#strop rambling

[kiddphel]

having a crush on my roommate's oc is horrible. they can see me. i can literally go take like 10 steps and be in their room Right Now. this feels illegal like im gonna go to jail for thinking my roommate's evil woman oc is hot

[hedonisticeiram]

The following morning in the slytherin boys dorm.

Regulus: Clearly something has happened Barty came into the room in a strop. No Evan. Followed by silence or rather a silencing charm. Evan came in he could tell from the steps but he too was acting odd. He didn’t go to his bed instead he went to Bartys. Not that he cares he doesn’t own either of them and they are free to do as they please with whoever. If it is with each other well about fucking time. Although he hopes it doesn’t cause an issue with their friendship. They aren’t much but Barty was his first friend. His first kiss, his first everything really. It’s not as if he doesn’t love him. It’s complicated on their best days. Evan just fits he keeps them both grounded. He’s cunning, clever, loyal and mischievous. All the makings of a slytherin. They all met before hogwarts pure bloods and their parties. It’s always been the three of them, they’ve done everything together, love was no different. With a sigh he goes to leave his bed. He’s met with Barty at his side climbing in his bed. Wtf Crouch he scowls at him. Can I help you? He narrows his eyes at him and fixes him with his best fuck off face. The fucker just smiles at him. Somethings wrong that isn’t the reaction he usually gets. Before he can ask Crouch is saying he has to tell him something and to not be mad. He’s rambling. Where tf is Evan. As If that summons him he hears the door open.

Evan: Evans always the first up, Reg likes to sleep in Crouch only wakes up when he wants. Neither is to be woken up unless you are prepared for a stinging hex or a body bind. Neither will hold back or apologize. Leaving for breakfast alone on the weekends is normal. He’ll probably meet up with Dora or Dorcas for breakfast. He goes down to eat distracted. There’s fewer people than normal but after the party that’s to be expected. Neither girl is here probably still asleep. Potters looking over as if he’s searching for someone. Sirius is asleep on the table. Lupin is making him a plate and shoving it into his elbow to wake him up. He’s leaving the hall and going back to apologize to Barty. Last night was a right mess. It’s not like Regulus and Barty are dating but Potter of all people he is specifically off limits. What was all that about anyways. The way Crouch reacted was so soft he couldn’t help but push his luck. Now he has to fix this before none of them can look at each other. He opens the door and finds Barty in Regulus bed hovering over him. Everything happens so fast. All thoughts of apologies are gone. This fucking bloke is mental. Of course he is, first potter, now reg. Fuck no. His chest is tight, eyes narrowed and irritated he slams the door. Bartys eyes meet his and they both freeze.

Barty: The door slams and he meets Evan’s eyes and oh no he’s pissed. He’s seething, he’s beautiful, his cheeks are flushed and his body is so tense it looks painful. His fist are clenched at his sides. That shouldn’t be attractive. Fuck he can’t move or breathe he doesn’t know what to say or do. Turns out he doesn’t have to do anything. Evan’s yelling before he can make a decision.

Evan: The anger blindsides him before he can think straight he’s yelling at Barty to get out of Regulus’s bed. Never one to disappoint Reg gets up and states he’s not doing this whatever argument they’ve had has nothing to do with him. Hands up backing away he’s going to leave the room. Till Evan looks at Barty and yells have you told him!? Crouch is just staring alarmed and silent. He knows what that means. The boys pleading, Don’t. I haven’t had time. I’m was going too and now your here he’s pointing at him. He smiles, saying this probably isn’t the best thing to do to a friend but neither is everything Crouch has done in the past 24 hrs. Reg did you know that Barty left me at a Party last night because he went to snog Potter in the Forrest. Oh fuck he’s done it now.

Regulus: Whips around so fast he hears his neck click, surely he didn’t hear that right. He binds Barty and Evan before he registers he’s reaching for his wand. They both are silent and look equally alarmed. He locks the door and turns. WHAT? It comes out louder and colder than he’s meaning too. Barty, did you snog Potter? The boys rambling he throws up a silencing charm he looks like he’s going to cry, panicked. Evan just rolls his eyes petulantly. Evan, what did you see? He tells him and releases his binds. Leave. Sure thing Reg if you kill him please don’t get it on my bed. Red really isn’t my color. Evans out the door before he can turn towards Barty. He cancels the charm, now where were we? Oh yes, you being a filthy fucking traitor. I SPECIFICALLY ASKED YOU TO STAY AWAY FROM TWO PEOPLE. MY BROTHER AND POTTER. WHAT ABOUT THAT WASN’T CLEAR!

Barty: Resigned to his fate he slumps forward. I’m sorry reg I didn’t kiss him I know it doesn’t matter but he kissed me. It comes out so quiet he’s not sure if Regulus hears him. Scared to look up he doesn’t know what he’ll find. Contrary to popular belief he doesn’t want to hurt two people Evan or Regulus. They matter to him. More than most, even he knows that. Somehow he’s fucked this up too. Maybe his dad is right, maybe all he does is mess things up. When he looks up he knows that when his father tells him he’s a disappointment he’s never felt it as much as he does now. Regulus is beautiful raven curls, light brown freckles, full lips and startling grey eyes almost silver in the light. Right now he looks like he’s about to cry what’s worse is he looks at him like he’s lost. Like he’s looking at a stranger trying to find him. He feels his heart tugging at his chest like it’s ready to fall out. Not Reggie, he doesn’t want to hurt him. As quickly as the tears are there they are gone. His face is blank. Well I guess I’ll just have to visit James myself. Seeing as you’re not willing to tell me the truth. He wasn’t even aware regulus was asking him anything. This is the first in a long time he’s speechless.

Regulus: Leaves the room to go find Potter. Determined to get his answers one way or another. He’s not above using magical means or dark magic after all he’s a black might as well act like one.

[draco-dormiens]

THE STRANGEST OF PLACES - Chapter Eight

draco x fem!ravenclaw reader / postwar au series

warnings: none that i know of :)

wc: 3381

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Chapter Eight - The Astronomy Tower

You made a pact that night to see each other more. The two of you made an agreement that twice a week you would meet in the Astronomy tower, and for the last two weeks you had been doing just that. One night he bought his set of wizard chess, and you learnt that Draco's competitiveness was off the charts, so much so he got in a strop each time you won. Another night he helped you with your History of Magic essay and you bonded over how much of a bore professor Binns was. Draco was good with words when it came to writing them, which uncovered something else about him: he could write what he couldn't say. He'd spent so long accepting others' opinions and forcing them to be his own that he'd lost the ability to speak how he feels, but in writing, he could go on and on about anything he was passionate about. You suggested to him that if he didn't know how to say it, then he should write it down for you, and that way you could understand him more. It took a day or so, but he came back with a written note that said 'I think that's a good idea'.

By the fourth week of term, you were getting along better than ever. Draco would pass you notes after classes, asking if you wanted to meet earlier or if you were free an extra day. He found it a lot easier than asking you outright, and you'd come to love his little notes. Hermione still hadn't said a thing, even though at this point she had most definitely seen him passing pieces of paper to you. It wasn't until later that week, on the Thursday, the same night you were going up to the Astronomy tower, that she said something.

"You seem to get along with Malfoy these days."

You stopped mid-sentence of your book, glancing across the bed at her. She was busy reading her own book on the end of your bed, something you did together often. The silence you shared whilst reading was something that marked your friendship, as it was never awkward. If anything, it was peaceful.

"What do you mean?" you play dumb, and she sighs, slotting her bookmark between the pages.

"I've seen how he is with you," she raises an eyebrow, "passing notes, hugging, what's going on? Are you seeing each other?"

"Huh?" you sound, eyes widening and chest tightening, "no, not at all, we're just friends. We sort of got along during the potions project and he stuck around."

She gives you a knowing look, a small, cheeky smile on her face.

"He just, stuck around, did he?" she presses playfully, "doesn't sound much like Malfoy."

You feel your cheeks getting hotter, shutting your book without marking the page because Hermione was looking at you with such a mischievous glint in her eye, and sat up straight.

"Draco and I are just friends," you state simply, but you're rambling, and she notices how you're more so telling yourself than you are her, "he's trying to change, and I can appreciate that, and I enjoy spending time with him, and I think, or more so, hope, he likes spending time with me, too."

Hermione can't hold it anymore. She laughs breathlessly at your flustered expression, and even more so when you glare at her. You allow her to get over whatever is so amusing, and then cross your arms in frustration.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she says, wiping a tear from her eye, "I've just never seen you so bothered about a boy before, and it's Malfoy, I just never imagined."

"I am not bothered," you protest, "the time we spend together is strictly platonic."

"If you say so," she waves her hands, "but even if it wasn't, it wouldn't matter, you know."

She offers you a reassuring smile, one that says she's not one bit fussed about it, and that you should just be open and honest, because she's your friend, and she loves you. You calm down a bit, the thudding of your heart slowing and shoulders relaxing. If you were to be honest, you didn't know how you felt about it. It had all happened so fast, and now you were spending frequent time with one another, and it was fun. You looked forward to it, to seeing him, but your feelings were indecipherable and mixed up. All you knew is that you liked being with him.

"Sometimes I feel nervous around him," you admit, "and then other times I feel really comfortable. I don't know what to think at this point."

"Does it really matter?" she questions, "he's just a guy. I mean yeah, he's Malfoy, but I can imagine he has some desirable qualities."

"He has many," you find yourself saying, and her smile grows wider, "he's actually really clever, and sensitive, and I've learnt so much about him and I'm talking too much aren't I?"

Hermione giggles, and shuffles across the bed to sit next to you.

"You want to know what I think?" she asks, and you nod, "I think you should just enjoy whatever you have right now. There's nothing that says you need to make it more than what it is, so just relax. I think we all deserve to have some fun, don't you?"

A smile curls at your lips, and you laugh, dropping your head to her shoulder.

"Merlin, what has the world come to." You mutter, and she chuckles.

"If you had said that over Christmas, you'd be playing buddies with Malfoy I wouldn't have believed you," she jokes, "but seriously, do what makes you happy. Kiss him for all I care."

"Kiss him?" you repeated loudly, shooting up like a deer in the headlights, "are you serious?"

She laughs even harder.

"I'm not saying you have to," she says through her laughter, "I was kidding."

You join in, both of you now belly laughing and holding hands. Hermione truly was an expectational friend, and in that moment, you thanked your lucky stars that she was still around to keep you sane.

__________________________

"That one right there is the Ursa Major, but most people call it the Big Dipper," Draco tells you, bottle of beer in his hand as the other points towards the sky, "and that one is mine. Draco, which just means Dragon in Latin."

You're looking where he's pointing, but you're also looking at him, because he's so passionate about the stars that it warms your heart. After Hermione left, you carried a blanket up to the Astronomy tower, and as if he'd read your mind, he bought along beer and snacks. Three beers in he'd started talking about how much he loves astrology, and for the last half an hour or so he'd been showing you the constellations in the sky tonight. It wasn't a usual thing for Draco to share his interests with someone, but you always displayed so much enthusiasm, even if you didn't understand it. He really liked that about you, it made him want to show you things. So, there you both sat, blanket over your laps as you listened and sipped beer.

"I never clocked you were named after a constellation," you said, and he looks down at you curled under your side of the blanket, "that's so cool."

"You think?" he asks, "my mother's side of the family have a tradition with names like mine. My aunt Bella was named after a star, and my mother's name Narcissa is from Greek mythology."

"How interesting," you breathe, and you meant it, he could tell, "I love that your mother kept that tradition going. Do you think you will when you have children?"

He goes quiet for a moment and looks back at the sky, knitting his eyebrows together.

"I haven't really thought about it," he mumbles.

"Children and marriage are far away," you tell him, shuffling under the blanket, "so it's not like you need to think about it right now."

He laughs sadly, and you give him a questioning look.

"Mother is rather fixated on marriage," he said, "so I don't have any choice but to think about it, unfortunately."

"She wants you to get married?"

"As soon as possible," he sighs deeply, "she keeps introducing me to these random girls, and each of them have as much personality as I can fit in my little finger."

You go back to looking out into the night, fiddling with the label on your bottle. Your parents had never pushed you to meet someone, or marry them, for that matter, so you couldn't imagine having that kind of pressure. Then you start thinking how beautiful these girls probably are, and what he said to you back at the manor starts playing on your mind. Too bookish, he said. If he turns down women his mother picks for him, then he was possibly being nice when he said that to you.

"What kind of girl do you want?" you find yourself asking him. He turns a little to face you properly.

"Why do you ask?"

"You say these girls your mother picks have no personality," you gesture with your free hand, "so, if they don't fit the bill, who would?"

Draco takes his time to answer. His eyes flicker over your face, and his expression tells you he's thinking hard about that question. You gaze back at his sharp features and glistening eyes, such a strikingly blue-grey colour, and think how beautiful this boy really is. He's tall, slim but well built, with blonde hair and a handsome face. He's smart, and when he knows you well enough, his emotional intelligence shines. Maybe you did like him, a little bit more than you could stomach.

"I don't really know," he begins to say, still looking directly at you, and it's starting to make you feel nervous, "I've only been with girls I find physically attractive."

You blink and raise your eyebrows at him, giving him a scrutinising look. Like his mother does.

"What?"

"Does that sound bad?" he grimaces. Not knowing what else to say, you laugh.

"Draco," you say, "are you telling me you've only ever gone on looks?"

"I haven't cared about anything else," he shrugs, and he's being deadly serious, "personality wasn't exactly needed for what we were doing-"

"Okay," you stop him, holding your hand up, "stop right there, Malfoy. I do not want to hear about that area of your life, thank you."

For a moment you both just look at each other, and then burst out laughing. He's genuinely laughing as well, hand on his stomach and head against the wall behind you. As you calm down, you look across at him and it makes you feel so good to see him like this. Carefree, relaxed, happy. He's so pretty when he laughs, too.

"I like it when you laugh," you say out loud, and his laughter comes to a holt, as the mortifying realisation comes that you just said that to him. You wave a dismissive hand and look away from him, "that was weird, I'm sorry."

"It wasn't weird," he says, in such a nice way that it makes you feel even worse, and then he's shuffling on the spot and clearing his throat, "I, uh, like it when you laugh too."

You look at him from the corner of your eye and see that he's ripping the label from the bottle and keeping his eyes firmly on what he was doing. Is he blushing? You couldn't really tell with the lighting, but he suddenly seems inside himself. You tuck some hair behind your ear.

"Hey, Draco," you say, and he glances up at you, "I'm glad were hanging out together."

His cheeks are certainly deeper in colour, and he doesn't know where to look or what to do with his hands or any of him really. He just runs a hand through his hair and ruffles it slightly.

"Same here," he mutters, looking towards the ground, "I feel better with you around."

That makes you grin like an idiot. You like him. Oh Christ, you like him.

"It's so strange to think that a few weeks ago we were bickering like siblings," you say, smiling at him. He smiles back, moving a little closer, and you automatically lean against his arm.

"You know at the weekend," he said quietly, "do you want to go out in Hogsmeade?"

For a second you think he's asking you on a date, and your mind starts racing, until he says, "just go and get a beer or something, you know, as friends?"

Friends. What did that even mean? Here you were, huddled under a blanket in the Astronomy tower. Is that what friends do? He had no idea. Truth was, Draco had never liked a girl enough to date them. He didn't even know what a crush felt like, but he knew that you made him feel good, and that he thought you were attractive, with a wicked sense of humour and a kind, compassionate heart. Is that a crush? How would he even know? So many questions flooded his head, but he never said a word. But then you smile and say, "sure, that sounds lovely," and he can't help but feel absolutely elated.

"I'll pick you up outside your dorm, around seven like usual?" he asks.

"Seven is good," you agree, and he's doing that thing again when his eyes travel the expanse of your face and then back to meet yours. You narrow your eyes, "you always do that."

"Do what?"

"Look at me like that," you softly, "as if you're memorising how I look."

"Maybe I am," he mutters. Was that a confession? Is that what he's doing? It is what he's doing, but did he really want you to know that? He just thinks you're pretty, is that not what you do when you think someone is pretty? He starts spiralling, and you can see it in his eyes, "forget I said that. I have alcohol in me right now."

"Right," you breathe, taking your eyes off him, "of course."

"Wait, that was a shitty thing to say," he rushes out, fumbling to make it right, "I'm just kind of drunk."

"It's fine," you wave a dismissive hand, "don't worry about it."

"No," he says passionately, and your head snaps in his direction, "it's not fine, because I didn't mean it like that. You're beautiful, and you should know that. Inside and out."

It fell silent, but it was possibly the loudest silence you'd ever heard. He's breathing heavily from how frustrated he'd just gotten, and your head is spinning and heart thundering against your ribcage.

"What did you just say?"

"You heard me," he mumbles, staring at the ground, "don't make me repeat it."

"So I'm beautiful but too bookish?"

"Just forget about that, alright?" he snaps quietly, "I was just being dumb. You're not bookish, you're really fucking smart. There's a difference."

The smile on your face gets so big that your cheeks start to hurt, and you lean against his shoulder and nuzzle closer to him. He doesn't go stiff like he usually does, in fact he seems to melt into it, resting his head on top of yours.

"Thank you for that," you whisper to him.

He just huffs.

"Don't get used to it," he whispers back, but you know he's just feeling bruised because he outed some real feelings to you. You think it's sweet, how irritable he is when things get serious. After a while, you reach over and take his hand, lacing your fingers with his like you had done before. He doesn't stop you; he welcomes it. You sink deeper into him, sighing in contentment. Whatever this relationship of yours was, it was turning into something beautifully vulnerable. __________________________

When Friday evening rolls around, Draco's last class seemed to run on forever. He doesn't share this one with you, unfortunately. Retaking Divination felt like a good idea when choosing his subjects, but he was quickly coming to realise that Trelawney really is just a daft old bat as he packs up his things and leaves. He wishes he had your company to look forward to, but tonight is your study date with Granger. Typical that it was her taking your time away from him. He trudges back to his dorm, ready to sink into bed and forget the world for a while, when he hears the familiar tone of Professor McGonagall calling him down the corridor.

"Mr Malfoy," her voice rings out, and he turns to see her walking towards him, "I take it you have a few moments to spare?"

"I suppose so, professor," he answers, "what can I do for you?"

"Well, not so much me," she says, looking down her nose at him, "your mother is currently in my office and wishes to speak with you."

Mother. His mind starts racing. What could she possibly want during a school term? She never bothers him usually, only the odd letter. McGonagall could see he was beginning to worry, and she offered a comforting smile.

"I'm sure it's nothing serious," she said softly, "the sooner you see her, the sooner you can get back to your plans for this evening."

He nods in agreement, and begins to follow McGonagall to her office, previously the office of Professor Dumbledore. It's a long walk from where he was, but with all the panicked thinking he was doing it went by rather fast. McGonagall mutters the password, and the stairs begin to curl around to mighty stone eagle. He follows her up the steps, and she waves her wand to open the grand door to the headmistress's office. Draco enters cautiously, Narcissa turning to see him, smiling as he walks to stand a good distance away from her. She's holding a pair of leather gloves in her hand, a small black handbag on her arm. As always, she's dressed in high fashion, with bold red lipstick and her hair in a tight bun.

"Mother," he greets her.

"I shall leave you both in peace," McGonagall says promptly, "take all the time that you need."

She then exits, the large door shutting behind her with a thud.

"Draco," Narcissa says, "how nice to see you, my dear."

"Why are you here?" he asks outright, and Narcissa's smile begins to falter.

"Not the nicest way to greet your mother, Draco," she comments, walking to close the gap slightly between them. He's eyeing her cautiously, "I'm here to pass on some news."

"Such as?"

"I have an outing planned for you," her smile returns, "Your father and I had the pleasure of dining with the Greengrass family last weekend, and Astoria's mother is keen on you. So, I took the liberty in sorting a private luncheon in Hogsmeade this Sunday."

"For our families?" he knits his eyebrows together and gets a funny feeling in his stomach when his mother shakes her head.

"Just the two of you," Narcissa said, "you should try to get to know her better, Draco."

"I've already told you, mother," Draco stresses, "I don't have any desire to know her that way."

"That is beside the point, Draco," his mother says sternly, "she is a good fit for you, and you should be thankful that such a prestigious family has interest, especially since-"

"Our family name is ruined?"

Narcissa takes a sharp intake of breath, mortified at her son's outburst. Her expression becomes one of fury, and she takes an intimidating step towards him.

"Now, you listen to me," she says threateningly, her voice low and scarily calm, "if you ever speak to me like that again, I will pull you out of this school and marry you off to the next woman I lay my eyes on, are we clear?"

Draco gulps. He wasn't exactly scared of his mother, not like he was his father, but he knew as well anybody, that Narcissa meant what she said.

"Yes, mother," he mutters. Narcissa smiles at him again.

"Good, I don't wish to fight with you, my dear," her voice changes, now soft and light, "we only want the absolute best for you, and we believe finding a suitable wife will benefit in the future. Now, be a darling and attend this lunch for me. Can you do that, Draco?"

He nods, wordlessly accepting it, and his mother places a kiss to his cheek before slipping on her gloves. The only thing he feels right now is a blistering anger.

"I'll owl over the details," she goes on to say, making her way towards the door McGonagall left through, "and make sure to wear something nice, alright?"

disclaimer: i do not own hp or any of the characters in this story

dividers from: @firefly-graphics & @happy-ash-edits

[shakey-wakey]

I made myself a supported spindle!

Rambling under cut bc boy do i have a lot to say!

Ok first things first i didnt cut myself but i did manage to get a huge blister almost instantaneously lol

So. This spindle is a very first draft kinda spindle- i bought a cheapish knife & didnt know i needed a strop so i didn't sharpen it at all while carving

Another challenge was that this wood (some sort of evergreen idk plants) all has a stripe of really hard wood (the brown is v hard, the white is soft) so it was hard to get it even

The main reason i finished it so impatiently is bc i did some fiber prep this morning (feauxlags & staple lengths for spinning from the fold) and i am just so desperate to start spinning lol.

I followed this blog post to know what to do (via @milkweedman 's pinned post) & just did what i wanted for the shape. I have a bunch more decent sticks ready to go so im gonna go for a kit that a whittling yt channel recommended bc it should have a decent knife(s) as well as a strop

I rinsed the sanding dust off it so its drying off as i type. Then i can oil it & start figuring out how to spin with a goofy, very bandaged thumb

[geminiamethyst]

Big Brother Snuf AU. First Meeting Part 3

Part 1: click HERE

Part 2: click HERE

Part 4: click HERE

Part 5: 

There’s probably going to be a couple of more parts for the “First Meeting” Saga but then I’ll move on to singular one shots.

Samur was right about the shallower part of the river. It did make Feltin feel a bit better. Felt like he could get this done easier without the current to worry about too much. He almost wondered if he kept his mouth shut, he wouldn’t be asked to do this. He didn’t mind since he was apparently the only one that thought of this. It would make sense for him to do this. Oh well, not much he can do now. Other than trying to get Little One to cooperate a bit more.

“Hold still.” He muttered as he rubbed soap into the kid’s hair. His fingers caught some leaves and small twigs that was tangled up in his hair, and mud was coming out steadily. He couldn’t see the boy’s face, but he was sure that Little One was pouting from this. The boy did try a couple of times to move away from him. Thankfully, Feltin had done this before with the Woodies that he took care of that one time. He was able to hold Little One still without being too rough.

After feeling like he had washed all of the soap out and got the child as clean as he could, Feltin stropped off his coat, wrapped Little One up in it and proceeded to use it as a makeshift towel. Little One was grumbling and whining from inside it. Feltin didn’t need to see the boy’s face to know that he still wasn’t happy.

“Look I know that baths aren’t the most pleasant of things, but it’s good to take them once in a while.” Feltin chuckled as he gently rubbed the hidden child dry. He could still hear Little One whining. Feltin only continued to smile kindly as he grabbed his pipe from his mouth. “And besides, it can be pretty refreshing! Especially after being caked in mud for so-“

Upon opening his eyes, Feltin stopped talking. Little One’s head had popped out while he was rambling. He was scrubbed clean of all the mud, twigs and leaves had hidden him away. His face was morphed into a cross between a pout and a frown. But right now, Feltin wasn’t too focused on that. His attention was drawn to the child’s hair instead. At first everyone, including Feltin, thought that it was a dark brown. Turned out, it was all the mud that had been accumulated on him that gave everyone that thought. Instead, the boy’s hair was red with a brownish tinge. It was barely noticeable but the colour was there.

“-long?” Feltin finished, looking at the hair in fascination. ‘Red hair?’ He thought with a raised eyebrow. He then broke into a smile. Little One turned confused and tensed up when Feltin suddenly started to pat his head. “Well, well, looks like I’m not the only Mymble around here anymore, huh man?”

Finally, it felt good to not be the old one out for once.

[amidst-wonderland]

lilac

pairing: general gray family warnings: mentions of predatory behaviour that are implied, underage smoking is mentioned, strong language. 'queer' used casually, not homophobically - also, jack is gay and i'm queer. summary: rosie's not keen on her dad's new star hot-shot actor.

"she fancies him,” rosie knowingly hums but bitterness lingers in its delivery. hovering by the window and peering down at her baby sister who’d now draped herself over the yellow cab’s door like a mewling lovesick pup. she can’t see violet’s face but rosie’d put money on the expression not being too far removed from that adoring smile she’s perpetually wore across the dinner table. “can hardly blame her, but–”

    nora lightly scoffs at her elder daughter, flicking over the worn script. “she’s jist taken a likin’ tae ‘im. he’s a sweet-talker in a nice suit here tae impress yir da. can hardly try it on wae you.” she waves a hand motioning it in the general direction of rosie’s prominent bump, ash dripping from the lit straight. “got one of those hollywood types already, don’t you? speaking of, yer da’s got some work on offer if he’s lookin’ ‘something-hoaliday’ ‘hink it’s called – continent shite.’”

   the brunette ignores the offer, jibing again at her sister’s crush on the upcoming actor. “you know what she said to me, the minute i walked in the door? no, ‘hello’, no ‘how’s the baby’ just, ‘he says i could be the next doris day, ro!’ clearly never heard the wean bloody sing.”

    “or seen ‘er dance.”

     he has.

     rosalin hadn’t been home to her siblings much since falling pregnant but tonight's dinner guest had become quite the regular visitor in their home. she’d heard from her younger brother. jack explained this new mystery man, a friend of george’s who he met at a co-worker’s engagement dinner. he was from the stage now wanting to branch into film, “mum’s taken to him, well, said to aunt linda she sees a bit of dad in him, which is rather queer if you ask me considering vi’s stropping around the apartment like he’s the gentleman caller. georgie’s stopped picking up the telephone because of the pestering, had to tell her off.”

     jack continued ramble with general observations: the brief and playful pokes, rosy cheeks, the giggles and hair-twirls also how he’d caught them sharing a cigarette in the kitchen during george’s thirtieth birthday then a dance to one of sinatra’s. not to mention - although jack made sure to - the teen had gained a rather affectionate pet name, "flower".

     rosie frowns as her nostrils flare when catching a glimpse of violet’s pink skirt disappearing into the back of the cab before michael shuts the door behind her. she hastily decides to play devil’s advocate before his return, continuing to watch him instead of turning to her mother. “do you think dad would entertain it? he’s only a little older than me.”

     twenty-five.

     nora pauses, her pen’s scribbles halting in its tracks, scrapping against the paper. michael had a way about getting what he wanted, after all the shelby inside him was grimly decaying like some sticky, clingy tar as opposed to dissipating, but he consistently left his children out of the equation. much to his own detriment whilst they were little but there was no gain in this specific hollywood game. he’d won. gotten his lead actor, there was hardly a need for the hook, line and sinker foreplay act played subliminally through his freshly seventeen-year-old daughter. “wouldn’t feel the need to.”

     rosalin grimaces at her mother’s admission.

     she didn’t really know.

     “she’s just a kid–”

     “swallow it hen. filmin’ starts in the next few weeks and him’n’ that leigh-lassie will be all over the papers.”

     feeling a light burning sensation in her chest and bile rise in her throat causing a strain, “i hope he’s nice.”

     “well, if ‘es no, he’ll have tae deal with her glesga-bred brother, that an yir faither's kilt three blokes.”

so, i saw priscilla and wanted to write this, i did explicitly write this as open-ended, take it how ever you will with rosie's last line. i've never really written for violet and i thought it would be fun - don't worry this very year this is set (50-'51) she does meet someone her own age, however it was james dean - vi really knows how to pick a bi doesn't she?

anyways it's pretty obvious who this is about but i didn't want a name drop, similarly with rosie's husband who i have named elsewhere (it's weird because i wouldn't consider it rpf, but it technically is).

[cypheroxide]

SH and Time {possible trigger warning}

A long time ago, I promised myself I would get clean. SH wasn't a coping mechanism, it was definitely an addiction. Not a way to escape pain or to feel, but my method of becoming empty. It was the key to my void place, a place where I had perfect control and clarity of thought. I went clean 11 years 2 months and 6 days. The secret for me started off as a promise, and not a light one.

I made a promise to my then fiance and our kids that I would stop, even though I was thinking it was just a believable lie. A day or two would pass by and I could safely go back to routine. Turns out that was the real secret answer; routine. It's been a hard road, but forcing myself to stick to a routine and a set pattern of actions is what kept me clean. In hindsight, I think I just shifted one addiction to a different one, a razor traded for apacked schedule. Maybe I'm still in the SH scene with how busy I keep forcing myself to be. I forget the last time I slept more than 3 hours, except maybe on a weekend...

Before I start to ramble, my advice is this: find an activity or thing to do in place of SH. It's going to be hard to just think of something, and you might say you've tried this or that and it never sticks, or maybe you won't be able to think of something you deem fit to replace the SH. That's the addiction. It's like the angels have come to call and it's hard to fight the pull of it. But that's when you need to force yourself away and into something else. Pour yourself into something, anything at all, and hold on tight. When you feel the pain, the craving, the anger or sadness or whatever it is, you grab it and you hold it tight and you shove that feeling into almost any other activity.

It hurts, but if you can push yourself to even one day longer than the last time, you'll have already made progress. And every day you hold that feeling of SH away, you'll have pushed farther than the day before. There will be bad days, and you might fall. But that's okay. No one ever breaks free from SH without a few slips. I broke after nearly 12 years clean. But I believe you can make it happen. I know it's going to be hard, but that's what makes it worth it. Because once you get past this and find something to get lost in, the urge will lessen.

The Longing was definitely a hard time to push through. At the worst of times, I don't think it ever really went away. After I broke and returned to SH, it took a few months before I could stop again. I had to move to a new area because I ran out of room without crossing over old scars. But the thing that helped me stop was realizing that it was the ritual that had been my addiction. The cleaning and stropping of the razor, laying out the kit, the measured strokes across skin, and the final cleaning of the blade and the wounds before adding bandages that gave me the relief. The endorphin dump and rush was nice, but it was the practiced ritual that helped me find peace from the storm in my head.

A bit of sunshine with a little hurricane and I could be back to a clear head and believable mask that almost convinced myself that I was okay. It rarely lasted long, but finding a routine that was long term helped make my clean streak last. There will, of course, be that void that used to be filled with SH and the rush. But in time, it fades to a dull craving rather than a painful urge or addiction. Over even more time, you may find yourself forgetting about those feelings more often. My philosophy is that if you can go just one more day, you've set a new record.

I hope I get to hear about your success. No need to rush it. It takes time, and I believe that you have so much waiting ahead of you. It's just going to take time. But if no one else, I'll keep my ear open and waiting to hear how you made it. Even if it's just one more day.

Good luck.

-R.N. Stone, aka Cypher

[dykendireckt]

is a hypothetical five year plan worth it if i dont have plans past the next month. not in a bad way i just literally have jack shit going on. idk if i should be trying to 'get my life together' and have stuff going on

[jasmiinininja]

Maybe did bit of an overkill with the size of this one

ah well can try out this sorta collage type of format idk!

[vanityloves]

whoever suggested murdoc is 5'1, you have my wig

[kiddphel]

me feeling myself grow Autistically interested in one piece

[rawk-chikk]

Home again.

My own spaaaaaace!!!

My own beddddddd!!!

My own...mess *cringe*.

Hoping to get the place into some degree of order for new year's, tho my legs are playing up again today so I'll start tomorrow, fingers crossed 🤞.

Today I shall let my over stimulated brain bask in the stillness and the quiet for a bit (I mean New Neighbour is throwing a strop upstairs right now, but other than that...), then I shall dive back into the ol' vidyagames.

In other news, there is some sort of critter outside right now, probably a birb, and it sounds like...sonar?

[khaleesiofalicante]

Okay I’m just gonna come out and say it. Emma is shit at writing. Like girl strop rambling and get to the point without taking 29 detours 😭

[sorrelchestnut]

🤡 (I can think of a couple haha), ✨, 🎶, ❌, 🦅, 🤩 Sorry if that's a ton of questions oops I am nothing if not nosy as hell

Oh fuck yeah, let's do this!

(For the Fanfic Writer Emoji askmeme, still taking prompts if anyone wants to play!)

🤡 What’s a line, scene, or exchange you’ve written that made you laugh?

There's a couple from Sharp Edges I'm pretty proud of, mostly Stede-and-Izzy banter, but I think my dark horse favorite is this bit from chapter three:

The second time Izzy opens his eyes, Jim is sitting in a chair next to the bed, calmly and rhythmically sharpening a knife along a leather strop. "Nope," he decides, and passes back out again.

Literally wrote the entire recovery sequence the way I did so I could get that line in because it cracked me up.

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

I think I'm pretty good at capturing character voice! I was re-reading a couple of my own stories recently and none of the narrators sounded like each other, which is saying something since a not-insignificant number of them are emotionally damaged middle-aged men.

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

Oh yeah, absolutely. I usually have a playlist for any given fandom, which consists of an uneasy mix of music from the source, lyrically appropriate, and straight vibes. Occasionally a song will really hit a particular mood and get a one-song loop while I'm focusing in. Most recently Running for Cover and The Quittin' Kind, but my ultimate "put it on repeat and get to work" is Two Knocks, which got me through multiple entire Dishonored fics and is still probably my single favorite song of all time.

❌ What’s a trope you will never write?

I want to say A/B/O, but I know in my heart it would just take the exact right dynamic to spark that off for me, so I'm not going to tempt fate. Anyway the real answer is food service AUs. Too real, man. Too real.

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

Both, and it depends. What usually happens is I'll have a gem of an idea, and I'll end up throwing open a new doc and start typing absolute nonsense. What form that nonsense takes depends on the idea: sometimes I start from a specific scene, so I start writing that scene and see where it takes me, and sometimes it's an AU idea, and I just start typing "so what if such-and-such a thing happened," and then just ramble at myself in the document until it starts evolving. A lot of stories stop here, honestly; whatever creative urge prompted it gets satisfied and I set it aside and move on. If the story has more legs, I keep going (usually while telling myself and anyone who'll listen that I'm not really writing this one) and if it's long enough, it hits a point where I start outlining just to keep my scattershot ideas in check. A one-shot, even a longer one, gets almost no organization; I just write, and if things need to be moved around I do, but there's no outline because the story's tight enough I can hold the scope of it in my head.

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

It's probably a cheap answer to say "whichever one I'm writing now" but honestly, it's the truth. I don't write characters if there isn't something about the inside of their POV that fascinates and compels me. That said, if the question is "what's your favorite type of character to write" the statistically correct answer, as noted above, is "emotionally damaged middle-aged men." Deacon, Johnny Silverhand, Daud, Corvo, now Izzy Hands... Actually remove the "men" and Billie Lurk fits perfectly to type as well. Depending on how generous you get with fantasy ages there's probably a few others that fit as well, lol.

...fuck do I ever have a type. Huh.

[therealvinelle]

Hi! What do you think would have happened if in New Moon,Bella moves to Florida and Victoria is killed by some rando gifted vamp while in the South( gifted coz to counteract her evasion thingy) and Bella like doesn't completely move on or anything but still gets better with time and then Edward comes back a couple years later and Bella is supposed to be happy but she's like very confused about it and kind of creeped out by the age difference since Edward is still very much seventeen. Sorry for the rambling, I just wanna know how will this adult Bella interact with Edward &Co. Is Bella/Carlisle a possibilty here if Edward goes ballisticmus and has a visit to strop central coz Bella's not vair interested anymore ? Happy ending please. (i.e, no eating/mercy killing- you always do that, it's not very nice)

I think, anon, that it sounds like you should just write this fic.

And I feel the need to point out that Victoria already had a vampire counteract her gift, his name was James. Victoria’s gift lets her know when and where to flee, James’ gift lets him know where to find his prey. Their horrifying love story is that he hunted her (in case anyone needed further proof this guy is a goddamn psycho: he decided to hunt this random woman who didn’t even have blood he could drink, just for the sake of killing her.) but never could get his hands on her. In the end, he became intrigued by this woman who kept evading him. Sensing that she wasn’t in as much danger anymore, Victoria slowed down, and they became an item.

Point being, your rando gifted vamp will need more than to just counteract her gift if he wants to kill Victoria.

But let’s assume Victoria’s not a problem because reasons. Maybe she ran into dimension portal vampire, and he put her in the shrimp dimension. She’s surrounded by an awful lot of shrimp which I hope is therapeutic for her, and more importantly she is now very much out of the picture.

Bella, meanwhile, didn’t move to Florida because she was able to convince her father she was getting better. Charlie has to lose his faith in her if he is to send her away.

Which could be easily enough accomplished, he just has to hear about what she did in Port Angeles with Jessica.

So alright, Victoria’s in the shrimp dimension and Bella is in Florida.

I happen to agree with you, I think Bella would get better albeit not bounce back entirely. At least, not given such a short timeframe. Her zombie mode wasn’t just because Edward left, it was because he ground her self esteem and identity to dust beneath his heel and took away the world he’d brought her, the future he’d let her imagine.

Old Bella has gone out for cigarettes, and she isn’t coming back anytime soon. (A sentence best read if you imagine it’s Jensen Ackles narrating.)

It is this Bella that Edward returns to. You specify a couple years later, which makes her 20. She’s a college girl, living in a dorm and more likely than not working on the side. The hole in her chest is still there, she still has nightmares, and she still can’t bear to even think his name, but she is making do.

Then one night he wakes her up.

She at first thinks it’s a dream, but he manages to convinceher it’s not.

He’s even more beautiful than she remembered, more perfect than any recollection could do justice.

He tells her why he left, how much he suffered, how he still loves her, the whole shebang. And Bella takes him back, though she can scarcely believe this. It’s like the Titanic unsinking, Lazarus rising, this love she thought lost, that she only had a fleeting taste of in high school, is back again.

The first few days are surreal, like stepping back inside a childhood memory. It’s a rose-tinted dream she missed like anything, and indeed Edward and the Cullens are just as glamorous and beautiful as she remembered.

But perhaps that’s the problem, that this is so unreal.

Bella isn’t going to address this of her own accord, she’s not as much as going to acknowledge that anything feels off. She has Edward back, it’s a miracle and she’s not going to rock the boat.

Even as she finds Edward is... well, he is young. I imagine it’s something she notices a bit gradually, little bits and pieces she ignores because she doesn’t want to examine them, up until one catalyst or another. There comes a point where she realizes this guy is seventeen, and she just can’t unsee that.

There’s another issue.

The Cullens left because Bella was human, now they return because... well, she’s still human.

Carlisle speaks with Edward about this, but gets nowhere. Eventually he decides to go ask Bella what her thoughts are on this.

Bella still wants to be a vampire, of course. Only she has realized that she has outgrown Edward by just a little, and now the world’s greatest timer is above her head. She can turn now, and they’ll make do with their little age difference, it might require Bella looking the other way and plying herself with just enough denial so that she doesn’t see her lover too clearly, but it can work damnit.

But if they wait, and Bella turns 21, then 22, 23...

She’ll lose Edward.

Bella tells Carlisle without further ado that she wants to be turned, ASAP.

Carlisle nods, agrees, and they agree to bring this up with Edward separately. It won’t do any good if he feels like they’re ganging up on him.

Bella goes first, informs Edward of what she wants and lets him know that Carlisle will turn her even if he refuses.

(That’s another damning sign of maturity: Bella no longer needs it to be Edward who bites her. The important thing for her is the end result, which is vampirism. Besides, this more mature version of Bella reasons, turning humans is painful to vampires so it’ll be nicer to Edward if she does it this way.)

Furious, Edward goes to confront Carlisle, who confirms it. He’s turning Bella.

And then-

Well, anon, you make it quite clear that you don’t want any eating or mercy killing.

I think we’ll say that Edward sends Bella to go to live on a farm.

[detectivedreameater]

Deputized For Death || Clay and Marley

TIMING: About a week ago PARTIES: @clayanddust and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: A prime example of wrong place wrong time. But maybe not? At least Marley gets something out of it.  CONTENT: None

Officer Moore’s body disintegrated into dust on the highway. The WCPD uniform crumpled to the icy concrete. On impact with the ground, dry grey powder spilled out through the sleeves, legs, and single hole that’d been punched straight through Moore’s bulletproof vest. 

Clay straightened from where’d he’d be pressed against his car, stropping red and blue patrol lights played across his features, now impassive without the need to pretend to be an intimidated civilian. The mutant raised his hands and casually snapped the steel handcuffs binding his wrists as if they were a child’s prop. 

Clay stepped over the granular remains of Officer Moore and a few paces down the highway to the patrol car shining like a laser light show in the winter night. Clay ignored the disjointed coming voices over a radio from the open driver’s window and instead continued on the back of the car.  

Clay reached down and placed his fingers under the lower rim of the trunk. With heave, the Slayer tore open the trunk of the car with a screech of ripping metal. A man and woman lay crumpled in the truck, clothes ragged from living rough and their skin an anemic pallor. Clay began checking their pupils and pulses, finding that life still fluttered beneath the lukewarm skin of their necks. 

Marley had never really believed in things like fate before, but looking back on it, she realized something beyond her control had led her down the backroad that night instead of using the main. She’d felt as if she needed to clear her head and a long drive might help with that. The darkness didn’t bother her one bit, even as people warned her against driving late at night when it was this cold. Marley’s eyes shone through the night as if it weren’t there. She pulled around the corner and saw flashing lights up ahead. Someone had been pulled over. 

But almost immediately, Marley could tell there was something off. She had a knack for it. And not only that, she could sense the fear drifting through the ether. Someone was afraid, very afraid, and while she understood how terrifying cops could be– especially alone, at night, on a low traffic street– this felt different. She turned her lights off pulled her car off the side of the road, hoping whoever was down there hadn’t seen her yet. Turning invisible, she crept from her car and towards the scene, hand ready on her gun. Her badge sat in her pocket, even if it wasn’t technically effective right now.

What she came upon was rather horrifying. A man, standing over a trunk, and two bodies inside. No, not bodies. These people were alive. Marley drew her gun and let herself be seen, her form fading back into existence. “Hands up!” she snapped. “Don’t move.”

Clay raised his hands and placed them behind his head. How had he not heard them coming? The mutant was used to his senses giving an edge when people tried to get drop on him, especially at night. Had the car trunk ripping drowned them out? It's like they’d stepped right outta nowhere? 

The gun trained on him kinna made that point moot. 

“Not moving,�� Clay noted. “Is this the part where you tell me these people are like the son of a crime lord or the president's daughter or whatever,” the Hunter rambled breezily, giving himself bunny ears with one of the hands behind his head. “Or are you that person pissed about them not being delivered to a sketchy place in the desert on time?”

Marley narrowed her eyes, keeping her distance. People. There was more than one person in the trunk. She sidled to get a better angle into the trunk, and then she saw the uniform on the ground, nothing but a pile of dirt inside them. It was easy enough to parse out what had happened here. Marley didn’t work close with most of the vice cops, but to think a vampire had infiltrated the ranks was disconcerting. Vic would be so upset with her. She ignored the thought, though, because this was an opportunity. She was after a clan of vampires, after all. They needed slayers on their side. 

Still not quite lowering the gun, Marley cocked her head to the side. “How do I know they’re not yours?” she asked. “Don’t really know who they are, think I just got lucky on this one.”

The bunny finger ears behind Clay’s head twitched thoughtfully. The Slayer's face didn’t register any anxiety at the firearm pointed in his direction. But while Clay Hale had once been genuinely brave, the crooked smirk beneath his cold agate eyes suggested that something might’ve snapped under the weight of nightmares. “Because they’re anemic and need to get to the hospital,” Clay replied. “You can arrest me or shoot there if you like. But they’re time is running out.”  

Marley tilted her head to the side. Her eyes fell to the heap of clothes again. “And what about them?” she said with a drawl of sarcasm. “Think the doctor can fix that?” Not that she cared about the dead vampire, but she could use this situation to her advantage. Her gaze turned back to the slayer, red eyes aglow under her darkened sunglasses. “It just isn’t looking good for you here, buddy. Now, you could try and run, I’m sure you’re very fast and very strong, but–” she waved her gun a little– “I doubt you can out speed a bullet. And I have perfect aim.” She began lowered her gun a little, tense in case he decided to lunge. “So how about we make a deal.”

The bunny ears vanished with Clay’s coyness. She recognized that the dust had once been a person and seemed to imply that she knew Clay was human-plus. While Clay knew she’d never be able to prove that dust was once an officer, there’d be questions he couldn’t answer in custody once Officer Fangs failed to show up for work. 

Besides, Clay had died too many times under various names for a deep dive into his background to not be damning if someone was truly determined enough. 

Perhaps it was the ultimate giveaway of being experienced with the supernatural that Clay’s face registered more caution at the prospect of a ‘deal’ than bullets. Make the wrong promise to the wrong person and that gunshot might be a mercy. “What kind of deal are we talking here,” asked Clay, stance relaxed with both hands flat on the back of his head. It made sense to at least hear her out. 

“I’m looking for a very elusive group of vampires,” Marley stated simply. She didn’t have time to mess around with semantics when every moment was another moment Erin was suffering at the hands of these assholes. “They kidnapped my partner and I’m trying to track them down. But while I have the detective part covered, the vampire part is a little harder. I don’t know how many of them there are or where they might be hiding, but I know I don’t have the tools to deal with them.” Or the knowledge. Marley knew enough about vampires, and she knew she could kill one one on one, but that was about it. She stood up a little straighter, eyeing the unconscious people in the trunk. “Make your decision soon, hero boy,” she said, gesturing to them, “your victims are dying.”

Clay knew this all sounded a bit too tidy. Vampire clans kidnapped people all the time, sure, and he had no reason to doubt this lady’s partner might be hanging in some abattoir being drained of blood. But something about his interlocutor’s focus, knowledge, and gambit made him wonder if there was something else here. 

Desperation, Clay realized belatedly. Fuck, was he really so far gone that he couldn’t recognize that? 

“You didn’t need me at gunpoint for a yes on that,” Clay advised with a softer tone. “Help me get these people to a hospital and I promise I’ll fight to get your partner back.” 

“Can never really tell with you lot,” Marley said back, finally lowering her gun. “You don’t usually take kindly to people like me.” And even if it gave her an advantage to hide her own species, she could at least give him the token that she was supernatural and not human. She holstered her gun and walked up to the police car. Held out her hand. “Detective Stryder,” she said to him. “Alright, let’s get these kids in the back, I’ll drive the patrol car to the hospital and you clean up this mess,” she said, gesturing to the pile of ash and clothes. “And then I’ll be in contact.” 

Once the two nearly dead bodies were laid in the back, the trunk shut and Marley looked over to Clay, the slayer. “Don’t die before I need your help,” she said to him, “would really suck if you had to break your promise.”