#they're at a fancy ball or something

[mynonah]

Yeah, I know... Blaine is tiny in my mind too. This is just an optical illusion, I can explain! Imagine Kurt falling into Blaine's arms just because he couldn't wait any longer to get there. You're welcome.

If your imagination isn't strong enough, I can offer you a stool.

based on a movie poster, ref: (x)

[queen-scribbles]

A lovely and badass avocado

+ bonus new Act 2 duds

[commanderfloppy]

so that mistletoe meme huh. um. can I ask for miriam +3 + floppy bc I fondly remember them hanging out casual style at a formal party

Yes yes kissies!

Also I said these were gonna be sketchy, I lied.

Miriam is being a gentleman and Floppy is not used to being treated like a lady <3

[potatoesandsunshine]

hmm.... taryn & astarion tax purposes marriage...

[peachesofteal]

Simon Riley / female reader Secret baby trope / 18+ Previous

Simon appreciates where Kyle has decided to put down some roots.

He likes this part of the city. It's busy, but manageable, and Kyle's managed to find himself a decently sized home, one big enough to accommodate both Simon and Johnny when they're on those swing days between missions. There are enough beds or couches for when the three of them get pissed at the pub down the street and have to stumble back nearly crossed eyed.

Of course, he never talks about the other reason why he finds this neighborhood so charming, but he suspects both the boys know.

He likes to hold onto your memory like a little secret. Knowing you're possibly still living in this area, in that flat, is enough to bring him out to the pub after they all get back to the house and crash.

Kyle's mouth twists into a mischievous smirk, and he glances at Johnny before honing his sights. "Fancy a drink, LT?"

It's been just under a year since Simon has been here. He rubs his palms against the bar top, trying to casually glance around, searching for something he knows he won't find. He can still hear you, still smell you, still feel your skin against his. He's spent the last year jumping from mission to mission, country to country, plane to plane- and above the carnage and the sounds of killing and fighting-

he still hears your voice. His name on your lips. When he closes his eyes to go to bed at night, it’s your face he sees, lulling him to sleep.

A fantasy.

"Did ye get her number, at least?" Johnny interrupts his memories, and Simon shakes his head.

“Better off that way.” He rolls his shoulders, stretching sinew and bone, trying to force his body to relax. It’s always like this, between ops. He’s stuck in fight mode, wires all crossed, head still fuzzy. Every now and then, his ears will ring, and he tries shake it loose, echoes of gunfire popping inside his skull.

He chooses to drown it out.

All three of them do. It works well enough, and they stumble back to Kyle’s, taking their respective places strewn across the house, Simon falling asleep face down in the guest bed without another drunken thought.

The sun cracks through the blinds too quickly. He stomachs a tea, and advises the Sergeants he’s heading back early to wrap up some paperwork, and steps out onto the street.

It’s later than he’d like, sidewalk already bustling with throngs of people, and he pulls his nondescript black ball cap farther down over his face. The sun is warm, glaring onto the back of his neck until his jacket almost feels claustrophobic. His hands fall idle as he walks, so used to holding a weapon or clicking the mic open on a radio, he doesn’t know what to do with them at rest. Doesn’t know how to hold them. There’s a void there, a void everywhere, etched into his skin, a whisper of the man he should’ve been.

The sidewalk may be busy, but he doesn’t miss a face. He never does, it’s a part of the job, but when his eyes glance across a woman who looks just like you- his entire life stutters to a stop.

You have a baby strapped to your chest. A chubby, round baby who kicks their feet when you lower your head to murmur something to them, palm flat against their belly.

You have a baby? You have a baby. There’s a pang of sadness in his heart, a swell of disappointment as he rationalizes what he’s seeing, the proof of you belonging to someone else, having a life with someone else, loving someone else. He only had you for a night, and he knows it, but he can’t pretend he hasn’t been seeing your face every time he closes his eyes for the past year.

It’s closure. A final nail in the coffin. The end of something that never was.

You’re just as beautiful as he remembers, a sunny spring day, a bouquet of overflowing flowers. Does your hair still smell the same? Would you still make the same noises for him?

Reality brings him back to life earth. Are you in love, or married, or with the father?

And then you turn his direction, closing the gap, failing to notice him standing like a stiff board in the middle of the sidewalk until you’re too close, eyes darting up and up-

to meet his.

Your mouth drops open. An ocean of people flow around where you’re both frozen in place, and he gives you a sheepish smile. “Uh, hey.”

Your hand cups the back of the baby’s head, and you look panicked, scared, before you blurt out the one thing he didn’t expect:

“I didn’t know how to contact you.”

Wait… what?

[iiboronii]

MOONMEL I'M CRYING REAL GENUINE TEARS THANK YOU FOR DRAWING THEM <3 THEY'RE SO CUTE AND YOU DRAW SOOO WELL AAAAAH

HEYYYYYYYY…..@articskele AND @iiboronii.....!!!!! C'MERE GIRLIESSSSSSSSS I HAVE FOOD FOR YOU

TEEHEE YEP I DREW YOUR BIGGERLER BALL OC'S!!!! <3 IM SORRY IT COULDVE BEEN BETTER BUT I WAS IN A RUSH 😭

THEYRE SO PRETTY AGHH 🤩💞

YOU GUYS I LOVE HOW YOU GUYS MET THROUGH ME TEEHEEE!!

ENJOYYYYY!!!! <3

((I wanna draw @naiacs next!! Sorry I didn't have time!!))

[vinceaddams]

Any tips on learning to make buttonholes? I've been putting it off for.... *checks notes* like three years.... but better late than never and all that. I don't have any fancy machines so I gotta do it by hand but that seems right up your alley.

Thanks!

It IS up my alley, yes, I do most of my buttonholes by hand!

I'm actually part way through filming an 18th century buttonhole tutorial, but I expect it'll be a few more weeks before I finish that and put it on the youtubes, so in the meantime here's the very very short version. (The long version is looking like it'll probably be about 40 minutes maybe, judging by how much script I've written compared to my last video?)

Mark your line, a bit longer than your button is wide. I usually use a graphite mechanical pencil on light fabrics, and a light coloured pencil crayon on dark ones. (I have fabric pencils too, but they're much softer and leave a thicker line.) You may want to baste the layers together around all the marked buttonholes if you're working on something big and the layers are shifty and slippery. I'm not basting here because this is just a pants placket.

Do a little running stitch (or perhaps a running backstitch) in fine thread around the line at the width you want the finished buttonhole to be. This holds the layers of fabric together and acts as a nice little guide for when you do the buttonhole stitches.

Cut along the marked line using a buttonhole cutter, or a woodworking chisel. Glossy magazines are the best surface to put underneath your work as you push down, and you can give it a little tap with a rubber mallet if it's not going through all the way.

I'm aware that there are some people who cut their buttonholes open using seam rippers, and if any of them are reading this please know that that is abhorrent behaviour and I need you to stop it immediately. Stop it.

Go get a buttonhole cutter for 10 bucks and your life will be better for it. Or go to the nearest hardware store and get a little woodworking chisel. This includes machine buttonholes, use the buttonhole cutter on them too. If you continue to cut open buttonholes with a seam ripper after reading this you are personally responsible for at least 3 of the grey hairs on my head.

Do a whipstitch around the cut edges, to help prevent fraying while you work and to keep all those threads out of the way. (For my everyday shirts I usually do a machine buttonhole instead of this step, and then just hand stitch over it, because it's a bit faster and a lot sturdier on the thin fabrics.)

I like to mark out my button locations at this point, because I can mark them through the holes without the buttonhole stitches getting in the way.

For the actual buttonhole stitches it's really nice if you have silk buttonhole twist, but I usually use those little balls of DMC cotton pearl/perle because it's cheap and a good weight. NOT stranded embroidery floss, no separate strands! It's got to be one smooth twisted thing!

Here's a comparison pic between silk buttonhole twist (left) and cotton pearl (right). Both can make nice looking buttonholes, but the silk is a bit nicer to work with and the knots line up more smoothly.

I've actually only used the silk for one garment ever, but am going to try to do it more often on my nicer things. I find the cotton holds up well enough to daily wear though, despite being not ideal. The buttonholes are never the first part of my garments to wear out.

I cut a piece of about one arm's length more or less, depending on the size of buttonhole. For any hole longer than about 4cm I use 2 threads, one to do each side, because the end gets very frayed and scruffy by the time you've put it through the fabric that many times.

I wax about 2cm of the tip (Not the entire thread. I wax the outlining/overcasting thread but not the buttonhole thread itself.) to make it stick in the fabric better when I start off the thread. I don't tend to tie it, I just do a couple of stabstitches or backstitches and it holds well. (I'm generally very thorough with tying off my threads when it comes to hand sewing, but a buttonhole is basically a long row of knots, so it's pretty sturdy.)

Put the needle through underneath, with the tip coming up right along that little outline you sewed earlier. And I personally like to take the ends that are already in my hand and wrap them around the tip of the needle like so, but a lot of people loop the other end up around the other way, so here's a link to a buttonhole video with that method. Try both and see which one you prefer, the resulting knot is the same either way.

Sometimes I can pull the thread from the end near the needle and have the stitch look nice, but often I grab it closer to the base and give it a little wiggle to nestle it into place. This is more necessary with the cotton than it is with the silk.

The knot should be on top of the cut edge of the fabric, not in front of it.

You can put your stitches further apart than I do if you want, they'll still work if they've got little gaps in between them.

Keep going up that edge and when you get to the end you can either flip immediately to the other side and start back down again, or you can do a bar tack. (You can also fan out the stitches around the end if you want, but I don't like to anymore because I think the rectangular ends look nicer.)

Here's a bar tack vs. no bar tack sample. They just make it look more sharp, and they reinforce the ends.

For a bar tack do a few long stitches across the entire end.

And then do buttonhole stitches on top of those long stitches. I also like to snag a tiny bit of the fabric underneath.

Then stick the needle down into the fabric right where you ended that last stitch on the corner of the bar tack, so you don't pull that corner out of shape, and then just go back to making buttonhole stitches down the other side.

Then do the second bar tack once you get back to the end.

To finish off my thread I make it sticky with a bit more beeswax, waxing it as close to the fabric as I can get, and then bring it through to the back and pull it underneath the stitches down one side and trim it off.

In my experience it stays put perfectly well this way without tying it off.

Voila! An beautiful buttonholes!

If you want keyhole ones you can clip or punch a little rounded bit at one end of the cut and fan your stitches out around that and only do the bar tack at one end, like I did on my 1830's dressing gown.

(I won't do that style in my video though, because they're not 18th century.)

Do samples before doing them on a garment! Do as many practice ones as you need to, it takes a while for them to get good! Mine did not look this nice 10 years ago.

Your first one will probably look pretty bad, but your hundredth will be much better!

Edit: Video finished!

And here's the blog post, which is mostly a slightly longer version of this post.

[celestialprincesse]

🪻💌

More Price being fucking whipped for his wife!!!

nsfw below the cut 🪻 mdni

She's so utterly spoiled by him, like to the point where he'll see her looking at something in a shop window or her ears perk up at an ad on the TVY&? and it's on their doorstep the next day.

When they move into their home together, he refuses to let her lift a finger. He makes her sit on the couch and choose paint samples whilst he builds furniture and brings the boys in to help with the heavy lifting.

He buys her flowers all the time because she likes to keep the house feeling fresh and vibrant. He comes home with takeaway coffees, a patisserie bag between his teeth and a massive bouquet of flowers which match the colours in their home.

Their wedding was fairytale material, held in some beautiful manor in the countryside with all of their friends and family there. Yes, Gaz, Soap and Ghost were his groomsmen.

They go somewhere quiet and warm on their honeymoon - Bali or somewhere similar, where they can spend days soaking up the sun sea and sand.

Something about being a married man just really sets a fire blazing in his belly, and they've barely even got the door to their luxury villa closed when he pounces, going on about how he 'needs to fuck his Mrs.'

Obviously he's wanted to have kids for the longest time, and he sees having two weeks with nothing to do but swim, sunbathe and fuck as the perfect opportunity.

He grips her hand when he's literally balls deep inside, with her on the verge of tears just to look at the way her ring sparkles in the light of the setting sun.

He calls her 'Mrs Price' or 'My Mrs' "My woman' etc whilst they're fucking just to hear the way her mewls get louder and how her pussy flutters around him.

He'll cum inside and then slot a fancy hotel pillow under her hips to make sure that not a drop of potential is wasted. Afterwards he'll order basically the entire room service menu and hop back on the bed to put on her favourite show or movie.

When she does get pregnant, he's practically got an entire nursery built in a day.

He also becomes like a thousand times hornier, something about seeing his woman, knowing she's carrying his child makes him go totally feral.

[deathdetermineslife]

fun little ooey gooey romantic selfship ask game!

🥀 - has your f/o ever given you a bouquet of flowers? what kinds of flowers do they include?

🎉 - have they ever made a big, grand gesture for you? say, throw a surprise party, or go on an impromptu vacation?

💖 - what's the nicest compliment they've ever given you? what's the nicest compliment you've ever given them?

🌟 - have you ever stargazed with them before? if they're interested in it, where would you two like to go to see them?

🌲 - whats your f/o's ideal date spot to take you to? what's your ideal date spot to take them?

🦑 - would you two ever go on an aquarium date together? who's idea was it, and which fish is their/your favorite to look at?

🥪 - picnic time! what do you guys bring? do you pick them out together, or pick them out separately and surprise each other?

💍 - you two go pick out matching lockets to keep a picture/piece of hair/memento of the other in! what do they look like? what picture of theirs do you keep?

🧁 - you bake something together! what do you bake? how does it turn out? is it the best thing you've ever tasted? or does it suck ass?

🎃 - have you guys ever carved pumpkins together? do you visit a pumpkin patch, or buy one from the store? or maybe you grew it? what would your pumpkins look like?

🎄 - if you celebrate Christmas, what does your tree look like? what kinds of decorations would your f/o prefer? do you decorate it together, or does just one of you do the decorating?

🍝 - you guys go to a nice fancy restaurant together! what does your f/o order? what do you order? do you guys order a dessert? perhaps, to share?

🪩 - you guys attend a party together! perhaps it's formal, maybe a ball? perhaps a masquerade? what are you wearing? do you/your f/o enjoy it?

🧸 - it's valentine's day! what stereotypical valentine's day gift does your f/o give you? a box of chocolates, perhaps a stuffed animal?

📺 - what movies do you guys like watching together? is there any specific movie that comes to mind?

I hope you guys enjoy this! feel free to use in whatever manner you want, idk how posting ask games works. if anyone wants to send me one, go crazy!

[moonstruckme]

hi i have a request that you're obviously under no obligation to answer but i saw that you did a royal au for sirius and i was wondering if you'd be open to doing another?

something like they're in a secret relationship and they're at the same ball and trying to act like they're the picture of good behavior but sirius is being subtly flirty and a menace?

Thanks for requesting sweetheart! Slight deviation, they're not together but this takes place just a bit after the first one <3

prince!Sirius x princess!reader ♡ 2.2k words

Seeing as balls are generally marketed as the pinnacle of refinement, you hadn’t expected this to be so loud. 

Every time the hum of conversation rises, someone keeps telling the musicians to play louder too, until people have to raise their voices and it starts over again. A victor-less battle. You have an inkling that it might all be easier to handle if you had just a bit more wine, but you’re on your best behavior for your new family.

You try not to wrinkle your brow, leaning closer to the man in front of you as the violins crescendo. “Sorry?” you ask, politely as you can. 

A flicker of irritation crosses his face. You try not to wince. He tells you the title of his job again. 

“Ah.” You nod, trying to look as though you understand the importance of this jumble of fancy-sounding words. “That’s so interesting. What does that entail?” 

He’s thrilled you’ve asked. As the man launches into a thorough description of his day-to-day duties for the kingdom, you contemplate how surprisingly relevant a competence in lip-reading might be to your new role as princess. Is this something you’re going to have to do all of the time? You haven’t been able to make out half of what this man has said since he made his way over to you. 

It’s pointless anyway. As soon as you notice Sirius Black standing behind him, you’re gone. 

It’s been hardly a week since your illicit meeting with the Black heir. You’d munched on chicken nuggets, traded complaints about palace life and your wildly different upbringings. When a guard had come to fetch him back to his parents you’d hid behind the door, and to the best of your knowledge you’ve both pretended the meeting never happened ever since. 

Now, he’s dark and gleaming under the light from the chandelier. He smiles dashingly at someone shaking his father’s hand, standing beside both of his parents and slightly in front of another boy you suppose must be his brother. You haven’t actually seen anyone in his family before now, but the connection isn’t difficult to draw; they’re eerily similar. Pitch black hair and pale skin stretched tight over delicate bones. Most horrifying of all, they’re wearing identical shades of black, the homogeneity of the men’s suits too precise to be incidental, except…

Sirius’ suit jacket shimmers with a silver sheen in certain lights. 

Your lips curve before you can stop them. You hardly know him, but already this seems typical; he has to be different. Has to set himself apart. It’s less tiresome than it ought to be. 

As though your thoughts have been broadcast across the room, Sirius’ head turns minutely in your direction. His eyes catch you and hold you.

It’s lucky the man standing in front of you doesn’t seem to notice how your gaze has wandered. He chatters on, unaware that your palms have slickened or that your heart has started pittering fiercely inside your chest. Sirius says something to his companions and peels off. He starts towards you. 

You look back to your conversation partner, managing a nod of faux comprehension just before he reaches you. 

You let your eyes flare as he stops beside the two of you, willing some surprise into your expression, but your voice comes out even more startled than you intend when you hiccup out, “Your highness.” 

“Your highness,” Sirius says back, the faintest of smirks curving his lips as he inclines his head to you, then the man in front of you. “Lord Chamberlain.” 

Shit. How does he know this guy’s name and you don’t? 

Lord Chamberlain looks nearly as caught offguard by the prince’s notice as you are. “Your highness.” He puffs up. “I didn’t realize we would be enjoying your presence this evening.” 

“Yes, my brother was supposed to be the only one accompanying my parents on this visit.” Sirius sounds even more polished than the last time you spoke with him. There’s an easy grace to his posture, an inherent knowledge of the tiny moves that allow one to conform to the etiquette of this culture which you’re still struggling to grasp yourself. But his eyes flash when they meet yours, a glimpse of that waggish boy you met in the sitting room. “However, during my last visit I found an interest in your lovely kingdom I’ve not had before.” 

Lord Chamberlain begins to prattle on about the perfect astuteness of the prince, the many, many attractive qualities of your kingdom, few of which would be quite so perfect if not augmented by himself…Sirius nods with practiced diplomacy, waiting only for the man to take a breath before he turns his attention fully to you. 

“I hoped you might join me for a dance,” he says, leaning closer so he doesn’t have to raise his voice over the music. “The next one is about to start.” 

“Oh I’m not supposed—” You cut yourself off, eyes darting to the courtier monitoring you from the edge of the room. You imagine you’re not supposed to say what you’re not supposed to do. “I’m really not much for dancing.” 

“Come on.” Sirius’ expression is teasing. “It’s rude to turn down an invitation from your guests. Isn’t it, Lord Chamberlain?” 

Lord Chamberlain looks as though if Sirius proves that he knows his name another time he might be in danger of swooning. 

“Yes,” he chokes out. His eyes when they meet yours are something akin to desperate. “Princess, it’s good form.” 

You catch yourself chewing the inside of your lip, stopping as you look back to Sirius. You don’t think he would tattle on you for violating whatever atavistic rule requires you to dance with him, but Lord Bootlicker might. 

“All right,” you say. Far less polite than society allows, you’re sure, but Sirius grins nonetheless. 

“Excellent.” He takes your hand, leading you away. “Always a pleasure, Lord Chamberlain.” 

The other man stands where you left him for a handful of moments, looking dazed, before beelining towards a server carrying refreshments. 

“I don’t know any of the dances,” you hiss at Sirius as he guides you onto the floor. “I’m supposed to be staying away from here.” 

“It’ll be fine,” he promises you, with the sort of confidence only a silver spoon can imbue. “If you just follow in the direction I lead you, your dress will cover up any missteps and I promise not to squeal if you step on my toes.” 

You try to give him a droll look, but you can already feel it happening. You’re succumbing to his charms again. 

There are only a few other partners around you, but here in the center of the room the noise seems even more overwhelming. Conversations overlap, laughter rings out, and music echoes off every wall in the large room. And just in front of you, still holding your hand, Sirius Black is watching you with his flagrant intensity. Even his eyes are too loud. 

He leans close to your ear, breath fanning over your cheek. “Scoping out your dancing competency wasn’t really my aim,” he says. “I only wanted to get you close enough to have a conversation without shouting.” 

You fear your thoughts must be bare in your expression. That afternoon in the sitting room was certainly memorable for you, but you were far from expecting Sirus to single you out afterwards. For all his talk about the novelty of you, he seems like the sort of person to have interesting interactions wherever he goes. 

“Put your hand on my shoulder.” 

You blink. “Huh?” 

Sirius grins, and you realize your slip. No matter how the courtiers you’ve been assigned have drilled into you excuse me, sorry, pardon?, Sirius undoes all your practiced manners with ease. 

“Your hand,” he says again, “goes on my shoulder.”

Just as you settle it tentatively atop of the faintly shiny material of his suit jacket, the music starts. Sirius places a sure hand on the small of your back and grins when you jolt. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, taking your other hand and tugging you gently to the side. Everyone else steps that way too, and you let him lead you through the first steps of the dance. “I won’t bite. Not in front of your grandmother, anyway.” 

You press your lips together to hold in a laugh, eyes finding your grandmother, the Queen, watching you from across the room. She’s smiling faintly, but the courtiers with her look less than pleased. 

You swallow, turning your attention back towards Sirius. “They’re upset with me,” you say. It’s a relief to speak at a normal volume. You know your proximity means he’s the only one who can hear you. “I told you I’m not supposed to be dancing.” 

“They’re not upset that you’re dancing, they’re upset you’re with me,” he replies easily. He guides you into a turn that curls you into him, his arm laying across your chest for just a moment before he turns you back out. “I have a bit of a repute.” 

This, of all the things you’ve learned about Sirius Black, is the least surprising. 

“So, you’re trying to ruin me, then?” you ask, half teasing. 

Sirius grins sharp as a knife. He leans close. “Sweetheart, I want to ruin you in all sorts of ways. That’s just not one of them.” 

Your momentary confidence drops right down to your stomach. If you thought you’d be able to play with Sirius and keep up, clearly you were wrong. 

“We’re going to do a spin,” he warns breezily, saving you from any response. He lets go of your waist, holding your joined hands aloft and using them to guide you away from him and into a twirl.

Only, you go for it too quickly. You’re back in his arms while the other partners are still going through their slow turns. Sirius’ laughter barks out of him loud and sharp before he catches himself. 

“Oh my god,” you mumble, resting your forehead on Sirius’ chest and shutting your eyes in mortification. 

“Hey, it’s alright.” Sirius is still shaking with quiet laughter. His hand is friendly on the small of your back. “That was stunning. All the other ladies wish their skirts had fanned out the way yours just did.” 

“Is skirt fanning really the object of the dance, though?” 

“It’s eye-catching,” he maintains. You can hear the smile in his voice. “You can make anything lovely. Now stop hiding before one of your keepers has a stroke.” 

You remove your face from his chest hastily. Your eyes flit to the courtier at the room’s edge before you return them to Sirius, cheeks burning. 

His look softens. “Don’t fret, gorgeous, you’re not the only one who’s committed a faux-pas just now. That laugh earned me a proper glare from my mother. As soon as the dance is over, they’ll throw us into the dungeons together.” 

“Well, at least it’ll be nice to have someone to talk to down there.” You bite down on a smile. Sirius, you’re beginning to notice, has a way of making all your worries about fitting into polite society feel silly. Nothing feels very serious when he’s around. Ironically enough. “Do we really have a dungeon?” 

Another startled chuckle goes through him. This one is quiet enough not to raise any eyebrows, more’s the pity. “Not one currently in use. It’s a relic, with a door going out to the street so tours can go through.” He smiles, borderline sheepish. “I went on one when I was twelve.” 

“You did?” You can’t stop the smile that leaps up on your face now. It shouldn’t be so easy to picture Sirius as a child, but it surprisingly is. A bit shorter and skinnier than he is now, skin and bones and night-black hair darting around and causing trouble. It’s an odd feeling to think that he explored your family’s palace long before you could, somehow both twinging and reassuring at once. “Is there a reason you’ve been here so often?” 

Sirius looks genuinely surprised at that. “No one’s told you?” At your bemused look, he blinks, seeming to compose himself. His hand flattens on your back. You hadn’t realized he’d been gripping you. “Our families have been friends for literal centuries. My great-great-great-aunt was close with your great-great-whatever, and we’ve never let our claws out of each other.” He gives you a conspiratorial look, leaning closer. “I can’t attest to the relationship between the current ruling generations being quite so amicable, but we cling to each other nonetheless. Trade relations and all that. All that is to say,” he backs up, gifting you with a smile, “we really will be seeing a lot of each other.” 

“Oh.” Your chest flutters with an unidentifiable feeling. You don’t know if you can handle seeing much more of Sirius Black. Every time you meet, it’s like he whittles away all your weeks of training and posture correction with a look. You’ll never make any progress if he’s constantly around to trip you up. “That’s nice.” 

“You’re doing remarkably well,” he notes. You look up, for a moment worrying that he’s read your mind (he seems prone to doing that), but Sirius goes on. “I don’t know what you were talking about earlier, you’re a natural at this. My toes remain unsquished.” He gives you a secret smile. You return it wobbily. “There’s another spin coming up,” he says with a teasing glint in his eyes, “think you can handle it?” 

Honestly? You think you’re already dizzy enough. 

[rosemaze-reveries]

During an interview, the manor guests suddenly get a question about you. (Part 2)

hello hello! here is part 2 as promised. there are less characters than I hoped to write, but in exchange each blurb is a little longer than pt.1 !

part 1 can be found here

🦌🪼🤡🦎🪞🤕🕯️🎭

Q. Could you describe your relationship with (Y/N)?

🦌 Bane rubs his chin, tracing his memory. "Hm... Indeed, I'm familiar with that name. I'd suppose that's someone I knew when I worked for the DeRosses." He crosses his arms with a low, contemplative grunt, as if struggling to remember anything else. "I'd need a photograph." I happen to have a couple on hand, and he takes them gently. A long period of silence follows. After leafing through the photos for some time, he says: "I remember. They were always talking about marriage." With you? "Mm. I was never interested, but I never said no. Eventually I made them a ring from a scrap of iron. I hoped they'd stop visiting me if I satisfied them... It's too dangerous to come to the forest everyday." Then he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a ring of his own. "In exchange, they gave one back." He's been cherishing it all this time, even when he'd forgotten its origin.

🪼 Ivy - "I'm no stranger to feeling like I'm missing my other half, you know. That sense of loss is one of the only constants I have left. (Y/N) fills my emptiness, and without them it increases twofold." I open my mouth to ask, Do you think you could be soulmates? but then my eyes dart to the Yithian and I realize my mistake. Sorry, was that insensitive? Ivy is not amused with my implication that she might be interested in claiming (Y/N)'s soul. "My dear interviewer, I am a scholar, not a monster. Whatever you're insinuating, you're gravely mistaken."

🤡 Joker's face suddenly hardens, in spite of the fragile, twiddling-thumbs demeanor he'd shown me thus far. His hands ball into shaking fists and his lips purse, as if he's psyching himself up for a fight. Are you okay? I ask, preemptively guarding myself with my clipboard. Tears brim his eyes and the strength falls from his shoulders. He mutters out, "All I wanted was to be their sword and shield, their angel of light, and they left me out of my mind. Hahaha... Wanna know the biggest joke of all? I'd let them drive me crazy all over again."

🦎 Luchino's mouth stretches into a lazy grin. "That one's a cutie, eh? Had the pleasure of meeting them yet?" I shake my head, reminding him that (Y/N) is the focus of my current investigation. I guess his laidback attitude fooled me into saying too much. He promptly straightens his back, the smile fading. "Yeah... Yeah, from one researcher to another, I get the intrigue," he says. "But I can't say I fancy another guy using my love as a test subject."

🪞 Mary - "Do you take pleasure in nosing around a lady's private affairs? I'd expect more tact, even for an interviewer." The chill in her tone startles me. I sputter out something in my defense, but Mary huffs and waves me into silence. "(Y/N) is enjoying the privilege of being my right-hand. They're my favorite one so far, too. I dismissed the others without a second thought."

🤕 Naib - "On good terms." Wringing out any insightful answers from this man is tougher than I thought. In hopes of inspiring more of a reaction, I tell a small lie: When I interviewed (Y/N), they described a rather colorful affection for you... Almost immediately, Naib breaks eye contact and crosses his arms. But I still only get a guttural "Hm." in response. Can you confirm if this is true? I press. His answer is, once again, a curt "Hm." (Slightly more affirmative, I would say).

🕯️ Philippe - "My work has always stood as a testament to my love," he caresses the wax figure grafted onto his shoulder, "but shielding someone in life is a far greater challenge than honoring my losses. My worries are endless." Suddenly reminded of his sister's tragedy, I offer a sympathetic smile. Do you believe (Y/N) is in danger? Philippe returns my smile, though I can't make out the intent. "Of course. Evil lurks around every corner. At the very least, it won't reach them while I'm around."

🎭 Sangria - A fond smile graces her face as she recounts her memory. "It was clear to me after some time that I had disastrously entranced them." Then she adds, lightly, "I hadn't meant to, of course. At the time, I thought, I'm not looking for love—no, I'd had enough of it all—but soon, their smile would appear in my mind every time I sang. When someone gives you that much inspiration? You'd be a fool to let them go." She has a playful tone of voice, but I can tell (Y/N) means a great deal to her.

[twilightcitysky]

Everything Is Meant (long S2 analysis, part 3)

Part one

Part two

There's SO MUCH excellent meta out there right now, and I'm going to try not to reinvent the wheel too much, but I want to keep going with tying the episodes/ elements up together because on first watch it wasn't entirely clear how everything fit. I also strongly recommend a rewatch, no matter what you felt about the ending... if you need to stop it 10 minutes early, do that, but you pick up so much more the second time around.

So: Maggie and Nina. I spent most of my first watch wondering why we were bothering with them, honestly. Later in the season Nina, and then Maggie and Nina, gave Crowley some insightful advice, but their actual relationship didn't progress despite all the meddling, and the amount of emotional investment BOTH Aziraphale and Crowley had in making them get together was frankly strange.

I started thinking in terms of mirror couples, since that was such a big deal in S1 and that's clearly what they were set up to be, but I made the mistake that all of us made on first watch: that Nina was Crowley and Maggie was Aziraphale. It still wasn't really coming together.

Then I put the psych hat back on and started to think about displacement. Displacement is a defense mechanism, and it consists of satisfying an impulse (usually an unconscious one) with a substitute object. At the beginning of the season, Aziraphale and Crowley aren't really in a good place, and I think on some level they know that. Aziraphale is trying to SHOW Crowley that he wants to take the next step through all the casual touches and phone calls and inviting him in, and feeling frustrated because Crowley doesn't seem to be taking the bait. (I absolutely think that Aziraphale tried to get Crowley to stay with him at the bookshop instead of living in his CAR, and Crowley said no. That's a whole other meta.) Meanwhile, Crowley, I think, is waiting for a Grand Gesture. Where did he go, as soon as Aziraphale brought up trying to get two humans to fall in love? Romantic tropes. Getting caught in the rain under an awning. A dramatic kiss that opens someone's eyes. That's the sort of thing he's always done, right? Big rescues, impassioned pleas on the street, fancy dinners, "give you a lift anywhere you want to go". He's defensive and guarded and unlikely to let someone in unless he's CERTAIN he won't be rejected, and Aziraphale's approaches are just too... quiet. No one's fault, they just don't speak the same language.

Then, they're handed the opportunity to make two humans fall in love, and they're both All In immediately. Look at Crowley's face when he summons the rainstorm. This is HUGE for him. Why? Because of displacement. Look at Aziraphale arranging the ball and being borderline deranged about it. They're both desperate to demonstrate what they think it takes for two people to move past their misunderstandings and fall in love. They can't do it for each other because the stakes are too high, and if either of them shows their cards unequivocally the vulnerability feels life-shattering. They're codependent and terrified of rejection and also, importantly, have no idea what they're doing when it comes to love. "Saw it in a film", Crowley says. Aziraphale's read about it in books. But they have zero practical experience.

Instead of learning to communicate, they try to say what they want to say through the medium of Maggie and Nina, up to and including the questionable moral decision to exert control over people's actions and thoughts during the ball. If I can just make this come out right, they both think, then things between us will be alright too. It HAS to come out right. They're attempting to gain some control over their own lives, over something that feels so overwhelming and shattering they can't look directly at it.

It doesn't come out right. Nina's relationship falls apart, but that doesn't mean she's in love with Maggie. While Crowley's stress-cleaning the bookshop to the music that played when Aziraphale got his books back in 1941 (just fuck me up David Arnold), they come in and tell him so. "I don't understand", says Crowley. Because it should have worked. Why didn't it work?

They tell him, of course. "You need to talk to each other. Say what you're really thinking." But here's the thing about communication: you have to learn it. You need to get the hang of expressing your feelings without blaming your partner, and separating intent from impact, and staying away from getting defensive and lashing out. No one has ever taught Aziraphale and Crowley how to do this. It's like Maggie and Nina put Crowley in front of a loom and asked him to recreate the Bayeux Tapestry. He doesn't have the skills; he's always going to get it wrong, even if he tries his hardest.

And he does try. But that's where Maggie and Nina the mirror couple, rather than Maggie and Nina the displacement relationship or Maggie and Nina the Greek chorus, come in. Aziraphale, as Nina, has just ended an incredibly toxic, invasive relationship with Heaven. A relationship that invaded every facet of his life, isolated him, and prevented him from being close to anyone else. "Rebound mess," Nina says. Aziraphale is a rebound mess. He's transferred the responsibility for his emotional wellness to Crowley. Crowley is the person he calls when he's in trouble, or (and this is key) when he wants to report a clever/ good thing he's done, or when he's bored. (At no point did Crowley reference Aziraphale calling him for a solicitous reason-- another problem.) Crowley is meant to take care of him. He forgets, I think, that Crowley is a person with his own wants and needs, just like Maggie and Nina are people with their own wants and needs who don't appreciate being messed with. (I think things would have been much different had Aziraphale BEEN THERE for Maggie and Nina's talk with Crowley, but he wasn't.)

And Maggie-as-Crowley? Lonely. Behind on rent, at risk of being evicted (it's important to note that Aziraphale saves Maggie from losing her record shop, as he couldn't save Crowley from losing his flat). Pining. Awkward. Revolving around Nina like a planet, to the extent that we don't get much of an impression of her otherwise. They realize, there at the end, that they both need to round themselves out before jumping into a relationship. Aziraphale and Crowley need that too. They need to take time apart and learn to be healthy on their own. Unfortunately they don't have the skills to get to that conclusion in a healthy way, so it all explodes in their faces and everything falls apart.

Aziraphale tries to teach Nina and Maggie to dance as a substitute for communication. Nina and Maggie try to teach Crowley communication as a substitute for the dance they've been doing around each other. That's the reason they're a part of the plot: they exist to demonstrate the way Aziraphale and Crowley might have succeeded in forging a better dynamic. Sadly, the boys' dance is too practiced and they got sucked right back into it.

It's okay, I think, that Nina and Maggie's storyline never really went anywhere. It wasn't supposed to. It's an allegory, not something that needs to stand alone.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Hurt IV

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Morsa gets hurt

You're sitting in the stands when it happens.

Momma's still not back in the squad so you're not sitting on the bench. You enjoy sitting on the bench more than sitting in the stands but at least you get to eat hotdogs in the stands so that's a win.

You're munching away when Morsa goes down. You stop chewing to stand up properly so you can see and you will Morsa to get back up.

She doesn't.

She just kind of rolls around on the ground clutching at her foot.

"What's wrong with Morsa?" You ask as if Momma would just know.

"It's okay," Momma says though her tight smile says she doesn't quite believe herself," Morsa's being a bit dramatic. She'll get back up, you'll see."

Only Morsa doesn't get back up.

She has to be helped off and you see a stretcher being prepared.

Momma takes your hand and walks you over to the barrier.

"Sam!" She calls out to Scottish Sam," Sam!"

Sam turns, getting up from the bench. She takes you as you're lifted over the barrier.

"Look after her, okay?" Momma hands her your bag. "I'll grab her in a bit."

"Go," Sam says," I've got her."

You're still in Sam's arms as you watch Momma sprint the opposite direction, to where Morsa's being loaded up onto a stretcher. She's crying and you kind of feel like crying too.

"Magda's strong," Sam says as she takes her seat back on the bench," She'll be okay."

"Morsa's crying," You reply bluntly," Don't lie. I'm not stupid."

Sam winces a little but you pay no attention because you stand up to see if you can catch a glimpse of Momma and Morsa. The stretcher is moving away now and they're holding hands.

You're glad that Morsa has Momma to look after her until you get there.

"Hey." Sam taps your leg. "Let's sit down, huh? You could fall."

You grunt in frustration but do as she says. You've no interest in the match anymore and grow a bit restless. You keep turning your head around, hoping to see Momma and Morsa returning but they never do.

Sam rummages through your bag to find something to entertain you.

"What is this?" She asks," A fancy straw? It's kind of big."

"That's my epipen," You say and Sam immediately drops it into your bag like it's burned her," Because Australian Sam gave me bad kiwi and I almost died. Momma makes sure I always have it."

Scottish Sam laughs uncomfortably. "Well...I'll make sure not to give you kiwi then."

"Or banana or avocado because those can kill me too." You think for a moment as your stomach rolls. "Is my Morsa dying?" Your bottom lip trembles. "Is that why she's not back yet?"

"No!" Sam says quickly, shaking her head firmly," She's just talking to the medics. They're very chatty. That's why they're taking so long."

You accept that Morsa's not dying but not really that the medics are chatty. You keep looking behind you all the way up until halftime.

Sam takes you back to the changing room but you dig your heels in all the way because you don't want Momma and Morsa to go back onto the pitch and not know where you've gone.

This whole situation is very worrying and you sullenly take refuge in Morsa's cubby because it's nice and small and smells just like her.

"Lea?" You ask as the woman mooches around nearby," When are my mummies coming back?"

She winces a little. "Sorry, kid," She says," I'm not too sure. Soon, though. It'll be soon."

You sigh a big sigh and huff, reaching out for Lea's hand as she gets ready to go back out. "Is my Morsa going to be okay?"

She winces again and pats you on the head. "She'll be just fine. She'll be back on her feet very soon."

In the second half, Sam has to go on so she hands you straight over to Sarah who has the unenviable job of watching you have a complete and utter breakdown.

You've decided that it's been too long, that Momma and Morsa have been away too long for Morsa to be just fine like the girls are telling you. You curl up into a little ball in your seat and sob.

Sarah looks like she's about to cry too as she wildly looks to the other girls on the bench for help before deciding that the best thing to do would be to pick you up.

It's pretty hard on her part because you won't uncurl from your protective ball and she kind of has to pace around with a little girl whose not willing to give her even an inch of help in it.

"Hey."

You stop crying when you hear Momma speak.

She's standing by the barrier.

"I can take her now," Momma says to Sarah," I'll take her back to see Magda."

"It's fine," Sarah lies," We've got everything under control."

"I'll take her," Momma insists," Magda's been asking for her."

"Oh, thank god," Sarah breathes out before holding you out for Momma to take along with your bag.

"Is Morsa okay?" You sniffle as Momma begins to walk back to where she disappeared too.

"She will be," Momma says," She's a little sad right now and she needs some Princesse cuddles to make her feel better. And I think some Morsa cuddles will make you feel better too."

You nod.

Morsa's still sitting on the stretcher when you arrive. She's not crying anymore but you can see where the tears use to be.

Momma settles you by Morsa's side and you look down to see her bandaged foot.

"What happened?"

"I hurt my foot," Morsa says. She crowds you into her space with a hand between your shoulders, allowing you to curl up properly against her as she rests her chin on the top of your head.

"Is it really bad?"

"I have to have surgery soon," Morsa says," But it'll be very quick."

You think for a moment before nodding, making sure to hug Morsa nice and tight so she knows that you're here for her.

"It'll be okay," You say," Because me and Momma are going to look after you."

[kitkatt0430]

So Voyager returns to the Alpha Quadrant, huzzah! Party time.

And Starfleet does throw a big party in their honor to welcome back. Very formal, lots of ambassadors, a lot of the Voyager crew is quietly bored with it thirty minutes in. Where's the fun in fancy hors d’oeuvres if you can't play 'guess the mystery ingredients from the most recent trade agreement/away mission?'

Anyway, the crew of the Enterprise is there because they're in their post-Dominion War Flag Waving era. And of course, Picard is expecting a number of things from a typical Starfleet party of very fancy standards. What he was not expecting was Q and Q Jr. to show up in a flash of light or for Jr. to throw his arms around the shoe-in-to-be-Admiral Janeway and exclaim 'Aunt Kathy! You made it home, and early too. That was cheating!"

Janeway sends the teenage looking Q to go hang out with Icheb, the quiet part-borg kid who has been strategically hiding in a corner with access to punch bowl and the nibbles with the most easily identifiable ingredients. Icheb proceeds to perk up and calls Q Jr. Q-Ball. Jr. calls him Itchy. Seven of Nine, who has been quietly shadowing Icheb and scowling in such a way that she has one yard of clearance on all sides at all times, unless a Voyager crew member or her aunt come over to talk to her, turns a very narrow-eyed gaze on Jr that the young Q is clearly unsettled by. (If he gets Icheb hurt again, no power on this plane of existence could save Q Jr. from Seven and he knows it.)

Q and Janeway watch fondly, chatting about the whereabouts of Lady Q and how the Continuum is doing lately and Janeway occasionally shutting down Q's attempts to flirt with her. For whatever reason, Janeway still agrees to dance with Q and laughs when he changes the music with a snap to something they can waltz to.

Picard is trying to figure out if he can sidle out one of the exits before Q notices him. As is basically the rest of the Enterprise lead staff. Finding out that Q made Janeway godmother to his son is quite possibly the most surreal part of the evening for Picard and that includes when Q gets bored with the music a few waltzes later and turns the whole thing into a disco.

Meanwhile Riker learns he was actually brought to Voyager by Q once and then made to forget it and is thus considered an honorary Voyager crew member along with Barclay. Riker decides he's cool with that and helps plan the after party with Tom and Harry. (He also tries to talk Harry into starting a jazz band with him.)

[staypuffy]

I'm sure someone has already made this observation, but the ball scene, you guys. Let's talk.

Specifically, about the apparel.

Obviously, Aziraphale worked a little bit of his angelic magic to make sure that romance was in the air so Nina and Maggie would fall for one another, but this magic also extends to the other party guests; Mrs. Sandwich not being able to say seamstress, everyone inexplicably knowing how to do the Country Dance, and, more to my point, their clothes.

Upon entering the party some people's change and others' don't, and there's a lot of symbolism there for each character based on whether or not their outfit changes.

The clothes are a direct reflection on the subconscious of that individual, magnified by Aziraphale's magic. They enter the party in the clothes they see themselves in, not necessarily what they were wearing before.

For those characters who are assured of themselves, and their fashion choices, (Aziraphale, Crowley and Nina) their appearance doesn't change at all. They're comfortable as themselves in any setting (It's important to note that Nina's clothes do change, but it's so slight that you barely notice). Fancy ball or not, they wear the same outfit they normally do because they present themselves how they see themselves. Nina even looks down at herself upon entering the shop and remarks, "I'm going mad," making her the only guest to actually acknowledge the fact that something odd is going on; she's acutely aware of herself and the world around her, so when her strong sense of self is being meddled with, she notices.

For the other characters, however, those whose outfits change, this reflects something deeper about their character which is manifesting itself in their style choices; Maggie's clothes change into something nicer than just a plain t-shirt and jeans because she wants to impress Nina, Mrs. Sandwich swaps her tracksuit for a glamorous blazer since she sees herself (as she should) as a proper businesswoman, and Ms. Cheng lets her hair down from the tight bun, signifying her "loosening up" at the party.

All this to say that Jim's Liberace get-up is even more hilarious when you think about it from this perspective.

[leaf-motif]

Magic Garden - A marriage between utter whimsy and practical releastic pieces, this set has something that works for almost any design style. A mailbox shaped like a little fairy house (with ivy on the roof!) and four different styles of bird house will be the little pop of fancy you need in every build. The mirror ball is something very common in gardens in my hometown, and they're often seen atop a marble pedestal. Add four new potted plants and you'll have trouble choosing! There are twelve items in this set and they are all base game compatible. 

✨You can search for these in the catalogue by typing "leafmotif" or "magic"

download for free: PATREON