#they're disasters your honour

[sokkas-first-fangirl]

@elaina-writes-things Ask and ye shall receive

*

"Oh gracious, this feels strange," Mipha said. Zelda's dress was much too large for her; when she flapped her arms, the long, draping sleeves swung back and forth. Even Impa started giggling.

"It's, um...You look-" Link tried to speak, but Revali cut him off.

"You look like you're drowning in that," he said, smirking. Link threw a pillow at him.

Zelda, giggling helplessly, looked much more comfortable than Mipha. She wore Mipha's sash over her nightdress, Mipha's tiara and bracelets. Although she fidgeted somewhat with the bracelets, trying to make sure they were comfortable, she obviously had much less fabric to worry about.

Mipha had to lift the dress just to walk, hitching the heavy, lace-trimmed skirts up to her knees.

"Oh, Zelda, my dear, how do you put up with this?" she fussed. "This is practically suffocating!"

"Honestly, I don't like much of my formal dresses," Zelda admitted. "They're too restricting, too heavy. As you say, they're quite suffocating."

Impa, who always dressed practically, eyed Zelda's open wardrobe warily, like the formal gowns might suddenly grow teeth and bite her.

"Hylians and their clothes," Revali scoffed. "I'll never understand it."

Link looked at Revali. He looked at the dresses.

Mipha knew that evil little glint in Link's eyes far too well.

"I think it's Revali's turn," Link announced. Zelda immediately sat up straighter, grinning, clapping her hands.

"Oh no," Revali said.

"Oh yes!" Zelda cried, hopping off her bed and grabbing the first dress she saw; a purple gown, trimmed in fur and decorated with silver beads. Its train was even longer than the dress Mipha wore.

"I hate all of you," Revali said flatly.

"There's the door," Impa pointed out cheerfully.

Revali didn't move. Link sat back, smirking, to enjoy the chaos. Mipha reclaimed her spot next to him and happily watched as Revali squawked and protested, but still didn't even attempt to leave or truly fight back.

Honestly, they were all terrible at telling Zelda no.

[disasterbuck]

46. “What happens if I do this?”

(for the 50 dialogue prompts, if it sparks interest)

sorry this took me months 🙈 I was waiting for inspo AND IT FINALLY HIT!! I hope you like it!

Lounging beside Eddie on the couch, Buck scrolled absent-mindedly through his phone, skimming news articles and click-bait for something to interest him. The two of them had decided not to put something on TV because it was already pretty late, so they'd opted instead to just relax in each other's presence.

Eddie was reading a book – a thriller of some kind – and his eyebrows were drawn together slightly as his eyes went back and forth across the page. With a start, Buck realised he was staring and forced his eyes back to his phone.

A moment later though, an idea popped into his head and he turned to Eddie before he could stop himself, tossing his phone onto the cushion beside him.

"Hey," he said, nudging Eddie with his elbow. "I wanna try something."

Finishing the sentence he was reading, Eddie then tucked a finger between the pages of his book and looked up.

"Try what?" he asked.

"You should put the book down," Buck suggested.

Raising an eyebrow, Eddie closed the book without looking and set it down on the coffee table. Buck stared for a moment, trying to decide whether he should mention how insane Eddie was for not using anything as a bookmark, then noticed the impish slant to Eddie's mouth. Oh, he so did that on purpose.

Refusing to be baited, Buck shook himself lightly and reached for his phone again, opening up a timer app.

"We should have a staring competition," he said. "Four minutes. But we're allowed to blink."

"We're… what?" Eddie asked, confusion crossing his face as he watched Buck set the timer. "How is that a staring competition? How do I win?"

"You don't," Buck said, looking up again. "It's just for fun."

"… Fun?" Eddie asked derisively.

"Yes! Fun!" Buck insisted. He rearranged himself on the couch so he was directly facing Eddie and then gestured impatiently for Eddie to do the same.

With a sigh, Eddie complied.

Once they were situated, Buck hit start on the timer and then fixed his eyes to Eddie's.

"No looking away," he instructed, resting a hand on Eddie's thigh to steady himself.

"No blinking," Eddie said, determinedly staring back.

"We're allowed to blink," Buck protested, immediately doing so and making Eddie scowl. "Stop being so competitive."

"You called it a staring competition," Eddie pointed out, loosely wrapping his fingers around Buck's wrist. "It's in the name."

"Whatever," Buck scoffed.

"What's the point of this if I can't win?"

"I told you. It's for fun."

"You're so weird."

"Shut up and stare at me."

"Oh, so there's no talking allowed now?"

"No, I just meant…" Buck rolled his eyes before fixing them on Eddie again. "You're being difficult."

Eddie shrugged his shoulders.

"I said you're allowed to talk."

With the hint of a smirk, Eddie shrugged again. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Buck poked him in the side.

"Hey! That's cheating!" Eddie protested, trying not to smile as he squirmed away from Buck's finger. He grabbed hold of both of Buck's wrists and forced them down into his lap.

"Now who's cheating?" Buck asked.

"You don't need your hands for a staring competition."

"Says who?"

Eddie leaned forward, staring into Buck's eyes intently and distracting him from his question. Buck stared back, forgetting that his hands were trapped as he took turns looking into Eddie's right eye and then his left.

The truth was, this wasn't an entirely random idea that had just popped into Buck's head. It came from an article he'd read once about a scientific study done on how to induce intimacy between two people. The experiment had involved two people asking each other a series of intimate questions and then staring into each other's eyes for four minutes – after which, they fell in love.

Buck and Eddie already knew pretty much everything there was to know about each other, so asking each other intimate questions hadn't seemed relevant. But staring into each other's eyes? That they could do, and it was fairly easy for Buck to disguise his true intentions.

And whether or not this worked, Buck thought to himself, at least he'd gotten to stare into Eddie's gorgeous brown eyes for a while.

"What are you thinking about?" Eddie asked softly.

"Hm? Nothing," Buck lied. His eyes betrayed him, glancing down at Eddie's lips briefly.

Eddie didn't push it, falling silent again, but he did shift his hands so that instead of trapping Buck's wrists they were now holding each other. Buck's palms felt sweaty and he hoped Eddie wouldn't notice, or at least wouldn't be put off by it.

What felt like barely seconds later, the timer rang off and they both flinched. Buck pulled his hands back, grabbing his phone to silence it and feeling his heartbeat throbbing in his throat. Eddie was still watching him, eyes dark and thoughtful.

"Well?" Buck asked quietly, setting his phone back down. He had to at least ask.

"Well what?" Eddie asked, tilting his head curiously to one side.

"Do you… feel any different?" Buck asked nervously, wiping his hands on his pants.

Eddie looked down at Buck's hands before returning to his eyes. "About what?"

"… About me," Buck whispered.

"Um… no?" Eddie said with a smile. "Am I supposed to?"

Buck looked down, disappointment spreading through his chest, and shrugged.

"Hang on a minute," Eddie said suddenly. "Four minutes… Buck, were you trying to make me fall in love with you?"

Face burning with embarrassment, Buck cleared his throat and stood up. He shook his head, unable to form words, but before he had a chance to flee anywhere Eddie's fingers were around his wrist again and he was being held in place.

"Buck."

Reluctantly, he glanced down at his best friend.

The bastard was grinning up at him.

"What?" Buck asked sharply.

"I don't feel any different," Eddie said, tugging him closer. "Because I was already in love with you."

Buck's mouth fell open in surprise. Speechless, he stared at Eddie silently and then took a step back to make room when Eddie stood up.

What was happening? Was he dreaming?

The hand not gripping his wrist came up to cup his face and he leaned into it automatically, eyelids fluttering as Eddie's thumb caressed his cheek.

"What happens if I do this?" Eddie whispered, then kissed him.

[wordsmith30]

I am once again fixating on Avatrice’s first scene in season two.

Beatrice tells Ava off for chatting with customers because they were talking about Adriel and what happened at the Vatican. They’re supposed to be keeping a low profile.

If anything, being incognito only makes things all the more stressful for Beatrice. Eternally in Mission Mode, she’s hyperaware of everything going on around her, from the conversation in the bar to Hans coming up the stairs and looking at her and Ava. There’s so much pressure on her.

At least when they were with the OCS, she had the others to rely on, but in Switzerland, she’s responsible for anything that goes wrong, including anything that might happen to Ava. While Ava jokingly calls her “Mother”, it is like being a single parent. She just wants to keep her safe.

And hearing about Adriel’s ever-increasing presence is just a painful reminder of how unsafe they are. How important this mission is.

Beatrice also tends to fidget a lot more this season with anything that’s in her hand (in this case, the pencil). She gestures with it after Hans leaves, asking Ava what that look meant.

“You and Hans shared a glance.”

(Cue back to Lilith’s line in 1×04: “Careful around this one, Camila. She’ll pry into all your business.”)

We can insinuate it as jealousy as she’s become super protective of Ava (or perhaps just the fear that something is going on that she’s not aware of), but in Ava’s mind, Hans is jealous of them. Ava laughs.

“What do you expect? Hans has been here for three years. We’ve been here a month and you already got promoted to manager.”

Beatrice fidgets some more and even straightens her back as she says, “Well ... it’s not my fault that I’m exceptionally well-organized.”

Did I mention how much I love proud Beatrice? It may come across as a bit defensive, but outside of her being a badass in the field, it’s so rare to see her stand tall in her abilities – to take pride in them, in spite of all her self-hatred. She’s good at what she does and she should say it.

And then Ava knocks back with: “Ah, as a matter of fact, it is. Discreet, remember?”

Touché.

Beatrice bows her head and nods. You can see the breath she releases. But before she even has the time to feel awkward or embarrassed, Ava says in that gentle voice, “You don’t have to be so perfect all the time.”

Once again, Ava demonstrates exactly why they work together. While Beatrice often works to keep Ava safe physically, Ava knows just how to keep Bea safe emotionally. Despite all the teasing, she knows how Beatrice worries and steps in to calm her racing mind.

She does it as easily as breathing, head angled to look into Beatrice’s face, eyes soft and posture relaxed. And Beatrice softens with her.

That line hits on some key insights, too: the idea that it’s possible to be too good at something, and that that might actually hinder them while undercover. But more than that, it’s a reminder that they’re not at the convent anymore. Beatrice can drop the tactical habit. She can be unsure, she can make mistakes, she doesn’t have to know what she’s doing all the time. She’s already doing enough.

“You don’t have to be so perfect all the time.”

Ava thinks she’s perfect. Her. Beatrice. Just as she is.

It seems too much for Beatrice to handle. She looks up at Ava and then looks down again. At a loss for how to respond, she changes the subject: “Well, I’m heading back to the apartment.”

It’s Ava’s turn to deflate a little as she nods, but her eyes hang on Beatrice’s face as Bea tells her that she’s going to check in with Camila.

“You don’t stay out too late,” Beatrice says, back in Mission Mode. “We train tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mother.” Ava laughs again, and even Beatrice drops her head in amusement or exasperation, still fiddling with her pencil.

She looks up just in time for Ava to give her a quick peck on the cheek, the Warrior Nun swinging her shoulders like a golden retriever puppy. “I’m just messing with you. See you at home!”

Beatrice can only watch her bounce away and has to take another breath to steady herself. Ava, meanwhile, knew exactly what she was doing and can only hope that the message sticks.

[emathevampire]

A Reconsecration in Blood and Twilight

Happy Pride to everyone, but especially to my beloved prince in horns Askalaphos and his blackguard, Solar, an NPC from our Ravenloft campaign.

Once a devout paladin of the Morning Lord, then of Mother Night after his death, corrupt rebirth, and subsequent fall from grace as he pursued power no matter the cost in the pursuit of vengeance against Strahd... the aasimar blackguard Solar now learns what it is to be true to his own heart as the newest disciple of Askalaphos, a fallen demigod son of Ares and former slave to the Abyss slowly regaining his own spark of divinity and sense of purpose as he seeks an escape from the mists of Ravenloft. None of this would have been possible, however, had their mutual annoyance friend Rixa not been dead-set on saving the both of them from themselves, despite their belief that this was a hopeless cause... or if they had not joined forces to save her in return when she was captured by her nemesis. A long and dangerous road still lies between them and victory over Strahd, the Dark Powers, and the corruption that stains their very souls, but walk it they shall... after all, nothing worth fighting for is ever easy.

[1bootyyyshaker9000]

April: Do you want to explain the text you sent last night?

Cass: It was auto correct.

April: Auto correct wrote "you're so hot please step on me"?

Cass, sweating: Yes.

[somedudenamedanthony]

They're my comfort disaster toxic queeer polycule babies, your honour

[sentientsky]

i know this has been discussed ad nauseam, but i'm doing research for a meta, and i'm slowly realizing that i will never ever be over the Good Omens Lockdown dialogue. especially that line towards the end (begins at the 02:50 minute mark):

Crowley: [...] You know, I could hunker down at your place; slither over and watch you eat cake. I could bring a bottle—a case—of something...drinkable?

first, the unabashed expression of a desire to be near Aziraphale is so rarely evident (i mean, we have 1967 and other instances, but in the case of '67, an outsider could more easily—i guess??—interpret offering him a lift home as an expression of gratitude for the holy water). so, to witness his clear, unveiled desire for comfort and closeness (and to literally just watch Aziraphale eat cake) demonstrates the interpersonal progress made in the time after Armageddon't; he's not concealing the offer behind some flimsily-constructed reason (e.g., "I just didn't want to see you embarrass yourself"). in fact, he's implying that they'd be spending long lengths of time together ("hunker down", "a case of something drinkable"). and then Aziraphale's response is also really interesting, and kind of exists as a microcosm of their whole push-and-pull dynamic that has existed for literally thousands of years (begins at the 02:59 minute mark):

Aziraphale: No, I—I—I—I’m afraid that would be breaking all the rules! Out of the question! I’ll see you… when… this is over?

i'm sorry, but the sheer nervousness???? the grasping for excuses??? they're gay disasters, ur honour. breaks my fucking heart </3 i love them both, but also OUGH. azi, why?!?

[saintsenara]

honestly is there a single competent teacher at Hogwarts? Any teacher I can think of with more than 10 lines of dialogue is a pedagogical disaster. Very shippable disasters though, for which I am grateful because your page has made me giggle all week.

maybe Sprout.

honestly, anon? no.

that school is a basket case and the older i get the more my sympathy for cornelius fudge increases. imagine getting the call where dumbledore says "heyyyyy... so, i hired what i thought was an ex-auror who was retired from the service because of serious ptsd, gave him no teacher training, let him perform illegal curses on children for fun, and then it turns out he was an escaped convict trying to resurrect the dark lord all along. lmao."

i'd have devoted myself to trying to discredit him too.

and so, for fun and profit, i think it's only fair for us to establish an official competency ranking of the teaching staff at hogwarts during the period 1991-1998... points on for having a basic grasp of the material, points off for anyone who nearly dies in your class.

1. wilhelmina grubbly-plank, care of magical creatures

genuinely, professor grubbly-plank is the only person we meet in all seven books who seems to be an uncomplicatedly good teacher. she's got a series of well-defined lesson plans which feature a mixture of guided and independent study and which work in a tangible way towards exams, she has clear authority in the classroom but is never unreasonable or cruel, she's demonstrably able to lead a practical class which involves wild animals which might behave dangerously or unpredictably without there ever being any concerns about student safety, she takes an active pastoral role [such as when she helps heal hedwig's injured wing, reassuring harry enormously], she's collegial [she shares her lessons plans with hagrid in goblet of fire, and she refuses to criticise his teaching to umbridge], and she's admired by all of her pupils except harry [who is nonetheless begrudgingly forced to admit that she's incredibly good at her job].

plus, her aesthetic is iconic.

=2. filius flitwick, charms; pomona sprout, herbology

in joint second place, we have these two.

both sprout and flitwick spend canon seeming to be pretty good at their jobs - they have interesting lesson plans which seem to balance theoretical and practical work well and which prepare their pupils properly for exams, their pupils like them and enjoy their lessons, they're both excellent at the pastoral side of their jobs [sprout's gentle encouragement of neville is really lovely], and they're adored by their colleagues.

they lose marks for lax classroom discipline. harry, ron, and hermione are constantly yapping away in both charms and herbology - with harry and ron frequently failing to understand what they're supposed to be learning because they were too busy have a chat.

=4. remus lupin, defence against the dark arts; septima vector, arithmancy

two teachers here who earn their placement on the list by having one pupil who considers them life-alteringly inspiring.

for lupin, this is dean thomas - whose constant state of readiness to throw hands to defend his honour is one of his greatest character traits. for vector, it's hermione.

obviously, they're both well-qualified, well-prepared, engaging, and [at least in lupin's case, but i can't see why it wouldn't also be the case for vector] well-regarded by their colleagues.

they don't rank higher because lupin loses marks for endangering his students by not disclosing his knowledge that the presumed-to-be-a-death-eater sirius has a means of entering hogwarts without detection [i understand why he does this from a characterisation point of view, but it's inexcusable from a safeguarding one] and because vector teaches an elective subject which is implied to only attract bright, engaged pupils - and therefore has an easier time in the classroom than someone trying to get a student like crabbe through their exams.

5. minerva mcgonagall, transfiguration

in comes minnie mac at number five.

unsurprisingly, her solid curriculum, excellent classroom discipline, high-regard among her colleagues and pupils, support of student extracurricular activities, and investment in helping her pupils pursue the careers they want all give her points.

she loses marks, however, for the fact that she is so casually disdainful of pupils who aren't instinctively good at her subject - which suggests that she doesn't know how to adapt her material so it can be understood by every student she teaches. like dumbledore, she seems to have an identifiable favouritism for brilliant students - who she seems to permit to get away with much more than students she considers average or dull - which probably doesn't endear her to anyone who doesn't get that treatment.

on her pastoral approach, though, i don't think that it matters too much that she's not particularly nurturing - even though she's a head of house. she seems to be good at responding to genuine distress and managing genuine crises with empathy, and the "pull yourself together" vibes she takes in response to more trivial dramas is because she's a presbyterian scotswoman.

6. severus snape, potions & defence against the dark arts

the one on this list that i imagine will be controversial...

because snape is a dick in the classroom - not denying that - but he's also, in terms of his pupils' exam performance, clearly the most successful teacher in the entire school. he can fill his newt-level classes despite only admitting those with outstanding grades, and he expects every pupil he teaches to pass owl-level potions and seems not to be disappointed. hermione reveals that he does teach the theory of potions and the discipline's wider application - harry and ron just don't listen - and that she thinks his lessons are interesting.

snape loses marks - obviously - for his general vibe, although i think he should be allowed some leeway for his dickhead behaviour since potions is clearly a subject in which not paying attention and not being able to follow instructions properly is dangerous [hence why i've been a trevor hater since day one].

i suppose he should also be allowed some leeway because it's a genre requirement for a school story to have a theatrically evil teacher. but he's not getting it - since he clearly enjoys the role so much.

7. horace slughorn, potions

marks on for encouraging independent thinking and for clearly being able to hold a classroom's attention. marks off for not learning the names of pupils he's indifferent to, getting his favourite pupils drunk, and for having no follow-up questions to "hello, sir. i'd like to commit some murders."

8. charity burbage, muggle studies

entirely because i think it's genuinely admirable - and, indeed, far more admirable than the fact that the order of the phoenix all happily keep working for the state following voldemort's takeover - that she publishes an article in the daily prophet, to which her real name is attached, explicitly refuting blood-supremacist rhetoric when she must know that a blood-supremacist government is about to come into power.

marks off because the fact that even wizards who've taken her class appear to know fuck all about muggle society means that she can't be particularly good at her job.

9. firenze, divination

marks on because his pupils love him, marks off because that's a tremendously low bar to clear given... trelawney.

him telling his classes that divination is a bullshit, made-up subject is iconic, though.

10. "alastor moody", defence against the dark arts

i think it's genuinely impressive that he manages to go from being imprisoned under the imperius curse for a decade straight into planning a full year's lesson plans [which his pupils love] and doesn't have a breakdown.

marks off because of literally everything else.

=11. all the miscellaneous teachers: aurora sinistra, astronomy; silvanus kettleburn, care of magical creatures; bathsheba babbling, ancient runes

they seem fine.

14. rolanda hooch, flying

full respect to her for managing to wangle a full-time salary out of an annual workload made up of teaching one lesson [badly] and refereeing six quidditch matches.

15. quirinus quirrell, defence against the dark arts

all the proof those of us who hate professor riddle stories need that voldemort would have been a dogshit teacher, if he can't even get his meat-puppet to inspire a room full of eager eleven-year-olds in a subject which is about the coolest ways possible to kill people.

=16. cuthbert binns, history of magic; sybill trelawney, divination

they're terrible, obviously, but the fact that they remain in their jobs despite being so clearly incompetent is entirely dumbledore's fault. are you not giving the staff performance reviews, albus? come on now.

18. dolores umbridge, defence against the dark arts

umbridge deserves to be in prison, but she did at least bother to plan out a curriculum.

=19. gilderoy lockhart, defence against the dark arts; rubeus hagrid, care of magical creatures

both victims of dumbledore's "lol this will be so funny" era of hiring practices. both deservedly regarded as completely fucking incompetent by all but one defiant brownnoser. both possessing jazzy taste in textbooks.

21. amycus carrow, defence against the dark arts

he beats his sister simply because his pupils do appear to know how to perform the unforgivable curses correctly.

22. alecto carrow, muggle studies

literally nothing positive can be said.

[bruciemilf]

now i need to know how miguel and battinson would interact. there's so much potential for all types of scenarios

My favorite one at the moment is Miles somehow stumbling in Gotham. He's running from Miguel, from Gwen, from himself.

if there's one thing Gotham can give you, it's a chance. For greatness or disaster both. The Batfamily often picks both.

"Is he, uh, one of ours?"

Dick carefully takes In this guy, -- this boy, this 15 year old. Panting and scared and strong, and way too familiar with being put in the corner. "Call dad, Duke."

Bruce knows too much about scared children.

Miles is handed a cup of steaming tea by a big guy named Jason. There's a discreet smell of cold blood on him, gunpowder, bullet smoke. It clashes with how...Gentle he's being.

" Uh...Thanks."

"Yeah, don't get used to it,'' He said, ignoring the fond, sly smiles of Bruce and Dick. " You two definetly don't get used to it."

Cass sits next to Miles on the couch, " Jay. Small brain. Big heart. Mushy."

"I graduated with honours,"

"English degree.''

"Damian, hold me back. Or I'll get my ass kicked again."

"So when you say multiverse,--"

"Tim," Bruce's voice is soft silk but nonetheless very effective. "We should let Miles breathe a little. Come. We'll talk in the cave.''

Damian regards Miles with a look. Not a bad or good one, but just a look. " Danger favours you. Use that."

"Uh... Okay?"

"I only had you for a day and a half. Should something happen to you, I'll annihilate everyone on the planet, and then myself."

"...Thanks."

He tells Bruce what happened, with every terrifying, every nerve wrecking detail. He remembers the rush, the adrenaline, the dread that bled into him. The sour betrayal.

"I know that the real Spider-Man wouldn't complain, but he's,'' There's something about Bruce, that puts an ease on him. He looks at Miles like Rio looks at Miles. " He's my dad."

"Suffering isn't an accomplishment, " Bruce tells him gently, hand on his shoulder, " And tragedy isn't a reward. Anyone would do the same in your position."

"...Would you change YOUR destiny?"

"I already am."

As for Miguel and Battinson? You can't tell me it's not fighting on sight.

Miguel knows he pushed too hard, and he was too harsh, and he didn't take the time to explain WHY this needs to be done. The motive behind it. The reason.

"You can't explain the reason because there's no reason."

"Listen, trust fund. You can give me back my kid, or I can take him from you. "

Bruce doesn't miss a beat, meeting rich, sharp, ruby red eyes with a calm glare. " You're welcome to try."

"You want me to mess up that pretty face? Is that what you want? If you want to fight, then-"

"I'm not a 15 year old, so are you sure?"

Dick and Jason give eachother tired looks. " They're totally gonna get married."

" Totally."

[icy-book]

@justablah56 I'm back on my bullshit and this time we're bringing Hermie into it

About 5 weeks into teaching Hermie, Terry Jr realised there's something weird about him. The shapeshifting that other people don't really seem to notice, his name, the fact that he doesn't even go here he just showed up? When he accidently singes the stage curtains and immediately puts it out, it pretty quickly clicks for Terry.

So, naturally, right after meeting Nicky again and finding out that the Close-Foster-Freemans are back in town, Terry Jr casually messages Jodie, "Hey I think I found your missing son. He's not quite dating Henry's grandson" and then does not respond for 10 hours because he has coursework to mark and lessons to plan

Next time Terry needs to call a parent-teacher conference about Hermie, he doesn't go to his legal guardians but instead calls Scam and Jodie separately, without telling them that the other will be there, and locks the door the moment they enter his office. "Right. You two are going to sort out your son's behaviour, because if you don't then these will keep happening and you will be forced to put up with each other continuously.

"It was a very effective threat.

There are multiple betting pools, both in the PTA and the drama students, about how the Cassandra/Veronica/Terry Jr/Nicky love square is going to turn out. Some people think that Veronica and Terry's marriage is going to fall apart, some think that Cassandra and Nicky will end up heartbroken, some, sensibly, think this will all be sorted with a polycule, and some think this will somehow end up with Nicky and Cassie getting back together and then divorcing again. Glenn found out about these when he went to help with show set up (he'd agreed to do a lot of the sound stuff) and promptly put down $100 on the polycule. He did, however, start several contradictory rumours to get other people to put more money into the other options

Terry Jr is the most unhinged teacher at times. He often plays background music whilst people are working, but none of the songs in his playlists are actual songs. They're either insane mashups (such as the All I Want For Christmas x Welcome To The Black Parade one), parodies, or covers in completely different styles (think Postmodern Jukebox). The only normal songs on there are showtunes and the albums make by Glenn and Henry

(One time Cummingtonite came on accidently during class and Terry fucking Dove for the phone because that song traumatised him)

He also frequently hangs upside down off the catwalk, using only his legs to grip on. The first time Nicky saw this, he has to physically restrain himself from making 20 vampire jokes, and instead settled for making a wizard joke. He also called Terry Jr an OSHA violation with the absolute softest look in his eyes that even Taylor noticed

Nicky has several true crime podcast episodes dedicated to his random disappearance that also then link in the kidnappings and events of AMoD. One of the PTA members who also went to school with them does a true crime podcast (but because of the Doodler kidnappings, refuses to cover any case that is less than 7 years old, and also refuses to cover that specific case) and cannot wait for the several people she's either collabed with or gotten into some form of Twitter feud with to find out that he's just,,, back. Nicky has agreed to do a completely innocent-seeming "Oh, ran into my old high school friend again" insta post with her in order to stir shit

Veronica finally got the courage to talk to Cassandra. She complimented the cake she made for a school bakesale. They both spent the entire day blushing and not talking to each other again

Consider, if you will, AU (either with canon post-s1 pre-s2 events but D.A.D.D.I.E.S. solves things before season 2 would start, or no Doodler/betrayal but Nicky still has to leave because FBI or other reasons) in which Terry Jr is the full time drama teacher for Teen High. Nicky returns from wherever he's been and is like "Well I want to be an active part of my kid's life and try and make up for lost time. I should go to his parents' evening, find out how he's doing in school, and meet his teachers. Especially this Mr Marlowe guy, Taylor seems to think he's awesome." And walking right into that classroom/hall to find his ex-boyfriend best friend sitting there in a dorky sweater and tie combo

Cue Terry, without missing a beat, greeting them as if nothing is wrong

Internal: when the FUCK did he come back and oh my god this is so awkward fuck I have to be professional how do I tell this guy that his kid is a loveable little shit after everything that's happened oh god oh fuck

Externally: "Hello Taylor and Mr Close-Foster-Freeman. I'm Taylor's drama teacher" *shakes hand* "Would you like to take a seat?"

[sokkas-first-fangirl]

This ones a little out there (hi anon), but if you have any other ideas for the prompt, i liked your platonic encanto omegaverse a lot

Shall do! Madrigal family shenanigans ahoy

Look, everyone knew Pepa was emotional. Always had been. Even before her Gift, she was known as the loud one, the giddy one, the emotional one. Would-be bullies quickly learned not to mess with Pepa's siblings. It usually resulted in the gangly little Alpha throwing fists- and her fists were as hard as stones. Add in the threat of a storm and no one wanted to mess with her. Not unless they were stupid.

Really, they should have expected that her protective streak would include Félix. She was protective enough as a friend and sibling. As a girlfriend? Pretty terrifying.

Félix happily told Agustín and Bruno that he loved it, smiling that dreamy smile he always wore when Pepa was discussed, or in his line of sight, or even just in his thoughts.

Bruno mimed strangling himself. Agustín fondly rolled his eyes, not sure which of them he was more exasperated by.

Pepa had once thrown another boy into a pond for stealing Agustín's glasses. She took her role as an Alpha seriously; she was protective, fierce, but never cruel. She was not a walking-talking stereotype, though Agustín knew she worried about acting like one. When she fretted like that, it was only Julieta and Bruno who could calm her down. Even Félix struggled to make her see how amazing she was sometimes.

Times like these however? Agustín watched, already biting back laughter, as Pepa chased off a girl who tried to flirt with Félix. A black cloud hung ominously over Pepa's head and a cold breeze rushed through the village square. Pepa snarled at the girl, fists clenched, and remained tense and snarling as the girl quickly backed away. It was funny, Agustín would freely admit. Pepa was so tall and gangly, Félix so short and stocky- and some people seemed to think it should be Félix jumping into fights, not the other way around. Agustín couldn't imagine Félix punching anyone- not unless they seriously deserved it, or unless it was self-defence. He just didn't have a short fuse.

"Knight in a yellow sundress," Julieta murmured, amused, as Félix grabbed Pepa and dipped her into a dramatic kiss.

"Dorks," Bruno said fondly.

[disasterbuck]

I love you

Buddie | T | 4222 words

"I'm in love with you, you know." Eddie paused in wiping down the bench to look over at Buck, caught completely off guard by the words. "You what?" he asked, his heart racing. "I love you," Buck repeated, a soft smile on his face as he leant back against the fridge. "Don't worry, I'm not asking for anything. I just wanted you to know." Knuckles turning white from where he was gripping the dish cloth, Eddie stared at Buck silently for a few moments as he processed what he'd been told. Buck lowered his gaze shyly, smiling down at a magnet he'd plucked off the fridge to fiddle with. "I love you too, Buck," Eddie said after clearing his throat. "Yeah," Buck said, keeping his eyes down. "I know." Eddie wanted to say something else, something to reassure Buck that it was okay or to ask how long he'd known, but he didn't know how to form the words. "I should get home," Buck said with a sigh, pushing away from the fridge and turning so he could replace the magnet. "Thanks for dinner; you're getting really good at this whole cooking thing!" Eddie dropped the dish cloth on the bench and took a step towards Buck as the other man moved towards the doorway. "Buck," he said, voice rough with emotion. Don't go. "Eddie, please," Buck said quietly, his body facing him but his eyes on the table. "Don't make a thing of it, okay? I just... thought you should know." Eddie opened his mouth to say more, but the words evaporated off his tongue. He stared, until finally Buck looked at him and gave a pained smile. "This is enough," Buck promised with a small nod – to convince Eddie, or himself? "You're the best friend I could ever ask for. I'm so glad I met you. And it's enough. I swear." Eddie felt like he was going to be sick. His hands had curled into fists by his sides and he could feel his nails pressing into the soft flesh of his palms. He wanted to reach out for Buck, to take his hand and smooth out the anxious lines that had formed on his skin. But he couldn't make himself move. "Alright, take care," Buck said awkwardly, his gaze dropping again. "I'll see you– I mean I'll... I'll call you tomorrow." Eddie tried to make his mouth form the single word 'bye', but nothing came out. So he just stood there, staring, as Buck turned and walked out of his house. In the empty silence after he heard his front door open and close, Eddie sank down onto one of his kitchen chairs and buried his face in his hands. Not knowing exactly why, but not being able to stop it, he cried.

Read the rest on ao3

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Anthony Lockwood makes it through a late and relaxed morning, a leisurely afternoon well suited to reminiscing, and the earliest part of a normal evening before his luck runs out.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: M

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: They're idiots, your honour, unrequited pining (it's requited, they're just stupid), language, canon typical violence, only proof-read while sick

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: I love me a good miscommunication trope, and coming up with ideas on how to make long-term mutual pining work is way too much fun, so finally figuring out both angles of what these two lovebird's dynamic was going to be was a major driving force behind this re-write hehehe I'm not sorry This chapter fought me every step of the way, and I had to split it into two parts so it wasn't outrageously long, but in the end I'm incredibly happy with the result! Chapter three will take place only a few minutes after the end of this.

Since this is where the 'slight au' part comes into play, I'm curious to see what you guys think of the world building in this one! Please feel free to leave any comments or questions if I was a bit vague on something, or if you just want to know more about this little headcanon universe of mine

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.17k

⇠ 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

  The sun has only just begun its descent towards the horizon, but the chill on the wind already cuts to the bone.  In spite of the numerous layers of suit and coat, it bites into Anthony’s flesh.

 “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” a woman calls out to him, loud enough to be heard over the chorus of cafe patrons hiding from the cold behind steaming cups of tea and coffee.

  “I think I’d be better off not doing anything you would do, Luce,” he shoots a wink at her over his shoulder, holding the door open with his elbow to shoot a two-fingered salute at the ginger woman beside her laughing unabashedly at their playful bickering.

  Lucy mutters a retort under her breath, a particularly colourful string of insults if the swat on the arm it earns from her girlfriend is anything to go by.  

  The door swings shut behind him, abruptly cutting off the sound of Norrie chastising her partner about ‘publicly decent language’ and leaving him with a pep in his step as he wanders towards Regent Street in the general direction of his favourite rapier shop.  

  Something about afternoon tea with his best friend and her girlfriend always leaves him feeling reminiscent, the water-colour splashes in soft shades of orange across the horizon only serve to heighten the feeling.  His short walk to Mullet and Sons allows him some time to indulge.

  A lot had changed in the six years since Lucy had joined himself and George at Lockwood & Co..  For one, they’d gained quite the reputation.  Fittes and Rotwell were still most people’s first choice, but now you’d be more likely to hear their little agency recommended than Bunchurch or Tendy’s.   He’ll admit, initially it seemed as though they were going to become infamous rather than renowned; between the disaster at Sheen Road, the disaster at Combe Carey, the disaster at–

  Well, you get the point.  It hadn’t looked promising.

  Their luck had begun to change with the case of the Bone Glass, then eventually Aickmere’s, but it hadn’t felt like nearly enough.   Those days had been filled with anxiety.   Worst of all was the fear of his Talent fading, the uncertainty of what his life would look like without the thing he’d based every choice he’d ever made on.  How was he supposed to survive in a world in which he couldn’t See?  He’d been terrified of running out of time to achieve his dreams, petrified he would fail his family by never achieving anything worthy of their name.  It was safe to say he hadn’t been in the best headspace.

  The fear almost overwhelmed him as time rushed on towards his eighteenth birthday, made all the more unignorable by his experience watching Quill Kipps lose his own Sight.  And while they’d found a solution for the retired Fittes agent in the form of Fairfax’s Ghost-Vision goggles, there was no replacement for the real thing.

  And then the daunting milestone had come and gone with no discernible difference.

  George was the next oldest.   Over the course of that year his Talent faded slowly, then all at once.  He hadn’t minded overmuch, the library had become preferable to being in the field somewhere around their fifth arson-related-incident.  In his defence, Mrs. Manfield flying across her lawn like a bat out of hell screaming about her antique doily collection being smoke-stained would have been enough to traumatise anyone.

  The following year had gone quite flawlessly, if he did say so himself.  With George as their dedicated researcher, and Lucy and Anthony’s competitive spirits driving them to never fall behind each other in skill, they were capable of taking on a significantly larger number of cases.  If they needed additional hands in the field for any particularly challenging jobs they’d enlist either George or Kipps with the aid of the goggles.

  But by her nineteenth birthday, Lucy actually seemed upset that her Talent refused to fade.  The boys had been confused by this at first, and while Lockwood had the sense to leave it alone, George had continued to question her.  They’d found out the full story of how she’d come to be an agent when she’d finally broken down.     She’d never chosen this life, and even though she loved her time with Lockwood & Co., she’d always been comforted by the notion that this life of fighting and fear had an expiration date.  In contrast to his own relief and excitement at the prospect of never losing his Talent, she felt nothing but trepidation.  George was watery eyed by the end of her confession, his lips pressed tightly into a thin line to prevent them trembling.   Anthony felt like he might be sick.   By the light of the numerous mismatched candles on Lucy’s lopsided birthday cake, they made a pact to pretend as though her Talent was fading, and phase her out of the agency within a year's time.

  A few short months later, the first headline popped up in a small gossip rag. It wasn’t even one of his top five.  Someone had taken notice of his remaining Sight at his advanced age, but hadn’t yet noticed their attempts to fake Lucy’s waning Listening.

  In the days after the first article's publication, the obnoxiously loud business phone began ringing more often.   Then, another article in a larger paper.  Followed by another, then several more.

  Anthony had to restrain George from ripping the phone’s cord out of the wall after one too many interrupted naps.  The researcher moved in with Flo not long after, but still kept his room mostly furnished for the evenings he worked far too late to make it to their flat safely.

  By the time their story had been told often enough for the media to lose interest, they had gone from having enough cases to keep them busy to too many to keep up with in what had to be some kind of record time.   In light of the extra attention they had considered hiring another agent, but their options were slim and the thought of bringing in a child to fight their battles was surprisingly difficult to stomach.  Anthony made a mental note to apologise to Barnes after that realisation, gaining some perspective on the man who’d tried so desperately to keep them away from the front lines.

  Time felt more like an undefeatable foe in the six months that followed than it had at any previous point in his life.  How was he supposed to keep taking on cases without anyone to watch his back in the field?  Would he end up alone in this bloody house yet again?   Despite the thoughts that haunted his darker moments, he knew he would let Lucy leave without any fuss.  Even in the last weeks of her employment he knew he could never be selfish enough to ask her to stay.   Though, had he known–

  A street sign reading ‘Half Moon Lane’ interrupts him from his stroll down memory lane, heralding the end of his journey.   The old building slumps under the weight of time.  Even the paint on the window is chipped, almost removing the ‘Sons’ in Mullet and Sons.   Although the storefront's outward appearance borders on decrepit, they have undeniably the highest quality rapier’s in London.  The hinges shriek as he pushes the door open, alerting the proprietor to the presence of a customer.

  “Ah, Mr. Lockwood!  A pleasure, as always.  How can I help you, my boy?” emerging from the back room, the white haired old man beams upon recognising him.  

  “Mr. Mullet, please, the pleasure is mine!  I believe one of my agents placed an order with you recently?  I’m here to pick up for her.”  

  After confirming her name and the details of the order, the old man teeters his way back into the room he’d just come from.  When he emerges again, he does so with empty hands and a deep frown upon his face.  

  “It appears one of my sons has caused a touch of a mixup and sent your employee’s rapier home with another agent.  I can place another order with our supplier, but I’m afraid it won’t arrive until the end of the month,” his tone is apologetic, but Anthony still has to fight the urge to groan in frustration.  

  “Mistakes happen, Mr. Mullet.  We’re only human after all,” thankfully, he’s had plenty of practice schooling his tone over the years, “that being said… we’ve made commitments for this evening.  I can’t very well ask one of my agents to walk into a haunted house unarmed.”

  “Of course, I understand completely.  Since you’ve been doing business with us for so long, I’m willing to offer a percentage off of any of our in stock models as a token of our apology.”  

  It’s a gracious offer, one Anthony is happy to accept.  He defers to the expertise of the older man, allowing him to lead them from option to option within the dimly lit store.  

  Trying to choose such an essential tool for her without her input is a surprisingly daunting task, and he finds himself quickly overwhelmed.   Searching for something to distract him until he can ground himself properly, he lets his eyes wander freely over the different kinds of metal glittering from mahogany shelves before they fix on a single standing display across the room.  Driven by curiosity, he approaches the case to inspect its contents.  What he finds nearly steals the breath from his lungs.    Laying on a scarlet velvet cushion is the most beautiful rapier he’s ever laid eyes on.  It has a fine silver blade, connected to an intricate swept hilt inlaid with gold leaves that wind around the counterguards and down the central ridge.  When his eyes travel to the pommel and find her birth stone caged within golden vines, he begins mental preparations to re-mortgage the house.   Thankfully, when Mr. Mullet wanders over to find him staring transfixed at the weapon, he gives him a knowing smile and cuts the younger man a deal he almost feels guilty accepting.  

  When he departs the shop, rapier tucked safely into a cloth wrap, the sun is dangerously close to the horizon.

  Uttering a quiet prayer to the powers-that-be, he scans the area for a payphone.  Luck is on his side today and he finds one rather quickly, tucked into a nook beside a cafe a few shops down.   As he makes a beeline for it with purpose, he comes aware of the hairs on the back of his neck standing slowly to attention.  At first it’s easy to brush it off as a result of the temperature, but the closer he gets to the booth the more the sensation builds.  It feels like someone’s watching him.   Stepping into the silver-glass encased rectangle, he lifts the phone from the receiver before pausing.  Thinking quickly, he puts on his best thoughtful expression, pretending to have forgotten the number he needs to call as an excuse to let his eyes wander his surroundings.  The droning of the phone waiting for input makes the entire situation feel even more unnerving.  

  Nothing glaringly obvious jumps out at him; no nefarious stalker in a trench coat peers at him from some dark alley, no one stares at him over the top of an upside-down newspaper.  All his eyes can find is folks hurrying into their vehicles before the threat of darkness grows, shop workers locking their doors and flicking off their lights.

  Scoffing at himself for allowing his paranoia to get the best of him, he dials a night cab.  Though he’s quite certain he’d imagined the threat, he still refrains from mentioning his destination out loud.  He hadn’t made it as far as he had by throwing all caution to the wind.  Just… most of it.  Before he can waste too much time chastising himself any further, he slams the phone back into place and turns with purpose to wait for his ride in the safety of the cafe.  

  Honestly, it’s a good thing he’s so dramatic.  If he hadn’t insisted on doing the most theatrical spin, complete with the billowing of his coat as he exited the box, he wouldn’t have startled the man watching him from behind the corner of a nearby bookstore.     The balding head disappears as the body it’s attached to ducks behind the brick wall.  Anthony has several options, but very few of them are good.  He quickly decides his best course of action is to pretend to be unaware of the man’s presence, electing to continue on to grab himself a tea whilst he plans his next move.

  Watching the brilliant orange and scarlet glow of sunset, Anthony finds himself observing the comings and goings of vehicles outside the shop window.  There’s an unusual amount of traffic for this time of day.  He’d expect to see a large number flocking to their homes, seeking safety from the threats that come with darkness.  But to see even two or three vehicles stop to park alongside the road this time of night was unusual.

  The arrival of his cab shakes him from that train of thought, jumping the tracks straight to figuring out how to make it to Mrs. Roland’s house in decent time without being followed.  He hadn’t seen another sign of the man since, but he’s not convinced the danger has actually passed.  With a huff, he draws himself out of the comfortable chair.   The cold air is no more forgiving now than it had been before.  Allowing the warmth of the night cab to envelop him, he instructs the driver to begin a complex route to their destination in the hopes of losing those tailing him.  

  The sky is pitch black by the time they arrive, but his efforts seem to have been successful.  While he’d thought for a moment one of the cars that started up as he’d exited the cafe might have been following them at first, there’s no sign now of anyone suspicious following behind.

  Stepping out of the cab onto the curb, he takes a deep breath and tries to sort his thoughts before he dares to step foot into the house.  Why, precisely, would somebody have him under observation?  For once in his life, he can’t think of anyone who would have reason to.     Pulling up the sleeve of his coat to check the watch on his wrist, he curses under his breath at the time.  There’s going to be a lot of grovelling in his very near future.  It’s nearly thirty minutes past six.  She’s going to kill him, and he can’t even fault her for it.

  He’s about to rush into the house when a set of headlights comes into view at the top of the street, nearly blinding him before cutting to blackness at the sight of his silhouette.  

  Bloody hell, that is the final straw.  He’d done quite a fine job feigning ignorance until this point, but he has to draw the line at this level of obviously shady behaviour.  If they’re this incompetent he can get to the bottom of the matter without the need for secrecy or strategy.    He straightens to his full height, setting his jaw and turning to walk with confidence towards the sleek black car now parked roughly a hundred feet ahead of him.

  The sound of glass shattering fills the quiet night air before he can make it more than halfway, stopping him dead in his tracks as he listens for any further sign of danger.  Usually, the thought of his associate in any form of peril is more than enough to send him spiralling into an – admittedly unnecessary – protective frenzy.  However, considering all elements of the present situation, he finds himself torn.  Their interview with Mrs. Roland prior to the acceptance of the case had left them both confident the Visitor is a Type One, which she’s more than capable of handling herself, and if he doesn’t chase this lead down now–  

  An unholy shriek echoes down the street, sending chills down his spine.

  Sketchy stalker-mobile be damned.

  He turns on a dime, long legs carrying him across the lawn as if chasing his own shadow as the headlights behind him reignite and light his path.  The golden beams veer away, the car pulling a sharp u-turn to flee the scene.  If he wasn’t so worried, he’d probably be frustrated.   He almost can’t stop fast enough to prevent himself from running face-first into the door when the handle refuses to turn.  Swearing loudly, he jiggles it again to ensure it isn’t just stiff before he risks causing property damage.  The screaming is making it hard to think, but he can’t quite put his finger on what about it is making him feel so unnerved.  When it finally hits him, property damage is the least of his concerns.  Barely audible beneath the unnaturally shrill sound, her scream is hoarse and pained.

  He takes a full stride back, rocking his weight back on his left leg and lifting his right.  His foot hits its mark directly beside the lock, the full weight of his panic-aided-strength sending it flying open.  He can’t help but wince at the crunch of drywall, likely from the knob on the far side embedding itself in the wall, but he doesn’t waste any further time on it before striding into the house.   Dead ahead, an electric lantern sitting on the kitchen counter bounces light off of the shining tiles covering the majority of the space.  To his left is a small dining room with only a mid-sized table, four chairs, and a plethora of obnoxiously colourful paintings on the walls.  Deciding having both hands free will be more conducive to survival, he dumps the cloth bag containing her new rapier on the table and rushes towards the commotion.

  Between his relief at seeing her unharmed and the sheer comedic value of the expression on her face as she slides around the corner with arms flailing, he almost bursts into hysterical laughter.  Thankfully, his self preservation instinct is strong enough to encourage him to duck behind the wall while he gets himself under control.   Under normal circumstances he would let her exit the house rather than practically jumping out at her, but he can’t be sure there isn’t someone still waiting outside.  And as a small bonus, if she’s already mentally signing his death certificate, he can’t make it any worse by making an entrance.  He feels a grin spread across his features despite a valiant effort not to enjoy this too much.

  “Sorry it took me so long, darling.  Traffic was atrocious,” he has to bend to wrap an arm around her middle, but that doesn’t stop him.   Instead of lashing out or screaming again, she catches him off guard by completely relaxing into his hold.  A spark of protectiveness flares beneath his breast as the back of her head falls to rest on his collarbone and she lets out a shaking breath.  In stark contrast to her usually unflappable nature, she trembles like a leaf.  There’s no way a simple Type One put her in this state.

  It takes all of his willpower to peel his arm from her waist, to offer her the only shield he can by tucking her safely behind him.  He takes a deep breath in through his nose, exhaling slowly through pursed lips and drawing his rapier.  It’s not enough to eliminate the intoxicating effect of her proximity, but it dampens it enough he can think clearer.

    “Anthony John Lockwood, you fucking asshole!  The sun set half an hour ago!” the rage in her tone fills him with relief, not even the impact of the flat of her hands against his back can take away from it.  He’d obviously prefer if she were calm, but he’ll take anger over despair any day.

  “Any idea what kind of Visitor we’re dealing with?  Or what the Source could be?” he breezes past her outburst, not having to look over his shoulder to know if looks could kill he’d be dead on his feet.  

  He knew this routine like the back of his hand.  She’d be angry at first, call him every name in the book, and then they’d move past it and get the job done.

 Except there’s no scoff, no retort, no rapid fire insults, no reply of any kind.  The silence is deafening.  Taking back every scathing remark he’s ever made about Orpheus’ lack of restraint, he caves to the impulse and glances over his shoulder.   He’d been right about the look, at least.  The incredulous fury painted across her face might have been comical in another place, on another day.  But there, just beneath the surface, was something he hadn’t expected to find; betrayal.

  Shit.  He’s really fucked up this time.

  “Y’know what?  Figure it out yourself,” the venom dripping from her tone feels like knives in his chest, “you would have had to if you’d been a minute later anyways.”   Time comes shuddering to a halt.  His pulse is deafening as it thunders in his ears.  If he’d put her life in legitimate danger – regardless of the circumstances – he’d never forgive himself.

  “What do you mean?  What happened?” he manages to choke around the lump in his throat that feels suspiciously like his heart, turning to face her fully and reassure himself by searching every visible inch of her for any sign of injury.  The urge to reach out and touch her, to feel her body beneath his hands and know for sure she isn’t being stubborn enough to hide some kind of fatal wound from him, is so strong his fingers burn.

  After a few incidents involving him turning into a lovesick moron at the slightest touch from her early on in her employment, she’d gone to great lengths to avoid any form of contact with him.  He’d come to terms with this, resigning himself to the idea of a life spent admiring her from arms length.  So while she hadn’t seemed too opposed to having him in her personal space tonight, he had no intentions of pushing any farther and making her uncomfortable.

  That was the plan, at least.  But when screaming pierces the air once more, the colour drains from her face, and he watches her cave in on herself in an attempt to hide; he feels like this counts as extenuating circumstances.     He takes a single large step forward, arms reaching towards her in unison.  Her hands are over her ears, head tucked into her chest, elbows tight to her ribs.  He allows his upper body to curl at the edges and cage her against him, hugging her head to his chest to muffle the noise.

  Then, it stops.  It’s hard to decide if the ghostly howling or ensuing silence is louder.  

  “You okay?” he murmurs the question, reluctantly releasing her to rest his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to try to catch her gaze in the low light.   There’s merely inches between their faces when her unfocused eyes finally lock with his own.  It’s hard to breathe without acknowledging they’re breathing the same air, but he files that thought away for later.  He concentrates instead on tracing every one of her features with his gaze, every tensed muscle and line that may offer him some insight into her condition.   She squeezes her eyes shut, blinking like she’s just woken up.  When she finally focuses on him, her pupils blow wide as dinner plates.  Her lips part, her small gasp the only disturbance in the air as he involuntarily holds his breath.  

  A sharp stab of heartbreak courses through him as she steps back abruptly, raising her palms in surrender.  His poor heart stops dead for the umpteenth time today when he spots the dark spot on her hand.  She tries to drop her arms, to move to put more distance between them, but his sense of urgency outweighs his better judgement as he grasps her tightly by the wrist.  The chill of her skin beneath his does nothing to assuage his concerns as he pulls her across the kitchen to the light, ignorant to her protests through the haze of his anxiety.   Their proximity to the light confirms his fear, and the crimson red of fresh blood staining her skin has his stomach rebelling against him.  As soon as he drops her wrist she pulls it away and clutches it to her body, glaring daggers at him.    He makes a mental note to beg for her forgiveness later, reaching for her face and watching shades of red begin to decorate her flesh as she reaches new levels of infuriation.  Her skin is sinfully soft beneath the fingers that turn her towards the light and brush against her cheek, tucking the hair behind her ear to give him a better view.     A cold blanket of righteous fury settles over him at the sight of the narrow crimson river running sluggishly down her neck, using his thumb to swipe it away.  Murderous thoughts fill his head at the sight of the stain left in its wake, doubling in intensity at her expression when he shows her the smear of red highlighted by its contrast against his pale skin.

  “Now will you tell me about it?” any attempt at a playful tone is harshly undercut by the tremor of rage in his voice, but she still laughs with less nerves than he’d expected.  

  She studies him closely, but he stares right back, too focused on making the bloody thing pay for hurting her to be self-conscious under her scrutinous gaze.  After a short minute of this, understanding blossoms across her face.  

  “Through the living room, down the hallway - mind the runner, it’s slippery - the primary haunting is in the bedroom.  Husband’s name was Harold Roland.  There’s a painting on the left wall, initialed ‘H.R.’, psychic imprint like I’ve never seen.  Twenty quid says that’s the Source,”  she pauses, lost in thought with her eyes fixed on the ground, “Oh!  And it’s probably obvious by now, but it’s definitely a Screaming Spirit.”

  He can feel the corners of his lips quirking up as she drops the stubborn attitude.

  ‘Good girl,’ he wants to say.

  “Your rapier is on the table,” he says instead, turning his back on her under the guise of watching the direction they’d heard the screaming from.  In reality, he’d just needed an excuse to hide his blush and re-centre himself.

  He’s so busy shaking the offending thoughts from his head and cursing himself out for allowing his mind to wander into unsafe territory that he’s completely blindsided by the burst of other-light lighting up the living room like a flash bang.  He’s still blinking the blind spots from his eyes when rapid movement in his peripherals alerts him to the potential danger.  The ringing of iron fills the air as he draws his rapier, muscle memory taking over despite his still spotty vision as he slices clean through the centre of the spectre mere inches from his face.

  Behind him, the sound of her drawing her own blade drains anxiety he wasn’t aware he’d been feeling.  As she takes her place beside him he admits to himself that nothing in this world feels more natural than having her at his side, trusting him to keep the Visitor at bay whilst he trusts her to strategize.

  Despite being the newest member of their agency, Anthony trusts her instincts more than even his own most of the time.   He’d figured out not long after she’d joined that she had a particular balance of empathy and intelligence - and a sixth sense he couldn’t really explain - that made her an asset in the field.  Of course he’d never been dense enough to phrase it like that to her face, not after sticking his foot in his mouth with Luce all those years ago.

  Her posture shifts almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough to tell him she’s finished piecing together a plan.  All he can do now is hope she’s feeling generous enough to let him in on it.

  The crisp clean sound of her new rapier sliding into its sheath suggests he might be out of luck.  He’s considering whether or not it’s worth asking her directly when his brain sputters, then stalls.   She steps back far enough he has no warning of her proximity until she presses herself completely against him, the surface area of her chest displacing against the back of his ribs in a way that leaves him feeling a little dizzy.  As much as he really, really enjoys her hands dancing along his sides and hips, he can’t help but question her truly terrible timing as he fights to keep his blade in the air to ward off their ‘friend’.

  “Follow my lead,” she says.  It takes a while to filter through the dial-up connection that is his mind at that moment.  He regains his composure just as she hurls the salt-bomb over his shoulder, realisation dawning on him in a flash similar to that of the silver fulminate as it collides with the ghost before him.  So that’s what she’d been up to.

  She’s off like a bullet the second the apparition dissipates, shooting past him and into the other  room.  In a rather impressive manoeuvre, she tucks and rolls to land on her side parallel to a horrifically sunny loveseat before shoving her arm beneath it as though searching for something.  Of all of the things he could possibly expect for her to retrieve, a silver-net was not one of them.  He adds that to the list of questions he has for her once they get this situation under control.

  She’s back on her face and hurdling across the house like a bat out of hell when Mr. Roland decides to make another appearance in the form of a pair of ghostly arms emerging from the white walls.  A stone drops in his gut when he realises there’s no way he can reach her before the grasping arms of the apparition wrap around her shoulders.

“DUCK!” he hollers, an iron taste filling his mouth.  She immediately dives for the floor and–

  He loses sight of her past the walls of the hallway.

  The pounding of his heart drowns out the noises that follow, his legs carrying him across the house on autopilot.  The cold air stings every inch of exposed skin as he closes the distance to the active haunting, but it’s not nearly as cold as the blood in his veins when he spots the telltale sparkle of silver on the rug outside the bedroom.     He ducks to grab the net and sweeps through the doorway just in time to watch her body fly across the room.

  Even the brutal screaming had paled in comparison to the sound of her head hitting the bed frame. 

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢

taglist (if your name is in bold, it wouldn't let me tag you!): @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000 @stardust611 @ell0ra-br3kk3r

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

[mentallyinvernation]

Courting disaster for the wip game <3

Heya!

Courting Disaster (the title will proooobably change it's just a filler atm) is an Alpha/Beta/Omega, arranged marriage, royalty AU. I blame the entire thing on Queen Charlotte because I watched that and immediately got ✨inspired✨so it very very very loosely follows that.

ANYWAY, a snippet for your time:

“God’s wounds, you could at least pretend to have a good time. It’s supposed to be our wedding day, is it not?” “It is.” “I get it. I’m a troll to you.” Hob mutters. “You’ve made that much perfectly clear.” Dream diligently refrains from rolling his eyes. “I do not believe you to be a troll.” “Then you despise me, correct?” “You are my husband.” Dream replies by way of answering, though his expression remains a practised blank.  “Impressive how you made those two things sound synonymous.” A wry smile twists the corner of Dream’s lips. “I do not despise you. I was transported overseas so that I might be here with you. How could I be anything but happy? A crowd of nameless faces cheer for our union. It is their wish to see us dance, so I will dance. It is most unfortunate that my family could not attend on such short notice, and it is unlikely I will see much of them henceforth. But no matter. I consider it a great honour to wed a man I met mere hours ago. A man whom, from the moment I stepped foot inside these walls, I have been poked, prodded, weighed, and assessed to ensure that I am fit to please. So tell me, Your Majesty, do I please you? Have your staff succeeded in presenting me as an adequate mate?”  Hob’s mouth hangs open. “Of course, you’re -” “Then the matter is settled.” Dream interrupts, tone sharper than the edge of a steel blade. “I cannot despise you. I do not despise you. You are my husband. We are the Crown. I have been agreeable. It is done.”

As you can see, they're both very happy 🙃🫠

[celestialprincesse]

hey!!! I just wanted to say I really love your work, and this is my first time asking for a request so sorry if it’s not very specific or doesn’t make sense 😭💕

I was wondering if you could do a john price x fem!reader where Laswell and price are at base and Laswell’s wife and prices wife (reader) are hanging out because it’s what they usually do when their partners are deployed. Laswell’s wife and reader are just sending them some cutesy vlogs or photos of what they’re doing, maybe of them like curled up watching like movies or maybe like little videos to them and Price and Laswell are watching the videos together and js like FLUFFY AND CUTEE

Anyways no worries if that’s not something you’re comfortable doing, again just wanted to say I really love your work, and feel free to change anything 💕

Anon??!! I'm so honoured that you'd send your first ever request to lil old me! Laswell is my favourite tired lesbian and I want to have her babies

"I wonder how they're getting on." Snaps you from your Legally Blonde induced reverie, the soft drawl of Madeline Laswell, your long time best friend, breaking the torpor under which you'd both been settled all morning.

The two of you have been curled on your fluffy couch since this morning, only having moved to retrieve your takeaway orders from the doorstep or acquire more snacks to fuel your ongoing movie marathon. You'd successfully managed to scare Maddie out of her mind this morning, calling in the early hours of the morning, voice thick with tears as you babbled incoherently about John. Of course, her first thought, still delirious and half-asleep, was that her best friend had just been left a widow. This, however, she'd proven wrong, ringing Kate's emergency line in the hopes of confirming the status of your husband for your peace of mind.

Maddie, having calmed your panic (one that she knows all too well), turned up on your doorstep not even an hour later, a bar of chocolate the size of her head in one hand, and a supermarket bag stuffed with all of your favourite crisps and dips in the other. A bottle of wine and three romcoms in, your earlier crisis is all but gone.

"I miss them." You hum absently back, voice a little muffled around the handful of your favourite fizzy sweets you'd just shoved into your mouth. "Does John have a work number?" Maddie probes, not looking up from where she currently paints her fingernails a pretty, pearlescent shade of blue. "Yeah. I try not to text him on it unless there's an emergency though. Or if he says he has time to talk." "Kate has one too. You think they're busy?" "I mean - she called you back this morning, no? They only ever call or text when they're inactive."

The look on Maddie's face is one you know all too well. You've seen it countless times over the years you've been friends, and it always spells disaster. Before you know it, she's got her phone in hand, camera open and pointed at where the two of you are piled together amongst chocolate wrappers and blankets.

"Hey, Katie! and John - you guys should watch this together." She chats brightly to the camera in that wonderfully animated chirp of hers. "We're just here watching romcoms because someone" You laugh softly, blushing as she pans the camera to where you sit drowning in one of John's old hoodies. "- was getting all up in her own head panicking. Don't worry John, I'm looking after her."

Kate's phone pings as she and John sit around a table in a dingy bar in some cold, far off city. Of course, she can't tell either you, or her own wife, that they're coming home tomorrow - just incase the signal gets intercepted. It won't, but she can't try her luck and risk leaving two of her favourite women without their partners.

"It's Maddie." She muses, one dirty blonde eyebrow raised in confusion as she swipes open the video attachment her wife had sent. John looks up at her over the condensed rim of his beer bottle, his own eyebrows furrowing.

"The girls are together." Kate continues, relief painting her tone as she places her phone on the table between them, allowing John to see the grainy video too. "- because someone was getting all up in her own head panicking. Don't worry John, I'm looking after her." Price chuffs at Maddie's words, but the way his eyes soften when he sees your blushing pink face, the way his hoodie drapes over you, is almost impossible to miss. "Anyways! We'll see you soon! Be safe - we love you!"

Writing this made me lowk a lil bit 🥲🥹 Laswell and Price are just like the softest when it comes to their spouses💕

N e ways! Thank you for ur cute request!!! It was lovely!!! A nice lil break from getting all emo or posting my shitty memes!!! Love u love u love u!!

[jackwhiteprophetic]

What's your ideal first episode of season 8?

Thank you for the ask!!!!! I've just been thinking about this...

We normally open on a bigger emergency, it's not as obvious this season as last season (the cruise)...

I think there's a possibility that they have the emergency be not call based (the emergency is Gerrard, for example) but I hope not!!

I think they'll likely open with a montage of how general life is over the summer, with Eddie alone in a messy house and Buck trying to help him, Henren constantly texting with Madney and dropping by in the mornings before work, and Bathena trying to figure out housing logistics and how to get Gerrard fired and take down Ortiz. We'll see how Gerrard runs the station, and how everyone responds to this, with no one trusting Gerrard's calls and Gerrard trying to split the team up during shifts, and by the episode will end with a larger scale emergency. I think maybe a really large pileup that the 118 is involved in? Potentially Bobby has to rescue the 118 in the end. I think it will be less of a natural disaster, more of a localised disaster like a fire or building collapse.

They normally mirror and parallel personal conflicts with calls, so I think we might get an earlier minor call where someone hates their boss, and I think they'll be fucking evil to Eddie more by having calls where kids are hurt. I think the theme of the first episode will likely be parental separation (with Henren missing Mara, Bobby without his "118 children" and Eddie without Chris. And I think it's likely we end the episode with some sort of emergency where people are trapped together to contrast this, like for example they show everyone being isolated, and then trap them all under a building or impale them on the same rebar or something.

So I think this would be a multi episode arc, and I think it would be most fluid with what we've ended S7 with, and then ideally I'd like it to be wrapped up with Gerrard being gone and Ortiz being exposed.

I don't think Chris will be back in these early episodes (despite my hopes, although tbh I want them to give the story the time it deserves BC if they're gonna destroy Eddie like that they should at least take the time to explore this and have some good scenes), I think they'll likely wait until Christmas for that, and that there's a potential for an Eddie begins again around that time as well.

Sorry ik you said ideal and ideally it would be fun to open with established buddie and just work backwards in flashbacks from there, but I really hope they take the time to actually let the characters be shown and honoured BC I think the way they just brushed over the impact Gerrard had on Hen and Chim, and the way they just hurriedly destroyed Eddie's life in such a fucking weird way is SO STRANGE and I hope they take the time to fix it well.

I hope this season has more calls and is less rushed, BC it felt like due to filming schedules and how rushed last season was, they kept the characters' plots very separate, for example we saw Hen and Chim's storylines intertwined and that was what they discussed on calls, and we saw this with Buck and Eddie, but BC they were shuffling around the order of scenes it didn't really flow together very well.

Thank you for the ask!!!!!