewes. He would just piss me off I could see it. He’d tell me off and scold me and I’d get angry and do it again (like a cat) I love that man but he reminds me so much of my irl best friend who I often argue with and I already have her for that, I don’t need another one (especially a posh one)

#sas rogue heroes #jock lewes #paddy mayne #duke speaks #inbox #thanks for the ask <3

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syrakhanistan · 6 months

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“…so, how much will be ‘enough’?”

“It will never be enough. This thirst… is endless. My hunger for this… cannot be solved by any means, but one. Perhaps two… No, just one.”

“Greedy, aren’t you?”

“No, she’s that one over there. I’m a different one.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Are you new?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if… if you’re new?”

“I don’t know what I know. It’s she who knows, and she who thirsts.”

“She? Don’t you mean—”

“Ah, the author as well… She’s not there either. That’s no good, he’s not good.”

“Oh, and that one, too. He’s… he’s somewhat restless. Can you blame him? They’re continuing to not continue…”

“His fight should have ended long, long ago. Much like you and me… he doesn’t know when to quit, especially when his opponent, that one you will speak of soon, left the board a while ago.”

“A pity. His failure… And this one’s, no, that one is his greed…”

“Shameful. Shame.”

“Shall we release that one?”

“No, not yet. He’s still waiting, after all, and we shan’t disturb his patience until he’s finally learned the lesson.”

“…and her opinion on it?”

“She despises both of them.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Do you?”

“Of course not. I don’t know what I can see.”

“You don’t? Of course, you don’t, since you do, because she doesn’t do that when she does…”

“Shameful. Shame. Awful. Useless, I tell it. Useless.”

“How shameful.”

“…is he giving up?”

“…nope, never mind, he’s just snoring.”

“…how do you fall asleep standing up?!”

“Perhaps his Greed is something, too.”

“No, Greed is over there, don’t mistake her for him, or him for him, or her for him because he is him and she is her and… Ah, semantics. Such is the super-position of this marvel.”

“…if he manages to get his greed in control, perhaps, in time, he will see the inside of That Place.”

“Doubtful. She doesn’t think he’s worthy of such a thing.”

“And the other one? Ah, ones?”

“…Unknown. I’d wait until the next few waning cycles. The location they hide… She isn’t too keen on touching, and he won’t disagree to her, ah, proclivities.”

“…I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. You don’t know, since you know you don’t know, because he knows that she doesn’t know he knows you don’t know.”

“Shameful. I’m ashamed. Awful, useless.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Time is a weird thing, and weirder still when it goes double - or, uh, more? Less? And those two… No, not two, one-but-many, perhaps.”

“They’re… those… I pity the writers of those stories. And the characters…”

“They’re like us. He’s useless, she’s terrified, he’s impatient, she’s absent, they’re confused, and he’s giving up on her… Or, perhaps, not. Yet, we will see, we will, or I will.”

“…awful, how awful.”

“Indeed. Shameful, awful, useless.”

“Ah, that one returns. She is?”

“Is she? Ah, she is.”

“That one is this one, and she is this one’s. Indeed.”

“Yes, yes. That is how it is. And we are they, and they are they, for we are one and many.”

“Yes. Yes. We shall. She is. I am you, I am me. I am, and I.”

“Indeed. Shame. Shameful.”

“Yes. No, it’s answer is yes, it cannot.”

“Goodbye for now.”

“Hello again, for now.”

#syrakhanistan #magical girls #looping #witches #time #Who is this. how are this it?#Shame. For shame.#40

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punkscowardschampions · 1 year

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Jali Pt.2

Johnny: [and put this key through the letterbox so she knows you’re here]

Ali: [just be looking out through the glass in the door or whatever to prove you are down there before you get up to open the door, throwing your arms around him like it’s been a thousand years because feels like it, saying his name almost like you can’t believe it’s him]

Johnny: [literally LAUNCHING himself at this girl with such !! that she’ll end up back on the floor immediately as well as crashing into anything remotely nearby because he was talking about running away with her then and however serious or not serious you were you need to shh sir by making out with her as hardcore as you ever have]

Ali: [just here making out on the floor like several other people don’t live here, we love to see it, the way we’re vaguely sliding and pulling him towards the stairs but making no effort to actually stop and get up, holding this key in our hands so tightly it’s digging into the skin]

Johnny: [love that y’all are just making out at the bottom of the stairs now, not even on them yet, what an absolute mood and a moment, this boy is here pulling clothes off both of them as if the front door isn’t probably still open and like my boo said this isn’t a full house of peeps any of which could appear at any time]

Ali: [‘I’m ready for you’ again like those facts aren’t true because you can’t be rational when you’ve worked yourself up into this kind of state over him and waiting for him ‘no one can take me from you’ like that includes your family who very much could]

Johnny: [this boy manoeuvring her onto these stairs so he can start and this time finish what he started eating her out before they were rudely interrupted last time, no fuck’s given about anything but this, just doing the absolute most from the first sec when he’s stripping the rest of her clothes off, a real show as if they couldn’t so easily be interrupted here too]

Ali: [good thing you have to clamp your hand over your mouth because you’re so in love with him right now you’d probably scream it in his face, try to get out any of this energy by groping your own body so hard trying to replicate what he did, doing the most to his hair and continuously pulling him closer with your legs, as if there’s any way for him to be closer]

Johnny: [mhmm, I’m so glad he can’t speak while doing this cos I’d be in exactly the same boat if he could, you’ve already said far too much hun, thank you, take over groping her like she can’t possibly do it as well as you because you’re just that sort of bear, even though you’re already booked and busy with your antics, RIP to whatever hair tie he has used because that is gonna SNAP with the way she’s in his hair rn, nobody is soz]

Ali: [truly, we’re taking out so much of the energy we can’t expend on saying the wildest shit and making the most indecent sounds you’ve ever heard, also surprised if we don’t end up breaking a bannister here where we’re also holding on for dear life]

Johnny: [at least there’s plenty of people in this house to blame when you inevitably do break the stairs lol, I’m more worried she’ll accidentally injure herself with that key but they can’t calm down rn, case in point this boy has gotta touch himself while still going at this because he hasn’t heard the likes on the unholy sounds she is making and it is getting to him]

Ali: [my boo says put it down but she shan’t, won’t let it imbed itself in your hand quite but you are being dramatic with it, likewise with the way we are LOOKING at this boy and trying to help him but obviously in your position you can’t reach so you can only use your feet to tease him]

Johnny: [oh the INSANE eye contact as per, god bless, I’m impressed that either of you are managing to hold it for any length of time given everything that’s occurring but we must, excuse us neighbours and/or anyone in this fam who could be around because they have not checked and do not care and atm he’s making the most unhinged sounds of his own into her because of the foot thing as if he wasn’t already making enough noise on his quest to totally kill her with his every action]

Ali: [I just know you’ve already cum multiple times because you were already on edge just by talking and not allowing yourself to do anything about it but we’re still here pushing it further, tempting fate like this because we need him and there’s no thoughts but also because the way he is as unable to do anything else gets us in the realest way]

Johnny: [They are as feral as each other and we love to see it, this boy could literally be anywhere rn he has no idea, soz there’s just an all consuming need to be acting like this and it would be exactly the same if he’d seen her yesterday as it is with having not seen or spoken to her for days, for me it’s the audacity of when he ends up having to cum himself, which obvs he eventually will because !! he’ll be just doing it wherever, be it on mcvickers’ stairs or on an item of clothing of hers or anything, like how rude]

Ali: [MHMM, we’d be here if we’d even been allowed to carry on on that day and it didn’t take the dramatic turn it did for us, there’s no calming down and the desperation for you is always this real, also gotta match the audacity and no fucks given energy by licking it up and GRINNING at you, wherever the fuck that just landed because feeling unhinged and you need to know it because realised that when you said you needed to do it you meant needed to go down on us again and thus realising that that’s not something you’ve done much/if at all by how shocked you were that you wanted to do it more and that has SENT us]

Johnny: [just WATCH her do that and break into your own grin as you try and get your breath back even slightly and recover on these stairs, pulling her to him and touching a fresh lovebite he did during those antics like okay show me what you meant about them not fading]

Ali: [PRESSING it down with what would feel like excessive force on yourself so obviously you’re making a little ouch noise but looking at him like see, showing him the other thigh ones he did those few days ago that are still nearly as bruised because you’ve been doing that, just searching his body to see if there are any left on him that you can do this to right now]

Johnny: [when you’ve gotta kiss her about this because it’s insane but you’re into it]

Ali: [‘I missed you’ into this kiss without attempting to stop so you’re just grazing your teeth against his lips and flicking your tongue into his mouth before taking it away again]

Johnny: [a hot breathless lol like yeah I know cos of what just occurred, getting up to finally shut her front door and then obvs when he’s up he’s having a sneaky look around without obviously venturing anywhere]

Ali: [just silently cleaning up if your licking the floor bit didn’t fully do it because was not the point, putting whatever top he had on on yourself because you can, watching him from the stairs still]

Johnny: [looking back at her and grinning bigger because she’s wearing his clothes and that’s always a mood and she’d look so little and adorable about it, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder as though she literally weighs nothing and carrying her through the doorstairs of this gaff as he explores it, turning it into a piggyback at some point, just cos]

Ali: [when you’re just gazing at him from on his back because in big love and you feel little and adorable now ‘do you wanna go upstairs?’ in his ear, tucking some of his hair behind it at the same time, stroking his cheek]

Johnny: [nod purely so your hair tickles her hand as she’s playing with it cos following it up with a verbal ‘yeah’ after anyway because of how much he does want to rn cos also in big love, just piggybacking this girl up the stairs nbd]

Ali: [when your room is right at the end of the hallway, me like everyone stay in your rooms right now thank you God, at least neither Thomas nor Rosaline would snitch, you just don’t want Baze to see you ‘cos Bea would tell Fraze if it was her and then he would wanna have words lol, but direct him to said room by pointing so you don’t have to speak, resting your chin on his shoulder and giving him little kisses up his neck]

Johnny: [hopefully and assumedly everyone is out making the most of the last bit of the summer hol/getting shit they need for school depending on which character it is lol cos none of you needed to hear how loud and unhinged they were just being and even Ro could be in this era cos Tess is probably trying to bribe her into eating by letting her have piano lessons as it’s another of her special interests, nobody hurry back either because Ali has left her clothes on the stairs still, love that we’re being quiet now when we didn’t give a single fuck before haha, but follow her direction and finally put her down when y’all are in her room and the door is closed]

Ali: [I assume you got your boxers back on sir but you definitely did not your trousers so they are also just chilling there so yes, stay out, stay busy, everyone; we’re just letting you look around our room, putting some music on and looking at ourself in the mirror wearing your t-shirt]

Johnny: [could never be me with the way he’s barely looking around at anything, mainly just shaking his head at how weird she is and how much weirder Ro’s side is, because lbr there would still be so much of her shit in here even though she can’t sleep in here atm because don’t wanna let go and let this separation feel permanent, then he’s just coming up to her from behind while she’s looking in the mirror at herself and making the lovebite he did on her neck even more dramatic and bigger, just in time for school which is lovely, by going back over it and then when he’s finally done, pressing on it like she showed him]

Ali: [just raising your brows at him via the mirror like oh, you don’t like it, amused because what were you expecting and what would you want to see, sir ‘I haven’t seen your place’ because you have not, like I’ll have to reserve my judgment for now; really melting back into him when he stands behind you, letting him support you and shifting your weight to hit him where you want it to most, doing a little gasp, watching what he’s doing to you the whole time]

Johnny: [‘you can’t’ because in no world is she allowed within a million miles of this boy’s caravan he is too paranoid for that and the amount of shit he would get if anyone saw her after how he’s been about marly would make his life not worth living, when you mean those words with your whole heart but they sound indecent af because of everything y’all are both doing and he hasn’t stopped doing despite saying that, like why address any of this when you can just keep making out]

Ali: [doing your own hot lol like yeah I know because you knew he was going to say that and that obviously he doesn’t want you anywhere near his actual caravan ‘we have our own place’ finally and truly FINALLY putting this key down on your chest of drawers or desk or whatever you are closest to in front of this mirror right now, shrugging him off you so you can turn to face him]

Johnny: [looking at this key and then her palm when there’s a literal imprint of it from where she’s been holding said key, pressing down on it, either like it’ll have the lovebite effect of making it more of one or it’ll transfer the same imprint to his own palm, don’t think about their different hand sizes as he’s doing this, it’s FINE]

Ali: [we are thinking about it and we’re NOT fine at all, the intense feelings we are having and trying to make any sense of right now ‘I don’t want to put it with my other keys’ clearly planning to put it on a chain and thinking about that right now as you’re grasping for his hand with yours]

Johnny: [when you probably do wear a chain, not to be a stereotype but, so taking it off and putting this key onto it and then putting it on her, all before you can really think about how romantic and intense that is]

Ali: [holding this key and pressing it into your chest right now, running your fingers over the chain and feeling how it would still have the heat from his body now touching yours ‘are you sure?’ because we’re also thinking you probably didn’t consider it properly but our voice is small, whether that’s because we don’t want to ask or we don’t want you to change your mind or because we are also slightly in shock at everything that is occurring between us]

Johnny: [do the thing boys always do in every piece of media ever where they just kiss the girl instead of answering the question whether that’s because you haven’t thought it through and don’t wanna and it mean you take it back or because you are also in shock and awe that you don’t wanna take it back and tell her no she can’t have this either, and keep kissing until y’all get to her single bed, again a mood, and are just hardcore making out on it]

Ali: [and it’d work because are we turning down a chance to makeout with you right now? Never, we’ll happily live in the fantasy as long as we can, if it is one and this isn’t real, making out with this boy and just making the happiest little noises because you can’t not ‘I won’t go without telling you again, even if you tell me you don’t give a shit’ stopping suddenly to say this very seriously, like it’s just occurred to you and you must promise it right now]

Johnny: [‘you’ll not go without me’ as seriously as if it’s remotely feasible he can go everywhere with her, because he’ll happily live in that fantasy as long as he can, pulling her into another intense af deep kiss via this necklace and doing the very cliche thing of initiating as intense and deep of a hookup while she’s still wearing his top, couldn’t be more possessive rn]

Ali: [when all you can do is nod vigorously because you can’t trust yourself to open your mouth to speak about this but it is BEYOND obvious how much you too are living laughing loving in this fantasy too ‘I hate it when you’re not with me’ as the first thing you attempt to say, in this makeout so it’s beyond muffled by all that you are doing and the sounds this is eliciting from you but it’s still obvious to him, as is the way you have to DRAMATICALLY bite your lip to stop yourself again when he initiates this hookup]

Johnny: [it’s as obvious how much he loves that she said that, despite and because of how hard it was to say, because of every reaction it’s getting from him, physically and verbally, because duh he’s OBSESSED with this gal and wants to be with her every second so, I would like it noted that from that moment on and throughout this hookup he will be holding this key as dramatically as she held it earlier while it’s just hanging there]

Ali: [we love to see it, like literally that will be driving us absolutely feral the entire time in ways we can’t even explain, just here trying to focus all our energy into not losing it as hard as we feel like we’re that close to now, pressing into the row of lovebites you gave him, however faint they are, replacing them with your fingernail marks]

Johnny: [this boy is likewise feral about it in ways he cannot even mentally fathom never mind actually try and express, it cannot be overstated how much he didn’t give a fuck about the girls of the past and he gives all the fucks now about Alison and what that’s doing to them both, all her can do is keep fucking her as dramatically as he physically can about all this, MOANING her name when she presses her fingernails into him like that]

Ali: [scratching down his chest from his collarbone, using your other hand to do the same to yourself, wanting to feel the same sensations as him as well as needing to try and keep yourself from floating off it feels like ‘do this forever’ because truly what you want in this moment]

Johnny: [when that sensation + the fact she then did the exact same to herself has him groping her booty with all the !! he has when he’s groped her boobs before, hard enough to bruise in its own right and you automatically do it two handed like in time to the shudder response his body has and ensuing insanely hard thrust happening obvs so when he realises he accidentally let the key go, that’s going in his mouth and then like an insane person he’s kissing her so it’s in both of their mouths, just unhinged behaviour truly]

Ali: [the way your eyes are widening to an unhinged degree because of this booty grope but the ‘fuck-’ is barely out of your mouth before this key is and you’re lowkey crying with the way you’re whining and pushing every body part of yours against every part of him, unashamedly needy about this, sucking this key fully into your mouth so you can spit it into his]

Johnny: [I love that they once again don’t know or care where they are or that anyone could come home any time, he’s going at it hard enough to break this no doubt cheap single bed so easily at this point, and we can’t even talk about the fact he must be getting so close but hasn’t given a single thought to pulling out because too !! and they are too wrapped up in it all, lowkey choking her rn with how he’s pulling the key in and out of her mouth making her almost deep throat it and then with the chain itself with how he’s dragging her about by it]

Ali: [like some characters are at least thinking about it but actively choosing to ignore it, we’re here simply not considering it at all right now, if we had we would’ve got in the attic but nay nay, here potentially breaking our bed and not caring at all because we’re far too busy being insane and loving every second of it, all our reactions and willingness to go along with everything just encouraging this boy to do more]

Johnny: [^^ mhmm and the distinction is SO important, god bless you lads, RIP to this bed along with the bannister but at least Ali is the type of bitch that if she ever puts this boy down she could fix both of those things without anyone even knowing it happened, realistically I’m sure your mouth or tongue is gonna get scratched by all these key antics cos those bitches can be sharp especially freshly cut ones so she’ll be bleeding for him after all and despite what he said before he’ll be INTO IT, kissing her like he never has before to let her know it, somehow we’re always managing to be more intense, love to see it]

Ali: [she definitely could, whether she will bother or not is a different conversation entirely, also nothing we are thinking about right now as we’re making sure you can taste the most of this blood possible with this kiss because we can tell you like it and we always want to do the most to make you LOVE the thing as much as you could and would ever dream of ‘more’ for the throwback and it’s consistent realness for what you’re feeling]

Johnny: [LOL true, they’re also not thinking about the fam but I’m thinking we should have Tommy come back when y’all are done here, because he’s the most chill and can just bring these clothes from off the stairs and give them to her, after knocking so this boy has time to hide in the attic space first and not be seen, just for realism, I’d say Ro but she’d talk poor Ali’s ear off about her piano lesson and be generally horrified by the presence of a boy in the way this girl does not need rn or lowkey ever in her life, ANYWAY, I said I’d let y’all finish so taking the ‘more’ and interpreting it as going in deeper instead of pulling out even though they can both see, feel and hear how close he is to needing to cum, which is so symbolic and cinematic of how their feelings for each other are growing and changing, please don’t actually have to send Carly’s mum to another pharmacy again though, imagine]

Ali: [That’s a good idea boo, we can even convo later when the visitor she clearly has is gone, if you’d like to toedip being Thomas; also thank God you would know more people who could get you the pill if you needed it than poor Carly, ‘cos whilst her mother would not give a shit, we don’t need her to be thinking we wanna be this close so no thank you ma’am, that’s not happening; this is though and we are unravelling under you, any and all attempts at holding back what we’re saying and how loudly and ferally we are saying them are OVER sis, a lot of it running into each other, being his name and all other things you could call him and how he’s making you feel but obviously the ‘I think I feel like I love you’ is sticking out as the shit we were really holding back on that is now out]

Johnny: [I probably should he’s a totally different character now basically than he was the last time I used him and this would be a low pressure way to start again, we’ll see how we feel later and if I get frighten lol, at least her dropping the L word however much it’s wrapped around an I think would finally get this boy to stop his insane eye contact and unhinged antics and pull out because it would freak him out that she’s said it and we all know why, spoiler alert, it isn’t because he doesn’t feel the same, so there’s the joy of Ali not having her own emergency contraception run just days after Carly’s, but there’s that awkwardness to contend with because he’ll literally pull back from her in all the other ways too of being like no you can’t, no we can’t etc, even if in the immediate aftermath all they can both do is lie there DEAD at first for a minute]

Ali: [once you have stopped lying there, silently cursing in your head for doing that, getting up like you’re just wanting to change whatever song is on, as if you were listening or are now remotely ‘it’s just a thing that happens, you don’t have to make me feel bad’ like you just got carried away and we can just move on, thank you, taking off his t-shirt and throwing it towards him, finding a dressing gown or something to cover yourself]

Johnny: [‘it can’t happen, Ali’ as if either of you have any control over how you feel or who you love, but we get it, boy, picking up his t-shirt from wherever it landed and putting it on because this boy is fully intending to go find the rest of his clothes and leave rn immediately as things stand, whether he gets there or not we shall see]

Ali: [‘I mean I didn’t mean it, you know, I said the wrong thing in the heat of the moment’ shrugging like this all means nothing, picking at our nail polish, only roughly knowing what he’s doing via the sounds and glances in the mirror when he isn’t looking]

Johnny: [‘Yeah you did’ as he’s leaving this room, damn, okay ego, like it happens to be true but the audacity and the boldness to just assume that and then say so, love that he’s saying I know you meant it but it also works for yeah you said the wrong thing you dumb bitch well done, and both are delightful honestly]

Ali: [just throwing something at his back like an absolute cliche]

Johnny: [me like, aw that’s Bea’s influence right there, very baze coded as a final interaction]

Ali: [very baze coded, get in your attic babe]

Johnny: [I need the cliche her looking out the attic window watching him leaving and he doesn’t look up but we ALL know he knows and he wants to but nope he just drives away without looking back instead]

Ali: [oh the delicious drama, you’re going to have to go and immediately do something reckless like you didn’t just get back from your lil gals retreat]

Johnny: [very Bella trying to get Edward’s attention of you, gal, I LOVE it]

Ali: [can’t stay here spiralling, that is not going to help anyone]

Johnny: [For better or worse, Carly is always down to do something reckless, whatever it may be, and Drew and Caleb are massive enablers]

Ali: [y’all better go hang out with them because it would be WAY too easy to get with Ronan right now and you’ve got to resist]

Johnny: [me evilly sat here like DO IT, what’s my damage haha, poor Ronan]

Ali: [like that is clearly what does happen eventually, the looks of the gifs we have, but I am saying not yet, go hang with these boys and be all over social media about it, he’s still going to find out]

Johnny: [and why not have Carly get with one of you, because that’s gonna happen eventually too so it may as well kick off here it’s good timing, no offence lads that it really doesn’t matter which]

Ali: [it truly does not lmao, soz not soz, it’s probably Drew because she has a type but yeah, lord knows how you manage to avoid it Alison but just get ridiculously off your face]

Johnny: [mhmm, if you don’t have blue eyes get out tbh, but if you told me she got with both these lads, either one after another or at the same time while poor Ali is passed out I’d believe it so, let the cali messiness truly commence]

Ali: [shall I either a send you messages once trashed or b cali at you like bitch we need to go out?]

Johnny: [if you think she’ll send any messages to this boy while trashed do that first so we can contain the jali all in it’s own separate thing, even if I inevitably don’t reply, and then if you wanna cali after starting with the before, like as soon as he’s left or whatever we can]

Ali: You have no reason to be that arrogant and I don’t even like you anymore

Ali: I could have anyone

Johnny: Yeah I do and yeah you do

Johnny: I could have anyone myself, you’re not special for it

Ali: you’re replying today, are you

Johnny: While you can still read

Ali: Make it interesting then

Johnny: Or you’ll think you feel like you hate me, is it?

Ali: I just don’t have time to be bored

Ali: or wait for you to say anything

Johnny: Don’t wait

Ali: Shocking, you lose your bottle, again

Johnny: And all your pals are there ready to hand you 1

Ali: At least that was clever, well done

Johnny: You’re surrounded by eejits, it’s no real compliment

Ali: Why would I bother giving you one of those?

Johnny: I’m owed it for making you forget yourself and all your sense before, if your mouth’s going to keep on running away with you, might as well to there, no?

Ali: No

Ali: You’re not owed anything from me

Johnny: You lost your head, girl, don’t turn it ‘round to me like it’s something I’ve done

Ali: I wasn’t the problem

Ali: you ran away, any other lad would finish what they started, not have a freak out

Johnny: You chased me off with your mental talk

Ali: It’s not that serious

Johnny: Maybe not to you

Johnny: I’ve known all this while, fuck all is to you, that there is my fault for putting it aside to start something

Ali: You should be happy

Johnny: Any other lad can be

Ali: For fuck’s sake, you don’t even know what you want and you want me to try and figure it out

Johnny: Stop speaking for me, that’s a thing I’m after

Ali: Where did I

Johnny: I know what I want and what I don’t

Ali: Yeah?

Johnny: You say I legged it, what do you call your own behaviour?

Johnny: to anybody who’ll show you the least bit attention

Ali: I’m not waiting for you to not come back, you made yourself clear

Johnny: What are you leaving me worth coming back for? Nothing

Johnny: Why would I, the state of you?

Ali: All you’ve got is trying to make me feel shit

Johnny: Making them sorts of choices is what’ll have you feeling it

Johnny: own up to how I’d not even turned the corner before you was acting up

Ali: ‘cos I’m not a doormat

Johnny: But you’re lying yourself down for them lads all the same

Ali: If I feel like it

Ali: they have good drugs

Johnny: You don’t know what love is

Ali: And you do?

Johnny: More than you

Ali: You think in a few years time, you can pick any traveller girl and just be in love with her, without doing anything to get to know her properly

Johnny: No, I don’t think that, you do

Ali: sure, that’s my bigotry

Johnny: Yeah, it is

Johnny: I’ll grow to love her for what she gives me, a family, traditions kept up, what we both care about and reckon is important, shit that really matters and you build your life on, not shit that fades when you get yourself under some new lad for his good drugs

Ali: or you could court someone now, actually get to know them for themselves, but you’re not, are you

Johnny: I’ve time to

Ali: to waste

Johnny: This is the waste of my time, you’re showing yourself to be

Ali: You’ve said plenty of shit wrong, I said one thing

Johnny: It’s serious

Ali: Only as serious as it can be

Johnny: We don’t want none of the same things, you’re off getting what you’re really after now

Ali: You’ve no idea what I want, you don’t know me like that and you’ve never asked

Johnny: And if we don’t know each other, how the fuck can you love me?

Ali: I don’t know, it’s just a feeling

Johnny: You don’t know what none of your feelings are

Ali: Maybe I’m just not going to tell you

Johnny: Maybe you’d have got under Ronan and said all this to him

Johnny: or it’ll be out of your mouth for your dealers when what they’ve give you hits

Ali: You’re mad because you don’t believe me

Johnny: You didn’t even believe it yourself for proper, you still don’t now I’ve gone and you should have some clarity

Ali: I know exactly how I feel

Johnny: You can’t just say things

Ali: You did first

Johnny: No

Ali: You said you’d run away with me

Johnny: Weren’t what I said

Ali: As good as, told me not to say never so yeah you did

Johnny: I’m going nowhere with you, you’re all over the place

Ali: Dunno why you’re acting like you invented the takeback when I did that first

Johnny: This isn’t an act, it’s how I feel, ‘cause I can identify how I do from 1 minute to the next

Ali: Can change that quick with you, like

Johnny: When you don’t give me no other option, yeah

Ali: You had options, I was letting you ignore it

Johnny: A man doesn’t let things go ignored

Ali: They walk out instead, which is the same thing on steroids

Johnny: Unlike you, I know when to walk away

Ali: I have feelings, I’m not a robot

Johnny: And I am?

Ali: You wish

Johnny: I wish your feelings hadn’t fucked everything up

Ali: Yeah

Johnny: [Don’t reply, let yourselves get even messier, always a good idea lol]

Ali: [Oh Lordy, going so well, dread to think the casual state we’re in now]

Johnny: [likewise I’m sure, you big hypocrite sir, calling her a state for it when you’re doing all the same things basically]

Ali: [I’ll message you again to show the worse state but you don’t have to respond this time if you don’t want lol]

Ali: I lied and I don’t want to be here and I just want you to come get me are you happy now

Johnny: No, I’m not fucking happy, Ali

Ali: Why

Johnny: You’ve made a liar out of me now

Ali: I shouldn’t have trusted you

Johnny: None of this should be happening

Ali: You said you didn’t want to hurt me, that was a lie

Johnny: Yeah

Ali: and you’d look after me

Johnny: You’re not meant to put yourself in harm’s way to see if I will

Ali: What was the point, why did you do this?

Johnny: Nothing you do has no point to it, you dragged me into this, how you are

Ali: Grow up, you can’t take responsibility for what you did or why

Johnny: Neither can you

Ali: Yeah, I can

Johnny: Well you’ve not, not 1 time have you said a word about turning my life upside down by getting yourself in the middle of it

Ali: You act like I did it on purpose

Ali: I didn’t know what I was doing, did you?

Johnny: As good as when you don’t care how hard you’re making things for me

Ali: You want me to leave you alone?

Johnny: You should, I’ve told you before

Ali: Not the same thing

Johnny: You’ll want to, us not with each other no more

Ali: Wow, okay, just tell me like that

Johnny: I already told you you’ve made a liar of me, everything I said, including that don’t matter when we’re here and I’ve done this

Ali: What have you done

Johnny: Come on, smart girl, what else could I do?

Ali: I don’t know what you mean

Johnny: Isn’t just girls like you who can be whores

Ali: Right, of course

Johnny: Enough now

Ali: It would be enough ‘cos you’ve done it

Ali: I could’ve called your cousin, I didn’t

Johnny: I’m taking responsibility for myself, how you want

Ali: I already felt sick because you left

Johnny: Because it was your fault I had to

Johnny: Why would you say what you said?

Ali: because I meant it

Johnny: We can’t

Ali: You can’t

Johnny: Neither of us

Ali: You don’t get to speak for me, what I could or couldn’t do

Johnny: When it’s loving me, it’ll do nothing for you

Ali: I can see that now

Johnny: ‘Til I opened your eyes for you you couldn’t

Ali: Don’t act like you had any intentions

Johnny: Don’t matter, you can still see it, you’re welcome

Ali: Good night

Johnny: [leave that on read, charmingly]

Ali: [wellity well, should I post this or do we wanna jump forward what’s the tea lol]

Johnny: [the way I wanna just keep this going forever lol but realistically we should think about how and when they are next going to interact, and go to bed given the time, so you should probably post it]

Ali: [boooooo but true, I’ll split this and post]

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sarah-dipitous · 1 year

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Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 88

A Scandal in Belgravia

“A Scandal in Belgravia”

Plot Description: Sherlock must confiscate something of importance from a mysterious woman named Irene Adler

I can’t believe it’s time for another Sherlock episode. Can’t tell you how much I wish no months ended on a Friday this year, but here we are. I’m starting at about 8pm. Let’s see what time it gets posted.

(I might come back to this tomorrow for a round two because I didn’t realize there were commentary tracks…….I will not subject you to my commentary on the commentary…unless??)

It’s been 31 days since Sherlock pointed that gun at the explosives.

I had Stayin Alive as my ringtone for the LONGEST TIME because of this

I love their politeness. Like, we’re truly in a life and death situation complete with guns and explosives and you’re apologizing because you had to take this phone call…*I* don’t even get that courtesy at work

I’m not proud of the noise I made when Jim yelled and said “and know that if you’re lying to me, I will find you, and I will sssskin you.”

*keysmash that is absolutely impossible on my phone* “if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don’t, I’ll make you into shoes.” It’s still VERY effective

OH OH OHHH!!! This is the episode I got my blog title from. We get this merry go round of cases too dull for Sherlock to take on til these kids tell him of how the comics they’ve been dissecting on their website have been coming to life, John starts writing about the case,

Sherlock: the geek interpreter, what’s that?

John: it’s the title

Sherlock: what’s it need a title for?

And that became my blog title because I could not come up with one and it was 2012, so Sherlock was on my mind big time

Johnnnn, you hurt his feelings…

My brain keeps the DUMBEST pieces of information for YEARS AND YEARS but can barely remember where I put my keys at any given moment. Tell me why I remembered that it was 243 types of tobacco ash Sherlock talks about on HIS blog

Yayyy!! The deerstalker hat!!

I shan’t say what else I’ve stolen from this episode

I definitely forgot about this plot line, the guy whose car backfired and the guy he saw on the riverbank was dead

I’m…having thoughts about that post that went around about the lesbian with eczema and whether Sherlock could deduce that. And I think it really does boil down to whether or not he knows literally anything about women (which is highly unlikely as he’s being written by Steven Moffat). We know he knows what underwear is popular with gay men and what the right sleeve of an “internet porn addict” looks like but those were both dudes…

Mycroft!!! (I knew he was gonna show up but I still get excited to see him, I have related to him so much)

No because for real, and I mean this in an annoyed way not any other way, he’s such a fucking brat. Sherlock, that is. You can deduce the cause of death of the riverbank guy in five minutes without even BEING there but you’re going to throw a hissy fit over not knowing EXACTLY which member of the royal family is employing you as you stand in buckingham palace??

I do adore Mycroft telling John that he of course doesn’t trust his own secret service, they all spy on people for money

Irene’s got a high end “rich widow robe”

“I always hear ‘punch me in the face’ when you’re speaking but it’s usually subtext”

Sherlock’s brain short circuiting after Irene says brainy is the new sexy will always be funny

Maybe it’s me but if someone changed my text notification to that, even if just for them, I’d be (at best) annoyed. Hey…does Sherlock not know how to put his phone on silent? I know he has trouble with some ordinary things because he deleted them from his mind palace

Not everyone ganging up on Mycroft 😑

Oh my…there is…something very relatable about how annoyed Sherlock is about the small talk. I…that was me today

Oof. No no noooooooooo. Poor Molly. I simply would stop liking someone if they continuously said such mean things about me in front of me barely acknowledging that I’m even there to hear it.

Does “Althea” just go pick up anyone someone pays her to? Like…she doesn’t even drive the car. She just shows up and John gets in the car…because *I* know he’s meeting Irene

I don’t like them threatening Mrs Hudson 😡 I do like John underestimating her. This IS the woman who hired Sherlock to make sure her abusive husband got locked up

How do safe deposit boxes even work in England? Can anyone with the key just go in?? Seems…UNsafe.

Man, when that one dude said that apologizing for Sherlock must be like a full time job for Mycroft, I don’t think he knew how right he was. Or how profusely Mycroft has to apologize for him…….fucked up this whole operation by wanting to show off for Irene. And Irene told Jim.

I can’t tell you how long it took me to understand what Irene meant each time she uses the word ‘had’ or ‘have’ to mean sexually…it still takes my brain adjustment time 💀💀💀

The asexuality of Sherlock Holmes is pouring out of SO MANY SCENES:

Irene: have you ever had anyone? And by had, I’m being indelicate

Sherlock: I don’t understand

Irene: oh I’ll be delicate then. Let’s have dinner

Sherlock: why?

Irene: might be hungry

Sherlock: i’m not

Irene: good

Sherlock: why would I want to have dinner if I wasn’t hungry?

Me: RIGHT?!?!?!

Sherlock’s so smug and for absolutely no reason. You fucked up, buddy

I love these little scenes between Mycroft and John.

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023 #come get some minor blog loreTM

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tpc-tangled-au · 2 years

Text

Chapter Five: The Impossible Blossom

So the search went on. The heralds sent out the decree to every traveller and town in the kingdom. It reached the ears of two wanderers who—

Oh! But there was another seeking to use the fireflower’s gift that night! Why, you must speak of her first. Without that bit, the finding shan’t make sense.

What do you mean, Naphtali? It was the lady and the strange boy who found it.

You don’t—oh, well, I suppose it makes sense you might not think of her at once. But surely you know, Baron! No? Not the… well, I suppose then she’d have been an old woman? She… oh, I don’t even know what proper name to call her now. The witch?

…Oh.

Her.

You might want to remember her for your letter. She’s rather important.

Unfortunately.

Old Salome would not be old for much longer.

Some might have marvelled at the sight of these fiery petals, of the flame flickering within it from root to tip, licking at its edges without burning them. But Salome was not given to marvel. Indeed, she had seen it countless times and never once considered it with wonder.

Carefully, she approached the magical blossom. Salome had seen enough fools die by its power, or shrivel into its mold, to know not to be heedless. But she was not about to relinquish its power now. Thus, she came prepared. With silvren gloves and silvery voice, she came prepared.

She knelt before it (a position she never had liked, but had grown to accept in this case). In her gloved hands, she cradled the flame. And she sang. She sang an old tune from long ago, from the days when she needed no magic to be young. An ancient, nigh-forgotten, and wicked little song.

Will… will you put the song into the letter?

Don’t. Please don’t, Baron.

You don’t need to worry about that, Naphtali. I’ll never sing it, not today or any other day. Especially not to my children. No, I won’t put the song in my letters. Tune and words and meaning, it needs to be forgotten.

As Salome sang, a familiar change crept across her. It tingled of power, and tasted of magic. The tune was forbidden fruit upon her tongue.

“Ahh,” she smiled, feeling wrinkles fade from its corners. “Tis well for me. Well that I do sing so sweet, even as age comes forth.”

Her weak and brittle hair strengthened, thickened, darkened.

“No bearer am I, dear master, nor you. Only a mistress of magic, I.”

Beneath her gloves, her fingers reclaimed their softness and cleverness.

“But even if I knew no magic, it would be well. And well now.”

She ran her hands across her form, restored to its familiar shape.

“Tis the music that does it. Well for me.”

Though her voice had aged better than anything outward, it had shifted every moment she sang or spoke. When she arrived, it had been only old velvet and fading dusk. Now it was honey and wine and dulcet night. She let peal a soft, youthful laugh.

Old Salome was old no longer.

There was a distant voice. Some stranger in the night. A signal to depart, and that swiftly.

Taking in her hand the tiny poniard she always kept here, Salome stabbed it into the snow. Once this was upright, the air about the magical spot shifted. She could both see and feel the difference. The fireflower was shrouded. So she had enchanted it to be. It was not a large shroud, and so she could not hide herself in it, waiting until the stranger was gone. But so long as the miniature dagger was in its place, none would find her captive flame.

Salome stood. She watched the Shroud a moment, to ensure that it was steady. Then, into the dark and cold she vanished, as young and as beautiful as the day she first saw Septimon’s stones.

She did not notice that the snow was soft and not packed well. She did not see the poniard slide. She did not feel the shroud flicker and fail. No, the only ones who saw these things saw them after the fact.

And here, I suppose, you would put the two wanderers.

That’s right, Melisande. Though to be honest, I don’t know as much about it as I’d like. I didn’t exactly grow up on the story like you people. I think most of my Othryan knowledge was older... by a few centuries.

Oh, Baron, you.

Why don’t you remind us, Sharp Eyes? I don’t remember this part of the tale terribly well either. Why don’t you tell the finding for us?

Well… well, I suppose we mustn’t let little Wilfred down, then, must we?

Two wandered the wood together the night Salome’s shroud slipped. These were a woman and a boy. And it was clear from the first glance that there was not a drop of kinship between them. The woman was red-haired yet sun-skinned, dressed in long green. The boy was pale in hair and skin both, dressed like a Victorian. Red and gold leaves were in his hair.

The woman frowned at him. “I know you’re not exactly normal, but how can you possibly stand such cold? And without shoes!” She huffed a hot breath, clouding the air. This sort of climate made her so irritable. “Honestly, if I were your mother… where is your mother, by the way?” At an inscrutable stare from the barefoot boy, she turned away, a little awkwardly. “Right. One of those questions-not-to-be-answered.”

The boy turned dim eyes to her. No fog drifted from his mouth as he spoke. “For summer art thou made, Miss Somerset, while I for only wintriness and cold. This weather harms me not; nor wilt harm thee, so long as we together travel on.”

Lynn Somerset shook her head and tramped on. “If you were ever a mortal,” she muttered, shivering, “you’d have been a poet’s ghost.”

They two went on through the frozen trees, like a red fox and a snowy owl passing into the night. What adventures they were bound upon, none knew. Or, none of that land. Their tale is its own, and who can say if it will be told? Yet its chief concern for us is where it comes into this one.

As they travelled, Lynn grew more and more cross. She was built for summer. This cold was not for the likes of her. So her eyes darted through the woods like hunters, searching for any sign of a homely house, in which they could stay the night. Adventures were marvelous things, but even adventurers needed rest. Even bizarre boys with no concept of frostbite. (Probably.)

Suddenly, she came to a sharp halt. Her eyes flashed hopefully as a grin broke free.

“What cheer, good lady?” came the faded young voice. “What doth freeze thy steps?”

“Fire!” She laughed and pointed at the glimmer she’d seen through the tree trunks. “It’s a lamp or a torch or something—it means warmth! And it might well mean food and shelter and sleep too! You sleep, don’t you, boy?” And she rushed on ahead without seeing whether there would be an answer.

The thought that there could be wicked men or creatures by that fire did occur to her as she ran. But it was too late to back down now, so she told herself. She’d made her decision, and she was following through on it. Besides, the boy wasn't trying to warn her. He usually did when there was some danger.

Yet when Lynn came to the flame’s source, she found no lamp nor torch. She found only a growing thing that should have been withered in the cold, a glowing thing that should have been consumed in the heat. Yes, it was fire. But she stared at it as if it was the first light she had ever seen.

“…oh…” she gasped, before her hazy breath was stolen away.

Lynn heard no footsteps. But when she glimpsed a pale blur of motion at her right, she turned to look.

The boy, her little companion and guide, had fallen to his knees. His pale cheeks were already stained with tears. Yet he sat upright, and his shining gaze was fixed, unblinking, upon the impossible blossom before them.

“Are… are you all right?” Lynn dared to ask, not sure whether to be concerned or not. He seemed unaware of her. But she had to say something. She’d never seen him like this.

“Only in the sleet and snow,” he whispered at last, his speech shifting into a strange cadence, “know we where the great fires glow. In the midst of frozen earth rages on a beauteous mirth; so, star-glorious in its power, is the heart of fire’s flower.”

An invisible breath escaped his lips, as if he had been pierced straight through the heart. His gaze never wavered.

Lynn made no reply. She dared not disturb the silence in his wake. Not now, at least. And yet…

Fire’s flower.

Something about those words echoed differently in her head. She played them over, again and again, trying to understand why they were so striking in the midst of all his other words of poetry. And such speech had to be poetry, or she would never trust a literary tutor again.

But “fire’s flower.” Fire’s flower. Fire…

Her eyes shot up. “The fireflower!”

Lynn grimaced, realizing she had shattered the stillness of the moment he was in. But there was little reaction. Though the boy didn’t look or speak to her, his head lifted. That, she guessed, was all the acknowledgement she would receive. So she turned to explain her words’ outburst.

“Do you remember the herald we met on the road, just a few hours ago?” Was it hours? I can’t remember now. “He said he was a herald, anyway. And he had that royal symbol. I didn’t know the heralds of this kingdom were ghosts.” Of course, come to that, it makes sense: if you had one you could trust, they’re probably faster than any horse. A fine way to spread news!

The boy nodded, as if he knew all her meaning already.

“Well, that ghost herald told us there was a hunt on. A search for a magical fireflower. It had to be found and brought to the palace. To save the queen, he said it was. Now, call me silly, but I don’t doubt but that this is that exact fireflower!”

“The stone of Carter, now the bloom of Ward.” He nodded once more, speaking normally again (or at least, normally for him). “’Tis so, Miss Somerset; this is that same.”

Relieved at having her guess confirmed, she went on eagerly. “Well, we must tell them! That herald said the queen’s life depended on it! I don’t know if it’s to rescue her or to heal her, but it’s important.”

The boy was perfectly still, the same wintry shade as the snow. Truth be told, Lynn had no concept of what he might say or do. She couldn’t tell if it was sorrow or awe that filled his dim eyes—they were so hard to read, and their tears harder still. But he spoke at last, in a soft, lonely voice.

“Such radiance is not meant for a hoard. ‘Tis meant to gleam and glow; to save the lost; to give its life, and in that giving, die.” He closed his eyes, letting slip his last tears. “We shall to Othrys Castle with this news, and they shall take this flame and make it ash.”

“Oh, no, I’m sure they won’t… well…” Lynn was at a loss for words. How was she supposed to comfort a child like this one? After all, she didn’t know anything about how this fireflower worked, or how you could possibly use it to save someone.

However, she had no need to try. The boy turned his gaze up to meet hers… and he smiled. “But that is as it should, for ‘tis its role. The phoenix burns ere resurrection's dawn. Even the sun goes down to bring the stars, and night lasts not. The flower knows its fate; to heal what has been hurt is all its aim.”

Lynn tried to suppress the shiver she always got when he talked like that. Because he shouldn’t have been doing it. That way of speaking was supposed to be for prophets, or wizards, or ancient kings. The noble kinds of people in her father’s stories when she was a girl. But he was only a boy, no older than she had been then!

Or… or maybe he wasn’t.

Whatever the case, he was standing now. He wiped his cheeks and flung the tears to the ground. They seemed to have frozen into drops of ice. But he wept no longer, and that was a relief.

Lynn sighed sharply. He was ready now, at any rate. And she was ready and eager to take to their task. Wonder turns the heart to do, her father had always told her.

“What do we do, then? Should we make for the castle now? Or try to find one of the heralds?” The boy made no answer, so she stood and thought a moment. “Come to think of it, one of us may should wait here and guard the fireflower, so no one will steal it before the guards can take it to the queen.”

The boy nodded. “Stay thou here, Miss Somerset.”

“What? No, no, I meant we should think about it and decide between the two of—”

“Safe you’ll be,” he interrupted, holding up a hand, “so do not fret. I shall fetch them to this place, so that they may save Her Grace.”

Lynn frowned. It made sense, and she couldn’t deny it. On the road, who would be less likely to be accosted by highwaymen—a decently fair woman or a shoeless boy? Still, it was a little awkward having a child make the decision for her, young or no.

The boy stepped closer, as if to catch her eye. When he did, he touched her forearm. “Though you must not touch its flame, for its warmth thou hast no blame.” There was a trace in his expression of deliberate hinting, which she caught. If he were the type to wink, he might’ve done it then.

She turned her head to glance at the flower. “So treat it like a normal fire, then. Easily done. But do—”

When Lynn had turned around, the boy was gone. No sound of his leaving, no footprints leading away. Not a sign of him anywhere.

“You really aren’t a normal anything, are you, boy?” She sighed. “Well, I will just guard this for a while, then, I suppose. That’s why I’m still here, anyway.”

Rubbing her arms, Lynn stepped over toward the fireflower. But there was something hard under her shoe where she stepped, and it didn’t feel brittle enough for a twig. She drew back her foot and swept her skirts aside.

“Huh! I wonder who lost this?” She bent and picked up one of the tiniest daggers she’d ever seen. It gleamed curiously, reflecting the light. The hilt felt awfully wet, but she guessed it must’ve been because of the snow and the mud. Lynn shrugged. “Ah, it’ll do well for me. Better to have an actual weapon when you’re alone in the forest.”

So Lynn Somerset sat down by the fireflower of King Ward, surprised and glad to warm herself by its heat. And she waited. Soon her strange little friend would come, the flower would be taken to save the queen, and they would depart. They had their own adventures ahead. This impossible blossom was just a wondrous little sidetrack.

She had no idea she held the thing that had hidden it. Nor did she notice, when she hummed an old tune from boredom, that its light flared just a little brighter.

~~*~~

[Chapter 1/Writing the Story]

[Chapter 4/Dire Warnings] ... [Chapter 5/you are here!] ... [Chapter 6/Seeing the Lights]

Also found on AO3, if you'd like to hop on over!

#tpc tangled au #the kingdom of othrys au #the actual fic #salt and light #salome #lynn and the boy #this one got Chestertonian haha

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pretentious-fruity-and-me · 2 years

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🌙Dear Grey Eyes🌙

Tis the starlight at work, for I’ve fallen in love with you. A twist of fate so drastic that even I am left to wonder could this be real? Yet again I have fallen hopeless for another, throwing myself to the wolves in the name of desperation. Broken pianos ring in my ears, steeples fall and crush my bones, but you’ll be there, I’m sure of it. To sit alone with you and be born again, only to die at the hands of my own pity and tangible hurt. The unlikely pairing, the ones who could hate each other, yet searching for the pieces they do not know how to find. I shared my true nature with him, presenting raw without my mask. No longer sat the girl barren of true emotion, but instead a mere husk, sharing thoughts from the deepest parts of her being. All of the things I have kept to myself fell from my lips upon the chapel floor, as if water seeping from the smallest cracks of earths flesh. But you sat before me, unchanged, demeanour without a shift. You moved me. You changed me. The star that has laid dormant inside me exploded in my chest. Fire, it was fire. The flame that ever dwindled away long ago was reignited, reborn anew. My heart skipped beats when I looked at you. Even in the dimmest of light you still shone beautifully in my eyes, hazy with sleep as the moon creeped in from the churches bay windows. We’d been there earlier that day, running our hands over piano keys in the hopes to create a symphony, laughing together as if time had no purpose, no end. But these hands wanted more, to hold yours, your skin, running my fingers through your hair. To stare into your grey eyes in the candlelight, for all to take caution when approaching the steeples door. To gaze into those steel pools, and smell your rich sweetness in an embrace. I wasn’t deserving enough to give you my gaze, yet still I couldn’t control what my heart yearned for. To be loved again. ‘Twas only a brief time we shared alone, but time that will shift through the chambers of my brain for an eternity. I learned that you are shattered, for broken would undoubtedly undermine all you have survived. It was as if the shadow of death spared a moment to speak with Venus, the two opposites, but share a genuine compassion for one another. I felt sorry for you, wishing I could take away the pain in hopes to reveal your potential, your happinesses core. But sitting here today I feel like a failure, having lost the game without ever learning the rules. You said girls here were desperate, so I called them dogs, hopeless puppies all scrambling for the newest toy. I was a hypocrite, said I was different, when I am just as lost in search of romance. For I too am another wandering heart, willing to make her body the participant through many trials and loss of innocence. Our pieces are jagged, fitting together in odd and obtuse ways, drawing blood from the splinters. The sanctuary offered an opportunity to understand, to feel, to realize truths. Things that were too grim to comprehend in the light of day, but at dusk, far away from all listening ears. I’d never felt safer that whole weekend, there with you inside that run down church. Although people may have feared you for being emotionless, I knew you had felt more than anyone else. I hope someday we can be there again, together. But if fate shan’t allow, then I shall forever roam the biblical towers in my mind alone. Distanced from all except those eyes of sterling grey, and that handsome yet daring smirk.

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hedgehog-moss · 2 years

Text

(replying to this post)

That’s a good example of the perils of domesticating translations! It seems obvious that if you try to adapt an ongoing series by changing a main character’s hometown so it’s more local, at some point you’re going to run into problems, like a whole book where they visit their hometown, which will need an in-depth rewrite so it stays coherent.

The France-French translations of Baby-Sitters Club were still set in the US, so the characters had names that were slightly domesticated so as not to frighten French children, but not so much that it wouldn’t make sense for these girls to be American—e.g. Mary Ann became Mary-Anne vs. Anne-Marie in Québec French, and Dawn and Stacey became Carla and Lucy, which still sounds American to a French kid, but not as unconscionably American as their original names. (Part of it is finding names that won’t be difficult to pronounce—but the Famous Five kids had easily-pronounced names like Julian and Dick, and they still ended up heavily Frenchified, into François and Michel. And the books were set in Brittany in the French translations, instead of England, even though French kids could have handled reading a story that was set five metres to the left.)

I remember feeling puzzled about Nancy Drew at one point, because she’s such a household name in anglo literature and I’d never ever heard of her, so I was like, we’ve translated every other popular anglo series, why have I never seen a Nancy Drew book in a French library? And then I discovered that Alice Roy from the “Alice” book series in French was, in fact, Nancy Drew. It blew my mind—Nancy Drew is Alice!! omg, I did know her this whole time. I read somewhere that the French translation re-named her because French kids would have no idea how to pronounce “Drew” and because they would be more likely to associate “Nancy” with the French city of the same name, so it wouldn’t feel anglo enough. So, amusingly, it was a mix of domesticating and foreignising.

One type of domestication that’s regrettably popular in children’s literature is “temporal” domestication—when you re-translate older books to modernise the language and remove references that would “confuse” today’s kids (not talking about changing aspects of the books that wouldn’t fly with today’s sensibilities, that’s another discussion.) In revised editions of the Famous Five books in the UK, “shall / shan’t” were changed to “will / won’t”, dated words like “horrid” became “horrible”, “trunks” -> “suitcases”, etc. It’s a form of domesticating translation—from 1950s English to modern English. Personally I’m not a fan of it, because in a lot of instances, “modernising” prose for children is synonymous with pruning it and dumbing it down.

In French children’s literature spatial domesticating is losing steam while this kind of temporal domesticating is on the rise—we now feel like French kids can handle reading about an English boy named Julian who lives in England, rather than making the story about François in Brittany, but apparently kids can’t handle reading about a boy who lives in the 1950s and speaks accordingly. In recent re-translations of the Famous Five books they changed the passé simple conjugations to the less complex present, and the “nous” to “on” in the kids’ dialogue among other things, to make the text less formal, more modern—and simpler. The Spanish revised editions have examples of both trends—George calls her father “Padre” in the original translation and “Papá” in the modern one (temporal domesticating—the UK reprints do the same thing, changing “Father” to “Dad”); the kids having tea was initially translated as “tomar el té”, while the new translation changed it to “merendar” (spatial domesticating—and sure, it’s a similar enough concept, but it erases cultural differences. If you’re reading about English kids you can accept that they refer to their snack time as la hora del té rather than la merienda...)

Idk, I think kids who enjoy reading can handle books about fictional children that don’t live and talk just as they do; identifying with people who are quite different from you is part of the fun of reading. I remember reading as a kid the Comtesse de Ségur children’s books which were written under Napoléon III, and the 19th century language was a delightful aspect of them—the fact that little kids my age used imperfect subjunctive in casual conversation was hilarious to me. I was saying in my previous post that domesticating your translation too much evinces a lack of respect for your reader’s ability to handle unfamiliar concepts, and I think we should try to have a little more respect for children in that regard.

#some amount of temporal domesticating can be good so you don't have a completely different experience of a text than #a person from the time period when it was written #e.g. ancient greek classics (as someone mentioned on that other post) which have often been too heavily foreignised in translation #and end up being perceived as abstruse or academic when they initially told a story that could be enjoyed by the average person #but come on let's not do this for texts that have been published in our parents' lifetimes #anyway i'm sorry this is supposed to be a llama blog

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mistresspotterhead · 3 years

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The American Ymbryne- Chap. 1

Alma Peregrine x fem!reader

Warnings: Yelling, slamming hands on a table, being outed (kind of)

Words: 1,900 on the dot

A/N: Wow, this took a lil bit. Alma doesn’t appear until the very end of this chapter, but she’ll be in the next one a lot. Everyone has been so kind, and that has helped a lot <3. Also: Miss Saker indicates the type of bird you are, not your given name. I hope you guys like this. 😊😊😊

Tags: @itsonlydana @evil-feather @merci-bitch @multimilfs @escapetodreamworld @gay-and-sad-tm @multifandomfix @romanottsmaximoff @n0thing-is-real-exe @theaudreymere

(ask if you want to be added/removed)

In a strange way, Cairnholm reminded you of the Chicago loop you and your wards had just fled from. They were both very dreary, cold, and, from what you could tell from those on the ferry, the people would rather be anywhere else.

“M-miss Saker? I’m cold.” The bundle of talking coats shivered next to you.

“I know, Astrid. We’re almost there, though.” You sighed and looked out toward the slowly approaching coastline. Your surviving children, Elina, Alexander, Leonard, and, of course, Astrid, all huddled closer to you. You stared at Cairnholm for a while longer, until the ferryman’s voice suddenly called out.

“Alright everyone, ‘ere we are! The… lovely… Cairnholm!” He steered the small ferry over to the somehow smaller docks, and you led your children out.

“Is everyone here? Astrid, Leo, Elina, Alex?” David, Beth-Anne, Lisa, Frankie, June, Stefanie, Josef, Alice, Rosie, Reggie. You suppressed the urge to call out their names as well.

“Yes, Miss Saker,” they called in long-suffering voices- you were very adamant about attendance. It was good to see something was normal.

“All right then. Leo, can you see where the loop is? And Alex, are there any other peculiars near?” Ah yes, your diviners. It was very lucky for all of you that they were two of those that survived the wight’s invasion of your loop.

Your Chicago loop near the Art Institute was one of the last surviving loops in America maintained by an Ymbryne, along with your South Side, McKinley Park, and St. Louis loops, though the latter was run mainly by its older wards and reset once a week.

As of a fortnight ago, though, the Art Institute loop was the only one you had. McKinley Park was attacked by Wights and Hollows in December, with South Side following close in early January. Samuel, the sole survivor of McKinley Park, was what Syndrygasti call a Librarian. He could see hollows and alerted you to them when you were traveling to St. Louis for reset. The problem with this, though, was that Sammy was only five years old, and so frequently got distracted.

It wasn’t hard to understand- Illinois in 1975 was very colorful. Sammy was gone now, though, as were all most all of your children. Speaking of…

“There aren’t any other peculiars on the island, Miss Saker- at least not in this time,” Alex said, startling you out of your thoughts.

“Thank you, dear. How are you faring, Leo? Have you located the loop? I don’t like being out in the open for this long.” For emphasis, Elina gave a giant, chattering shiver that was surely exaggerated.

“Indeed, but it is on the other side of the island, and the night is fast approaching.”

You looked over and scowled at the sun; if you couldn’t get rest, then why was it allowed to?

“Well then. It looks like we’ll have to go into town.” Immediately, protests arose.

“Aw, no!”

“Come on, Miss Saker! We can make camp out here!”

“Because that sounds comfortable,” Leo deadpanned to Astrid.

“Well, it’s better than town! There probably isn’t even a hotel!”

“Actually, Astrid, that’s where you’re wrong.” Astrid looked shocked at the suggestion that she could ever be incorrect at something. “There is a hotel. It’s called the….” You took out the crumpled guidebook the ferryman had given to each tourist. “Preist Hole. What kind of hotel is called the Priest Hole?” You muttered that last part to yourself. “Anyway, off we go. Come along, single file now.”

Your ducklings dutifully arranged themselves from youngest to oldest, seven-year-old Elina closest to you and sixteen-year-old Leo at the back.

You hoped that the food was at least good.

Nope. Everything on the Preist Hole’s menu was covered with vinegar. You wondered if that was a Welsh thing or a Cairnholm thing. Maybe the owner just liked vinegar. Next to you, Elina was grimacing with every bite. On a whim, you decided to flag the bartender down.

“Hey, Kev, was it?” He grinned widely at you. You gave him a small smile in return.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s me. What can I do for you ‘n yer bunch today?”

“I was just wondering if you had some fries- sorry, chips- with less vinegar. My youngest is still picky.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ll talk to Arnie ‘n see what he can whip up fer ye. He’s the cook, ye see.”

“Thank you so much, sir.” You attempted a bigger smile, but it still felt forced.

“Naw, it ain’t a problem, really. ‘N please, call me Kev. Sir sounds like I’m fifty- ‘n I’ve still got twenty years ‘fore that,” he chuckled.

“Well then, you must call me y/n.”

“Of course, ma’am- y/n, sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s alright, Kev.” This time, your smile was a small bit genuine- his hesitancy was endearing.

“Yeh. Well, um, I’d better talk teh Arnie now. I’ve kinda been lingering here for a while.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to keep you from work, anyway.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t object if yeh did,” Kev concluded, winking before walking away.

Once he was out of earshot, Astrid started chittering.

“Ooh, was that flirting I saw, Miss Saker?” You rolled your eyes, and Alex guffawed into his water.

“Miss Saker? Flirt with a guy? I think Elina would drink an entire bottle of vinegar before that happened.” You turned your head sharply in his direction, but not before Astrid snapped back at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You jerk your head toward her now.

“Well, Miss Saker isn’t really the type to, ah, dabble in the male gene pool.” It was like you were watching tennis, really, with all this head-turning.

“That doesn’t make any-”

“ENOUGH!” You stood up, placing your hands on the bar. “This is not a discussion we are having, especially not here and now. Alex, I told you that information in confidence, and I am severely disappointed that you have betrayed that. Astrid, whether or not I am flirting with someone, and really my love life in general, is none of your concern. Do you both understand?”

They nodded, Alex looking especially ashamed of himself.

“Sorry, Miss Saker. It just slipped out.”

You sighed and ignored all the stares you and your wards were getting because of your outburst.

“Alright, Alex. Just… you can’t share things that people tell you privately.”

“Yes, Miss Saker.” He was quiet after that, poking at his food.

It bothered you that he had shared that information, though it didn’t seem as if the other wards had understood. Of course, Leo was the only one you would expect to, as he was sixteen, but he had been sheltered in your loop his entire life. All of your wards had, really.

Just as you were beginning to sink into your past again, Kev came out with Elina’s new plate of fr- chips.

“Here ye are, little lady. I hope you like these better.” He smiled at Elina, tugging a small one out in return. You both watched expectantly as she took a tentative bite. And another. And another. Until the plate was almost gone, and she was rubbing her stomach in contentment.

“Well, that was fast.”

“It was good, Miss Saker. I wasn’t going to let it cool.” You laughed at the disapproving look on her face.

“Alright, alright. I suppose you have a good point.” You turned to Kev. “Thank you again, sir, for-”

“Kev.”

“...right. Thank you for doing this. How much will it cost?” You were ruffled at his interruption, but he didn’t notice. He pretended to think for a moment.

“Hmm… how much will makin’ a little girl ‘n her mam happy cost? I dunno.” He smiled at you. “It’s on the house. I can see that ye haven’t had such a good day, so….”

“Really? Are you sure? I mean, I have the money….”

“I’m completely sure. It’s good te make someone happy once in a while.”

“Well, I truly do thank you. It also seems that we’ll need a room, if that’s alright?”

“Sure. Room four was just recently vacated. It’s right up here.” He led you up the stairs, the kids trailing behind.

The room was small for five people, but it seemed like a mansion to the children, who only had their old, overcrowded loop to compare it to. There were four rickety beds, though they did seem to be clean, and a barren nightstand next to each of them.

“Ah… I forgot that this only had four beds. I can get ye another room, or-”

“No, no, this is fine. Thank you for your help, Kev.” You subtly ushered him toward the door.

“Oh- well, if ye need anythi-”

“Yes, of course. Ta, then! Have a nice day!” You shut the door, leaving him very confused.

Alex was wheezing on the floor behind you.

“That… that was absolutely amazing Miss Saker! You are an absolute icon!”

What in Abaton does that mean? You never could understand the new slang terms that the 1970s held.

Elina yawned, setting off all the other children and alerting you to their needs.

“Alright then, time for bed.” Immediately, they were completely awake.

“I’m not tired at all, Miss Saker, therefore I shan’t be able to fall asleep.”

“The fact that your accent is coming out very strongly tells me that you are indeed tired, Leo.” You crossed your arms. “Bed. now.” Your wards slouched, and grudgingly picked out a bed each.

“Miss Saker, where will you sleep tonight?” Astrid asked as you were tucking her covers in.

“On the floor, of course. Now, did you remember to take off your gloves?”

“But it won’t be comfortable! The floor is so hard and cold and dirty and-”

“Your gloves, Astrid.” She was very talkative, even late at night, though you had come to enjoy it. Sometimes.

She took off the gloves that helped control her peculiarity and was about to start chattering again when Elina suddenly spoke up from her bed in the corner.

“I could make you a nest with a spare blanket, Miss Saker?” You gave her one of your very rare genuine smiles.

“That would be lovely, Elina.”

“Wait- how did she know you were going to sleep in bird form?” Alex asked, finally catching on. You smiled again at Elina and kissed her on the forehead.

“She’s made me a little nest before when I fall asleep in my study while in bird form.”

“And that happens often?”

“Surprisingly so. Now, snuggle in and no more talking.” As the children said their goodnights, you finally transformed into your bird form; a stunning saker falcon. You jumped lightly onto Elina’s bed, careful not to hurt her with your razor-sharp talons or accidentally hit her with your wing (which had happened on more than one occasion).

Though you nestled into the warm bunch of blankets right away, you didn’t fall asleep until much later, and even then, you were restless all night.

---

Little did you know, in the old manor that you would trek to the next day, a group of peculiars and one very curious ymbryne had observed all of this. Alma LeFay Peregrine set her watch and gave the children a reassuring smile while she pondered what this meant and why her stomach had fluttered when you gave that dazzling smile.

#tw yelling #tw slamming hands down #tw being outed #alma peregrine x reader #miss peregrine x reader #alma peregrine #wow im so gay for her

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jamesbuchananxsteviegrant · 3 years

Text

She Who Shan’t Be Named - Part 4 | Sweetheart (Steve x Reader)

Category: Smut (Mandatory) Age: 18+ Trigger Warnings: Explicit language, intercourse, suggestive language, casual sexual actions, flirting with a lot of people Ship: Steve x Reader Summary: Tony lets his life-long friend crash at the Avengers HQ while she has nowhere else to go. What could go wrong with so many attractive individuals living in the same home? Word Count: 1.4k Masterlist: LINK

(hmu if you want adding to the tag-list for this series)

---

“Knock knock.” Steve’s voice echoes in the living room where (Y/N) is alone, sat watching some show on Netflix and eating a bowl of pasta.

“Afternoon, Cap.” She greets, flashing a wink his way.

The man laughs and shakes his head.

“Afternoon, (Y/N). How’re you doing? You settling in okay?”

“As courteous as ever, Steven.” She avoids his question.

His grin remains as he approaches the couches.

“May I?” He asks, gesturing to the couch across from her.

“Are you asking me permission to sit in the living room of your own home?” Her voice is half-serious half-joking.

He laughs nonetheless and takes a seat.

“I’m trying to make you feel comfortable.” Steve offers.

“You’re Captain America, I don’t think there’s much you can do to make me feel uncomfortable.”

Another chuckle.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“You can hold me to a lot of things.”

“What?”

“What?” She mimics, Steve smirking and shaking his head.

“What’re you watching?” He asks, trying to make conversation.

“Nothing you’d know, old man.”

Another laugh.

He relishes in it for a moment. The happiness. The genuine, relaxed atmosphere as he feels carefree and welcomed.

“Try me.”

“Big Bang Theory.”

“Hey, I know that one! Tony hates it.” Cap boasts, (Y/N) giggling herself.

“I know, that’s half the reason I love it so much.”

More laughter.

What Steve doesn’t notice is the way the woman spends more time eyeing his body up and down. The way his biceps are on full display, along with his abs, in the tight light blue t-shirt he’s wearing. The way she’s imagining what his beard feels like against her lips. And the other lips.

Sitting her pasta bowl down on the coffee table, she stands up and approaches the blond, watching his eyes lock with hers, eyebrows quirked in curiosity of her movements.

She stops directly in front of him and he’s all too curious.

“You okay?”

“When was the last time you fucked anyone, Steve?”

His eyes widen and he almost chokes on his own saliva at the question.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard, Rogers.”

She maneuvers herself so her knees are bent on either side of the man’s thighs, sitting on his lap.

His arms are almost up in surrender, not daring to touch the woman.

“Did I stutter?”

No. But he does.

“I, uh, you- what’re you doing?”

“Waiting for an answer.”

“God. Uhm, a while? Like three or four years ago.” He confesses, still looking bewildered at the woman.

“Was it good?” The woman continues, leaning forward so her chest is pressed against his, her lips by his ear. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I- what- it was alright.” Steve stumbles over his words.

“Am I making you uncomfortable, Captain?” Her voice is no louder than a whisper, her breath making goosebumps prick his skin in the room that’s almost too hot.

“Not quite the word I’d use.” He manages.

“No? What word would you use?”

He hesitates again, eyes widening even more so as she gently takes his hands in her own and rests them on her hips.

“I don’t know.” Steve whispers, locking eyes with her once she’s pulled back enough to do so.

“May I kiss you, Steven Rogers?” She asks, whilst she wants this and is confident, she doesn’t want to do anything to make the man in front of her uncomfortable.

He opens his mouth a few times before deciding on the right answer.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I’m always full of good ideas, Captain. Allow yourself to indulge in a little bit of fun every now and then.” (Y/N) whispers, leaning forwards and pressing a gentle kiss to the man’s lips, feeling him reciprocate it instantly.

His hands squeeze her hips just that bit tighter when he does, the woman internally grinning at the feeling.

She pushes the boat out and kisses him harder. Deeper. Faster. Wanting to see where his limits are.

Their breathing is heavy, Steve taking over the kiss without even realising it himself.

She slowly pulls back and loves the way he follows her, not wanting to stop.

“Look at the state of you, Stevie.”

The nickname makes a small whimper escape his mouth as he pulls back and meets her eyes once more, looking half guilty half desperate.

“I- I’m sorry, I don’t know-”

“None of that. I don’t want you to be sorry, Cap, I want to know how much you want it.” She teases, voice husky as her hands reach up to his face, stroking his beard.

The man gulps.

“I don’t think this is a good idea. Stark will-”

“This isn’t about Stark; this is about you and me, Rogers. He doesn’t need to know.”

She presses her lips to his again, grinding down on man so very subtly, but enough to feel the growing shaft in his jeans.

“Fuck,” Steve whispers between kisses, the pair pausing as they enjoy the feeling of her movements.

“Language.”

He can’t help the smile that forms at her comment. He squeezes her hips a little harder.

“Sweetheart, you’ve gotta stop. You’re gonna-”

“Gonna what, huh, Cap? Gonna make you horny? Gonna make you hard? Gonna make you fuck me?” She interrupts, actions becoming more and more needy with every word she speaks.

“Fuck, (Y/N).” He groans, head lolling back onto the sofa.

“Not an answer, Steve.”

“We really shouldn’t.”

“Fuck me, Cap.”

And that’s his limit.

He tosses the woman aside so she’s on her back on the sofa, adjusting himself so he’s hovering over her.

Her eyes glisten with anticipation as the man unbuckles his jeans before unzipping them, yanking them down enough to reach for his, now, rock-hard cock.

“Turns out that America’s Sweetheart isn’t so sweet after all.” (Y/N) teases, hoping to get him a little riled up.

“Shut up.” He manages to groan, yanking down her leggings and panties in one go. “How’re you so wet already?”

The vulgar words coming from a man like Captain America do something indescribable to her core.

“Can you blame me, Cap?”

He groans again, leaning over the woman and pumping his shaft a few times as he admires her body beneath him.

“Oh, you like that one, huh?” She teases, noticing how he reacts whenever she uses the title.

“God, will you shut up?” The man whispers, not at all harsh, rather begging.

“Or else, what, Captain?”

With that, he presses his cock to her entrance and slides in slowly. Inch by inch. And there’s a lot.

“Fuck!” Steve growls as he sheaths himself inside her.

(Y/N)’s eyes roll to the back of her head at how big he is. She genuinely hasn’t been this full in her life.

“Language.” She barely manages, but it’s quickly followed by a gasp and a moan as he pulls out and slams back into her.

She swears the man just shattered her cervix.

“Fuck, Steve!” She moans, hands wrapping around the man, nails digging into his clothed back.

“Language yourself.” He manages through clenched teeth. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah? Is this just alright for you?” Her voice is mocking but struggling as he continues to pump in and out of her.

“You’re far more than alright, sweetheart.”

The words catch her off-guard but she pays no mind as she indulges herself in how good the man feels.

“Feels so good, Stevie.” She whimpers, Steve groaning and fucking her harder and harder, sweat forming on his face but he doesn’t care.

He’s never felt so good.

“Yeah? God, sweetheart, can feel you squeezing me.”

Filth.

“Want you to make me cum, Cap.”

Another moan from the man, cursing under his breath.

“Better yet, I want your cum in my mouth.”

“Fuck, (Y/N), you’re killin’ me.”

They’re going at it for a few moments longer before Steve is stuttering that he’s gonna cum.

Without second thought, the woman pushes herself back, dropping to her knees on the carpeted ground and opening her mouth wide, tongue sticking out.

Steve groans once again at the sight and pumps himself until he’s moaning her name and blowing his load into her mouth, (Y/N) making sure that she doesn’t miss a drop.

“Not bad for America’s Sweetheart.” She states once they both catch their breath.

Steve chuckles once again, redoing up his trousers and helping the woman up off of the floor.

“You’re gonna do things to every person in this building, you know that?” He smiles, both collapsing onto the couch and leaning on one another, eyes moving back to the TV where the next episode of her show is on.

“That’s the plan, Cap.”

Another laugh.

“We’re glad to have you, sweetheart.”

---

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bitchwhoreofastorm · 3 years

Text

[based on a headcanon by @nemenalya ]

The boy with no name has died. A stiff wind's blown over High Hrothgar and swept him right off the edge of the cliff.

The other students are alerted by the screaming. The boy with no name's only friend in the world, a shy little lad who's been here only a year, stands by the cliff and screams and screams and screams. Since nothing fun ever happens in High Hrothgar the others are quick to gather around the normally-unpopular child. He's screeching something that goes beyond language, pointing frantically at the cliff and wailing bloody grief all the way to Sovngarde, and he keeps on screaming while his cohort gathers curiously around him.

There is a minute, a single minute, where all the students of Hrothgar stand around, and nobody says a word but for the lad who's screaming. There's a rule on High Hrothgar that speaking is strictly forbidden-- never adhered to, of course, except when Custodian Lundga is around-- but the boy is making such a racket that, after said minute and by unspoken consensus, it is agreed upon that the silence has already been broken. So, excited for a change of pace, they all together immediately start chattering, in loud voices to be heard above the wind and the screaming, of course.

"Why is he shouting?" asks Nhemakhela of Winterhold. "Are you alright?"

"You should slap him!" urges Telmo of the Reach.

"Why should I?"

"Make him shut up."

"My gods!" shouts Hoag of Morrowind, who's gone and lied down on his belly at the place where the rock opens into sky. His head hangs over the edge of the cliff, his thick black hair being tossed moppishly around his head. "Someone's dead down there!"

And at once every student of Hrothgar is on their bellies peeking over the side of the cliff.

"Gods!" cries Nhemakhela. "Is he alive?"

"With his neck at that angle?" asks Telmo.

With a sort of retching sound, Chemua of Morrowind, Hoag's sensitive second-hand, hauls himself off of the ice and staggers away.

"Do we go down?" asks Telmo.

"I call dibs on the corpse."

"Eeew."

"What was his name?"

"He was the mute one, ent got no name."

"Nay, he had a little friend, though. He'd know the name."

"Well? Bhag? What was his name? Bhag, quit screaming! What was his name? Bhag...?"

The conversation ends there, unfortunately, because Lundga Custodian of Hrothgar arrives with a large stick in hand and a mind to crack every noisy Tongue that's broken the mountain's vow of holy silence. Sensible woman, she tells them to leave the body where it is, she has Nhemakhela slap some sense into Bhag, she makes Chemua scoop up the sick off her nice white snow, she sends everyone scurrying off to go meditate on this experience. And she smooths down her fur cloak, sighs into the stiff wind, turns and shares a meaningful look with Paarthurnax, who's flown over to observe the scene with his mild drakeish curiosity.

"Didn't learn his feim," Lundga remarks to the dragon, which earns her a coarse reptilian laugh.

And then life returns to normal on High Hrothgar...

...

His throat is raw to burning, his fingers frozen stiff, but the boy still takes his careful sweet time hiking back to the cave. It's a sorry little hollow, near-uninhabitable as it faces right into the howling wind, which makes it perfect, for nobody but him would ever think to go there. He pauses at a ledge, looks carefully behind him, tip-toes across and around a large granite outcrop, to the entrance of the miserable niche. Pressing hard to the rock-face so as not to slip, he pushes aside the thick curtain of hides hanging over the cave entrance and moves into the warm space beyond.

"Well?" asks Bhag, the moment he enters. "Did it work?"

The boy no longer without a name gives his friend a sort of dazed grin. Not known for his speaking, voice still sore from all the screaming he's just done, he can do little more than nod vigorously.

Bhag-- tall for his age with his blond hair in braids, face ruddy-red from spending hours in the heat of the cave-- breaks into a wide smile. He rushes forwards and embraces the boy whose beaming face is the spitting image of his own. "So it worked!” he cries, with a hearty thump on the back. “What did I tell you, eh?"

"They called me Bhag," the boy says, voice muffled in Bhag's shoulder.

"You are Bhag," replies Bhag with a voice also muffled.

"I'm Bhag."

"Both, we both are. Now we’re both--”

"Bhag?"

The intrusive voice breaks them apart like cleaved rock and they turn to face the cave entrance.

Quite unannounced, Hoag of Morrowind lets himself in through the hide-door and brushes some snow from his chest.

"Bhag," Hoag says again, looking between the two. "And... Bhag. Huh! Now that's one more Bhag than I'd thought."

For a moment neither Bhag, not even the Bhag accustomed to talking, can think of a response to that.

What follows is a whole minute of awkward staring between them and Hoag.

And at the end of that minute Hoag goes, "Bah!", and shuffles over towards their fire to thaw his cold hands.

"How'd you know?" utters the boy now known as Bhag, face flushed red.

"I've seen corpses," replies Hoag. "I know corpses. And that wasn't a corpse of a man, was it?"

Neither Bhag can think of much of a response to that, either. They stand there, guilty, pressed tightly shoulder-to-shoulder, watching as Hoag thaws his hands over the fire. Hoag is much older than them, nearly at the end of his stay at Hrothgar, and despite his short stature he cuts an intimidating figure, what with his harsh face and his thick black caterpillar eyebrows.

"It's okay," whispers Bhag to his friend now also called Bhag. "Steep out there. We ought to kill him-- I'll push him--"

But Hoag, of course, hears, and Hoag barks out a laugh. "Save it," he says. "Nobody saw me come. And I shan't blab this secret of yours."

Neither Bhag can think of much of a response to that, either.

Hoag shifts on his feet. “Is that the thu’um?” he asks. “Makes you look like each other. Never seen anything like that… you made it up?”

“Bhag did,” says the boy now known as Bhag. “He made it.”

Bhag makes a modest snorting sound. “Ah, he made it. Taught me how to understand the words, like.”

“So, what’s the plan, then?” asks Hoag. “Now you’re both Bhag? Why?”

The boy now known as Bhag looks down at the fire, at Hoag’s dirty fingernails flickering in the orange light. He feels Bhag look at him, and he looks back at Bhag, and, having reached a mutual decision, Bhag speaks on his behalf.

“I don’t like talking,” says Bhag. “And I don’t like people.”

“I’m different,” Bhag adds. “I’ve always been different from others. Why they sent me up here. I’m a changeling, they said-- like a spirit?”

“I get tired,” Bhag complains. “Tired of your world that makes no sense. It hurts my head to try and work out why you do the things you do.”

“So we decided to share,” says Bhag. “Share the burden.”

“So we don’t understand them,” says Bhag. “Let them not understand us!”

“We’re not like you. Not nobles. Nobody’d miss either of us.”

“They’d be sufficed with one.”

Hoag listens to the tale attentively, watching them both close. Both Bhags find it impossible to imagine what he’s thinking.

“... Well,” says Hoag finally. “Bhag Two-Tongue.”

Bhag snorts out a flattered laugh.

“Bhag Two-Tongue,” Hoag repeats himself. “I’m leaving here soon. Me and Chemua are going back to Morrowind in a month’s time. Cause it seems to me that we have a problem much the same-- these Cyrod-worshipers, these dragon-faithful, cannot be understood by us.” With that famous cool aloofness that makes him the envy of all the boys, he turns away from the fire. “If you survive this mountain, if you don’t fall to your doom, come find me in Ebonheart. I could use more men with eyes enough to see what a farce this world is.”

And then, cool as frost, he slips out of their warm cave and into the tempest beyond.

“Religious, ent he?” asks Bhag, staring after the elder boy. “What’s all that talk about Cyrod? Well, they say he’s going to be a king one day.” He turns to his companion. “Morrowind, huh. East with the elves. We’d not be the strangest ones there, not with those two for competition... But what do you think?”

And the boy no longer without a name smiles. “Let’s go there.”

#fic #i will die before i put a decent ending on anything

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thesoftdumbass · 3 years

Text

somethin' to think about

Frankie Morales x reader (feminine pronouns)

word count: 3,800

warnings: caffeine dependency, cheesy movies, the beginning of one curse word but no more. platonic Santiago x reader and Benny x reader. very fluffy and kind of silly but that's how I like it.

summary: Frankie and his daughter have found a home in Stars Hollow, and the single father/diner owner has to admit that he's found a soft spot in his heart his favorite customer.

> my masterlist

Francisco Morales, a newly single father, wanted to settle down and start a new life for himself and his daughter. After stumbling onto Stars Hollow, a quaint and quiet, friendly little town just a little ways away from his hometown, he decided that it would be the perfect place to begin again. The old hardware store that closed down years earlier was priced well and had an apartment above the shop, so with some hard work, Frankie turned it into a diner to sell the food he grew up learning to make from his mother, as well as the stereotypical diner food that he and his brothers in arms missed while they were serving overseas. Life was good in Stars Hollow, Frankie and his daughter being accepted by the welcoming if not nosy townspeople, and now he and the diner had become a staple in the quiet hamlet.

The bell above the door chimes with the entry of another customer and Frankie looks up from writing in his order book to see you heading his way, already grabbing an overly large mug that he keeps on hand just for you.

“Coffee coffee coffee,” you demand lightly and Frankie huffs.

“You sound like you’ve had plenty today already,” he says, filling the mug anyways and sitting it in front of you at your usual seat along the counter.

“Oh nonsense, there’s no such thing,” your tone and face both hold a smile and Frankie can’t help the way his heartbeat jumps in his chest at this.

“One of these days I’m going to start slipping you decaf.”

A gasp leaves you, faux offended at the threat. “You wouldn’t dare!” Frankie’s affirming hum distracts you for just a moment before you start mixing your coffee just the way you like it. “You would lose a very loyal customer, Morales. I’d have to start getting my coffee at Weston’s.”

Frankie’s scoff brings the smile back to your face, as it’s obvious that neither of you will live up to your threats. “Besides, you know I can’t survive a day without the elixir of life, and yours is the best in town.”

“Of course it’s the best, I’m just saying that your heart may soon explode from caffeine intake.”

“And what a sweet, sweet death that will be, my friend. Keep’em coming.”

Frankie has to bite his lip to hide a smile, distracting himself by adjusting the cap on his head so it sits backward. The former pilot may maintain a grumpy exterior at times, but you’ve become a bright spot in his day and your bickering never holds any heat. Another customer needs a refill so he leaves you to your ‘elixir of life’ and heads over, making rounds about the diner to make sure everybody’s happy. When he comes back to the front of the counter, there’s a mop of curly brown hair sticking up behind the thing, a rustling noise being heard from beneath.

“Evie?” At her father’s questioning tone, there’s a bump against the underside of the counter, a muffled “ouch” making its way to his ears. A sigh leaves his lips as his daughter stands from her crouched position, brown eyes locking with his. “You alright, mija?” A quiet “yes” is his answer, so he has to ask the question on his mind. “And why were you crawling around on the floor of the diner?”

A quiet chuckle leaves your lips as the young girl looks shyly at her father, then at you, before answering. “I was looking for my book. I can’t find it, and I thought I might’ve left it back here.”

Evie has so many books that Frankie can’t keep up sometimes, but before he can ask which one she’s looking for in particular, you pipe up beside him. “I think I saw The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy in the library at the inn. Is that the one you’re looking for?”

“Yes!” She brightens, eyes wide. “I must have left it when I was doing homework there the other day.”

“If you want you can come to the inn and grab your book after school, and I can make some homemade hot chocolate just for you. If your dad is okay with it, of course.”

Two sets of eyes turn to Frankie questioningly, and he couldn’t say no even if he wanted to. “Of course you can go, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, daddy!” She leans across the counter and kisses him on the cheek. “Thank you Y/N.”

“Anytime, sweetie,” you giggle, her cheery attitude infectious.

Frankie looks at the clock on the wall above the counter before addressing his daughter. “Why don’t you go grab your backpack and I’ll walk you to school?”

Evie hums in affirmation and makes her way into the apartment that she and Frankie live in above the diner to continue getting ready for the day. Frankie watches her go before turning to you, only to notice you down the rest of your coffee.

“Do you want one to go?”

“Do you even have to ask?” Your teasing smirk turns into a grateful smile as Frankie steps back behind the counter and pulls out a styrofoam cup with a lid, filling it with the caffeine that you crave. “You’re too kind to me, Francisco.”

“It’s not on the house if that’s what you’re gunning for,” he teases and you fake a pout.

“It never hurts to try, does it?” You stand from your stool, pulling your coat tight around you and reaching for the full cup in front of you. “I’ll settle my tab later. Do you want me to walk Evie back here, or do you wanna pick her up tonight?”

“You’re gonna be here for dinner anyways, I know you’re too tired to cook for yourself after the Friday brunch special. You can just bring her with you if it’s not too much trouble.”

"Your daughter? Trouble? Please,” you laugh it off. Evie was really a perfect child, you and her have gotten along famously since the beginning. Frankie chuckles, nodding along because of course you’re right. “I’ve gotta head to work. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, have a good day,” he waves you away with a small smile, picking up a cloth to wipe down the counter as he waits for Evie to return downstairs.

A long sigh escapes you as you sink into your seat in the diner, your back relieved to sit after running around the kitchen most of the day. Evie settles into the chair across from yours, copying your sigh and both of you make eye contact before bursting into giggles, smiles on both of your faces. Frankie finds you like that, and he can’t help the way his lips twitch up at the sight.

He makes a show of pulling out his order pad and pencil, rolling up his sleeves in the process. “Ah, my two best customers. What can I get for you?”

You hum thoughtfully, opening the menu and observing it as if you haven’t eaten here multiple times a week for years now. “I’m not sure, what would the chef recommend?”

“Well, the daily special is-”

Frankie is cut off as you snap the menu shut, placing it on the table before folding your hands overtop of it decisively. “On second thought, I’ll have the lobster. What say you, madam?” You look toward Evie still across from you, an eyebrow raised and she plays along.

“I believe that the filet mignon and foie gras will do for tonight. And we shan’t forget a chocolate souffle for the table.” The eleven-year-old provides an astounding performance, a posh accent accompanying her words.

The two of you make eye contact for a split second, and your pretenses drop as you once again dissolve into laughter. Frankie only rolls his eyes, accustomed to your antics, though he doesn’t bother to hide the chuckles you elicit. “You two are ridiculous. Burgers and fries it is, then?”

“Why of course, my good sir. And a diet coke for me, please.” He nods and walks away, putting your order in the window and checking on his other guests.

When he comes back to the dining room after speaking with the line cook about another order, there’s someone occupying one of the seats at your table. Your laugh rings out through the diner as Benny, one of Frankie’s old friends, occupies your attention, and Frankie overhears the story being told as he approaches.

“-and suddenly we have to book it out of the river and leave our clothes on the bank. We end up stranded in the jungle, every one of us buck a-”

“Not in front of the kid, Miller,” Frankie chastises as he claps a hand on his friend’s shoulder in greeting.

Benny just laughs as you lean in and murmur conspiratorially, “but you’ll fill me in on the rest later, right?”

“You know it,” and he sends a wink your way as you lean back in your seat, a satisfied smile on your face.

Frankie hears a call go out from the kitchen window that order’s up, and after returning to your table with two plates of food, he takes the last empty chair. You and Evie dig into your food as he talks with his old friend for a few minutes. “When is Will coming in?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. I tried to get him to drive in with me tonight but he decided not to leave his new fiancee until he has to,” Benny rolls his eyes at his brother’s sappy attitude but you and Frankie can tell that he’s happy for him.

The pilot nods, “Pope texted me a little while ago, he’s on his way now.” With a thought coming to him, Frankie grabs your attention with an utterance of your name. “Are you still good with girl’s night?”

With an eager nod, you take a sip of your drink before answering. “Absolutely. I’m already set up for snacks and drinks, and I’ll be scouring my movie collection tonight to find something for us to watch.”

The boys hum in acknowledgment but Evie just laughs softly. “You know we’ll just watch the same thing as always.”

It’s sort of a tradition. Frankie’s best friends from the service don’t live that far away from each other, so every few months they meet up in one of their towns. While they catch a fight or simply hang out and get drinks, you offer to watch Evie, and your weekends together have evolved into binge-a-thons of junk food snacks and cheesy old horror movies.

“And what about it? You know we both have a soft spot for the classics.”

You finish your dinner, fully entertained by the lively conversation, which is only heightened when Santiago arrives at the diner. He and Benny end up eating as well and keeping Frankie on his toes between tables with stories. You might have heard them a half-dozen times before over the years, but you still enjoy the hell out of them, the reminiscences getting even spicier after Evie goes to bed for the night.

Your long workday gets to you eventually and by the time you’re stifling your fourth yawn in five minutes, your company starts to notice.

“You look like you’re ready for bed,” Frankie points out softly.

You hum in acknowledgment, shrugging your shoulders. “I could just drink a cup of-”

“You are not getting any more coffee today, and that’s final.”

“Fine, fine,” you assent to his good-natured firmness.

“C’mon hermosa, I’ll drive you home on my way to the inn. You reserved a room for me, right?” At Pope’s question, you nod.

“‘Course I did, Santi. Can’t have you sleeping on the streets, now can I?”

Santi snorts and stands from his chair, grabbing his jacket off the back of it and tugging it on. “I think if it came down to it, I’d rather bunk with you for the night.” His comment is paired with a cheeky wink and you roll your eyes with a laugh.

“As if you would be invited to bunk with me, sweetheart.”

Santi clutches his chest with mock hurt. “You wound me!”

You smile before bringing a hand up to hide another yawn, and Santiago nods his head to the door. “Alright drama queen, let’s go before I fall asleep on my feet.” You turn to address the rest of your small group, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow! Benny, you didn’t forget your room key again did you?”

A momentary look of panic crosses the man’s face as he pats his pockets before finding the object. “Ah! Got it,” he says proudly, showing it to you.

You shake your head with a laugh at Benny and his forgetfulness. “Alright, goodnight everybody.”

Frankie makes sure the kitchen is clean and everything put away before sending the staff home for the night, the last remaining customer his sometimes-pain-in-the-ass friend. He’s just finished wiping down the other tables and grabbed the salt and pepper shakers to refill, taking a seat across from Benny when the other man looks up from his phone.

“So when are you finally gonna boss up and ask Y/N on a date?”

Frankie’s head bobs like a toy as he looks up at the unexpected words, his brow furrowing a second later. “Pardon?”

Benny stretches his legs out, leaning back in his chair in a relaxing stance. “You heard me. You two would be perfect together, and it’s not hard to see that you’ve got it bad for her.”

Frankie just stares at Benny, unamused eyes fixed on his face for a moment before he sighs, taking the cap off his head and rubbing a hand down his forehead tiredly. “I don’t have time to kill you right now Benny, come back later.”

“She’s got it bad for you, too.” Frankie’s head whips up at this, a hopeful gleam in his eyes, and Benny continues talking. “Look, you both have feelings for each other, you see each other every day, and her and your kid get along famously. And everybody knows you’re going to end up together. Last time I was here I even heard her neighbor and that Kirk guy making a bet on which one of you would make the first move.”

Frankie mutters something about “town gossips” under his breath.

“I want you to be happy, man,” Benny says genuinely, the mood shifting.

“I am happy,” Frankie defends gently.

“But not as happy as you could be. I just think you should go for it, tell Y/N how you feel.” Benny stands from the table, clapping Frankie on the back and pulling his friend into a hug when he does the same. “Somethin’ to think about. I’ll see you tomorrow, man.”

Frankie locks the door to the diner behind Benny as he leaves, flipping the old-fashion open sign to closed. Turning around to lean his back against the door, he closes his eyes, considering the possible outcomes for doing exactly what his friend said. It could end awkwardly with neither of you knowing how to act around each other and you avoiding his diner like the plague. Or, the more attractive prospect, it could lead to something he had only imagined, a life with you by his side.

“Somethin’ to think about,” he repeats to himself, making his way to the apartment upstairs to get ready for bed.

“Everett Amaya Morales, I cannot believe you just said that!” When she only shrugs at you, a brow raised with as much sass as an eleven-year-old can muster, you scoff and cross your arms over your chest in slight indignation. “So you would rather wax Bigfoot’s legs than give Frankenstein’s Monster a makeover?”

She looks at you as if it’s an obvious answer, but to you, it’s anything but. “Yeah! Aren’t you curious how much there is?”

“Oh, there’s twelve pounds of leg hair at least, but I would be afraid for my own safety! One bad rip and Squatch could rip my arm off. Frankenstein’s Monster, on the other hand, has daddy issues and no friends, and I for one think that doing his makeup would be a very good bonding experience. Besides, how do you know that Bigfoot wants their legs waxed?”

“How do you know they don’t,” is her rebuttal.

You sigh theatrically, shoulders deflating in defeat. “Ah, yes, the Sasquatch don’t live by societal gender roles.”

When Evie simply laughs at your reply, you stick your tongue out at her and she returns the gesture before collapsing back against the arm of the couch.

“How could I eat so much takeout and still want ice cream?”

“Well you’re in luck, my friend. I went by the ice cream section when I was at the market earlier, and since I know it’s your favorite, I happened to grab a tub of cookies and cream.”

She looks up at the mention of her favorite flavor. “Extra chunky oreo?”

“Only the best for you, dear,” you respond and laugh as she only throws her arms over her face dramatically.

“But I’m still so full!”

“Eh, the ice cream melts in your stomach and fills in the cracks between all the other food. You’ll be fine.”

Poking her head up from the couch, she looks at you disbelievingly. Or like you’re crazy. Or both. “Yeah...I don’t think the digestive system works like that.”

“Oh it definitely doesn’t, that’s just something my great uncle used to say so we wouldn’t judge him for eating ice cream after a big dinner. That side of the family is obsessed with frozen treats. I, unfortunately, inherited that gene.”

“So…..ice cream?”

“Ice cream,” you concur, getting up to grab some bowls of the sweet stuff for the two of you to eat on the couch as you resume the movie that was interrupted by your earlier disagreement.

You must nod off because you wake to your phone alerting you to a new text. It’s Frankie, telling you that he’s on his way to your place to pick Evie up. Door’s unlocked, you reply as an invitation to come inside when he gets here.

You’re only half paying attention to the television when Frankie lets himself in, shutting the door quietly behind himself so as to not disturb movie night. You meet his eyes and nod your head toward Evie, who fell asleep in a pile of blankets on the floor a little while ago, and in the dim light from the tv, you see his eyes soften with a smile.

“She’s out cold,” you murmur when he gets closer to you. You pat the couch next to you, noticing the way he seems a little tired after his night out. “Boys night end early?”

Frankie looks at his watch, squinting to read the time in the low light. “It’s two am.”

“Ah,” you yawn. “That must be why I’m so sleepy.”

Frankie chuckles quietly, accepting the silent invitation to sit down with you. When you scoot closer to him on the couch bringing your fuzzy blanket with you, he can’t help but breathe you in, enjoying this moment, Frankie reaches for your hand that’s now wrapped comfortably around his arm, rubbing circles across the back of it with his thumb.

You watch the movie in comfortable silence for a little while, only half paying attention, before you break it. “D’you have fun tonight?”

Frankie hums an affirmative, leaning his head over on yours against his shoulder as he does so. “Did my two favorite girls have a good time watching terrible movies?” Your comment about bad movies being the backbone for modern cinema dies in your throat when Frankie’s words sink in. His two favorite girls? Plural?

You look up at him, eyes soft, and you know that if he looked down at you right now he would be able to see the adoration on your face, so you press your head further into his shoulder. “The two of us always have a good time.”

Unbeknownst to you, Frankie is watching you with the same adoration on his face, as he can’t help but thank whatever higher powers that he and Evie found you in this little town. As he feels his chest swell with warm feelings, he thinks once again of what Benny said. If Frankie confesses his feelings for you and you don’t reciprocate, things may get awkward, but if you feel the same and he never finds out, he could hardly live with it. Besides, as he spends time with you, Frankie has a suspicion that your feelings may be on the same plane as his.

Frankie’s hand that’s been moving circles across yours stops, and instead, he grips your hand in his, surrounding it with warmth. You turn your face back to Frankie’s and meet his eyes, and the breath hitches in your chest at how close the two of you are. “I think you and I would have a good time too.”

His deep voice in your ear sends a shiver down your spine and your lips turn upward in a gentle smile. “Yeah?” Your voice sounds breathy to you, but you can’t find it in you to care when he’s looking at you like that.

“Yeah,” when Frankie’s nose brushes against yours, you can’t hold in the sigh that leaves your lips, your eyes closing in contentment. When he speaks again, Frankie’s breath ghosts over your lips, and warmth fills you.

“The guys were asking about spending the day with Evie tomorrow, they wanna have some time with their niece before they leave.” You hum softly, prompting him to keep talking. “I was thinking that while they do...it would be nice for the two of us to do something together.”

“Like a date,” you ask, your eyes opening once again. You’d hate to bring that up and be wrong, but your need for confirmation outweighs the risk of possible embarrassment.

When he nods, your fears dissipate and a smile lights up his face in the dark. “Definitely like a date.”

You bite your lip, looking down as your face warms, but Frankie reaches a hand to cup your chin, a silent encouragement to meet his eyes. The heat you find in them permeates you, and you find yourself nodding shallowly. “I’d love to go on a date with you, Francisco.”

“Yeah?” Frankie finds himself asking this time, his heart picking up speed at your affirmative repetition.

With a kiss placed oh so delicately to your forehead as if he’s reassuring himself that you feel the same way, Frankie turns back to the awful movie currently flashing across the tv screen. You follow suit, content to discuss the details of your date with Frankie later, a smile spreading across your cheeks even as you try to suppress it. With Frankie’s hand now back to holding yours and your head on his shoulder, you doze off, the presence of your two favorite people a comfort. And even in your dreams, you can’t wait to go on a date with your grumpy diner owner.

Me, writing another single father AU with one of my favorite characters even though I don't want kids? It's more likely than you think! This idea has been bouncing around in my head for a while (a la Luke and Lorelai except a little different) and I'm glad I finally let it out for y'all. If you enjoyed it, please let me know! And I'd love your recommendations for which Pedro or Oscar character I should write for next. Thank you lovelies for reading!

If you’d like to be notified when I post something new, message me or send an ask and I’ll add you to any one of my tag lists 💜 (I'll be reforming my tag list, so I'm not tagging anybody this time!)

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