#script snippets

[bleaksqueak]

Finding bullshit in my WIP stash.

… Yes.

[scribe-cas]

okay, okay, i have a question about couteau. (every time i write his name i pray i've written this correctly)

so in response to my last ask you have described him as- *checks notes* "such an ass" and "downright bastard". but from his previous descriptions he seemed like a really chill guy. i mean yeah he does some murder here and there, but even here, those are usually assholes, so there's at least the tiniest bit of good intentions there.

ANYWAY yes. my question. i am curious about his personality. could you say something more about that?? is he an ass ass or is he just insufferable but in a /affectionate way?? i am intrigued

HKSKSKNANXDD

I love the fact that I bully him enough that you asked this-

(You did write his name correct btw good job-)

Okay so here is the thing. His level of ‘bastard’ depends entirely on who you are.

He is, at all times, a bastard (affectionate). And that’s only because I know what a snarky prick he can be /w love

Just for reference, here is some of my top tier Couteau content.

Couteau is one of my favorite characters to write, in the fact that he’s usually at least a little snarky, a little full of awful humor, and a lot of heart.

He’s a dangerous guy, I’ll give him that, and his one liners as he hauls tied up men off in the back of his car are not always perfect. (I say, knowing that they rarely ever are, but no one who isn’t getting toted off to be murdered knows this he does it on purpose so that the only people who know he’s bad at improvising are dead)

Couteau has a bit of an immortality complex. He’s gotten past his ‘humanity’ and has somewhat forgotten what it’s like to just be a person. He doesn’t consider himself human, and does his best to act like one anyways.

When really, all that’s changed is his perception of himself- and despite the fact that he can punch a man in the face without feeling any remorse, and can regularly stand the crushing guilt most of us would face if we had to cook up an actual, real person for dinner- he hasn’t escaped it at all. And you can tell he cares.

He’s very good at pretending nothing bothers him, and honestly, a lot of it doesn’t, because if you partake in anything long enough, it becomes normal. And he can make the best of whatever situation is handed to him if need be. However, he is also filled with a special kind of rage from having to ‘make due’ for so long, which comes out in unhealthy coping mechanisms (like murder.)

He’s an adrenaline junkie. He can catch most people in a lie from 20 yards away from nothing but a gut feeling. If given the chance, he’d definitely be a gambling addict, but he doesn’t ever indulge. He likes to play games, and more than that, loves to travel.

I’m- I’m not positive?? but I am 90% sure he’s got autism. He’s good at being social but only because he’s thoroughly studied it, practice by practice. It comes easily to him now, but in the way a script would. He’s sound sensitive. He has his routines and despite being a bit sporadic when it comes to choices, he tends to stick to them, especially in times of need. He’s got echolalia (he repeats sounds and words he’s heard that he likes, on impulse, for no reason.) along with a million other things. But i am too sleepy to write them all rightnow.

Couteau is intelligent, but not at all mature (unless it’ll benefit him in some way.), and manipulative, but to a point. He sees it as a means to an end.

However

On the other hand, he struggles with PTSD pretty badly. He copes with dissociation, which doesn’t help with that warped self image and thinking that nothing bothers him, along with the fact that he will sometimes ignore his own boundaries, leading to him and others getting hurt.

He’s got insomnia, a touch aversion, and used to struggle massively with eating. He’s fine with and used to it now, but 300 years ago when he was dropped down into hell? He couldn’t even speak due to the amount of pressure he was under.

He’s gotten very good at managing it, and keeping his breakdowns quiet, along with finding things that make it easier, such as downing a shot of bourbon on a really bad night, or having a few puffs of a cigarette that doesn’t bother his allergies before he has to take someone out. He copes mainly with a lot of fucked up humor, although very few know him well enough to hear the jokes.

But there’s still a part of him that never got that healing break down. His closure has never come.

His main motivation is to just continue his life, because his last one ended far too soon.

And he’s working to avoid someone he cares about. But is slowly finding that just because one is gone does not mean there isn’t room for more. :>

He’s morally grey, sometimes he has to kill an innocent, and it fucks him up on the inside, but he also escorts people home and keeps drunk parents away from their children and murders men who beat their wives.

He just. Kinda is.

If you ask him, he’ll say he’s a villain, because he enjoys bringing pain.

What you consider him is none of his business.

But one time, a little girl called him a hero, and he didn’t stick around to let her see him smile.

Hope this helps!

[willfrominternet]

I've been old, I've been young. I've been all sorts of shapes and sizes. I've been brave and a coward, bright and dark, warm and cold, and everything in between. I've loved and I've had my hearts broken, and I've broken many hearts as well. I've been a warrior and a peacemaker, a friend and a fighter, the Oncoming Storm and the One Who Stops The Monsters. I may not remember where I came from. I may not ever remember. But I know who I've been these last four billion years, give or take. I've seen plenty of beautiful places and met wonderful people, and all of them have made me Who I am today. I'm the Doctor. Deal with it.

Either a deleted bit of script from the climax of the upcoming Doctor Who Christmas special "The Church on Ruby Road", or something I just made up because I fantasize about writing for this show.

[mewgatori]

I have to do heavy revisions on chapter 3 to improve how it plays into the narrative of Lynn's phase 2 arc, which is annoying because booo heavy revisions, but at least I get experiment with the dialogue for characters who have nothing serious going on with them at this point in the story again

[bunnykaye]

Bridgerton 3x02 | How Bright the Moon written by Sarah L. Thompson Script-To-Screen (4/?) (script courtesy of the Writers Guild Foundation Shavelson-Webb Library)

[staticfangs]

god i read the unproduced origins: magneto script and i’m so unwell about it i gotta talk about it for a sec because im lowkey fixating over this movie that WASNT EVEN MADE.

i won’t spoil much for those who want to read it themselves (i’ll link it below) but it was written pre-first class so the cherik lore is different but i fuck with it lowkey. erik is like this muscular construction worker trying to make a living for himself and he decides to travel for his nazi manhunt and meets therapist (psychologist?idk really) charles who runs an institution in israel hoping he can help him through his painful memories of the holocaust.

plus there’s literally a part where charles and erik are in this bar and take down some thugs together and run away from the cops holding hands and laughing. like this might as well be called the cherik origins let’s be real.

tbh this script gave me some inspo for a fic because it’s given me so much insight on erik as a character and i feel the need to write this beautiful trope. we were SO ROBBED

[i-hear-a-sound]

like to charge reblog to cast. accord come home

[rekindlevn]

Devlog Update #2!

*checks calender*

Guys.

Guys, it's been a month.

HOW HAS IT BEEN A MONTH ALREADY?!

So much has happened and it feels like no time passed at all!

Alright-y then! First off, let's talk stats.

Since its mighty release during the Otome Jam 2024, the demo is sitting at 2,200+ download, has been added to 1,000 lovely libraries, and according to comments and reviews, people are loving it and wanting more!

At risk of sounding like a broken record, we cannot thank everyone enough for enjoying the demo so much and wanting to learn more about the boys. It truly warms our hearts; we never fathomed that it would gain an interest as big as it did! ヾ(≧▽≦*)o

Okay, okay so enough of that – we promise we will leave the rest of the thank yous once the game is fully released

So let's summarize what’s happened in the last month dev wise!

Plotting commenced with writers already having planned out the key moments of each LI’s route

THE WRITING OFFICIALLY STARTED!!

Talking about writing, we have crunched the numbers and came to a figure of a minimum of 95k words for the full game

Each LI will have three endings to their name

The game will be partially voiced

A recent poll told us you wanna know ANYTHING and EVERYTHING about the game dev, The Boys, and just all the memes

Plenty of asks have come through about The Boy and we have enjoyed both giving and withholding info about them

Oh! And we have started creating the NPCs you will see in game!

So much has happened in such a small amount of time, and that’s in-between some of the team joining other jams and IRL stuff!

But there is one really big update that we wanted to share and that is...

OZ! Your best friend and confidant!

They are an asexual non-binary person who goes by any pronouns, but with a preference for they/him – also incredibly non-romanceable (sorry, we know they look amazing but they are your greatest platonic friend and won't be anything more than that).

(concept design may change)

Soon, so very soon we will be able to give you so many more hints of the game, but for now, we hope you enjoy theorizing what is going to happen and wanting to learn more about our darling boys!

[skhardwarevers1]

if this post gets like…5000 notes I’ll actually start writing scripts/making storyboards for videos I’ve had ideas about for months

additionally if this gets to 10000 (which I highly doubt it will) I’ll actually work on my abandoned stories, book ideas, and poetry

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hey remember that caramel-carmel Fake Script i was writing? yeah it's technically not done but i'm tired of tinkering with it so here it is! we'll just say it's a uhhhh uncovered partial script or somethin

this is not in any way official! it's a 100% unaffiliated fanwork & i am Just Fucking Around for Funsies

~

BARNABY: oh, I love carmul!

FRANK: [long, disgusted pause] …what? 

BARNABY: Carmul! You know, those tasty little treats you’re holdin’!

FRANK: You mean caramel?

BARNABY: That’s what I said.

FRANK: [scoffs] No, you didn’t. You said carmul.

BARNABY: We’re sayin’ the same thing here.

FRANK: We absolutely are not!

JULIE: [giggles] You really aren’t.

BARNABY: Carmul, caramel, tomato, tomahto! What does it matter!

FRANK: [flustered, stammering] It - it matters! Julie, you agree with me, don’t you?

JULIE: Well… I don’t know, Frank! I think both are fun!

FRANK: You’re both wrong, then! Wally, you agree with me, don’t you?

WALLY: [hesitant] …I say carmul.

FRANK: No! Not you too! How could you poison him like this, Barnaby?

BARNABY: Don’t look at me! I’m innocent, honest!

FRANK: Ha! So you admit that carmul is the wrong pronunciation!

BARNABY: [groans] ah, geez… throw a dog a bone!

FRANK: I’d be delighted to if you’d just-

[distant yelp as Eddie trips off-screen] 

FRANK: Eddie! Thank goodness, finally someone who can put an end to this debate!

EDDIE: [nervous laugh] Oh no, what did I stumble into this time? 

BARNABY: Hold on a tic, Frank. Hey Ed, take this. What do you call that tasty treat?

EDDIE: [with a tinge of fear] A… caramel?

FRANK: [triumphant] a-HA!

SALLY: [approaching] Did someone mention carmul?

FRANK: AGH!

BARNABY: [delighted] Perfect timing, Sally!

SALLY: What, for a delicious morsel? Hand it over, thank you!

FRANK: You’re all wrong, and I’ll prove it! We’re going to go around the neighborhood and - wait. [under his breath] One two three four - [returns to normal volume] we’re taking this to Poppy’s!

BARNABY: Then Home, then Howdy, yeah yeah - might as well ask the daisies, too.

JULIE: Oooh, and the butterflies! 

SALLY: While we’re at it, we should phone everyone in the book, just to get the widest audience input.

FRANK: [unamused] You all think you’re so funny. 

EDDIE: Well, you gotta admit it’s… it’s… 

[brief, tense pause. Eddie clears his throat]

EDDIE: It’s perfectly sensible!

[Frank makes an affronted noise]

FRANK: Poppy will see sense.

-

POPPY: I’d be delighted to have a cah-mehl, but I’m afraid it-

FRANK: [aghast, truly astonished] You’re joking. You have to be joking. CAH-MEHL? Does no one in this town have sense?! Besides Eddie, of course. And Julie - on a technicality.

EDDIE: [oddly pleased] Why thank you. 

POPPY: My goodness, did- did I say it wrong?

BARNABY: [gleeful] Not in the least, Pops!

SALLY: As far as I’m concerned, you added an extra layer of… pizazz to the word. In fact, I may adjust my own pronunciation accordingly!  

POPPY: [flustered] Oh, well, I didn’t - don’t change on my account -

SALLY: Take the compliment, Poppy. 

POPPY: [meekly] Thank you.

[Sally wanders from the group, practicing the slightly adjusted pronunciation]

WALLY: I’m not sure I understand. What’s wrong with carmul or… care… mul… carmel…

POPPY: Don’t strain yourself dear, you’ll get a migraine.

FRANK: What’s wrong is that it’s ENTIRELY incorrect! It! Is! Pronounced! Caramel!

JULIE: Aww, Frank, I’m sure Home and Howdy will agree with us! Team Caramel, WOOO!

BARNABY: [barely restrained disbelief] Boy, won’t they! 

POPPY: I’m not sure what the fuss is about… there isn’t much of a difference, is there?

[Frank makes a high pitched, frustrated noise and stomps off. He can be heard calling Home’s name in the background]

JULIE: Oop, there he goes!

POPPY:  Oh - oh dear. I didn’t mean to rile him up.

BARNABY: Don’t twist your beak about it - Frank’s just bein’ Frank. Now if you’ll excuse us, I wanna see how it goes with Home.

WALLY: [quietly, thoughtful] But Home doesn’t talk like us…

POPPY: If you’re sure… Do let me know how it goes. 

SALLY: [swaying back to the group] I’ll phone you post-haste! Or even better, I can come by for one of your delicious muffins and regale you with the whole escapade, in detail.

POPPY: [audibly pleased] That sounds - well that sounds like a wonderful idea! I have some fresh from this morning-

BARNABY: Sounds great! See you around, Poppy.

-

FRANK: Home, I have an important question to ask you. Is the correct pronunciation for this candy ‘carmul’, or ‘caramel’? One creak for caramel, two for the incorrect carmul.

BARNABY: Talk about a bias…

[Home stays silent. Sally yawns.]

FRANK: One creak for caramel, two-

[Home slowly shuts their curtains]

FRANK: Hmph! The nerve… well, I suppose a house that can’t speak shouldn’t have a say, anyway.

WALLY: Home can speak. He just does it differently.

BARNABY: And I’m pretty sure they just agreed with me, Walls, an’ Sally.

JULIE: They did not!

BARNABY: Looked like it to me!

SALLY: I have to agree with Julie. Home just declared itself a neutral party, and so the vote can’t be counted either way. On to Howardson!

JULIE: Yes! Howdy! Our last hope!

FRANK: He may have terrible taste in company, but he’s a sensible businessman. Poppy and Home have let me-

JULIE: Us!

FRANK: -us down, but surely Howdy will back us up. 

BARNABY: [faux-serious tone, knows something they don’t] Absolutely. Without a doubt.

-

[store bell chimes]

HOWDY: Howdy-do - [brief pause, a tinge of surprise] everyone! My my, what brings the entire neighborhood to my bountiful bodega? Finally decided to clean me out for good?

BARNABY: [snorts] With how fast you restock? I think I’d break my funnybone!

FRANK: We have important business.

HOWDY: [mildly curious] Do we? That’s news to me! But I’m letting you know now that I don’t deal in bugs, Frankly. It’d be hypocritical. 

FRANK: Believe me, I wish I were here to talk insects. Unfortunately, I need to settle a score. Mr. Dear, if you would?

EDDIE: If I would what?

SALLY: [stage-whisper] Barnabello gave you the, ah, parcel earlier?

EDDIE: The…? Oh! Oh, right - I have it right here, just… give me a second… which pocket…? There we go.

[sound of a small, hard candy placed on the countertop] 

HOWDY: A carmul all for me? You shouldn’t have! No, really, you shouldn’t have. I’m on the clock.

BARNABY: [loud bark of laughter] I knew I could count on you, pal! So what’s the tally, Frankie?

[Frank mutters something inaudible]

BARNABY: What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of me bein’ right!

FRANK: [explosive] You’re all wrong! The correct pronunciation is caramel, CARAMEL! You’re all - you’re all just - heathens! Heathens, I say! I’m taking my company elsewhere! 

EDDIE: Mr. Frankly…

JULIE: [overlapping, following] Aw, c’mon Frank! 

[the door jingles. Julie and Frank’s hushed arguing in the doorway underlies the dialogue]

HOWDY: It sounds like I missed quite the context! Mind filling me in?

BARNABY: That was pretty much it; a real potato potahto argument.

HOWDY: If you say so, Barn. Speaking of potahtos-

[the background argument abruptly cuts off, the door jingles again as it's closed]

FRANK: [rapidly rejoining the group] Hold it! You don’t really say potahto, do you?

BARNABY: [under breath] Here we go again…

SALLY: [deeply amused] Where on Earth did you pick up such a butchered pronunciation? I must have missed the sign on my tour down from the heavens.

EDDIE: [baffled, underlying the dialogue] I’ve never heard anyone say it that way.

JULIE: Oh! Is it a joke? Like, Barnaby says potato-potahto, and then you jokingly say potahto to make us laugh? 

HOWDY: It’s not a joke. That’s how it’s said.

FRANK: [genuinely disturbed] No - no one says that. It’s potato.

HOWDY: Well I say potahto, thank you very much! And if you ever want one from my store again, you’d do well to accept that.

[Various grumbles of reluctant acceptance]

HOWDY: Good. Now, can I get any of you a refreshing drink after such a squall? You must be parched! 

WALLY: I wouldn’t mind a glass of mulk.

[Horrified silence. A pin drop would be deafening]

[Sudden uproarious and overlapping argument]

[ryutarotakedown]

okay wait hang on given that sam checked that “response one to one” box And lena’s promoted gwen to external liaisons. are they going to be a team? jonny said that in ep 10 sam and alice will Go Somewhere, is alice coming along too? can we have the world’s worst road trip to the magnus institute

[pavedinashes-if]

Demo Snippet (around 4.2k words)

You voted for the following scenario: D x wet MC.

The following part shows a D (gn) in a crushing stage. The scene is written from D's POV. [They, them = D; You = MC]

Beware SPOILER:

This scene will be IN THE FINAL GAME. Slight changes may be applied. The scene in the game will be a bit different as it will have MCs POV and also include choices.

If you don't want to be spoilered then please do NOT read below the cut. If you wish to proceed, enjoy.

[Wednesday, November 5th, 00:46,

- Hamburg, Germany]

The storm began suddenly, half an hour ago, and relentless it still is. The windshield wipers worked diligently but struggled to keep up with the deluge, transforming the lights outside into a rare spectacle of colors against the endless darkness.

“I don’t care. They will do as I demand.” 

“Mx. Petrov, I doubt this will work. They…”

“They what? Will say they don’t have the money? We both know they do. Let them play coy if they wish.”

“But…” a sigh, “what do you want me to do?”

A familiar silhouette on the other side of the street, a light lilac appearance against the mix of lights and the all so dark shadows of the night. Could it be? At this time of the night? Here?

“Mx. Petrov?”

Yes, it is you. Or are their eyes betraying them? Walking through the pouring rain. What are you doing here?

“Wait until I tell you otherwise. Don’t act.”

“Understood.”

D presses the red phone button. Their focus on a more important matter now. They speed up, passing between two other cars. The street lights in front of them change from orange to red the moment their dark limousine crosses the intersection to turn.

D’s eyes are fixed on the person walking towards them, in the neon light of the billboard, struggling against the strong wind, the full force of this disastrous weather making the familiar shadow pull their lilac beanie further down into their face. As D's car approaches further, they are now finally able to verify it is indeed you.

They stop around 20m before you, their fingers tapping against the steering wheel for a moment - just a moment to consider. Then they press the seat heating button of the passenger side, grab the umbrella behind their seat and step out of the car, the engine still running.

You almost run into them. It takes a few moments, a few blinks to see clearly what, or better, who you nearly bumped into. Once you recognize the face in front of you, your expression changes.

“Mx. Petrov?” your eyes widened, water running down your forehead, lashes kissed by drops hanging on them and your mouth…slightly open in surprise. What a sight.

Without another word, there is a firm grip on your arm, and they pull you along. It’s not forceful but determined, and so you follow along now safe from the pouring rain as they lower the umbrella over your head, shielding you as much as possible. Stopping in front of a dark luxury car, they hold the umbrella over your head while opening the door on the passenger side. You seem to hesitate about entering their car, from what it looks due to your soaking wet clothes as your eyes wander from your clothing to the inside of the car and finally up to them. 

“Get in.”

And you follow suit and sit down. Good. When you pull your legs in, the door closes softly. D exhales, their hands resting for a moment on the door frame before they turn and proceed to the back of the car; the trunk opens automatically, and they toss the umbrella inside. A few steps in the rain, then they open the driver’s door.

They catch you looking around, sitting there stiffly on the soft leather seat. With a loud thud, they close the door. They run their hand through their wet hair and wipe the water from their face. Turning around, they take a dark cloth from the center console, handing it to you. With a shaking hand, you take it, making their eyes rise to yours. You’re cold. They hope the seat heating warmed up a bit for you meanwhile and will grant you the tiniest bit of comfort soon.

They push themselves up from the seat and crawl to the back. With a quick grab, they pick up their neatly folded long coat from the back seat, and return to the front. Your cheeks are a bit blushed once they look back at you. Hmm, you’re warming up quickly. Good. Without any further comment, they unfold the coat and place it on you.

“W-what? No, please, this will ruin your coat,” you try to intervene. But D ignores you and instead continues to drape the coat around you. 

They are close, very close, as they carefully place the collar of the coat around you, their fingers brushing against your cold skin. You tense up, making them once more catch your eye. Slowly D sits back down in the driver seat, their eyes never leaving yours.

“What happened?” they ask in the most neutral tone they manage.

You swallow, then take a deep breath before you respond. “My bag got stolen, with all my things. My keys, my phone, my purse. I was on my way to Pat, when, well, when I ran into you.”

A moment of silence.

“Pat is not in town tonight.” 

“She’s what?” you say, surprised. “Is today the 5th already?”

D nods. Then they check the mirrors before stepping on the gas.

“Where are we going?” you ask them. You seem nervous, your voice betraying your nonchalant attempt of normality for this situation.

“To my place.”

“W-why?” you stutter.

They don’t spare you a look as they maneuver through the lanes “You’ll get sick.” 

“No, this is not necessary. I’ll just…” Then you sneeze.

A short, unintentional low chuckle leaves their lips. At least that should keep you from arguing. 

From the corner of their eye, they see how you slide further into the seat, sinking into their coat. An unknown tension finally falls from their shoulders, and they manage to shift their attention fully towards driving. Ten more minutes. A small turn on the volume, and the music is humming like a forbidden whisper between you two. The streets are less busy right now, and even the rain has decreased a bit.

When your head falls to one side, D immediately turns to check if you are ok. And you seem to be. Actually, you’ve seemingly fallen asleep. Your breathing calmed, visible by the raise and drop of your chest. The street light in front of you switches to red, and they halt, a moment to study you, welcomed very much right now. You look so peaceful, a strand of hair clinging to your forehead, following the natural curve of your cheek and further caressing your jaw. They catch their own breath deepening as their eyes roam down your face, then to your body, hidden under their coat. Unconsciously, their thumb rubs the soft leather of the steering. The corners of their lips curl up at the little snore which leaves you when you move slightly. As the light turns back green, they carefully press the gas pedal down, to not wake you. Not far anymore.

Several streets later, they notice that you stir awake, looking around, yet they don’t spare you a glance. You seem to be confused as you probably try to figure where you are right now. The last tight turns have been a more delicate matter, but finally, they arrived at the harbor, the light of the underground parking shining ahead. Slowly they approach it, the wheels rolling for a bit as they step off the gas and finally come to a halt. They can feel your eyes on them, but this is not the time. There will be enough chances to talk later. If you wish.

The barrier opens and D continues into the underground parking in silence. Not sure why they are tense, they focus on the last meters before they can finally get out of the car - not soon enough. A few more turns and they arrived, 18B. Is the paint a bit off? They turn the ignition off, the silence of the engine almost screaming. Once the seatbelt is off, they open the door and notice your hand moving underneath the coat.

“Wait.” They say, without looking at you. 

Circling the car, they open the passenger door and see that you stayed seated, like asked. Good. Their coat is still tightly wrapped around you and actually… you didn’t move the slightest bit. How... interesting. They lean down and carefully remove the coat from you, placing it over their arm as they offer you a hand to step out of the car. You take it, your doe eyes locked on theirs. 

Once you stand stable, they pull their hand back, letting go of you, noticing how your hand follows their movement for a bit, as if not wanting to lose touch.

“I am sorry.” They whisper as they open the coat once more. 

You look irritated at them, brows knitted “What for?” 

“You’ll have to wear this for a bit longer before you can get out of the wet clothes.” Sincere sympathy is evident in the hum of their voice when they wait for you to slip into the sleeves.

Your face relaxes at those words and you smile at them, catching them off guard for a moment. Their eyes fall to the curve of your lips. As soon as you slipped into the coat, D closes the strap around your waist properly while you stand still and wait for them to finish. One last look into your eyes, and they offer you their arm. They see how you raise your own, but don’t interlock just yet; your hands are still a bit red from the cold, slightly trembling. Is this... still the cold in your bones? Your full focus is on the movement of your arm as you seem to decide whether to take them up on their offer, but then you insert your arm. Together you walk towards the elevator, and they feel how you press your body a bit closer to them.

D presses the button, and the doors open, gesturing for you to enter as they let go of your arm. They stand next to you and are about to pick a floor when an old, unhealthy man approaches, calling out “Stop the elevator!” He laughs hysterically as he struggles to hurry up. Absolutely not. D looks at the console and presses the “Close doors” button. Unfortunately, the elevator takes too long, and the man just manages to push his hand and foot between the closing doors just in time, smiling, and hyperventilating. D takes a large step, stopping the man from entering the cabin.

“Get out.” D says in a calm yet stern tone.

“What? Why?” the man asks flabbergasted, his eyes skipping from D to you.

“I said. Get. Out.” D repeats, their gaze focused on the irritated man standing in the door, while his foot is still inside the elevator. 

“Well this is rude, Don’t you know who I am?” D knows “I will call the securities. I can…” the man protests, but D takes another step towards them, so close they’re almost in their face.

“I won’t repeat myself.” This time a threatening undertone in their voice, they almost wait for the man to make a remark. But he doesn’t, instead he opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, quivering as he panicky looks from D to you and back again, before he steps out of the elevator, a bit more white around his nose than seconds before.

D takes a step back, next to you. Eyes still locked on the man who looks like he might throw up any second. Then D holds a card to the sensor of the elevator, and presses the button to the 22th floor. The door closes. 

When the door of the elevator opens again, the floor feels different. D leads the way, the sound of your steps in their ears reassuring them you follow them. Their penthouse is at the end of the floor but somehow the way seems to be longer than normally. It doesn’t help though trying to figure what is off, so they focus on their own steps. And yours.

With one click the door opens and they hold it for you to enter, watching you closely as you do. You had removed your beanie in the elevator and your hair was a wild mess. Just like you. Stepping inside, their eyes follow your figure for a bit as you take a look around, then they lock the doors from the inside, their hand resting on the cold metal as they take a designated breath. You are still roaming around the massive living area, your eyes busy absorbing all details as it seems. And so they let you be as they pass the open kitchen counter and proceed to the bathroom without a word. 

The master bathroom is warm already, a pleasant woody, amber scent in the air. Just like they expect it to be. They let their eyes scan the dimly lit room for anything that might need attention, but everything is perfect to the smallest details. D approaches the shower, the dark tiles polished impeccably, their eyes falling to their soap bar, where they stay for a few heart beats without blinking. A quick image of you carassing their senses. Gone. They remember that they have liquid body wash in their cabinet, so they take it out and place it on the shelf in the shower, turning the bottle so that the label is aligned perfectly straight. You would need a large and a smaller towel probably, together with a bathrobe… Hmm. Their gaze falls to the hook on the stone wall, their own velvet burgundy robe hanging there. Their eyes linger as their mind wanders once again. They quickly dismiss the thought, remembering they should have another unworn black one - and luckily they do, placing it on the chair next to the shower, together with a pair of brand new slippers. Everything seems prepared so they walk towards the door just to stop in the frame. D takes a step back for a last check in the mirror. They look a bit tired. But that’s nothing new. A quick correction of hair and that’s it. This will have to do.

By the time being, you are standing by the large window front, looking down at the harbour. Like a statue out of the movies. They don’t want to startle you, so they announce themselves by softly calling your name, almost purring it. You turn. And smile. Their heart skips a beat at the sight of your smile. 

“Everything is ready.” 

You raise a brow “Oh.”

They wait until you decide to walk towards them and almost catch up before turning around and slowly lead you to their bathroom. As you enter the bathroom you seem… overwhelmed. D looks around, they are not sure why their bathroom has this effect on you. There have been other people in their master bathroom before. But it was rare, and a long while ago. Stepping closer to your rooted body they place their hands on your shoulders and you tense under their touch. More careful now they remove their coat from your shoulders before placing it on their arm. You turn and look at them. You. Stare. Waiting. What for? Oh, well. 

D takes a step back. Their gaze not wavering from yours. Yet, instead of saying anything to you, they turn and leave the bathroom.

Once out of the room D takes their phone out of their pocket and dials a number. 

“Good evening. I need something in 20 minutes. Net. Da. One […] Net, just one. Spasibo my friend.” 

D places their phone down on the counter, turning to the direction of the bathroom, the sound of the running shower barely to hear. They tap their fingers at the stone plate impatiently. Then their phone rings, the name on the display catching their attention. They let it ring, Once. Twice. Then they pick it up. “Plans changed.” Another tap on the display and they hung up. Again a glance to the bathroom. Their finger tapping gets more frequent.

About 18 Minutes later there is a knock at the door. D unlocks and opens it, the girl with the bag wants to enter yet D stops her, shaking their head. 

“I’ll take it from here. Spasibo.”, handing her a hundred Euro bill. 

She casts them a smile “Oh no, my boss told me to not take any money, everything has been paid for.”

“This is not for him.” Is all they add, the bill still in their hand.

She looks shocked at them. “I-I can’t, I am sorry Mx. Petrov.”

“You can. Have a good night.” Insecurely she takes the note from their hand. D closes the door gently in front of her. Leaving her staring at the money in her grip.

D places everything on the kitchen counter, preparing your favourite food just in time for you to return to the living area. 

You don’t say anything, but you don’t need to, you have their full attention already. They wait for you to take a seat and you do, more relaxed than before you showered. The fact that there is only one plate, for you, seems to irritate you. 

“What about… won’t you eat? With me?” You tilt your head at them.

A slow shake of their head is your answer. In return you give them a slow nod instead.

Your eyes go wide at the sight of your favourite food, you must be starving as you start to eat, your eyes almost rolling back with the first bite. And D - they are hypnotized by how you give in to this pleasure, their knuckles white from the unconscious pressure the adapt to the stone counter. When you bite into a juicy pear you moan in delight, a mouthful of satisfaction not being your tease alone. And of course there has to be some of the juice dripping down the corner of your mouth, kissing your lips so sensually. You try to lick it off with your tongue, the view alone making D swallow. The juice seems to be your enemy though, or D’s as it runs down to your chin and you quickly wipe it with your finger, before slowly sliding it into your mouth. A sharp pain in D’s hand, they grimace shortly before taking their hand from the counter, clenching and unclenching it repeatedly. Maybe that was a bit too much pressure. D’s motion makes you look up, catchin their eyes. You blush deeply. Huh, and here they thought… nevermind.

The next 10 minutes you spend in silence. D having decided to preferably just stick to observing you, especially since you are so engrossed in your meal.

When you are done, the plate is so clean, almost new. After taking a last sip from the glass in front of you, you laugh. What a surprise. You seem so much more relaxed indeed. That’s good. Then, you yawn. Something drops in D’s stomach. They sigh.

“Let me show you where you’ll be staying tonight.” D’s expression turns sober when the words leave their mouth. 

Just like many times before, they lead the way, and just like that you once more follow suit.

With a gentle push D opens the door in front of them and you peek inside the low lit chamber.

“Is this the guest room?” you ask as you step inside, looking around the ambient scenery unfolding around you. 

Their eyes scanning your curves in their bathrobe. Stopping at the seductive shape of your behind, teasing with every step you take.

“I don’t have guests.” Their response making you turn and face them. Confusion on your face as you tilt your head.

“Oh, I thought…” you ask with obvious hesitation but you do not finish your sentence. 

Taking a step into the room themselves, they approach you until they are in arms reach. Even in the dimly lit room the blush of your face is easily visible. Another step. You nervously remove a strand of hair from your face, which just immediately falls back.

Another step.  “What did you think?” their eyes bore into yours. Now they stand only inches away from you. The smell of their soap on your skin rising to their nostrils. A shiver running down their spine, when the image of you using it foamed up or even directly on your skin crosses their mind. You don’t answer, your mouth slightly open. Their eyes fall to it and you lick your lips nervously. 

A moment passes. 

Then they raise their hand to your face, very slowly. You don’t move. Their fingers touching your side, making a breath leave your lips. Focussed on their own hand, they brush the wild strand behind your ear carefully. Then, torturingly slow, their finger runs down your neck. Their heart racing, and by the beating in your veins, yours too. They swallow, brows furrowed, blinking away whatever thought had just crossed their mind. They remove their hand from your skin and drop it to their side, their eyes not focused on you anymore, but on something behind you, something very far away.

“Go to bed.” They hush, very low, barely audible.

Turning around on the spot they leave the room - and you, closing the door behind them silently. D stops a few steps into the living room. A deep breath. What did just happen? They shake their head. Another deep breath, their chest feels tight. A tingling feeling in their fingers. They look at their hands which are trembling. They clinch their fist and try to shake away this lingering sensation that seems to creep up their neck. 

A drink. Yes. That’s exactly what they need now...

Hours have passed since they left you in the bedroom. Their mind wandering to the image of you in their bathrobe, to the smell of you, again and again. Not even the fourth glass did help distracting them from their circling thoughts, the papers in front of them being nothing but a barren try to pass time. Yet all they did was move them around from one side to the other without properly reading them. If anybody asked, they couldn’t even tell what they read a hundred times this night. 

Frustrated, they close their eyes, surrendering to their exhaustion, if only for a moment, allowing their thoughts to drift once more. Your image immediately fills their mind's eye - your wet hair framing your face, the surprise in your wide-open eyes as you looked at them, your mouth slightly agape. They bite their lip, their heart racing, their body tingling with growing excitement. Perhaps just a few more moments of distraction. Fighting it proved futile, so why not give in to their fantasies, if only briefly?

They envision you, the garment accentuating every movement as you emerged from the shower. Their gaze, irresistibly drawn to the most subtle curves, knowing nothing lay beneath the fabric, tantalizingly close. D stretches their neck, exhaling slowly as warmth spreads between their legs. A heavy desire weighs upon them, pulling them down, their head swimming from the alcohol coursing through their veins.

The sound of steps calls their attention and they turn, their eyes once more falling to the view of you in their bathrobe. And here, it hits them as if they see you for the first time. Actually pretty much like it hit them when they first saw you. Their eyes open wide in awe for a moment, their senses awake again, for the fraction of a second they forget to control themselves, but this passes quickly and they hope you didn’t notice, they grit their teeth to keep their mouth shut. Waiting.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Their jaw clenched. They don’t even manage to nod. Just stare and wait for you to say something. Anything. But you don’t, and they gesture for you to take a seat opposite of them. Their eyes glued to you as you stride slowly to the empty spot, the moving fabric allowing for a forbidden glimpse of your thigh, immediately catching their attention. You sit down and cross your legs, your eyes falling to the papers in front of them on the table. Yet all they can look at is the bare skin presented to them from the knee down to the slipper on your delicate feet. Your skin looks so soft, a healthy colour that must’ve returned after the shower you had. You wiggle your toes slightly, which makes them realize they might have stared for too long and once they look back to you face, you are already looking at them with a subtle smile.

“May I?” You ask, pointing at the drink in their hand. They slowly look down at the content of their glass, then at the half full bottle of 50 year old Macallan Lalique at the table. A sly yet lazy smirk on their lips, a pleasant surprise, as you’re most probably not even aware of what you want to try. Without hesitation, they lower the crystal tumbler to place it on the table to pour you one as well, when you stop them mid-move.

 “No.” you say meaningfully, then nod at their glass. They narrow their eyes slightly, tilting their heavy head at your interruption. With a swift and fluent movement, you lean forward, over the table, this position granting them full view to the bare skin not covered by the sumptuous weave. Their eyes scanning every bit of exposed skin as if their life depended on it. A warmth creeping up their neck and twirling in their guts. Then your hand closes in around the glass, the tips of your fingers touching theirs, making them look back at you.

[ghostlightfic]

hi have some extra content. here's a ghostlight sa:ap pmv script for last words of a shooting star. i will never actually make this pmv it will just live in my brain like worms forever 😊👍

[paladinofmoonlight]

So there's a 'junior novelisation' for the new dnd movie and here are a couple of things from it

Edgin being more flamboyant and calling people honey and darling for fun

Kira is aged about 11

Edgin being 'surprisingly sad' at xenk leaving

this unintentionally funny insert in the back. this doesn't mean anything I just laughed at these two being framed here like they had some deep life lesson

[mewgatori]

I love these three so much

[dereliction-if]

Demo teaser

[!] spoiler below

„You look like shit.“

The first words your brain can work out. The pain in your head is crucifying and you would have enjoyed another moment of silence, but unfortunately your prayers are being ignored.

You try to open your eyes but the dry dirt that has crusted your eyes feels like sharp little needles penetrating your soul. Another reason why you wish you could simply lie here and die. 

- But your companion has other plans for you. You breathe out heavily.