#feeling a bit squiffy

[thavron]

Going on holiday to Brighton but treating it like an exhotic holiday abroad. Cocktails on the beach. I don’t care if I need a hoodie. 😆

[moonstruckme]

Hiii!! Im really obsessed with your camp counsellor!james ,,, do you think you could do like a follow up of the previous one where they go to the bonfire tgt?? Love your writing and have a good day 🫶

Hi lovely, thank you for requesting!! You have a good day too <3

cw: alcohol

camp counselor!James x fem!reader ♡ 897 words

James doesn’t know how much of your closeness to blame on booze. 

It feels a bit silly to be so loose and laughy at nine pm, but he and the other counselors only have until ten thirty before the kids get out of their movie night. James suspects some of them are going to have to take a quick dunk in the lake before they rejoin their campers. 

You’re not the least squiffy there, having had exactly as many beers as James but without the large frame to support them. You’re sitting close enough that your thigh is pressed to his on the wooden log, and when you gesture your arm brushes his bicep with every movement. 

“No, no,” you’re saying, laughter ringing in your tone, “James is the kids’ favorite. No contest.” 

“Ava’s cabin is huge, though,” another counselor argues. “She’s got kids that come back just to see her every year.” 

“Yeah, but it’s only James’ first year.” You don’t catch the bit of pique in the more seasoned counselor’s voice, defending your stance lightly. James, roasting marshmallows for the both of you, keeps his mouth shut. “If he comes back next year, he’d have kids fighting over his cabin for sure.” 

“I could never handle as many kids as Ava does, though,” James says, pulling the flaming marshmallows away from the fire and blowing them out. “Here, lovely, do you have your stuff ready?” 

The distraction works. You hold up your graham crackers and chocolate eagerly, capturing a marshmallow between them and pulling it off the stick. 

“Can’t believe you’re one of those people who just burns the whole thing,” you say. “I expected better from you, James.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were being beggars and choosers tonight.” He glances over as he readies his own s’more supplies, and you’re grinning, your eyes crackling with amusement and something else. “How do you like them done?” 

“I take my time with it, so the outsides are brown but the insides are all melted.” You take a bite, not seeming too displeased despite the subpar quality of his marshmallow roast. “It’s like a brûlée.” 

A laugh trips off James’ tongue. “Oh, it’s like a brûlée, is it? Fancy.” 

You hum in prideful affirmation, polishing off your s’more quickly. James tries not to look too obviously pleased when your head drops to his shoulder. 

He holds his s’more away from your hair, turning towards you to say lowly, “I appreciate the compliments, but you’re gonna get me in trouble. Some of the other counselors have been coming here for years.” 

You make a breathy sound of amusement. “I’m just telling the truth. Look at this.” 

You reach down and take his forearm in your hand. Warmth seems to emanate from your touch. James lets you bring his wrist up to eye level. 

“Basically every kid at camp wanted to make you a friendship bracelet,” you say before letting his arm drop. It lands in the crease between your thigh and James’. “They all love you.” 

Your head moves, face tipping back to look at him. You look really pretty. It’s hardly the first time James has noticed tonight, and certainly not unusual for you, but the firelight plays soft over your features and you’re smiling more than usual so he’s having an especially difficult time keeping his eyes off of you. Especially when you look at him like this, all sweet and happy with the light from the bonfire glancing across your eyes and your cheek squished into his shoulder. The sight of you makes James’ stomach ache. 

“You’re everybody’s favorite,” you murmur.

The conversation around you fades into an indistinct thrum. You’re so close James can count your eyelashes, can feel your warm breath hitting his chin. If he were to kiss you, he knows you’d taste like graham crackers and chocolate and marshmallows roasted not quite the way you like them. Maybe his lips would still be a little sticky with the same, unwilling to let you go. 

James really wants to kiss you. 

You take in a soft, quick inhale, and then your face turns back the way it was, looking towards the bonfire instead of up at him. 

“That’s how I know no one will get mad at you,” you say. “You’re too easy to love.” 

“I think you’re giving me too much credit,” he replies. He reaches across you to finger the set of bracelets on your own wrist. “And maybe yourself not enough.” 

You make a dismissive sound, nudging James with your elbow. “You’re going to have to bring yours with you if you come back next year. If the kids see you without them, it’ll break their little hearts.” 

“Oh, I’m never taking these things off. Five hundred years from now, someone could dig up my grave and they’d just find a pile of bones and a bunch of string bracelets.” 

Your body shakes against his as you laugh. The sound of it is as bright and clear as the stars above your heads, and in James’ opinion thrice as lovely. 

“I’d be surprised if they last that long,” you say. “Hopefully they’re not the only thing you have to remember this place by.” 

James still wants to kiss you terribly. He appeases the urge by dropping his lips to your head. “No, I’m not worried about that.”

[jasmines-library]

Could you please do a Winchester sister story where there’s a hex bag hidden in the hotel room her and the brothers are in and the boys have to find it before she dies

Hexed

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Word count: 1k

Warnings: Sickness

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

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You knew it would have been famous last words when you said that things were going smoothly. As usual you had packed your small bag and tossed it in the back of Baby before climbing in the backseat. Normal. Routine.

It was a warm day and you had even rolled the window down slightly to let the cool breeze in. Dean was blasting some classic rock and the three of you sung along. The hunt was a few states over from the bunker and the drive was long, so you were glad for the nice day, even if you couldn’t be outside enjoying it: it lightened the mood.

And the motel was just like any other. Two beds and a couch that the three of you would fight over later. The walls were bare besides a few questionable photos they had hung squiffy, and the light didn’t quite work properly. Nevertheless it was a nice room; perfectly suitable for a week or so. Less, you hoped.

You were hunting a particularly troublesome witch: you were just hoping that you would get it over and done with a soon as you could. Witches were a pain in the ass. The three of you had arrived early afternoon so spent the rest of the day scouting out the town and getting to know the local waitresses in Deans case. By the second day, the three of you were certain you had figured out who was causing all of the trouble: a blonde haired man that appeared to be in his twenties. You were moving quickly.

It wasn’t until the third day however that things started to go to shit. When you woke up, groggily stretching out on the couch, your entire body ached. Your head throbbed and your throat felt like it had been torn apart by a thousand razor blades. You groaned.

“You okay?” Sam frowned, looking up from his laptop where he was scanning police footage.

“Mmh” you nodded, pushing yourself up. When you stood, your vision blurred together and you swayed on your feet.

“Woah.” Sam stood up quickly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, just feeling a little rough.” Your voice was like sandpaper as he guided you to sit down at the kitchen table. He frowned, wrinkling his nose. “I probably picked it up from someone at the bar.” You recall sitting awkwardly at the table with Sam while Dean tried his luck flirting with the waitresses.

“Probably.” Sam pressed his hand against your forehead. “You are warm though.”

You hummed in response.

“What’s going on?” Dean grumbled as he rolled over in the bed, pulling the covers over his face.

“Y/N’s sick.”

“Am not.” You pouted. “I’m just feeling a bit rough. It’ll pass in a few hours.”

It did not, in fact, pass in a few hours. I fact it got much much worse in a matter of a few hours. Your skin grew clammy and paler, your joints ached and your movements were slow. Yet you were still determined to help with the hunt. Sam and Dean had finally had enough when you, leaving heavily against the impala to stay upright, you dropped a second pistol on the floor whilst trying to reload them with ‘witch-killing-bullets’.

“Alright, that’s it.” Dean said taking the weapon from your hands. You whined in protest. “I’m taking you home.”

“No.” You protested. “I can help. I want to help.”

“No.” Dean told you firmly. “You’re sick, y/n. Very sick. Just look at yourself you can barely stand.”

“You need to rest.”

“I can-“ you were cut off by a coughing fit and a stabbing pain in your gut. When you pulled your hand away, a splatter of crimson plastered itself against your skin. You glanced up warily at your brothers.

Their eyes widened in surprise and Sam had to grip your arms to keep you upright when your knees buckled beneath you.

“S’mmy…” you slurred. “What’s hap’ning to me?”

“The witch.” Dean said suddenly. “She’s been hexed. Get her in the car.”

Your body careened forward, slumping into Sam and he struggled to get your stubborn limbs into the car. Your breathing was fast as you wheezed, clinging on to your brother.

Dean slammed the door shut and pressed his foot down hard on the gas to send the car speeding down the road. He cast glances at you through the overhead mirror. Your eyes were slipping shut as your head hung limply against Sam: he held you close trying to get you to stay awake: alarmed at your rising temperature.

“Hang in there, kiddo.” Sam pleaded.

You made a noise of acknowledgment, whining against the hurt of your body. When you coughed again, more blood stained your teeth. And then you were fading in and out.

“Dean……up!”

“Trying….”

More hurt. More nothing.

“Get her….car.”

Hands on your body, sliding under your back and knees. Someone was lifting you. There was a loud clanging and a pained wheeze that squeezed itself from your lungs.

“Shhhh.” Hands smoothing the hair on your head. Sam? You couldn’t see; your vision had blurred together.

Sam and Dean were frantic. They moved without much coordination as they shuffled you into your room. Sam held you in his arms as Dean tore apart the room, searching under the mattress, tearing the pictures off the walls and up turning the chairs. He had been moving quickly since you stopped responding.

“Sammy, help me look!” Dean barked.

Sam hesitantly lay you down on the bed that Dean had finished tearing apart and began to search. Inside the couch, inside the lampshades, under the couch until Dean plucked out the Hex bag out from your bag with an exclaim of relief. The witch must have slipped it in there whilst you were at the bar. Dean disposed of it quickly and immediately rushed over to your side too late. You had already lost consciousness but your chest was still rising and falling. He let out a breath.

It took a long time for your temperature to come down. Sam and Dean had taken off your extra jacket and even placed an ice pack on you to help. At least one of them had an eye on you at all time. Eventually, it had dropped to a regular temperature and slowly but surely you opened your eyes.

“Oh thank God.” Sam sighed “we were so worried.”

“Sorry….” You mumbled.

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart.” Dean pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We’re just glad you’re okay.”

You leaned into him. Safe.

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TAGS:

@defonotashleyr @aestheticdaisies @xxrougefangxx @hearts4robs @harleycao @hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale

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[windybluebelles]

Ok, Gang, I need you to take a deep breath. Ok, your doing great now-

I know some people get a bit squiffy at the implication of Talia being a bad partner, that’s ok, enjoy what you enjoy, but-

-And we’re all still taking nice even breaths aren’t we, yes? Good,-

There is no way that Talia and Jason could have a healthy romantic relationship.

…

I feel like I hyped it up too much- OK

Im not saying that Bruce and Talia is always unhealthy and I’m not saying that Talia herself is the most evil character ever.

I’m just saying that she shouldn’t be dating Jason.

She met Jason when he was approximately 16 and had just come back to life, he was incredibly unwell (possibly comatose for quite a while) and she was his primary care taker. Once he had been dunked in the pit and started training with the league, he was still indebted to her for like saving him or something.

For most of the time that they canonically spent together, he was underage and incredibly vulnerable.

He has been convinced that everyone from his old life didn’t care for him, she was probably the only stable adult presence in his life at the time.

None of those things are the base of a healthy romantic relationship (with the power dynamics and pedophilia) but she was also the mother of his brother. As in, she had sex with his father, and that would be weird even without the other stuff.

Im not saying that they couldn’t have had any other friendly relationship, but any romantic/sexual relationship she had with him during the time he was with the league would be weird and make her a bad person.

I can really enjoy Talia as a character, but her being written dating any of the batkids is weird.

[britishassistant]

Considerations on Remodeling a Wizard’s Tower

Gale Dekarios would not consider himself an inexperienced man by any means.

He was a wizarding prodigy, able to stun his elders and betters with his knowledge of the Weave. He was Mystra’s lover, diligently taught by her in all forms of magic and pleasure there were to be had. He was carrier of the Orb of Karsus, which ensured he knew the pain of loss, the terror of death, the price of his folly more intimately than any teacher should. He was Tara’s friend, and by this point a minor expert on the care and keeping of tressym.

So no, Gale of Waterdeep would not ever deign to call himself inexperienced. Not with all that went on in the thirty four years he had under his belt!

Yet, for all this knowledge and experience, Gale never quite realized that he’d truly never had friends who weren’t tressym before.

They’re emptying the Last Light tavern of what little alcohol it has left, getting progressively drunker on a mixture of spirits and the rush of victory.

Lae’zel’s remedy for Shadowheart’s crisis of faith was apparently by challenging her to a drinking competition, one that the rest of their motley crew and the few patrons left at the bar quickly got involved in. Gale himself has gracefully bowed out, feeling himself dancing on the edge between pleasantly squiffy and absolutely wankered.

Shadowheart is doing her level best to match Lae’zel cup for cup next to him, red-rimmed eyes on her rival/frenemy/whatever-label-people-are-using-these-days. Lae’zel is actually smirking back as she teeters slightly in place, the same one she wears when she’s fighting some strong opponent.

Gale sets his head on his hands and lets himself grin as he stares.

Shadowheart deserved a well-earned break after all she’s been through. And while Gale would normally prescribe a tenday of good food, good wine, and good company, he finds himself wondering what sort of haven he’d create for her if they were back in Waterdeep.

Nothing explicitly religious, mind you, no need to upset the poor woman more than she already had been. Soft furnishings dyed in indigo and purple and lavender, in a nod to her excellent taste in color, were a must. Rows of bookshelves, stretching to the ceiling and filled to the brim, in a nod to her terrible taste in fiction, were also important. A canopy bed covered with gauzy silks. A vanity, perhaps. And all in some sort of dark wood, like the end tables. Scattered tastefully throughout the room and large enough that any one could become easily an alter to some form of deity if one so chose, but also nondenominational enough that they didn’t need to be! Sometimes an end table was just a good place to set things down. Shadowheart seemed like she’d appreciate those.

It’d also be good to have somewhere to put all the night orchids, in fine vases to make her smile like when they passed that field—except what if they wilted? Small pots of them instead then, perhaps built into the wall as scones or enchanted to look like vases? And surely it wasn’t beyond Gale to work out how to get the soil to water itself somehow. Something to think about.

Lae’zel, on the other hand, would hardly be so taken with flowers. No, the trick with her room would be to work out how to recreate an environment she could relax in, truly relax. There’s no place like home after all, so how could Gale bring a little bit of crèche K’llir to the material plane? Crafting elements from the astral plane is child’s play for him, but perhaps drawing some elements from that crèche they visited would be viable? Like as not he’ll need to ask her for the specifics, but a small part of him is stomping its feet that that will ruin the surprise.

A training ground would be hard to go wrong with, though. Lae’zel prides herself on keeping her skills sharp, and far from just providing a well-maintained, well-stocked arena, Gale can certainly give her something a little more sophisticated. Moving suits of armor or magic constructs for opponents, all tweaked slightly so they can provide her with a variety of challenges.

His eyes slide over to Wyll, who has been gamely trying to keep up with the amount of alcohol the two women and Astarion are putting away. It’s clearly having less of an effect on the vampire than it is on the man, given Astarion’s teasing has only gotten more verbose while Wyll has resorted to a graceful (and succinct) middle finger.

Wyll would also enjoy a training ground, he knows. Something to keep his skills sharp, but perhaps more styled after the forests and caves of the Sword Coast, the biomes he’s used to hunting in. But for his personal quarters, Gale’s thinking something a little more civilized—he’s noticed the way Wyll rubs his lower back after sleeping rough. Still themed after his tastes, his experiences on the frontier, but all the necessary creature comforts. A fine four poster in deep brown oak. A full carafe of port. Comfortable chairs that could be sunk into for a quiet night by the fire.

A large tub would certainly help ease any aches and pains reaped from Wyll’s constant heroics. Porcelain, of course, surrounded by all the bath salts and oils he could wish to use. Gale’s an old hat now at ensuring a tub like that fills itself with water when needed that always feels—just—right.

By contrast, he thinks Astarion would quite like a conservatory. Somewhere he can warm himself in the sun for hours like he used to up above, lounging on one particular rock as he sewed or read or sharpened his daggers. Yes, yes, a bright conservatory filled with the finest pillows and furnishings Astarion deserved to lounge on, all the indulgence and luxury he projects so effortlessly but hasn’t had the chance to enjoy. Squat bookshelves that don’t impede the sun’s light. A fully stocked liquor cabinet set up in an armoire. A small door off to some equally extravagant sleeping quarters in one corner.

And if he loses his immunity to the sun with the tadpole, well. Gale wasn’t the finest wizard in Waterdeep for nothing. If devils could create the Companion to orbit Elturel, who is to say that Gale could not create something similar yet safer so Astarion could enjoy its warmth in peace?

Speaking of, his eyes turn to the two tieflings of the group. Karlach has one arm slung around Astarion’s shoulders and appears to be egging Yuu across the table into singing some kind of raunchy drinking song. Yuu, in the spirit of contrariness and probably more alcohol than they can handle, has instead begun to croon a low, soft melody, practically a lullaby.

They would probably love a music room, he reflects, something acoustically-inclined to give them the space to practice all those instruments they’ve been accumulating, encourage them to raise their voice in song like they so rarely do. A large, airy chamber would be best to help them transmit the Weave into melody like they’ve been learning to. Cupboards stocked full of resins and other such things they may need to clean and maintain the tools of their trade. Perhaps an inviting seating area, to host whatever teachers they might need to finish their studies and be appointed an official Bard of the College of Lore.

The desk, of course, would be essential. Filled with drawers, quills, inkwells and charcoal, and of course the many, many reams of blank parchment that their constant scribbling on the road suggested were more a necessity than a luxury. He’d probably need to invent a new charm just to keep them even halfway stocked.

Karlach, on the other hand, seemed like she would be happier with more rustic surroundings than the others. Not that she didn’t deserve to be showered in luxury like all the others, but from what Gale had seen it didn’t seem to interest her that much—as evidenced by her continual championing the merits of a good beer over more expensive spirits. Simple but comfortable, that’s the name of the game. A bed that looked like it could be found in a tavern but would be the rival of any noble’s feather bed. Overstuffed armchairs to sink into. Wide windows so she could gaze over the landscape. Even a few barrels of her favorite tipple to tap into if she felt like it.

Interesting textures, that would be the pièce de résistance for Karlach’s room. Fascinating tactility to skim her fingers over, trace the grooves of, dig her nails into, even pick at. If he has to make the entire affair fireproof, then so be it. It’s hardly a chore if it makes her happy.

“What are you grinning at?”

Gale blinks back into himself to see Astarion raising an arch eyebrow.

He smiles wider, letting the beer buzzing through his system warm his cheeks. “Nothing, nothing, really. Just.”

He glances around at everyone again.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart attempting to carry on a highly slurred argument. Karlach is lazily conducting Yuu’s soft “but just tonight, maybe I’ll rest in peace~” with her empty tankard. Wyll has taken the opportunity to set his head on the table and begun listing gently into Shadowheart’s side.

His cheeks almost hurt as he meets Astarion’s gaze again. “Enjoying the view.”

Astarion takes him in with a considering tilt of the head.

“Darling, you’re sozzled.”

Gale throws back his head and laughs. “Ha! Well. Aren’t we all?”

“Hm.” Astarion eyes where Lae’zel has begun to murmur into his collarbone. Wyll’s feet have found their way into his lap, and the vampire is much less enchanted with the Blade of Frontier’s boots. “Well! I’m sure I can prevail upon you to use that lovely, powerful magic of yours to help corral all these lightweights to bed, no?”

Gale hums. He’s warm and comfortable, Shadowheart is nuzzling into his side, and Wyll’s head is pillowed on her lap.

“Gale?”

Yuu mumbles nonsense as they curl into him, nestling under Gale’s chin as they trail off into incoherence. They let out a little huff as Shadowheart slips and starts using their back as a headrest but settle within a moment.

“Gale.”

Karlach has less begun to lean on Astarion than slump on him, her head pillowed on his curls. Her eyes are shut, and her breathing is deepening in a way that promises snores.

“Gale. Do not leave me like this.” Astarion orders with what might be a smidge of desperation.

Gale leans back against the wall, exhaling and closing his eyes.

“Gale!”

His tower could use some remodeling, he reflects as he rearranges Yuu so they’re not stabbing him in the throat with their horns.

Places to keep his people near and dear to him.

[brickwhartley]

My Dear Tumblr, 

Hoo boy. All these reactions floating through the dashboard air are making me feel a bit squiffy. They’re damn near intoxicating! 

When I tell you, I am overcome with the sweet smell of success… you know, I’m not usually an emotional guy. I come from a long line of Bricks, and we pride ourselves on being, well, Bricks. But gosh, if I’m not near tearing up at the beauty of the rainbow of reactions I see before me. I probably should’ve included a 🌈 as a reaction! 

Could it really be happening? That I launch a new product, and it’s not shut down within a day, sending me soaring right back to exile in Clawland where I land on my unmentionables with a loud THUMP?! Is this something I can really, truly be proud of?!??

Ladies and gentlecrabs, I don’t know what to say…

But I do know what to SELL! 

Get your Abstract Reacts MERCHANDISE right over here, at the Emporium! My loyal deputy Roberd has whipped up a batch of absolutely smashing posters based on the admittedly incomplete set of reactions that you’ve been delighting in all day. 

For a limited time only, you can react to stuff IN REAL LIFE! So what are you waiting for? There’s a new button to click and it says BUY NOW! 

Yours reactingly, 

Brick Whartley Chief Reactions Officer Chief Officer of Merchandising and Physical Engineering (On Leave)

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 3 Tatarigoroshi pt. 12

I have now successfully caught back up to the correct spot I should be at after accidentally skipping a chapter a couple days ago.

One of the worst things is waking up sweaty. Just absolutely the pits.

Of course the paranoia sweats are probably worse than just having to exist and it's hot and humid. Keiichi once again goes over in his mind that he probably should have just tried to kill Takano during their bizarre double murder conversation. Anyway despite living with the day after sore muscles of physical activity Keiichi is off to school, where he can't shake the feeling that something is following him. The presence that he felt late at night after parting ways with Takano seems to be actively following him putting a damper on what he feels should be his good mood for a murder successfully done.

Everyone talks to Keiichi as though he were there at the festival with everyone else, and that events played out similarly to how they did in previous Chapters. Except for Rika, who seems to be acting like she's aware something's amiss but isn't voicing her concerns about it. Rika, it would seem, seems to know about this particular oddity. Or so it seems to me.

In this particular timeline Keiichi doesn't know about the existence of the ritual storehouse. So how would Keiichi know exactly where to go to get caught getting making eyes at it? Is the entity who was Watanagashi Keiichi get some help from Oyashiro? For what purpose?

Deciding that there being a double Keiichi out there isn't worth examining any further Keiichi decides to just jump in it with both feet.

Keiichi, quite reasonably is really confused by this. Teppei is dead, murdered with his very hands. Unless it's some sort of hallucination, or the conspiracy for whatever reason spirited away and somehow resuscitated Teppei he was very dead. Guy got Gallagher'd. During this scene Rika attempts to console her friend only for Satoko to shove her away. Satoko storms out with Rika close behind.

He sure has been being a bit squiffy all of a sudden huh Mion? Especially in the last few minutes of the day, like, what's up with that? Also you know what the really tragic thing is? In the remake art and the Ryukishi original Tomitake and Okumura don't get character art. The teacher gets some, but not them, they arguably contribute more to the story than the teacher does.

[liverpublians]

The Coburg

This Pub seems to have stood the test of time, and development. I understand it was slated for flats 7-8 years ago and skirted closure, but hung on. It's a calm, non-descript, easy going place at the corner of Stanhope and high rises, lol. Sandwiched in between the Marina, and Cains Brewery Village, you can enter, slow down and chat with the locals. Most often, I come across fellas from road work, or construction as patrons. There is no music, so say hiya why dontcha? In the winter, the fire is usually on and the feel really improves with that warmth and steamed window panes. When the sun shines, the benches outside are a nice asset. I like to pull up with my bike in the summer. This pub has one thing I really really like, Theakston Dark Mild; quite possibly my favorite beer! Brewed out of North Yorkshire. Think Guinness lite. Not quite as dense and filling, but similar taste and a bit mellower. At 3.5 ABV, you can have a few and not get squiffy at all. As far as the Coburg, there's not a lot of gloss and sparkle, but there appears to be plenty of folks who like it that way.

[all-the-fun-of-the-cirkus]

so my great album odyssey has apparently turned into a great neil young odyssey, bc today's was zuma

when i started properly familiarising myself with neil's stuff, there were a fair few albums i'd heard a lot about, that i was (and am!) excited to get to. rust never sleeps, his defiant statement of intent in the punk era. tonight's the night, a gruelling howl of pain into the void. after the gold rush, the moment when he figures himself out and brings it all together. zuma, on the other hand, seems to be "the one with cortez the killer on it." which is a damn shame, bc man is this a fantastic record

obviously cortez is the best song on it, and possibly his finest moment. i've heard it well over a hundred times in all likelihood, and what always stands out to me is that it's not an epic guitar workout. it's mostly quiet, subtle, and the lead guitar is effectively variations on the theme, but wow it's utterly hypnotic. "solemn" is the best word i've seen used to describe it. it could go on another ten minutes and i don't think it would get boring, an absolute masterclass in quiet sadness. i think the lyrics are more interesting than people make out, too, but i'm writing a separate post on that

the actual guitar workout is danger bird, which was apparently lou reed's favourite song of his. apparently he had good taste, bc this song rules. the chorus in particular is utterly crushing; i'm always weak for "vocalists sing different lyrics against each other" anyway, but the sheer majesty of the backing vocals is stunning, especially in the contrast between their stateliness and neil's screaming, hoarse and more than slightly off-key performance. plus, the final chorus, unexpectedly quiet and instrumental, is a showstopping moment and the solos on here are just amazing. i really like neil as a guitarist; he's sloppy, often simple, and that's exactly the point. i'm not sure any other guitarist would improve his songs. actually on that front this is an incredible guitar album. the tones are great, and every song has interesting interplay and solos, even the relative filler. fav moments would include the haunting distant melody in pardon my heart and the burning fuzz of drivin' back

i'm not going to go track-by-track, but the slight weak point is stupid girl, which is a little similar to danger bird musically and the lyrics make me feel a bit squiffy, even if they seem a little half-hearted (it's not exactly idiot wind levels of venom). every other song has something really interesting. take lookin' for a love, which is probably a lesser track and sounds kind of generic at first. but then you notice just how sad neil's vocals sound for such an upbeat track and lyrics. and then you notice the cool guitar interplay, and then you get to that lovely chorus, with the moment of darkness, the wonderful descending guitar line, and suddenly it doesn't seem so lesser after all. it's sort of the mellow my mind of this album. but every song on here has something like that

the album structure intrigues me a lot, too. i'll talk about it more when i talk about cortez, but there's an interesting ebb and flow to the emotions. it's not quite "five stages of grief" or anything, but, like, this is a breakup album, and the shifts from sadness to anger to fondness are fascinating. this is a fabulous album, and the first major surprise i've had with neil's repertoire so far

[pointnumbersixteen]

Random Notes from a 3:30AM Re-Watch of the First Third of S3E1: the Bone Plot

1) “Helloooo. Where’s she been hiding?” I enjoy this line because it implies that Julian is so lost in the sauce that A: he failed to notice the planning for an arrival of a costumed documentary film team while all of the upstairs ghosts (save Humphrey, being neglected again, of course) are there and watching, perfectly aware...

2) and B: he considers it entirely possible that he just totally failed to notice/find an additional Ghost in the house for the nearly 30 years he’s been there. 

3) “Maggie’s leadership style.” First, bwahahahahaha. That line makes me grin every time I hear it. Second, Julian, my guy, why would there a be a presenter in Tudor dress there to do a documentary on ‘80s politics? How squiffy is he, exactly? 

4) Also: while I appreciate that they make it clear that Julian didn’t stoop low enough to be a fan of Thatcher, I don’t know enough about UK politics to know whether the alternative to Thatcher, if you were conservative, was better or worse. Thoughts?

5) Alison, ghosts, c’mon y’all... this lady is dressed up in a Tudor costume and talking about Queen Elizabeth and a plot against her, while you all live with a decapitated Tudor era ghost. Why did it have to be spelled out before y’all put two and two together? Do they just forget Humphrey exists when he’s not around? ...Because that would explain more than it doesn’t, actually. 

6) Plenty of people have already said this, but I absolutely adore the presenter reacting to the bee and Pat laughing and going ‘one for the bloopers’ as a callback to their Horrible History bloopers. 

7) Have we ever been shown the alleged gatehouse that the B&B is gonna be in now? Because it gets mentioned every now and then but I don’t recall ever seeing it, even though we’ve seen plenty of shots of the house and driving up the driveway and such. Is there a big fancy building in one of these shots that I’ve just totally overlooked or is the gatehouse an imaginary building that we as viewers are just pretending exists? I consider both options equally possible and will be content with either, I’d just like to be sure.

8) “Are you mad?” “Context?” I love this bit of exchange between Mike and Alison, because it implies the answer to that question is sometimes probably yes and I’m like, same, Alison, same. 

9) “Bitches! Bitches!” That line will never get old to me.  

10) As a person who really enjoys the idea of linguistics but is entirely incapable of communicating in real time in a foreign language, I feel Humphrey and his sad mangled French on a spiritual level. As a member of the upper class, he almost certainly studied it at some point, as it was part of the standard education of the times... but I get it, I took six years of Spanish and can’t speak more than a few very basic sentences that I have memorized. Extemporaneous speaking just doesn’t work. I can read and write okay but in person... nope. But then, I can’t even do pretend accents or impressions or anything like that. Nothing comes out. My voice box puts out unreliable shitty working class midwestern English or nothing. Is that weird? I might be getting off topic.    

11) I spend a lot of this episode wanting to hit Pat with a broom, which is unfortunate, because I usually love Pat.

12)  Also, that Barclay noticed the documentary early enough to plan to gate crash it- he was apparently told by Jan from the shop, who also knew- just enforces point number 1.

13) I’m glad we finally cleared up Julian’s cause of death this season and that it turned out it was the least sticky of all possible options.

14) “They’ll ask about the top! [Giggle.] That’s a fact!” I kinda feel like Obi did the ‘Butt Hoe’ thing on purpose now. On the one hand, kind of serves Mike right for pressing a friend to make him a custom tee shirt in a few hours... but on the other hand, I’m don’t think poor Alison deserved to be caught in the crossfire of that one.  

15) “That’s offensive to at least five different religions.” “There are only three in it.” I kind of want to hear what exactly the priest painted gold, now. 

16) Also, Fanny and Cap’s commentary on Pat’s joke and Pat’s response: “Give over. It’s just a harmless bit of fun,” makes me think that -while I do love his character- if he existed in real life, he’d probably be one of those casually offensive baby boomers that are insufferable. 

[strangelittlestories]

Hoodies

Hey dear listeners, it’s, uh, me - y’know your host - back with Third Eye for the End Times. In which I discuss the hottest trends in post-apocalyptic fashion and guide you…guide you…

I’m sorry, gang, I’m not really feeling it today. Whatever *it* is, I, I just-. Ah, fuck the intro. On to Traffic and Weather, I guess.

[we hear the sound of an old car horn, the air bulb being blown somewhat unenthusiastically]

[then the host sings, rather lacklustrely]

‘Oh Third Eye in the Sky what does your eldritch eye seeeeee?’ Today it sees…well, not much, to be honest. I haven’t actually been outside today. I know I should have, I know that my listeners - if there *are* any of you out there - maybe you rely on these broadcasts? Y’know, for your safety, I guess? 

I dunno - is it egotistical to think that? To think that there’s anyone out there still with an ear pressed to the radio? Suffering through your daily dose of sartorial insight and waiting for the important bit: which roads are sentient and which are still? Where the raiders are active today? Whether the sun’s still sick?

In any case - I just couldn’t today. I don’t know why. Well, I do, but I … I also don’t. Let me put it this way; I had just about left in my batteries to go to the pantry in the vaults, or crawl up onto the roof with my binoculars and hang off the tower like a poorly crow, spying half-heartedly for shiny things.

Not that I run on batteries. That was a metaphor. I realise I should probably make it clear I’m not a robot. You need to be clear about things like that these days.

Anyways, that’s how it felt today. I had to choose between crawling down the ducts to get old instant ramen for my lunch and hauling myself roofwards for your Traffic.

I chose me today. I’m sorry about that. But there was a packet of the tom yum flavour I’d been saving, and the thought of that packet of spices tingling on my tongue was the only thing I could feel today. The only thing that made the feeling of the whole bloated, gone-off sky collapsing on my shoulders like a beached and decaying whale, grinding down the sand of me … it’s the only thing that made that feeling *lift*.

Bloody hell. That whole metaphor got away from me a bit, didn’t it?

Anyway, that was Traffic and Weather. My best advice to you if you’re travelling today: do your best to find a torch or lantern, anything with a light that you can point, and aim it at the sun. Leave it there till it goes out. It won’t take long, I promise, those embers in the sky will suck it dry pretty quickly. The sun’s thirsty, these days. When it’s done, you might think you see the cracks in it glow a little more brightly. After that, only travel through the roads where you can actually see colour.

Oh, and avoid London proper. No-one should attempt the square mile without skyside assistance.

Now, um, on to fashion I guess? I guess. Sure. Why not.

Um … I had something prepared about hair dye? There’s a few genus loci of old Superdrugs who’ll barter for their stock, and there are a few witches who grow poisonous hedgerows in ruins of chemists who could make you something…

But that’s not really what I want to talk about today. Plus, I’m a little squiffy on the exact exchange rate of bleach to salvaged hot sauce.

So today I’m going to talk about hoodies. Y’know the ones, those old grubby garments with holes in them and suspicious stains. The one you got at a gig sometime, and you don’t really remember the show, but you remember the crush of people, the smell of sweat and the feeling of your new merch tied round your waist. The one you’re pretty sure you stole from an ex, but you don’t remember which one or quite how you ended up with it, which means it may as well have always been yours.

I’m talking about the clothes that feel like home. The hoodies that are, at once, like wearing armour and like wearing nothing at all. But, like, wearing nothing in a not-weird way. In a way where you can still turn up to work.

I don’t know about you, but whenever I see one of those hoodies now, I always *trust* the person wearing it. In the world-that-is - a world of looted finery and survival gear, of whispering camo and suits that cut and car-tyre armour - it tells you something about someone that they managed to keep hold of a hoodie like that. Something soft and safe and grubby and worn and so *not useful*.

I lost mine, you know. The hoodie that I used to wear to the office on my bad days. The hoodie that made unwanted eyes slide off me. The hoodie that was my second skin.

So, if you managed to keep yours, I have to admit, I’ll always love you a little.

If you see one out in the wild, I advise you to follow it. You can’t fool a hoodie like that. Something about that person will always be soft.

Oh, I know what some will say. ‘That’s dangerous advice. Anyone could be listening.’ Well, don’t worry. I’ve seen what happens to folks who try to fake a comfort hoody. A hoodie like that, it’s the very definition of your heart on your sleeve.

If you’re not genuine, it’ll leave you. And if you try to hold onto it too tight, well, you might find its drawstrings grow tight round your neck…

I miss that hoodie.

That’s it for today. Hopefully speak to you all tomorrow. Might be a better day.

[shisekibo]

[Story Translation] Chapter Four - The Butler of Roses

↫ previous story | story list | next story ↬

Devil’s Palace - Garden

We made our way across the grass.

Muu:

 “I’m sure the scream came from over here.”

???:

 “Ugh! This sucks! I’m absolutely soaked!”

???:

 “Shit! Fuck this old-ass tap!”

Muu: 

 “According to Mr. Lono’s notes, that’s Ammon Lead! He’s a butler from the second floor and he’s in charge of the garden!”

Muu:

 “It looks like he’s having issues with the water supply here.”

Choices:

“Should we talk to him...?”

“Shall we just watch him...?”

Muu:

 “You’re right! Let’s just... Huh? Someone else is here.”

I heard more footsteps on the greenery.

Boschi:

 “Oi, Ammon. Can you tie my hair up for me?”

Ammon:

 “Oh, Mr. Boschi! It’s you.”

Boschi:

 “The hell? You’re dripping with water...”

Muu:

 “That’s Boschi Arenas. He lives on the second floor too. His job is to look after the indoor facilities.”

Boschi:

 “Huh? What’s going on here?”

Ammon:

 “Ahh~, sorry. I was trying to water the roses here...”

Ammon:

 “I was a bit too rough with the hose and broke the tap...”

Ammon:

 “It’s such an old tap. They really gotta get someone to look at it.”

Boschi:

 “You’re the one who uses it. Why don’t you just fix it?”

Ammon:

 “Ehhh! I can’t do that. I’m no good at shit like this.”

Ammon:

 “Mr. Boschi, you look after amenities and shit, right? Can’t you fix it for us?”

Boschi:

 “Why do I have to do it? It sounds annoying.”

Boschi:

 “More importantly, Ammon. My hair’s all messed up. It feels gross.”

Boschi:

 “Can you tie it for me again? I can’t do anything with this arm.”

Ammon:

 “Again? Why don’t you just cut your damn hair at this point?”

Boschi:

 “I like it like this. I can’t just cut it for a reason like that.”

Ammon:

 “What a weird thing to be so hung-up over. Have you ever thought about it from my point of view? I’m the one looking after it.”

Ammon:

 “Fine. Just crouch down a little.”

Boschi:

 “Sure. Thanks.”

rustle rustle

Ammon:

 "Can you, like, stop moving so much, Mr. Boschi?! I can’t tie shit like this!”

Boschi:

 “It’s not my fault. It really itches! Can’t you be more agile about it. Ammon?!”

Ammon:

 “Of course I can’t! And look, your right arm’s all squiffy.”

Boschi:

 “Tsk. This isn’t my right arm.”

Ammon:

 “God. You always say that. Do you know how much that prosthetic cost?”

Ammon:

 “Come on. I’ll fix it for you. Lift up your arm.”

Boschi:

 “Tsk...”

crack

Boschi:

 “Ouch!”

Ammon:

 “Right! All better.”

Muu:

 “Wow! He can take his hand on and off! That’s so cool!”

Boschi:

 “What’s up with this talking pig?”

Muu:

 “I’m not a pig!”

Ammon:

 “Mr. Boschi... Mr. Berrien already told us about the talking cat.”

Ammon:

 “His name was, like...”

Muu:

 “It’s Muu!”

Boschi:

 “It’s even got a name. Who are you? The person standing next to him.”

Ammon:

 “Mr. Boschi! That’s our Master! God... I swear Mr. Berrien told us about them too...”

Boschi:

 “Oh, okay. You’re our new Master, huh?”

Choices:

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“I look forward to working with you.”

Boschi:

 “I’m Boschi Arenas. Nice to meet you.”

Ammon:

 “I’m Ammon. I look after the garden.”

Ammon:

 “Do you have a favourite flower, Master? I’ll fill the garden with it.”

Ammon:

 “A-a-ACHOO!”

Boschi:

 “Ugh! Ammon, you’re nasty!”

Ammon:

 “I-I’m sorry. It’s really cold...”

Boschi:

 “Ammon... You’re going to catch a cold if you stay like that.”

Ammon:

 “You’re right... I should at least change my shirt.”

rustle rustle

Muu:

 “That’s quite the tattoo.”

Ammon turned around and took off his soaking wet shirt. On his back was a large tattoo of a briar rose.

[kit-just-kit]

*So there I was yesterday early evening, ready to carry on doing replies and asks (after getting a bit squiffy Friday and not finishing them) thinking I had allllllll the time in the world to chill and get in rp mode. Then....as is typical in my life, disaster struck! My mum had a fall, banged her head pretty bad and now is hospitalised with a brain bleed. Which splits me in two between being with her at the hospital as much as I can and seeing to my disabled and partially-sighted dad at their place. Given all this I have no choice but to go back on a semi-hiatus again, which I HATE doing again so damn soon after the last one but.....seriously my life is a clusterfuck right now. Thanks for all the patience and please let me know if you'd rather drop our thread? I promise no hard feelings! Sarah x*

[glamfellens]

mass effect 2 order of events:

audrey goes to recruit warlord okeer. retrieves grunt

goes to horizon. gets yelled at by kaidan

gets drunk with dr chakwas

opens grunts tank while still feeling a bit squiffy

obtain son

[giorno-plays-piano]

Sleep tight

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, home invasion, non-consensual drug use, allusion to kidnapping.

Words: 4163.

Summary: You know someone tried to break into your apartment, but no one believes you since you live in the very same building as famous Captain America. Who is willing to risk it?

P.S. Inspired by the Door Lock.

____________

You were coming back from work late again, carrying a paper bag with fresh chicken nuggets, French fries and two butter croissants you intended to leave for the morning. It was your little ritual - every time you worked long hours you went to buy some fast food afterwards instead of cooking youself a dinner. You had neither strength nor desire to spend your evening in the kitchen.

Funny, you thought, how many people were walking the same street as you, and you felt like you were alone in the whole world, nonetheless. Every day was exactly the same: you were waking up feeling groggy and exhausted, making youself coffee and leaving for work where you spent most of your time; you looked for excuses to stay late just because you didn't want to come back to your empty apartment where it was always eerie silent. Then you read some book you ordered from Amazon or Indigo, had a glass of water and went to sleep. Your life was like an endless limbo or a time loop.

Watching a few school girls giggling and taking out there cellphones and cameras, you sighed. That poor Steve Rogers living the same building as you had it much, much worse. At least you didn't have any crazy fans following you and making photos of your windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

"Hey you there! What are you doing?" Someone's grumpy voice cut through the silence, and all those girls suddenly ran, laughing nervously and clenching their cameras.

It was one of your neighbors, a man in his 60s who was living two floors beneath yours, who walked to the building with a grocery bag in his hand.

"I swear to God next time I'm gonna take their phones and call their parents right away!" He grunted, shaking his bold head.

"I'll be there to give you a hand, Mr. Jones." You smiled at him, and he let out a chuckle, opening the door for you. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, dear."

Well, today wasn't that bad. Those girls couldn't do much harm. You remembered the day when you saw huge scary men dressed in black walking the corridor to Captain's apartment - it was way more frightening than a couple of silly students making photos of his balkony. But, regardless of how dangerous it could be to live so close to probably America's most famous superhero, the rent was doubled in a week and became three times higher in two months. You were lucky your landlady was a very compassionate woman who didn't raise the price immediately after he moved in this building.

Opening the door to your apartment with a key, you took off your shoes and put the bag on a little side table. God, you wanted to sleep so bad.

Barely eating a few nuggets you went to bed without opening the new book you bought.

The next morning you didn't feel much better, though. It was like you went to bed at 5 am instead of retiring early. Your mind was hazy. You were almost squiffy though you hadn't been drinking alcohol for a month or so.

Damn, you needed to do something about that lifestyle of yours. It was obviously unhealthy.

You spent one more day in the office doing useless work no one cared about. Coming back home felt as lonely as never before, and you almost cried in the dark before taking a hold of yourself and entering the building. There were no girls with the cameras today.

Laying on your bed, you stared at the glass of water on your nightstand. You didn't even remember refilling it in the morning. How much did you remember at all before arriving at work?

Oh no, you weren't going to live like that anymore. No more working overtime. No more fast food. No more weeping in your room with the lights off. You were a decent human being who didn't deserve to live like a recluse. Tomorrow evening you were going to dress up and go for a glass of wine in that little restaurant you were passing by every day. And in the weekend it would be good to give a call to your cousin and ask for a visit.

You hummed, looking at the clock glimming in the darkness of the room. It was already midnight, but you didn't feel even a bit sleepy. It was odd. Staring at the ceiling, you tried counting sheep but failed miserably after two hundreds. It was then when you heard someone's footsteps behind your door and chewed your lips. Was it Mrs. Abebe who lived next to you? She was never coming that late. Not that you remembered.

You were probably imagining things since the sound of footsteps died, but you didn't hear anyone opening the door or, in fact, moving at all. You were simply tired from all that stress.

That was what you were thinking when you heard someone inserting the key into your lock. You stilled, your eyes almost popping out of the sockets. What was happening? What was that?

Then the sound of the lock opening made you jump.

"Who is that?!" You screamed at the top of your voice and grabbed the lamp from your nightstand. "Who's there?!"

Then everything went silent once again, the door still closed in front of you. You couldn't hear any footsteps, couldn't feel anyone's presence just behind the door as if no one tried to force it open just a few seconds ago. You didn't know how much time you spent standing there, a heavy lamp in your hands to strike down the intruder, but no one had opened the door.

In the end, you clenched your teeth and slowly moved forward, pressing your ear to the cold metal - there were no sounds coming behind it whatsoever. Then you glanced through the peephole and saw only a row of doors just like yours. The stranger was gone.

You couldn't sleep after that, of course. You locked the door again, moved your heavy drawer to block it, and started calling the cops. Whoever was it, a thief or some creep, you didn't want to sit there and wait when someone gonna break into your apartment.

Police did nothing, of course. There were no cameras in the corridor to check whether someone was truly walking there, and, except that, they could help little with your situation. The camera outside showed no one entering the building, too.

In fact, they were so skeptical after hearing your story they almost made you cry. Why would anyone want to break in? You had pretty much nothing valuable except for a few gadgets and a little bit of money.

"No one would risk coming close to the place where Steve Rogers lives, ma'am," one of the cops informed you, irritated at your persistence. "You probably imagined it in your sleep."

No, you didn't. You heard it with your own ears, and no policeman could make you doubt that. You didn't care whether that freak was afraid of Steve Rogers, you just needed to be safe.

Next morning you didn't go to work. Instead you called a locksmith company and looked through all those smart lock that cost a fortune, but they were so much better than the pathetic one you had. The guy you were speaking to informed you that, actually, you story wasn't uncommon - New York was full of burglars. He calmed you down a bit by saying that it was probably some rookie who didn't ever hear about Captain America living in the same building.

The smart keyless lock you got installed was pricey but offered a great protection, the guy claimed. As you still shook from what happened earlier, you called your cousin, nevertheless, and went to live in her place for the whole week. Just thinking of what could happen to you that night brought you nightmares.

Who was that? What did that person need from you? Was he really hoping to get anything valuable without even knowing who lived there? Why did they come at night and not during the day when you were at work? God, you were scared to learn the answers.

You were no longer walking the streets alone as your kind cousin brought you to and off work, watching that no one was following you. It was a great relief to know there were no scary dudes around, but you couldn't be calm still. You barely slept at night.

Your cousin was too worried to let you go and live by yourself again even with the new lock installed, so you decided to stay with her for one more week. You just needed to get a few more things from your apartment since last time you left in haste. Of course, you didn't go there alone, your cousin and two of her male friends coming with you just in case something was to happen.

You screamed when you saw your new lock smashed to pieces, its black plastic parts laying on the floor right in front of your door.

This time police couldn't say anything about you imagining things, and the investigation had finally started. What scared you even more was that Mrs. Abebe had sweared the lock was in perfect condition when she returned home yesterday, and she didn't hear anything at all last night, a few other neighbors saying the same. No one knew how it happened and who could it be.

"But I just don't understand how could someone try this right under Captain's nose." One of the policemen huffed and puffed.

"Steven Rogers has been on a mission since last week." A woman said angrily, watching the guy with disgust. You vaguely remembered her name was Kate and she lived on the same floor as Steve. "Please don't tell me you need Captain America just to make you do your job."

With so many people expecting someone to break into their homes and fearing for their lives, it was easier to demand installing cameras in the corridors everywhere in the building. More than that, a few cameras were installed in your apartment too. A new biometric lock was now attached to your door, but you weren't sure it could keep you safe. It all felt unreal.

Of course, you were living with your cousin. She not only didn't protest against it, but refused to let you go anywhere at all. The only place you were still coming to was the office your worked in, and she was bringing you there and driving you home all the time.

The police said that the criminal didn't leave any fingerprints anywhere, and, most importantly, they didn't see any stranger entering the house the day your lock was smashed. It probably meant it was someone who stayed in the building. When they said that, Mrs. Abebe moved out the apartment the very same day and came to live with her son. You felt both pity and guilt. If you weren't there, she could live in that place peacefully like before.

Although the stranger didn't show up, the old policeman handling your case said something was very wrong there, he could feel it in his bones. This person wasn't a simple burglar, for sure. Although the policeman asked you to come back to your apartment - of course, under the watchful eyes of his team ready to defend you - to somehow provoke the criminal, you didn't agree. You valued your life too much to become a bait.

You just wanted to keep living with your cousin, especially when you were finally able to sleep again. You still felt groggy after, but you didn't consider it too important after all that happened to you.

However, you had to change your mind when one day you woke up and saw the toilet seat up. There was no man living at your cousin's place, and she didn't let anyone come over for a week at least.

The stranger had found you. He sneaked into the house all the same like before, but now it was also your cousin's life at stake, not just yours.

You cried and wept and prayed until you were a complete mess, your head heavy from the shouting. It wasn't a burglar who followed you - it was a stalker. The policemen were deeply concerned with the truth, but they gave you hope - stalkers rarely left their victim under such circumstances, and they were most certain they would capture the intruder the next time this psycho showed up.

You agreed to return to your old apartment. What else was there to do to keep your dear cousin safe?

It was as empty and silent as before, but now the atmosphere turned sinister. You were afraid to touch your own things, thinking of the sick bastard who touched them - the one who touched you in your sleep. No one had told you about it, but you were certain this person had been there with you many times before you caught him. Your routine had been very much the same during the whole year, and they knew it and used it to their advantage. Your stalker had seen you, touched you, done something to you. He was there all the time, and you didn't know. The cameras police installed showed everything that was happening in the apartment except for bathroom, so you tried to avoid going there as much as you could. Yes, you were on display all the time, but you weren't ashamed. You were ecstatic that cops were watching you every goddamn second.

When it was time to get to bed, you were too nervous. The police expected your stalker to show up, and although you had acquired the gun, you didn't feel safe even the slightest bit. Holding the heavy piece of metal in your shaking hand, you gulped down water from the glass and layed on the bed, watching the door. No one would hurt you. You had a gun, a group of cops waiting right next door, and your cousin who rented a room in a hotel next to your building. You were safe. You just had to stay awake before this sick motherfucker showed up.

But when he did, you slept very soundly with your head on the pullow, your gun on the bed sheets close to you.

When you woke up, that morning became your worst nightmare. Your gun was gone. The toilet seat was up again.

How outrageous you had been when you found out all your supposed guards had fallen asleep last night, drugged by something they didn't even know. Of course, there was nothing on the cameras. In fact, there were no cameras left in your apartment and the corridor whatsoever because your stalker had them all removed without even showing himself. How did they do it? What superhuman being did they had to be to twist both the police and you around their finger?

Well, maybe it was exactly the case. This intruder was too extraordinary. What if it wasn't you they were after? What if they were really trying to challenge Captain's America authority? And you were just unlucky enough to become a victim. You were picked most likely because you had a routine you had been following for a long time, and it made you an easy target. In the end, this intruder didn't rape you. He didn't hurt you. He didn't steal from you. He was coming to, what, lay close to you on the bed? Put up a toilet seat? No, it wasn't your attention he was after. He wanted to be acknowledged by the hero everyone was crazy about. Maybe he was like those girls who kept making the photos of Steve's balkony.

Once the realization hit you, everything became so much better. If he wanted the attention of Captain America, he would get it, Kate had assured you. How did she discover what was happening and how she could make him aware of your situation you didn't know, but soon those scary men dressed in black were walking the corridors of the building instead of policemen. Cameras were set up again while you were guarded at all times. Captain was returning tomorrow, you were told.

They wanted you to stay in the apartment, still. Actually, they clearly implied that you'd be put there regardless of your own wish because it was for the best. They were not some incompetent policemen, they said. You'd be protected regardless of what was going to happen to your stalker. This time you were ready to believe them - these guys looked like they could crack man's skull with just one hand - but your cousin insisted you had to do something, too. Funny enough, she gave you a teddy bear and told there's camera inside it. You could see everything it recorded with your phone.

Well, it couldn't hurt, could it? You placed the bear on one of the shelves just to make her feel better.

But nothing happened during the night. For some reason, you slept like a rock again, but there was no indication the intruder had been in your apartment. You called your new guards, and they confirmed everything was clear. They were confused with your sleeping habits, though. It was odd you could sleep so soundly during such moments.

Well, maybe that was it. Captain America was coming today, and now the intruder knew they were going to have his full attention. Maybe it was enough for them, and you would be set free after all those weeks of torture.

"I still can't believe he didn't show up last night." You said nervously and wiped your forehead with the back of your hand. "I know it's stupid, but I feel like someone's going to jump at me when I'll be leaving the building."

"It's not stupid." Your cousin sounded concerned. "You're the bravest person I've ever met. I'd ask all those guys to go fuck themselves if they wanted me to spend one more minute in that place."

"I know, I know." You forced a smile as if she could see you. "But nothing happened, you see? I really think that... person wanted Captain, not me."

"You can't know it for sure, honey. You have to be careful before they catch that motherfucker, ok?"

"Yeah, yeah. I promise."

"Good. I'm going to buy some food, so I'll give you a call in half an hour."

"Sure! Please take care too."

"Of course!"

She hung up, and you were left alone with your thoughts again. You stared down your phone, thinking about all the things that happened to you. You wanted to know who was doing it to you more than anything else. Who was that person? The police said it was most likely to be a man in his thirties. What was his name? How did he look? What made him do all these things to you? Did he mock you for your stupidity when you didn't even realize he was always so close to you all that time?

Rubbing your eyes, you thought of the cameras and that teddy bear sitting on a shelf. Suddenly, you got curious how you looked in your sleep, what that intruder saw when he entered your apartment late at night. You opened the app on your phone without a second thought and pressed your finger to the screen to see the recording.

It was peaceful. You didn't snore and didn't move on the bed, laying there as if you were dead. Your drool wasn't running onto the pillow, and you were oddly glad you almost looked like a sleeping beauty. Well, at least at night your face didn't look so tired.

Then you saw the door on your screen moving. You chocked on air, staring at the tall muscular man entering your apartment so carelessly like he lived here too. What was this? How could it happen? They said no one entered your apartment last night. They said no one was even close to your door!

The man was wearing a cap that didn't allow you to look at his face, a dark blue bomber and jeans flattering his muscular figure. He was even bigger than those men guarding you, and you gasped when he stared directly into the camera as if he knew there was one in the teddy bear your cousin brought. But nothing shocked you as much as the face of the stalker.

It was Steve Rogers, the very same Captain America everyone loved and respected. He took of his shoes quietly and then left his bomber on the rack. When he turned his face to the camera, he was smiling and walking closer to it slowly like a predator knowing its prey couldn't escape.

He took the stuffed animal in his hands and brought it closer.

"I'm so glad you're watching, honey."

You whimpered, a tear running down your face. No, it couldn't be true. It just couldn't. He was supposed to be the hero, not some deranged stalker ruining your life.

"Sorry for being later than usual, but you've made it a bit harder for me, you know that?" His smile was so sweet it could make you think he's talking to his fiancee, not some girl he was stalking for god knew how many months. "But don't worry, I'm not blaming you. I know it's been tough for you too, honey."

He glanced back at you sleeping on your bed and came closer to you. You held your breath and clamped a hand over your mouth in horror.

"It's actually my fault because I shouldn't be doing this before marrying you... but I just couldn't help myself. You're not mad at me, are you?" You realized he was laying down the bed with a teddy bear in his hand, and then you saw him kissing your forehead. "I know you're not. Thank you, sweetheart."

Looking at your phone with terrified and tearful eyes, you felt like you couldn't take it anymore, but something inside you forced you to keep watching when Steve had gently lowered the straps of your top and planted an open-mouthed kiss on your neck, massaging your breast. You wanted to drop the phone to the floor, to throw it out the window, to break it against the wall, yet all you did was gawking at the recording with watery eyes and sobbing. He was insane. You saw it in his eyes - he wasn't going to question his own actions. Steve Rogers was sure he did the right thing when he broke into your apartment.

"You probably gonna have some questions when you'll see the recording." He continued as he put the toy on the bed to make you see better all the things he was doing to you. "You have never woken up at night because I've been giving you some medicine, but don't worry, it's perfectly organic and doesn't do any harm to your body." You felt your stomach twisting. "Sometimes if you forgot to drink water from the glass I had to press a cloth dampened in chloroform to your face. I don't like doing it, so please remember to stay hydrated before going to bed, honey."

You wailed like a child, rubbing your eyes with one hand and having a phone in the other. Why was it happening to you? What had you done? You had never met Steve Rogers in the first place. How did he know about your mere existence?

"But I won't need to keep doing it since our honeymoon is so close. Once we get married, we won't have to do anything like that anymore. I know you're tired of waiting, and I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier." He kissed the top of your head and inhaled the scent of your hair. "We'll be leaving tomorrow. As for tonight, you'd have to sleep alone, but I'll be right here with you, so please don't worry."

Confused, you saw him moving with the teddy bear in his hand - the man left your bed and put the straps of your top back on your shoulders, covering your body with a blanket. He kissed your cheek one last time before returning the stuffed animal to its place and putting his bomber and shoes back on, but then...

Then he layed down on the floor and got under your bed. Though you kept watching the recording, you saw nothing else before the sun rose and you started waking up finally. You played the video further on, but nothing was happening still except you walking out to meet those men who were supposed to keep you safe. When you came back, you ate your breakfast and called your cousin.

You dropped your phone on the bed and stared at your legs, shaking so much your knees were knocking together.

He was still waiting for you under your bed.

Part 2

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@void-hoechlin @abyssaint @lovelydarkdaydream

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[undertaker1827]

Hiiii~ I saw that your requests are open again and I just couldn't miss the chance. So I was wondering if I could have some headcanons of Ciel, Undertaker, Seb and Vincent with a S/O who feels really overwhelmed and self-conscious?

I know that this is a lot so please take as much time as you need and I'll completely understand if you don't write about all of the characters!

Thank you in advance and hope you have a wonderful day!💞✨

Greetings! Of course you can, hope you enjoy!!

Masterlist

-

Ciel

When Ciel comes downstairs to greet you, one of the first things he notices is how much you’re playing with your clothes

You always do it, but today it’s especially noticeable

The fabric is bunched up in your hands and your eyes are trained downwards on the floor, even as you stand next to Sebastian and wait for Ciel

You lift your gaze as he arrives and smile happily, and though he can see you’re happy to be with him, he knows the expression is forced

He says nothing of it until your comfortably settled together in a sitting room, each with cups of tea

He notices your hands trembling around the cup and saucer, but you quickly put it down on the nearest surface when you realise he’s looking

That confuses the earl, though from the way you’re still together and trying to avoid looking at him it all becomes obvious quite quickly

“Y/N,” he says quietly, not looking directly at you so you didn’t feel too pressured, “Are you alright? Do you want to talk with me about anything?”

The short sharp breath and subsequent stammering lets him know you were indeed feeling bad about yourself once again

If you try to say it’s nothing, you’re fine, he simply lays a hand over yours and asks once again that you please talk to him, because he’s sure that he can help and even if he can’t, he’ll know someone else who can

Eventually, after much consideration, you whisper out that you’re worried about how you look and what others think of you, that they might all be judging you and talking about you behind your back and how it all ends up getting overwhelming

Ciel dispatched Sebastian to go and get some more tea and a biscuit, then turned back to you with a caring look in his eyes and a light blush on his cheeks, dealing with this stuff isn’t exactly his forte

He then tells you that you look beautiful, especially in the clothes you had clearly worn specially to see him today

He says that everybody is not judging you as you go past but even if some of them are, what difference does it make to you?

Their opinions don’t affect you because what you do and how you act are nothing to them with them and you shouldn’t care in the slightest what they think, as long as you are happy

You shed a couple of tears listening to that speech and Ciel gently squeezed your hand, though the moment was broken by the muffled laughter coming from Sebastian

“My Lord, that was truly inspiring. You would make an excellent politician”

The Earl then pauses a moment in dismay, colour rising on his cheeks just a little more before he reprimands Sebastian for having so much input (as a servant, nonetheless) on what should have been a private conversation

You can’t help but laugh at the situation, which at the very least made the humiliation a bit more bearable for Ciel

Undertaker

Undertaker knew something was wrong as soon as you came into the parlour

He rushed over to you with his customary grin, arms wide open for the bear hug you always shared

You did look a bit squiffy (he was going to ask you about it in a moment) but as soon as he out his arms around you, you stiffened under his touch

That made the reaper frown deeply

You loved the physical contact he offered, it was always comforting to you - it had the same effect on him, hence why you were always physically close to each other

He moved back to see your face, hand moving to rest against it and you flinched before he even touched you

Now downright concerned, Undertaker stepped away completely, shifting his hair back so he could see you properly and worry evident across his features

“Love what’s wrong?” He asked immediately, eyes flicking between your own as you tried to avoid looking at him

The ‘it’s nothing’ was cut off with a ruthless, disbelieving scoff, his gaze becoming so intense that you were forced to look at him and be met with burning green, now unable to look away again

“Now why would you lie to me, hm? You ought to know better than that by now.” When you said nothing, he continued. “Please talk to me? I won’t think it’s daft, whatever it is.”

Rather than responding to his words, you swallowed harshly when you suddenly realised you had just pushed your partner away, someone you trusted absolutely and whose presence you adored

As if you weren’t already overwhelmed enough, that thought just sent you overboard

Tears starting to rim your eyes, you threw yourself at the mortician and hugged him so tightly that had he of been human, you may well have done damage

You buried your face in his shoulder as you tried to hold back your tears, revelling in the sensation that followed him dragging your body flush against his

He had an arm pressed firmly around your lower back and the other just beneath your shoulder blades, whispering sweet nothings in your ear in an attempt to calm you and allowing his hair to fall around you and form a protective barrier you could hide behind

Gently, he prodded again a little while later, eventually finding out this had all come from you feeling self conscious and worrying about yourself and what others thought of you

When you finally got it out, the reaper’s grip became impossibly tighter before he lifted you up like you weighed nothing and carried you though to the backroom, reclining back on the small sofa with you still laying on top of him

Undertaker held you in place when you tried to move, a hand starting to stroke back through your hair and nails caressing your scalp to try and relax you

He smiled when you laid your head in the crook between his neck and shoulder, then began his reassurances

You were gorgeous, he told you, utterly stunning and if anyone should ever say other, you should point him in their direction

He then went on to tell you that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought about you, the people who matter - him, others who you were close to - all considered you the wonderful, brilliant person you were and the unwanted opinion of a stranger was never going to change that

You both stayed fairly quiet after that, his hand still softly running back through your hair and the other tracing patterns over your back

Sebastian

Sebastian also knew something was wrong immediately

You smiled and kissed him lightly when you came in, but there was worry clearly radiating from you and the demon didn’t know why

He placed a gentle hand on your arm as you went to walk past him, drawing your somewhat reluctant gaze back to him

“Do you want to talk to me about it?”

He spoke so softly, like he was trying not to scare you away

You didn’t answer right away, surprised he’d even realised so quickly but also unsure as to whether you really wanted all of this to come out right now

You were already feeling overwhelmed today and the thought of explaining it all to Sebastian of all people was more than a little daunting

“Y/N? Your hand is trembling, are you alright?”

You glanced over to see you had rested your hand on Sebastian’s arm without realising and quickly went to remove it

You tried to tell him you were fine, but the demon merely said your name in a reproachful tone and turned you to face him, an eyebrow raised just to make sure you knew he didn’t believe a word you said

You sighed loudly, turning your head to the side once more

Sebastian's gaze was still boring into yours and it was clear you wouldn’t get away with saying nothing was wrong, so you quietly told him that you worried about how you looked, what other people thought of you and all of it just ended up overwhelming you sometimes

The demon let out a soft breath, extending his arms to offer a hug that you quickly accepted

You hid your face in his chest out of yet more worry over what he might say or think, over what was going to happen next

As it was, you just felt his hand start stroking over your head, closing your eyes when he craned his neck to press a kiss on your cheek

“Would you like tea, me love?” He asked, simply nodding when you said you did

He then startled a shock out of you by scooping you up bridal style and taking you into the other room where, by magic, there were two cups of steaming tea waiting on the coffee table for you both

Sebastian then put you down on the sofa, sat close by you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders as you curled into his side

“Now about these self conscious concerns of yours,” he murmured, head tilted forwards and eyes seeming to have just the merest glint of red, “they are entirely unnecessary”

He went on to tell you that the people you feared were judging you were nothing but strangers and therefore utterly meaningless to you

Their opinions, voiced or not, were unwanted and as such should be ignored completely

That said, he reassured you, he doubted there were many people with negative thoughts about you anyway, in particular those who didn’t know you

As for your appearance?

“Y/N, you are one of the most beautiful people I have ever seen in all the centuries I’ve been on this Earth. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

He took your hand then and lightly ran his thumb over the inside of your wrist, practically seeing the shivers pass up your spine at the sensation

He was smiling a little though, silently reassuring that what he said was absolutely true

Vincent

You had gone over to the Phantomhive manor to visit Vincent, a day you had both been planning for quite a while now

It kept having to be pushed back due to work and family commitments on both yours parts but now the day was finally here

And you were nervous about it

It wasn’t like your relationship with Vincent was short term; you’d been together for quite a while now

It was just that you hadn’t seen him in a few weeks and now you were completely overthinking what you had chosen to wear; whether he would like it, if it was too much or too little

That in turn led you onto what the servants might think, even though they would never say anything outright

All of this was still going through your head when you arrived, when you were met by Tanaka who was polite as ever and when you saw Vincent walk down the stairs, a charming smile across his lips

You walked arm in arm to one of the manor’s living rooms, sitting down on the couch next to each other

Vincent was holding your hand, thumb gently stroking over the knuckles and occasionally glancing up to find you were still looking away

He made no comment on the trembling in your fingertips, but you felt his gaze on you more steadily now

Eventually, when it became clear that you weren’t going to say anything unless he did, Vincent shifted so that he was facing you more directly, then asked if you were alright

He didn’t give you time to say you were, instead just saying that he knew you weren’t and he thought if you talked to him about it, you might feel better

After some amount of hesitation, you eventually told him what was going through your mind

The earl frowned in concern when it turned out it was his opinion that was concerning you so much

“You always look stunning, Y/N,” he told you softly, “Why would you think I would be upset with what you’re wearing?”

You rushed to tell him these concerns weren’t specific to him, that you worried about everyone

You placed your hands on him arm, imploring him to understand that he hadn’t done anything to make you think that way, just that it was how your thought processes worked

You didn’t need to have worried about that either it seemed, as Vincent immediately wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on top of your head, hands tracing little patterns on your back

He just told you quietly that you had nothing at all to worry about from other people and it couldn’t matter less what anybody else thinks as long as you’re happy

He went on to bury his nose in your hair, telling you that you had even less need to worry about what he thought

He assured you he would never think negatively about you, that he would always be on your side

You stayed in his arms for quite a while after that, just taking in the comfortable silence and relishing in the thoughts of everything he had just said to you