#vintage handiwork

[tatterdemallionsails]

I can't believe more people don't know about the antique pattern library! All those public domain, vintage handiwork books and magazines are scanned in pdf format, and FREE TO DOWNLOAD! Languages include French, Italian, German, and English. It just does need to be mentioned that most of the earlier English publications are British, so American users need to make sure to convert the instructions as necessary. Especially crochet instructions, where a British double crochet is an American single. No, I don't know why 🤣

Publications include (for those who can't see the picture) :

Battenberg Lace, Beading, BerlinWork, Bobbin lace, Bookbinding (yes, bookbinding!!!)

Calligraphy, Carpentry, Crochet, Cross Stitch, Cutwork

Drawing, Dressmaking

Embroidered Net, Embroidery

Filet, Filet Crochet, Flower Arranging

Glass

Hardanger

Irish Crochet

Knitting, Knotting

Lace (soooo many forms of lace making)

Macrame

Paper, Point Lace

Quilting

Ribbonwork

Sewing

Tatting, Tulle Embroidery

Various

Waxwork, Woodworking

Workbasket Magazine -- a publication that usually posted multiple different crafts in each issue.

It's a wonderful site, and I've loved it for nearly 20 years!

Antiquepatternlibrary.org

K so not to be dramatic or anything, but there's a free vintage French pattern book available on antiquepatternlibrary so if you like to crochet/weave/make pixel art/tie epic friendship bracelets don't walk- RUN.

It has scenes from aesop's fables! Cherubs doing things! Beheadings! Greek muses! Little farm people! Intricate floral pattern! Goth stained-glass window like patterns! Fun little corner pieces! Eeeeeeeeeeeeee

https://www.antiquepatternlibrary.org/html/warm/C-TT008-180.htm

[odoraful]

𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒

⟡ content: diluc/wanderer/childe x gn!reader; sfw; modern au; established relationship; fluff !! ⟡ a/n: i was scouring pinterest looking the most fitting inspo rooms for each of them hehe

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DILUC ⟡

Your shared home is an old-fashioned but charming house with a tiled roof and a brick archway leading to the entrance of the door. Diluc has a good eye for style — all the furniture pieces you select together are warm and elegant, perfectly matching with the vintage style home.

He’s a bit of a craftsman, and when you moved in he custom built bookshelves just for you. Your house has traces of Diluc’s handiwork: a wooden tissue box cover, tile coasters, a ceramic chess set.

Being a peak acts of service man, if he notices that there’s something inconveniencing you that can be mended, he’ll try to find a way to fix it. That wooden chair that wobbled yesterday when you sat down on it? The next day, it’s miraculously levelled. Always struggling to find your keys before you leave the house? There are now little hooks on the wall where you can easily hang them. He doesn’t make a huge show of it, but you’ll always kiss him on the cheek and say that you should repay him with something.

“There’s no need. Seeing you happy is more than enough for me.” He replies, running a hand through his hair, the tips of his ears turning red.

The house is IMPECCABLY cleaned — the chores are shared out between the two of you, and the both of you work like a well-oiled machine. He’ll insist that you shouldn’t carry anything too heavy though! He doesn’t want you to hurt yourself :(

One of the things that Diluc wouldn’t ever trade is getting the chance to cuddle with you in the evening on the couch. He’ll let you play with his hair and try out different styles, comforted by the feeling of your fingers running through it.

Sometimes, he’ll come home late from work tired and perhaps a bit grumpy, but the sight of you will change his mood completely.

At the sound of jangling keys and the front door creaking shut, you rush out of the bathroom and down the stairs. 

“(Y/N), I’m home!” You hear Diluc’s voice call out to you.

The day had felt far too long for him, and with far too many headaches for him to deal with. The only thing that he looked forward to at the end of it all was to see you again. 

Hearing the patter of your slippers, he looks up. It takes everything within him to keep composed at your appearance. Having just gotten out of a hot shower, your cheeks were tinted pink, hair still damp and slicked. Diluc’s eyes trailed to your clothes, a matching pair of flannel shirt and shorts. He loosens his tie, suddenly finding his breath stuck in his throat. It baffled him how gorgeous you were even in pyjamas.

Wordlessly, he reaches towards you. You look down at his hands and see as they fasten the remaining top two buttons of your sleeping shirt. In your hurry to greet him at the door, you forgot to dress properly. 

“I can’t believe I missed that...” You sheepishly say, observing his hands as they linger on your shirt. Your senses told you something was off.  “Did you have troubles at work today?”

The worry in your eyes melts his heart. Of course you were the one to peer through him and know exactly how he was feeling. 

“A few clientele at the bar today were-” He sighs, still fidgeting with the fabric of your shirt, recalling the events of the day, “-difficult to manage to say the least.” He lifts his head to meet his gaze. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.” 

Your arms instinctually wrap around him and he collapses into them. Tightening your embrace, he rests his head on your shoulder.

“Diluc, I just took a shower.” You say with a light giggle, trying to pull your hair away from his face.

He feels your breath close to his ear and he wishes he could have recorded that laugh for himself to hear it over and over again. 

“I could tell.” He breathes deeply. “Is this a new shampoo?”

“Well yes, but what I meant from that is that my hair is still wet!”

You feel him smile against you. “It doesn’t bother me. Just a few more seconds, please. I need to recharge.” 

WANDERER ⟡

You share an apartment together since you travel to and from the same university. Although you’re studying different degrees and have different schedules, you’ll both make an effort to spend time together at home during the weekdays. 

You and Wanderer leave little notes cheering each other on and stick them to the walls or the fridge before you leave, or sneak them into pencil cases or onto laptop screens. He has a small box on his desk where he collects all your notes, neatly folding them up to preserve them.

Wanderer enjoys having the home quite minimalist. Just the essentials will do, but the two of you do splurge a bit more on your study space —  the comfiest chairs, wide desks, tactile keyboards — anything to liven up having to do assignments all the time.  

When you’re feeling too tired or distracted from your own studies, you’ll walk over to his desk and try to sit on his lap while he works. He’ll attempt to exert some self-control and reject your wishes, but eventually gives in after seeing your pout.

“Just because you’re distracted doesn’t give you any right to bother me.” He grumbles, resting his chin on your head.

He warns you that if you do decide to put plants in the house, you are responsible for them. Little do you know that he’s secretly also invested in their health. On mornings when you’re in a rush and forget to water them, he’ll spritz them with your spray bottle thinking to himself: If you died (Y/N) would be devastated, so don’t even think about it.

His favourite room is the bedroom. It’s a place for both of you to escape the stresses of being a student and relax together.

The alarm clock beeps and you wiggle in bed, reaching over a hand to quickly silence it. Bright sun filters in through the curtains, its light diffusing into the room. 

You force your eyes open and sit up, your body bent over like a crooked branch. Movement beside you pulls your attention as Wanderer shifts in his sleep. You can’t deny how pretty he looks even at rest. His long lashes fanned out under closed eyes, the steady rise and fall of his chest with each deep breath. His expression is that of pure peace. You know that’ll soon disappear when you both need to properly wake up and prepare for classes.

“Hey, it’s time to wake up,” you whisper, carefully coaxing him from slumber. 

Wanderer opens his bleary eyes ever so slightly, then immediately closes them. He mumbles something of refusal. You roll your eyes in resignation. When it comes to sleep, he acts like a child sometimes. You turn to get out of bed. 

Two arms wrap around your waist and yank you back. You stumble into the sheets with a yelp. Wanderer adjusts the blanket over you and pulls you closer to him with one hand. 

“Not yet.” His voice is low and scratchy, his words slurred. “Want more time in bed… with you.” 

You sigh softly, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair to detangle it. “You do this almost every morning. You’re never going to attend your lectures on time.”

He replies by nuzzling into your neck, and you hear nothing but his slow breaths. His peers would have sooner called identity fraud than believe the stony and scholarly Wanderer to be this clingy and affectionate in the morning. However, in the privacy of just you, it’s become easy for him to let down his guard. 

“Don’t try to get out of this by pretending to be asleep.” You say, deadpan.

There’s a stutter in his breathing as you catch his obvious charade. 

“Stop worrying. I’ll just watch the recording.” He finally responds. 

You realise in a fluster just how close your faces are, barely inches apart. As if sensing this, Wanderer opens his eyes once again, this time there’s a glint of mischief in them. 

He taps his forehead lightly against your own. “And besides, why would I want to spend my mornings in a noisy lecture hall when I can be with you in peace and quiet?”

CHILDE ⟡

You’ve been living together for a while now, and your home has transformed into what can only be described as organised chaos.

If Childe kept up with his interior designing eagerness, it would have been complete maximalism, but you were there to contain his excitement and still ensure your home was still practical. 

The two of you love collecting pillows, plushies and blankets, which adds even more to the cosiness! However, one day you tried to sit down on the couch and realised it was more pillows than actual seat space. In a fit of laughter, you and Childe ruled that you would rotate between different cushions every so often so you could get your couch back. 

Childe will still come home with flowers or sweets (sometimes both) as gifts for you on random nights. He’ll stand on the doorstep looking like a lovesick teenage boy asking his crush out on a date. Taking them from his hands, you’ll ask what the occasion is.

“Well, there isn’t a particular occasion.” He kisses you on the forehead. “Celebrating you should be an everyday thing.”

Board game nights are taken very seriously. You have a bookshelf filled with different types of them. Whether it’s a classic game of UNO or Jenga, or something a little more strategic, he's always hyper-competitive. You also have special punishments for if one of you loses, which are harmless but maybe a little embarrassing (One of his favourite punishments for you is ‘For the entire day tomorrow, Childe will only call (Y/N) by the cheesiest pet names’). 

MASSIVE kitchen since he loves to cook. He keeps a book of recipes from his mum and has since added new ones of his own that he has shared with you. 

“Could you come over here, baby?”

You follow your partner’s voice and the scent of something freshly baked into the kitchen.

Childe is standing behind the counter, his face in deep focus. He takes one of an array of heart-shaped biscuits and dips half of it in a bowl of chocolate before placing it on a lined baking sheet. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, exposing his forearms. His muscular build is sharply juxtaposed by the cream-coloured apron tied around himself, which has a little teddy bear embroidered in its centre. 

You approach the kitchen bench, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Are they ready yet? Can I try one?” You eagerly ask. 

“Not quite, I need help dipping the rest of these into chocolate.” He stretches his arms out in front of him, shaking the tension out of them.

“That being said,” he grins, extending a hand towards you across the kitchen bench as an offer, “would you do me the honour of being my baking assistant for a little?” 

Chuckling at his dramatics, you delicately place your hand in his like royalty. “I’d be delighted to help.”  

Childe guides you to his side and helps you put on your apron. As he ties the strings together, he relays the instructions to you. 

“You just need to dip half of the biscuit into chocolate, and then add some sprinkles on top before it sets.” He tightens the bow around your waist to secure it.

How hard could that be? You think, nodding along to his words.

Demoing an example, Childe deftly coats half of the biscuit. Angling it just right, the chocolate drips off and evens itself out, leaving a perfect covered half. After placing it on the tray and adding the finishing touch of sprinkles, he gestures for you to try it yourself.

You confidently take one biscuit and dunk it. 

“Ah!” 

Underestimating its consistency, when you lift the biscuit, the chocolate slowly spreads onto the other half of the heart and drips onto your fingers. You quickly place it onto the baking sheet. Childe stifles his laugh, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“My one looks so much worse compared to yours…” you mutter, licking your fingers to remove the evidence of your unsuccessful attempt. 

Seeing the frown on your face, he gently bumps your shoulder with his own in encouragement. “Don’t say that! I think your one has a lot more charm.” He says, adding the sprinkles onto your heart. “I’ll run some extra baking classes with you to build up your skills, how does that sound?”

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[anthonys237thfreckle]

Love in Oklahoma - Javier ‘Javi’ x F! reader

prompt: javi and his girl bought a small farm in Oklahoma, reworked it and adopted little nancy!

TW: mentions of injury, implications of smut

i saw @tempesttamers make a post about seeing anthony ramos with nancy and they needed a javi fic who has a miniature cow named nancy lol. it was such a cute idea, so thanks for that!

Whenever it wasn’t tornado season down in Oklahoma, the excitement was buzzing for the next one. Everyone round the bonfire of another cheap motel, all the storm chasers would gather and share stories of chasing a twister or two, the failures, close calls, successes… reminiscing the adrenaline high everyone felt in their own way.

But you and Javi had no place to stay apart from those motels. Your homes were far away from the southwest, and though storm season was over, Javi still needed to do a lot of research and analytics for storm patterns, their paths, conditions, humidity levels and even sometimes forecasts. Storm Par was busy all year.

Since he dragged you from your own job in the city down to Tornado Alley, you felt like you belonged down there, among the wheat fields, cheap food, thick humid air and wide skies; you and Javi would stargaze at times, and they seemed brighter down there for two reasons. One, there was no pollution for them to shy away behind and two, Javi was there - the man who seemed to make everything brighter.

So rather than stay basically homeless, Javi saved up some money and bought a little house with a farm. Barely half the size of a football field, it was selling for pretty cheap, so you Javi bought it for the two of you.

It wasn’t grand, but you two loved it very much. A small, simple, two story farmhouse with a porch, wide and welcoming, its wooden steps leading up to the red-brick house. Inside, it was definitely in need of some handiwork, but it was inviting nonetheless. After all, blank walls are nothing but a canvas to store potential. Dark stained wooden floorboards run throughout, giving it a rustic elegance. Though scuffed by generations of footsteps, they were very well polished. The kitchen, an open wide space, the heart of the home, had a traditional water pump basin and sink. You grinned when you saw it, turning to Javi who raised his eyebrows in shock and chuckled quietly, shaking his head in amusement. The sink sat beneath a window with a picturesque view of the backyard. White wooden cabinets adorned the walls, giving the kitchen its own light. Though the house was partially furnished, providing you with a large, rectangular dining table, some vintage pantry cabinets, and some sturdy chairs the previous owners left behind.

The second floor was led by some creaking wooden steps, and after climbing the short flight, you were met with a master bedroom with a large window overlooking the front yard, connected to a bathroom with checkered floor tiles, one of your new favourite things. They had a normal tap unlike the kitchen basin downstairs, and large mirror with some storage units and a shower. The other room, another bedroom, was smaller in comparison, but still had a window and a large bookshelf covering one whole wall. The other bathroom, almost as large as a room itself, was spacious, with two sinks, a rainshower, and bathtub.

Needless to say, you two fell in love with the house.

Once you two moved in, you both started to rework the place a little. Javi invited some close friends from Storm par and you invited Kate and the Tornado Wranglers to held paint the walls. Once that was done, everyone went out for dinner at a local diner, letting the stench of fresh paint air out. 2 weeks of relentless reworking went by, the crew made everything a lot faster; the house was homely, cozy, inviting. A bit of a contrast to the two city people you two were, but all the hard work made it all the more impressive. All your old stuff was shifted in, the crew helping you move all the heavy furniture, then left you two to do your own thing. Once everything was furnished, you both fell asleep on your shared bed upstairs, holding each other close.

After a day of rest, you both spent from sunrise to sunset out on the farm. Javi drove you to the farmer’s market, finding people who sold nearly mature crops with the purpose of repotting. You both bought 3 tomato plants - one in each colour: purple, red and yellow - 2 cucumbers, some Napa cabbage, romaine lettuce, arugula, some raspberry and blueberry shrubs. Once back the sun was high, you both slathered some sunscreen on and spent hours outside, repotting everything into the fertile southwestern soil.

The Tornado Wranglers came over for housewarming, bearing gifts; Kate bought you a pot of flowers, with her own recipe for a fertilizer which wasn’t damaging. Tyler brought a handmade sign saying ‘Not our first farmhouse!’ with the ‘Not’ crossed out in red paint. You accepted it with a laugh, and Javi just rolled his eyes playfully. Boone bought you both a vintage polaroid camera, and you had the idea of taking a photo of everyone who visited this house, and sticking it on the wall near the entrance, as a cute little housewarming idea. Lily brought some food, her famous enchiladas. Dani bought you two a weighted blanket and a toolbox, knowing how handy that can get. Dexter bought you two some encyclopedias and books you two would definitely enjoy. Everyone shared laughs and jokes and memories over dinner, and you both realized how this farmhouse really changed your lives.

You both started living a new life together, which contrasted everything before.

You always had a knack for baking and cooking, but only did so occasionally, because you could always buy bread from the supermarket, and you were busy. Now that you had joined Storm Par (once you cornered Javi and Scott into finding ethical investors) you both worked from home, giving you a lot of time for each other, and equally important, yourselves. Now, not a weekend went by when you went on a baking spree, pulling in Javi to help you out leading to flour fights, stolen chaste kisses where he’d lift you onto the counter, and everything in between. You baked sourdough, focaccia, dinner rolls, peanut butter cookies, muffins with fresh blueberries from the yard.

Javi rarely ate breakfast, mostly because he was too lazy or never had the will to eat anything shitty anyways, so every morning he’d be blessed with a platter of fresh herbed butter on sourdough toast, free range eggs from some chickens you both bought, and crispy organic bacon. Now, he claims breakfast is his second favourite meal, and when you ask what comes first, he just gives you a knowing look, which ends up with him getting flicked on the forehead.

All in all, your lives had changed for the better, but it was only about to get even better.

As you both drove back from the farmer’s market one evening, you saw a little curled up black and white creature on the side of the road

“Hey, baby, look..” you pointed over, and his eyes followed yours.

“Is that-” he slammed the breaks, rushing out of the car, you following behind.

It was a baby cow, or a miniature one, and its leg had a horrible gash on it.

“Its owners probably ditched her, pool gal…” He said softly, stroking the calf’s head when he found no ear tag on her.

You and Javi shared a look, and a silent communication went between you two. You needed to help her out.

You rushed over to your trunk, pouring out some milk and giving her some sustenance in the hopes of earning her trust. After carefully lifting her, making sure she didn’t thrash around, Javi put her in the backseat after you put a blanket down. You sat with her, the animals’ head resting in your lap. You drove a little way out of town for a vet, and after a quick checkup, you were given some ointment, and since the calf was abandoned, you both decided to keep it.

“Come on, Nancy” Javi said soothingly, carrying calf back into the car.

“Nancy?” you chuckled “We’re naming her already?”

“Yeah” Javi said with a chuckle “I like Nancy” he smiled, petting the calf’s head

“So do I” You said after a moment of thought. “Let’s get going”

Once everyone was back home, you brought out a wheelbarrow, and Javi put Nancy in there, the both of you gently bringing her to the barn. Once she was settled on a pile of hay, Javi gently tied her neck to a pole, making sure it wasn’t cutting anything off. You brought a bottle of milk with you, feeding her as her big black eyes got drowsier.

“Can I sleep here with her?” Javi asked you with concern.

“In the barn?” you laughed “Seriously?”

“I’m dead serious, (name)” Javi said, a look of determination you couldn’t fight.

“Alright, let me get the limoncello candle” you said in fake annoyance. Javi smiled, and called out.

“Love you, baby!”

—

Once you came back with the lit limoncello candle to ward off any bugs, setting it in the corner, you brought some sleeping bags and a bottle of water and milk, for you two and Nancy.

“I’m sleeping here with you” You said, handing him a sleeping bag.

“You don’t have to..” Javi said softly, never taking his eyes off Nancy as he stoked her head, tracing the blotches of black on her cream fur.

“I want to” you reassured, settling into the sleeping bag. “G’night, Javi” you murmured after giving him a sweet peck on the lips.

“Love you” he said, watching you over his shoulder as you settled in for the night.

“Love you too” you yawned “You know, if you changed your mind-”

“No” He interrupted you stubbornly “I’m staying here with Nancy” He reinforced.

“Whatever you say, baby” you chuckled, closing your own droopy eyes. “Make sure to actually catch some sleep”

“Yeah, I will. I promise” He nodded. “Goodnight, (name), I love you”

“Love you too, Jalapeño” you chuckled “Goodnight”

Javi chuckled at the nickname you loved using, and watched as you fell asleep. He looked over at a now asleep Nancy and smiled. He was so happy he bought this little home with you. He looked over at you again, then crawled over, unzipping the sleeping bag.

“Javier….” you whined “I was falling asleep!”

“Hold on just a second, baby..” He unzipped the sleeping bag, detached the zippers on his own one, and attached the two bags together and crawled inside, zipping it back up.

“Now we can cuddle!” he grinned, and you shook your head with a chuckle, burying your head in his chest and wrapping your arms around his torso.

“Okay, now really goodnight.” you murmured with mock annoyance.

“Yeah, really” He chuckled, nodding. “Goodnight, love”.

And with that, you both fell asleep in the barn, in each other’s arms, alongside your new companion. Javi dreamt of your lives progressing in this little farmhouse, filling it up with kids, maybe a German Shepherd… ironically, the house did have a white picket fence too, which made everything all the more cliche. But he didn’t care how much of a sap he was around you - since you seemed to love it anyway. Your lives had gotten so much.. lovelier.

If anything, you both found more love here, in Oklahoma.

[hazyaltcare]

Typing Quirk Suggestions for a Robot kin

I hope it gives you a wonderful uptime! :3

Mod Vintage (⭐)

Letter replacements:

Replace "O" with zeroes "0"

Replace "i" or "L" with ones "1"

Replace "one" with "1", including "one" sounds like "any1", or "we 1 = we won" (the past tense of "win")

Replace "zero" with "0"

Frankly, you can just replace all sorts of letters with numbers, such as

R = 12

N = 17

B = 8

A = 4

E = 3

etc.

or maybe make all "A"s and "i"s capitalized, cause "A.I." (artificial intelligence

Prefixes and Suffixes:

Get inspired by programming languages!

Begin your text with "//" like a comment on C++

If you prefer other languages comment tags, you can use "< !--your text-- >"

Or maybe begin it with " int main () { std::cout << "your text"" and end with "return 0; }" like C++ too

Greet people with the classic "Hello world!"

Or greet people with "beep boop!" honestly, I have no idea where this comes from, but it's cute.

Or write down html stuff, like sandwiching your italicized text with "< em> "

The possibilities are endless!

Robot Lingo:

(under the cut because there's a LOT! maybe terabytes! ...just kidding >;3c)

.

some of these are from the machinesoul.net robot server! (not sponsored) (we're not in there anymore, but we saw the robot lingo shared there when we were)

Fronting = logged in, connected

Not fronting = logged out, disconnected

Conscious = activated

Dormant = deactivated

Blurry = no signal

Upset, angry = hacked

Small = bits, bytes

Bite = byte

Huge = gigabytes, terabytes, etc.

Your intake of food, medicine, etc. = input

Your artwork, cooking, handiwork, handwriting, etc. = output

Body = chassis, unit

Brain = CPU, processor

Mind = program, code

Imagination = simulation

Purpose = directive

Nerves = wires

Skin = plating

Organs = (function) units

Limbs = actuators

Eyes = ocular sensors

Glasses = HUD (head's up display)

Hair = wires

Ears = antennae, audio sensors

Nose = olfactory sensors

Heart = core

Liver = detoxification unit

Circulatory system = circuits

Voice = speaker, voice module, voice box

Mouth = face port

Name = designation

Sleep = sleep mode, low power mode, charging

Eat = fuel, batteries

Energy = batteries

Tired = low on batteries

Translate = compile

Memory = data, database

Bed = recharge pod/charger

Dreaming = simulation

Birthday = day of manufacture

Talking = communicating

Thinking = processing

Transitioning = modifying your chassis

Depression = downtime

Joy = uptime

Trash = scrap metal

Fresh/Clean = polished

Keysmashing = random 1s and 0s

Self-care = system maintenance

Going to the doctor = trip to the mechanic

Group = network

Anyone = anybot

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I had the worst Monday that could have ever existed. Onto Tuesday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"I trust this should be amenable to your work," Mr. Laufeyson holds open the door along the east wall of his study. One you've never opened before though you're familiar with the space within. The library also opens into the hallway and keeps you busier than many of the other rooms. "When you should require it. I expect much of your work will keep you afoot."

You peer past him, his tall figure like a second shadow. You clutch your kit tight and nod. You didn't exactly bring the tools for this new role.

"I should have a blank ledger somewhere, oh and a pen of course," he advises, "given our new... arrangement, I would require a contact point."

You nod and tear your attention from the full shelves and luxurious velvet chaise. You won't get to enjoy those but they give the space a much more welcome feel than the rest of the house. You face Mr. Laufeyson as he keeps the door propped open with his foot. He slides out his phone as if it's a task. 

"Never to worry, I wouldn't bother you much so long as you do your work adequately," he assures, "but in case of... emergency."

"Oh, erm," you sputter and reach into your hoodie pocket, revealing the tiny flip phone.

"Hm, vintage," he muses, "as you would."

He holds his phone, gesturing to it with his other hand. You teethe your lip before you recall the digits of your number. Your plan doesn't include a lot of talk minutes but he doesn't promise much of that. He keys them into his screen.

"You'll have mine," he taps his thumb and your phone chimes. "In case."

"Thanks, uh, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Mmmm," he hums again. "Suppose you would need some sort of proper device, a computer of sorts." He clucks and checks his watch, dropping his arm with a huff, "I've an important event shortly, I'll try to venture by the electronics shop before I return.”

You nod and fold your phone, slipping it away as you peek back into the library. He inhales deeply, "suppose you should begin. The list is on the writing desk.”

You accept the command easily. You’re even thankful for it. It gives you a proper reason to find distance. You go to the desk and look over the typed list. You don’t sit, hesitating as you wonder if it would seem lazy, maybe even presumptuous.

“Let me fetch that ledger,” he says before letting the door drift closed.

You run your finger over the top line. ‘Create a schedule’. Hmmm. You look over the bullets that fill the paper. You can only assume he refers to all of that. It’s straightforward, you can handle a schedule. It’s everything that comes after that gives you doubt.

“And you’ll have to review what my wife, ex that is, left in shambles,” Mr. Laufeyson interrupts as he pushes through again. “Her little folder is here. She was always fond of order, even though she left me in much less. This is what’s left of her handiwork,” he approaches coolly and sets down a plain fawn coloured ledger, a fountain pen, and a white folder with golden flowers on it.

“Thanks,” you eke out as his hands linger on the edges.

You sense his gaze, discerning and weighty. He leans forward slightly and you nearly take a step across as he points to the list. You follow the line of his arm and his extended finger.

“Another point to add, ‘acquire work attire’,” he instructs and turns his hand over, flippant flicking his finger in a gesture to your plain hoodie and worn gray denim. “I trust my pay should afford that necessity easily, however should you require a write-off, I suppose it could be argued as a professional expense.”

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson,” you frown in embarrassment, “I didn’t…” You look down at yourself, wanting to hide behind your arms. 

“You wouldn’t think of it, just a maid,” he dismisses, “very well, I think you have more than enough to begin. I should be some hours.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you agree. He is correct, there is more than enough to keep you busy.

“I will review the schedule upon my return,” he affirms. “Should you require refreshment, you recall where to go.”

You nod and cautiously reach for the ledger, sliding it closer as he backs up. You slowly sit, hovering before you let yourself rest. He lingers by the door as you roll the pen aside and put the ledger and folder parallel. You open the former and line up the list inside the cover, resuming your perusal of the bullet points.

The door closes and you keep your attention to the paper. You don’t dare a glance up until you hear his muffled footfalls cross his study. You feel as if he’s waiting for you to make a mistake. You think you might be too.

🧹

A clunk sharply pierces the tenuous peace of the empty house. You hadn’t heard the door or his approach, not even right next door, not until the hefty thunk. You listen but keep your nose down. 

You’re just about done with the schedule. Two cleans throughout the week to spread the duties evenly. The main floor on Mondays, and the upper on Thursday. You’ll be able to fit in an unexpected tidying between your other to-dos.

You flutter through the pretty white and gold folder. The embossed suede speaks of a sophisticated owner. You wonder why she would ever abandon it, though you assume, a separation may not inspire sentiment.

You turn over another note. This one about the gazebo. A blurb on a repair. You’ll have too go out and check to see if it was actually done, there’s no confirmation of the job. You stop to admire her loopy writing, as elegant as the folder.

The door opens without pretense. You sit up and wiggle the pen between your index and thumb. Mr. Laufeyson as a flat white box in his hand, along with a smaller one on top. He does not near you, instead place his lot on the square table by the window.

“Here,” he orders shortly.

You rise and leave the pen in the centre of the ledger. You cross to him as he moves the smaller box aside and unfolds the two smaller flaps from the large one. You can’t help but watch curiously.

“This should suffice,” he shimmies out the cardboard insert, revealing a sleek silver laptop, “hmm?”

He shifts it towards you and lets you look it over. You put your hands behind you to keep from touching. You lean in just a little.

“It looks nice, Mr. Laufeyson. Thank you.”

“For your work, of course. These days, it is a requirement. And this,” he takes the smaller box and offers it up, “a proper work phone. It is more professional. Any calls on my behalf, you will make on this. That relic you have won’t do much.”

“Uh, yes, Mr. Laufeyson, that’s really thoughtful.”

“Thoughtful? Practical. Company property, of course,” he insists, “another point to add. Set these up. They should be functioning by the end of the day. You’ll need them to keep up with the rest of your tasks.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. I will put it on the list.”

“Mm,” he circles around you, striding to the writing desk before you can react. You follow at a few paces, not wanting to crowd him. He takes the pen and uncaps it. He adds the bullet himself. “There you are.”

“Thank you, Mr. Laufeyson,” you recite again.

He snaps the lid on the pen and his lips twitch, not quite curving, “I’ll review,” he snatches up the open ledger, your schedule open to see. You almost rush forward. You meant to rewrite it before you handed it over. It has scribbles all over it. You won’t argue.

“Go on,” he steps around the desk, waving to the side dismissively.

You return to the table and gather the laptop and phone, along with the stray box. You bring them back to the writing desk and stay standing as you free the laptop from the insert. You let your eyes edge along the top of your vision as Mr. Laufeyson sits on the chaise and browses the ledger.

You refocus and investigate the cord buried in the box as a collection of booklets fall out. You sort through them and find the one in English. You start on the front page, reading over the different buttons and features. The diagram is especially helpful. You’ve never had a computer before, not that it belongs to you.

You squint as you read the precautions. Your mind flits back and forth between your current task and everything beyond. You would go to the library sometimes and spend an hour on the PC, and in school you did all your work in the resource room. This is much fancier than any of the boxy computers you’d used before.

It says you should plug it in and charge to full before booting. You unravel the cord and search for an outlet against the wall. There’s one not far. You hook up the cord to the port on the side of the slender laptop then trail it to the wall. The little light on the side glows yellow.

Then you take the little box. A phone. The flip phone was second-hand but this is shiny and new. You’re like a kid at Christmas, not that you got much for the holiday, even when you were younger.

You slide out the small device. Your hand is unused to it. It’s not clunky like your phone. It feels easy to drop even if it’s bigger than the flip. You peel off the plastic film around the border and across the screen.

You take out the booklet and read it as closely as the first. Same thing; charge before use. You don’t want to mess up any of this. You plug it in above the computer and place it on the closed lid. You carefully sit in the chair, careful not to jostle the cords.

You peek up and find Mr. Laufeyson looking at you over the top of the ledger. His green eyes gleam and flick back down to the page. You hope he doesn’t see how clueless you are. This stuff that’s all so normal to everyone else is new to you. A job alone is a novelty still.

“You may ask it,” he says abruptly.

You wince and shrug. You don’t know what he means. His brows tweak in amusement.

“You’ve not asked about time off. I am unaware of your previous commitment, what days you had to yourself.”

You didn’t think of it but he does seem to think of everything. You twiddle your fingers on the desk. You would work as much as you need to. You still haven’t seen the final hospital bill.

“Mr. Laufeyson, I worked three shifts per week, but I was on probation,” you explain carefully, “I can work more than that.”

“How much is more?” He wonders, his thumb tapping the corner of the ledger.

You blink. You don’t know what’s appropriate. You don’t want to say too little and come off lazy, or say too much and seem ignorant. 

“Six?” You utter, “six days, Mr. Laufeyson?”

His thumb stills, “per week?”

You nod. His eyes narrow and his lips thin in consideration.

“Should do,” he accepts and his eyes fall back to the page.

You think you got the right answer. You look down at the bullet points. It seems like a lot written out but surely it can’t be. Besides, the more you think about it, the more exciting it is. This house is so beautiful and this list means you get to explore it.

You don’t sink too deep into the moment of optimism. Mr. Laufeyson stands, still intent on the ledger. He paces blindly around the library, a click of his tongue as he reviews your handwriting.

“There will be some nights,” he intones, “other occasions where I require you in the evening.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you accept as you flutter the pages of the laptop instruction booklet.

“Mm,” he hums flatly, “I do think the cook liked you, didn’t she? Suppose we might retain that service for the time being.”

You nod and make a note in the corner of the list; simply, Corissa. He shuts the ledger and grips it tight. He walks around the table then turns back, coming back to you. He lays down the book on the desk.

“I won’t know until the day in question. You understand, this would be on-call. I’ve a busy life and so will you,” he girds, leaning on the book as he bends over the desk. “You will be doing more than watching little birds flapping around the garden.”

You nearly recoil as he plucks the memory out so precisely. That was careless of you. You should’ve kept your head down and just got to work. It’s a warning you’ll remember.

“I won’t, Mr. Laufeyson, I understand,” you assure.

“Not to say that you can’t,” he stands and pushes the bottom of his jacket back, hooking his thumbs in his pockets, “but only when there are no other pressing matters.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He sighs and tilts his head back, “you must resist distractions. You are prone to it. I’ve noticed.”

You chew your lip and accept the remonstrance. You’ll take it instead as advice. He is right, you do find yourself bewitched by this place at times.

“Like that man,” he says staunchly, “don’t think I forgot. I will warn you, he is my brother… regrettably. He is well above the staff and he knows it.”

You take the hint. It’s improper of you to stare. Even if he had touched you. Or maybe, you misinterpreted an accident.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Hear me when I tell you, he is not interested in the likes of you,” he sniffs, “with any luck, he won’t be much around for you to believe anything of the like.”

You nod and pick up the pen, nervously rolling it between your fingers. His reproach scalds your cheek. To think he assumes you would ever think of something like that. That you might encourage a stranger in that way.

He watches you for a moment before he spins away. He checks the time on his wrist as you reach for the ledger.

“Very well, I must be at my own work,” he declares, “as I trust you will be diligent in your own.”

[promptling]

THE WIGMAKER JOB sentences from the short story by courtney woods change pronouns as needed!

i'll return soon.

you need to cancel the event.

someone's put a contract on your head.

the crows are coming.

the dragon does not fear the crow.

the show will go on.

you're not wearing that, are you?

at least i don't look like a tourist.

you look like you're attending a funeral.

it's a job. not a party.

any excuse to primp.

your time will come.

you've always been her favorite.

my talents lie elsewhere.

you're the one with the silver tongue.

sit down. enjoy a little hospitality.

i won't talk, even if you torture me.

i'm too busy to torture you.

you're not a true believe - except when it comes to coin.

i always assume the mark knows i'm coming.

it was a rush order.

we were at the tailor for hours.

i know how much you enjoy dressing up.

you're not the least bit curious?

i gave you a dossier.

to be fair, you never told me the plan.

this job is looking better all the time.

your wish is my command.

guess i'll have to buy you another

do you still recite that old nursery rhyme?

what can i say? it's catchy.

your tunic's rumpled.

you bring a mop?

i'll grow a beard.

they'll never see me coming.

that cavalier attitude's going to get you killed.

that's not the job.

fuck the job.

have you lost your mind?

he doesn't deserve a quick death.

i want him scared.

he'll die. but in the right way.

we can't help these people.

we can give them vengeance.

i thought the plan was to have a few laughs, slit some throats!

it's about to become very dangerous.

nothing a little soap can't fix.

is this your handiwork?

right and wrong are a matter of perspective.

you have your vengeance.

i know trouble when i see it.

you look like shit.

get that man to stop yelling at me.

some say a bribe spoils the vintage, but i think it tastes all the sweeter.

that does free me from promises i didn't intend to keep.

what do you want me to say?

death is my calling.

it's impossible to refuse her.

how many dead?

never underestimate the power of observation.

[live-love-be-unique]

Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight

Summary: Bob draws your name for Secret Santa.

This is my submission for @lewmagoo Holiday Celebration. The prompt was “You're each other's secret santa”

And thank you to @translatemunson for helping with the banner

Parings: Bob x f reader

Warnings: none

It was all Rooster’s fault Bob decided as the familiar strains of “Santa Baby” filled the room. He’d suggested christening his new apartment with a Dagger squad potluck Secret Santa party.

Everyone piled into the living room, after stuffing themselves on the ridiculous amount of food they had all brought, ready to unwrap their gifts. This was a bad idea Bob realised, watching you smiling as the rest of the party exchanged their Secret Santa gifts. He cursed himself for getting you a gift so personal. He’d stressed about the perfect gift for the weeks before the party, finally he asked Rooster’s girlfriend, she’d become your friend when she started dating his fellow pilot, he figured she’d know what to get you, she’d suggest he get you something sweet or maybe “just tell her how you feel” she’d said.

After another couple of days stressing, he’d found himself surrounded by excited children and their exhausted parents in a Build-A-Bear at the mall. He chose a little bear with golden fur that the employee commented matched his hair colour perfectly and he even found a little aviator outfit to dress it in, sure it didn’t match his uniform but he thought you would find the little leather jacket and hat and goggles cute.

He looked away from his gift, which was still under the tree when you laughed as Rooster opened his gift, a bottle of whiskey wrapped in a pair of novelty boxer shorts with an obnoxious cartoon rooster and the word “cocky” printed on the front, courtesy of Hangman.

“Looks like we’re down to the last two gifts!” Javy announced. You stood and made your way over to the tree, picking up a beautifully wrapped box before turning to him.

“I guess that means we’re each other’s Secret Santa” you smiled brightly at him, holding the gift towards him “Merry Christmas Bob”

“Merry Christmas yourself” he smiled nervously as his fingers brushed against yours as he handed you your gift.

“Open it! Open it!” Hangman chanted loudly.

Bob glanced down at the beautifully wrapped gift in his lap, you smile brightly as you sat next to him on the couch. He slipped the navy blue ribbon off, his favourite colour, and lifted the lid to reveal a vintage record, one that he had spent months trying to find “where did you find this?!” he asked, turning the record over in his hands, reading the tracklist on the back.

“My uncle owns a record store and you mentioned you were trying to get your hands on it” you shrug, hiding a smile as you sip your wine.

His hands touch something soft and wrapped in tissue paper as he reads over the tracklist, noting his favourite songs. He glanced down to find there was another parcel in the box.

He unwrapped the small parcel to find a soft navy blue scarf “I thought it might be useful when you headed home” You pointed out one of the ends of the scarf as Bob’s fingers traced over his callsign and a little plane that you had embroidered on the edge. He could smell your perfume as you leaned closer to point out the little missed stitches and crooked bits of your handiwork “It’s not much I know” you started.

“No, I love it” he smiled up at you before realising how close you were sitting, if he leaned forward just a little he could kiss you…

The rest of the party started cheering you on to open your present “Ok, ok, I’ll open it” you laughed, reaching for the box in front of you. Bob stared at his hands as you opened the box. He bit the inside of his cheek as he waited for your laughter or your disappointment at the gift he had chosen.

“Oh he’s adorable!” He didn’t expect that. He looked up to find you holding the little bear, admiring its little scarf and leather jacket.

“A bear? You got her a….ow! What was that for?!” Bob silently thanked Phoenix as she leveled a slap to the back of Hangman’s head. Laughter broke out as Jake sat back rubbing his head and nursing his drink.

You sat next to Bob for the rest of the party holding the little bear you’d named “Bobby” in your arms as the rest of the squad argued over which Christmas film to watch first “he’s missing something” you noted as Coyote and Fanboy shot each other with the nerf guns they had gifted in their Secret Santa exchange “he doesn’t have your glasses”

“They did have glasses at the store and I almost brought them, but I thought it might make it too obvious it was from me” he chuckled at the thought of the little bear sporting a pair of his glasses.

“Well I think he needs them”

“You think so?”

“Of course”

“Maybe we could go and get them together and maybe…get lunch after?” Bob trailed off as he noticed you staring at him.

“Are you asking me out?” You smiled.

“Yeah, I think I am, if you’d want to that is” he asked nervously.

“I was hoping you’d ask me”

“You were?” You nodded and smiled up at him as you slid closer, laying your head on his shoulder.

As he wrapped the blanket from the couch over the two of you Bob saw the matching smirks of Nat and Rooster’s girlfriend as you cuddled into his arms. It was Rooster’s fault Bob decided, but as he linked his hand with yours he decided he’d buy him a thank you drink at the Top Deck next visit.

[tadpole-apocalypse]

I wrote a little something! Yes I’m sure the title is probably overused. It just worked for this scenario.

***

Careful, I Bite [AO3 link]

Astarion gets some blood and puts his plan in motion. A rewrite of his proposition scene to fit my narrative.

Pairing: Astarion x Morgan (female human tav)

Rating: M for sexy blood drinking

Tags: vampire bites, detailed descriptions of blood and the inherent eroticism, high elf bullshit, human tav, Gale slander, emotional manipulation, fangs, licking, astarion pov

***

They had tents now, at the campsite near the blighted village. After days of laying out in the open around the fire like a pack of wild beasts, any sort of shelter from the elements was a luxury in this filthy wilderness. All thanks to their weird little minions, of which the gith has taken complete charge of. She has put the hirelings to work; hauling supplies, tending the cookfire, patrolling for threats, as well as taking care of all the menial tasks around camp Astarion hated doing himself, like setting up tents. She even disciplined one when it performed a task that didn’t meet her exacting standards, which was just delightful to watch!

Morgan’s tent was erected on the outskirts of camp and further from the others, as they all learned her wild magic is capable of surging in her sleep when illusory clones of herself floated all around camp, exploding on whatever they bumped into. Everyone agreed it would be better if she kept her tent far from the others.

It makes it easier to discreetly slip inside, this far away from the light of the campfire. He finds her awake, sitting cross legged on her bedroll with a small wisp of light to illuminate the cramped tent. It casts harsh shadows on her blunt features that do no favors for the scars and blemishes marring her face. Ah well, she wasn’t entirely unfortunate looking for human; he’d certainly pulled far worse in his time.

Her mismatched eyes flick up to meet him when he enters, acknowledging his entry before she returns to her task of trimming the ends of her braids with a knife. A rather dull knife, from the hack job that was being done in his presence.

“That won’t do at all,” he tuts. “That thing isn’t fit to cut a stick of butter. Here.” He pulls his dagger from its holster and holds it up as an offering. “Sharp enough to stab clean through a goblin’s ribcage.”

“Ew.”

“I cleaned it, after,” he clarifies.

She accepts the blade, and slices off the blackened, burnt hair with a few short wrist movements. She turns to show him her handiwork, where one braid now hangs, a few inches shorter than the other.

“Shall we cut the other, so they match?” he offers. Her shoulders slump.

“No, it’s fine,” she says through gritted teeth. The loss of a few inches of hair seems to vex her for some reason. He shrugs, not really caring either way.

She brushes the braids to the side, drawing his attention instantly to the smooth column of her neck. His eyes track the faint marks from where his teeth last pierced her, remembering her hot blood filling his mouth.

Astarion swallows. His fangs feel heavy, as does the deep hungering and craving in his belly. Her heart beats as loud to his ears as one of the goblin’s war drums since he’s been glutted on the blood of thinking creatures, and Morgan’s blood in particular sang to him from under her skin the longer he went without. Her wild magic perhaps, gave it a certain ambrosia that the bandits and goblins he fed from couldn’t begin to compare to. All of it swill, compared to the vintage in front of him.

There’s a moment when the scent of blood so close sends his bestial craving into a frenzy, and he’s overwhelmed with the monstrous urge to pin and bite, to rip and tear into her neck and gorge himself until there’s nothing left of her.

“I take it you’re here for blood?”

She’s staring at him staring at her neck, and he quickly wrests control over the thrashing beast of his hunger and looks up at her with his mask in place. A practiced smile, given thousands of times. “Are you offering?” He leans into her personal space, slides a hand on her hip. Lets a bit of heat rumble into his voice, pitched low next to her rounded ear.

Her expression doesn’t betray her, but the roar of blood rushing through her veins at her quickened heart rate is proof enough of her arousal at his nearness. Typical human, he smirks. Always flattered by attention from their betters.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” she answers him, flipping the dagger around to hand it to him handle first. Sheathing it quickly, he sits back and pats his lap.

“Come here darling, let’s get comfortable.”

She settles between his legs, back against his chest. She tilts her head, holding onto her braids. Her pulse jumps and his craving intensifies.

It hadn’t taken much effort at all to maneuver her into this position. A smug satisfaction fills him from head to toe, all the more potent by the anticipation of their blood exchange.

He intends to draw out the moment of the bite and savor it, but with her neck offered before him he gives into his need and sinks his teeth into her flesh, forgetting to be gentle in his eagerness. She winces and makes a pained sound so he pulls his fangs back to soothe the wound with his tongue with her blood on his lips. As like all the times before, his senses are flooded with sensation and feeling and an awareness he’d been lacking for so long.

How denied he had been! Made to beg for the putrid blood of insects and vermin, decade after decade, and even being happy to receive that after years without anything at all but the deepest pits of hunger clawing at his sanity. The taste of sewage and ash was all he’d known, and now a veritable feast fit for a Lord lies in his lap, freely given. The rich, complex flavor of her magic touched blood bursts on his tongue in ways completely foreign to him.

His mind, sharp and focused now without the fog of hunger clouding his every move. The heaviness that dragged his limbs was gone as a warmth began to bloom in his chest. He could take on all of his siblings in this state, he thinks, feeling drunk on her power. The image of throttling Petras fills him with a giddy sort of glee that makes him grin against her throat.

A drop of blood escapes him and begins to dribble down the side of her neck. He chases it with his tongue, licking his way back up to the wound he’d made to press his mouth back to it. She shivers, the movement drawing his attention with predatory intensity.

Her arousal would be obvious even if he couldn’t taste it in her blood. He could see it in the way she shifted against him, clutching his forearm and making those little breathy sounds he was all too familiar with.

Her life’s blood slides down his throat, and he groans from the taste, his newfound strength, and her own sexual arousal leaking from her tadpole to his. Even his squirming little brain companion seemed pleased by the feast before him.

Careful, careful, he reminds himself. He can’t weaken her too much, in case Cazador’s minions find them out here and try to bring him back.

An unwanted feeling of helplessness and panic runs over him, and he curses the power his old master still holds over him even in his absence. Pathetic.

Still, he needs her hale. He can’t be too greedy, lest the cleric turns her temper back onto him again.

Morgan’s eyelids start to droop and he pulls back reluctantly, staunching the small wound with his fingers. The smell and taste of her blood lingers in his mouth and he sighs, feeling warm and altered.

She stirs and tries to sit up, but falls back against him. Shit, maybe he did take too much.

“Shh…shh…just rest here a moment,” he reassures, guiding her to the bedroll. He hovers over her and puts a hand on her chin, looking into her eyes. She meets his gaze and appears coherent but weakened, which satisfies him. However, best to not leave her in such a state to ensure she wouldn’t suffer any ill effects that would earn him another thrashing from the cleric, or worse, a stake.

“How do you feel?” He asks her, trying to keep her awake and talking.

“Weak,” she wheezes, in that odd accent of hers. He still hasn’t placed it. “Almost blacked out, trying to stand.”

“Hmm.” He inspects the bite marks on her neck, finding them scabbed over already. His fangs itch to open them once more and drain her dry, but he clamps down on the intrusive urge and reaches for a jug of water. He pours some into a tin cup and bids her to drink.

Morgan downs the cup quickly with a shaking hand, prompting him to refill the cup after she drains it. She drinks that one too, then groans and manages to sit up.

He makes his move.

“Ahh, poor little pudding. I do appreciate the sacrifice you are making, on my behalf,” he says, letting his unnecessary breath ghost across her skin as he plucks the empty cup from her grasp. His fingers linger a little longer than necessary on hers. “How could I possibly repay you for such a debt?”

“Umm,” she seems distracted. He smiles inwardly. “It’s fine, if it helps you fight. The weakness doesn’t last long.”

“Still,” he tuts in mock consternation. “You deserve a reward for all of this. I am so very grateful for all you’ve given me…” he sets the empty cup aside, and very gently rests one of his palms on her thigh.

She snorts as she considers him for a moment. “What are you offering?”

“Well…” he lets the phrase linger on his tongue as his fingers dance a trail up her clothed thigh. “Perhaps a night to ourselves, so I can show you in great detail how pleased I am with what you’ve given me.” He pauses. “And I do mean sex by the way, if that wasn’t clear.”

“Okay. When?”

Well, that was easy. This woman was clearly an idiot, agreeing to meet a vampire alone in the darkness, and he couldn’t be happier with his fortune.

“Tomorrow,” he purrs, gracefully sliding next to her on the bedroll. He props his head up with a hand and raises his other to push some stray hairs out of her face. “I’ll find us a nice secluded paradise where we can make all the noise we want without the others to trouble us.”

“Why not now? I can be very quiet.”

That drew a genuine bark of laughter from him. “Eager little thing!” His eyes rake down her form in a show of rakish approval before his free arm snakes around her waist to drag her down to him. She lets out a little squeal, which he likes. “I’d much rather have you screaming my name all night, if it’s all the same to you,” he growls in her ear.

“All night? That’s a bold claim, don’t you think?”

Brat.

“The cleric said you should rest after giving blood in any case,” he reminds her, dragging a thumb across her lips. She catches his thumb and bites it, leaving a weak impression of her blunt teeth. “You’ll have to control your lust for a little bit longer, my dear.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but her smile is lazy and amused. Good.

”Fine,” she yawns, punctuating his point. “Yeah, I guess I’m pretty tired.”

“Then sleep, lover…and after a stimulating day of slaughtering more goblins, no doubt, we will indulge in our every desire.”

“Sounds good.” The word are slurred from her exhaustion, and come out more as “s’goo.” Her eyes drift shut.

Astarion lifts himself off her bedroll and watches her for a second. Her heartbeat and breathing has returned to normal levels, so he lets himself out of her tent. Back into the darkness of the evening, his senses flare to life; vision piercing through the darkness, conversations from all the way across camp playing in his ears, sensing a myriad of delicious heartbeats and pulses throbbing all around him.

None as enticing as the feast he’s had just now.

He slips into the shadows between the tents, remaining undetected until he reaches the one he has claimed as his own. The interior is littered with jars of congealed blood from enemies he’s attempted to preserve, but the thought of consuming them now after the banquet he just dined on is unthinkable. He lays back onto his own bedroll instead to contemplate his good fortune.

It was good he got to Morgan first, given how both Gale and Lae’zel had been looking at her. Though imagining her and Gale together was laughable; if his lectures didn’t put her to sleep they wouldn’t stop bickering long enough to get their clothes off. Morgan had made her disdain of wizards clear enough, not that it stopped the man’s pathetic longing in her direction.

Lae’zel would be a bit more problematic if she chose to pursue his target. He’d have to keep an eye on the gith.

Without those two mucking around in his territory, Astarion was confident he could keep her interest, if tonight’s little dance had been any indication.

He’d secure Morgan’s favor, and convince her to talk the others into helping him kill Cazador after dealing with this worm business. Then? Well he had all the time in the realms to figure that out.

**

Thank you for reading! I did not plan to write any fanfiction for this fandom but @mercymaker and I have been chatting about sexy vampire bites and throat ripping and it changed my brain chemistry and wouldn’t leave me alone until I got this out of my system 😅

[onequeerhuman]

Ah, the opportunities (and the tension) pt. 2

4.2k words

light descriptions of body (descriptions of feminine clothing, fae-like appearance equal to that of a dryad, etc.)

no major warnings apply.

lmk if i missed anything! -bug :)

……

Principal Weems arrives shortly before noon, her eyes widening as they drink in the sight of you standing in the designated spot. Wearing a simple, vintage dress and heels, she approaches you, a warm and almost excited smile on her lips.

“Professor...” she whispers, her voice laden with an unmistakable sultry tone. She pauses for a moment, her eyes raking over your body and the more revealing outfit you wear.

"You look absolutely stunning."

smiling back, a blush now heats your cheeks. “thank you, principal, and you look quite breathtaking yourself” you avert your eyes from hers, tucking a stray hair behind an ear.

Her smile widens at your compliment, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of your flushed cheeks. She takes a step closer to you, her eyes tracing every detail of your outfit and jewelry.

"Why, thank you, Professor. But you outshine me by far," she whispers, her eyes drifting down to your cleavage for a brief moment before quickly returning back up to your face, a sly smirk on her lips.

"This is quite a different look for you," she notes, her voice laced with a heavier tone than usual.

You hum, before quickly grabbing her hand and begin dragging her out into the woods to your new favourite picnic spot by the large willow tree and small pond you’d found the other day.

Principal Weems, her heart fluttering as you take her hand, is dragged along by you through the woods. Her eyes take in the scenery and the route you're taking, unable to take her eyes off you and your revealing outfit.

When you reach the picnic spot by the large willow tree and small pond, Weems glances around, a smile forming on her lips. "This spot is lovely," she murmurs, her eyes trailing over the serene environment.

“yes, lovely..” you whisper back, though only looking at her… a moment later snapping out of it and quickly set up your picnic, laying out a large blanket and using your magic to lay everything out nicely.

Principal Weems watches your delicate hands working to set up the picnic, her eyes fixated on your every move. The way your magic effortlessly lays out all the items on the blanket, creates a soft and intimate atmosphere.

As you finish up, she sits down, her skirts fluttering gently around her legs. She looks up at you with an affectionate smile, patting the spot next to her on the blanket.

"Join me, Professor?"

You laugh airily and immediately plop down directly next to her, your body stretching out as you lean your arms back, growing some flowers behind you by consequence.

As you sit down next to Principal Weems, her eyes rake over your figure again, her breath hitching ever so slightly. She watches you stretch out, the sight of your body leaning back making her heart flutter.

She notices the flowers growing behind you as you move, her eyes widening in surprise and admiration. A small smile tugs at her lips as she gazes at your handiwork.

"You have quite a remarkable talent, Professor," she praises, her voice soft and filled with awe.

“hmm?” You question, turning to see what she was looking at “oh, yes, apologies- that tends to just happen when i’m out here” you give her a slightly sheepish smile before then turning to grab plates while growing a large, entrancing, white Juliette rose that wraps gently around larissa’s wrist, lacking any of the usual thorns without saying a word about it « anyway, here- dig in.. i packed a variety, so hopefully you’ll like some of it..”

Weems watches as the rose wraps gently around her wrist, admiring the beautiful white Juliette blossom. She lifts her wrist softly, studying the intricate patterns of the flower, her eyes gleaming with a mix of surprise and fascination.

"Thank you," she murmurs, her voice soft and almost breathless. "And I'm sure I'll love *all* of it."

Weems then begins to help herself to the food, a content hum escaping her lips as she tastes the various dishes you packed.

you smile, body seeming to thrum with more energy after merely watching her enjoy your food, and you question to yourself as to why… but once finished you move over to the other side of larissa and completely lie in the sunny patch of meadow grass, letting out a pleased sigh as you close your eyes and soak up the sun, collecting it’s energy within your body.

When you move away and lie down in the sunny patch of meadow, Principal Weems watches you intently, her eyes tracing over your form as you soak up the sun's energy. She can feel a strange mixture of emotions welling up within her; fascination, curiosity, and a hint of… something else.

She lets her gaze wander over your body again, taking in every curve and detail. Without thinking, she murmurs softly to herself, her heart racing in her chest.

”So beautiful…"

You dont seem to hear her as you continue basking for another couple of minutes, your skin seeming to take on a brighter glow and the tiredness seeps out of your body and you begin to change. Your skin turns a soft green colour, with hair a similar pink and now sporting large pointy ears small fangs with a more petite nose.. and you seem to shrink a bit in height, though there are only three fingers on each of your hands. you dont notice any shift as you hum contentedly and go back to sitting next to your principal, a pleased sigh escaping your lips as you sit back down on the blanket* “enjoying your lunch?”

Weems, initially in a daze as she observed your transformation, snaps out of it as you speak. Her eyes widen as she takes in your new form, her heart nearly skipping a beat. She nods slowly, her gaze roaming over your figure, her eyes pausing on your seemingly enlarged assets due to your shrinking stature.

She clears her throat softly, attempting to compose herself, and manages to respond. "Y-Yes.. *quite* enjoyable..."

You smile sheepishly at her “Probably should have informed you on this before i took off my glamour, huh? sorry if you’re uncomfortable— i can change back, i’ll just need a moment”

Weems blinks, her eyes softening as she looks at you. She shakes her head, her heart fluttering at your concern.

"No, I'm not uncomfortable," she breathes out, her eyes tracing over your now-green skin and pointed ears. "It's just... unexpected, that's all."

She gazes at you silently for a moment, taking in your true appearance. Her mind is filled with thoughts and questions, but she simply smiles gently.

"You're still beautiful, Professor."

You smile back at her gratefully and suddenly a light, almost chittering noise that seems like purring emitted from your chest as you’re clearly content. “i know you have questions…you can ask them, if you’d like.” you whisper to her.

Weems listens to the chittering noise coming from your chest, her heart skipping a beat at the sound. She glances down, then up again, taking in every detail she can. Her eyes focus on your now-pointed ears and bright pink hair, her mind still racing with curiosity and fascination.

She takes a deep breath, her mind swarming with unasked questions.

"What... are you?" she whispers faintly, her voice filled with a subtle mix of awe and confusion.

“i’m a fae, or generally a nymph, depending on your history professor- but specifically a dryad.”

Weems listens intently as you answer her question, her eyes widening further. Her mind whirs with newfound information as she gazes at you, taking in every word you spoke.

"A... dryad," she repeats softly, the word rolling off her tongue like honey. "That's... incredibly fascinating." Her eyes roam over your body again, studying every new feature. "So... this is your true form?"

nodding you say “more or less- i havent removed the hair glamour as i wasn’t certain if you had any allergies to pollen or flowers and i kept the bark detailing off my skin as well as i’m lacking my branches but otherwise this is me— unless you mean my “tree-self”, in which case i haven’t shown you that yet”

As you explain your true form and the remaining glamor hiding it, Weems nods slowly, her heart fluttering faster. Her eyes roam over your form, a mixture of fascination and longing in her gaze. Her mind is bombarded with questions once more, but she does her best to gather herself.

"Your treeself?" she repeats quietly. “You have another form?"

“mmmnhmmn. technically the human form you see isnt a form of mine at all- i’m just quite good at glamour and can appear quite similar with magickal help.. but this is my actual form and then i have my tree-self, what i look like when i choose not to appear humanoid”

Principal Weems listens to you intently, her mind reeling with astonishment. She can't believe what she's hearing - that this beautiful green-and-pink woman sitting before her is not quite her "true" form.

Her heart skips a beat as she imagines what your treeself must look like, her mind filled with curiosity and excitement.

"Your treeself," she whispers once more, a hint of eagerness in her voice. "Can I... see it? What you look like when you're not humanoid?"

You smile at her and nod, hopping off the blanket and taking about 6 paces backwards “fair warning, i probably won’t be able to communicate with you while i’m transformed. but if you wish, next time i can give you a tea made from my bark and flowers and once you consume it, you’ll be able to understand me as my when i’m in that form.. but don’t worry, i can understand you either way.” You tell her before quickly removing your skirt as not to rip it and plant your feel on the ground before suddenly where you were standing a mere moment ago, a large pink-flowered wisteria stands in your stead.

Weems watches as you move away, her eyes following you intently. Her heart pounds in her chest as you warn her of your inability to communicate while in your treeself, but her curiosity only grows. As you remove your skirt and plant your feet into the ground, her breath hitches in anticipation.

When the transformation is complete, Weems gasps softly, her eyes widening as she gazes at the wisteria standing before her. She approaches it slowly, her hand gently brushing against one of the pink flowers.

you internally flush, your flowers are extremely sensitive and the feeling of her brushing the petals sends a shiver through your whole being. gently, you move one of your branches down to her. not exactly sure why, you just allow yourself to rest here for a moment as you wait for larissa to speak

As you shiver, the feeling only encourages Weems to brush her hand over your petals once more, gently running her fingers along the soft flowers. Your branch brushes against her, and she instinctively reaches up to touch it, her hand tracing over the woody surface.

For a moment, she simply gazes at you in awe, her heart racing with a mix of fascination and tenderness. And then, as if snapping back to reality, she speaks softly.

"You're... absolutely mesmerizing," she whispers.

You suddenly move, using my branches to pick her up and place her near the centre of the tree, a branch gently holding her as to not let her fall.

Weems lets out a startled gasp from the sudden movement but doesn't struggle, completely in awe as you use your branches to gently pick her up and place her near the center of the tree. She finds herself cradled by one of your branches, feeling completely at ease in your embrace.

When she turns her gaze to the trunk of the tree, her breath hitches again as she sees the outline of your figure, seemingly made of bark. A soft smile tugs at her lips, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

Weems reaches a hand out hesitantly, her fingers tracing over the intricate patterns and knots that form your face, her touch gentle and delicate. She gazes up at you admiringly, her heart swelling with tenderness for you in this form. A thousand questions fill her mind, but for now, she simply enjoys the closeness, feeling safe and comforted in the embrace of your branches.

unknown to weems her touch sent a spark and tingling sensation down to the core of your being that you tried desperately to push down before sitting larissa back on the grass and sucking the tree back inside of yourself.

Weems's touch on your "chest" sends waves of tingles and sparks through your form, but she seems completely unaware of it, completely captivated by your treeself. When you sit her back on the grass and absorb the tree back into yourself, she blinks, slightly disoriented by the sudden movement.

She looks up at you, her eyes wide with awe and a hint of tenderness. She can't quite put her finger on it, but she can sense there's something more you're not telling her.

a blush once again adorns your cheeks though now weems can clearly see all you’d mentioned was glamour before- with hair now appearing as if it was layers upon layers of flowering pink wisteria along with skin that portrayed an intricate design that looked like the grains of bark or wood, leading up to two almost antler looking branches poking out the top of your head, your nose and ears twitching as you relax and turn to face her..

“hello again” you say, smiling at her.

[omgthatdress]

Kit was the first doll to be released after I stopped playing with dolls, and I’m honestly kinda bummed I missed out on her collection, because, frankly, there’s some stuff in there that ADULT me wants to play with.

Kit’s Meet Outfit gets put on because Kit’s mother has invited her garden party over and she wants Kit to wear something nice. Otherwise, Kit is pretty butch. It’s stated in Meet Kit that she dislikes pink and ruffles. I like seeing her less-girly collection because let’s face it, not every little girl loves pink (insert lesbian/transmasc joke here).

Sweaters were a pretty major part of fashion in the 1930s. Housewives could pass time knitting them at home, and then show off their handiwork. During the depression, this came in handy when old sweaters could be un-woven and turned into something new.

(The Met Museum)

One thing I love about her collection is her inclusion of Bakelite jewelry. Bakelite was the first purely synthetic plastic, that is, plastic made entirely from chemicals instead of plants. Thanks to finding a pair of $8 earrings at a vintage shop, I now have a pretty impressive collection of Bakelite earrings that I WISH included some bangles, but the bangles are expensive! Bakelite was dollar store jewelry in the 1930s, but nowadays is highly collectable. It has a very distinct retro look and I honestly love it and hate how expensive it is! The really cool pieces can go for thousands of dollars!

(1stdibs.com)

And her little sandals are so cute! Karolina Zebrowska was right, the 1930s were the best era for shoes, so I love seeing them on a doll.

[heavenlytouches]

Could you do a Tate x Male reader fic. Where the reader is like super alternative (gothhhh). And Tate and him somehow became best friends and the reader’s just giving him a make over, maybe some kissing near the end?

Hello sweetie! Thank you so so much for a request! Also I'm so biased, goths are one of the most amazing groups of people :O So let's give Tate a makeover!

El <3

Tate Langdon- baby bat

*ੈ𑁍༘⋆

MALE reader

<3 (SFW)

TW!- none

Tate and reader are besties :3

Tate gets a goth makeover!!

Tate Langdon

(Tate is purple in this fic so lines don't get mixed up <3)

The sun began to set behind the dilapidated dark house, casting shadows that danced across the wooden floorboards of Tate Langdon's bedroom.

The room, with its peeling walls and vintage horror posters, was a sanctuary for two misfits: you and Tate. It always had felt more like a refuge from a mundane world that never understood you both.

You flopped onto the worn-out beanbag chair while Tate sat on the edge of his bed, fiddling with a dark gray hoodie that clung to his slender frame. There was a distinct gloominess about him that you had grown accustomed to; his brooding demeanor was an alluring kind of darkness, fitting with your own dark colored alternative style.

You took pride in your appearance: today's makeup was a mix of deep purples and blacks that enhanced your pale complexion, your eyes lined with sparkly eyeliner that caught the last rays of sunlight filtering through the dusty windows.

“You know, you’re way too invested in this."

He mumbled, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you set up your makeup products across the floor.

“Just trust me, Tate. You’re going to love it.”

You laughed, a soft, playful sound that filled the otherwise silent room. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement as you pulled out your arsenal of lipsticks, eyeshadows, and brushes.

“Makeovers and all that- it's not really my thing, you know.”

He pouted, running a hand through his tousled blonde hair, which fell just above those hauntingly beautiful eyes.

“Doesn't matter. You’re going to look hot. Plus, it'll be fun.”

You said, your voice dripping with enthusiasm as you leaned closer. The scent of his cologne mingled with the stale aroma of the old house, grounding you in this moment.

With an exaggerated sigh, Tate finally relented, rolling his eyes in that endearing way that made your heart race.

“Fine. But if I don't like it, you owe me.”

You immersed yourself in the task, gliding a foundation brush across his pale skin, trying to hide the scattered freckles that dotted his face like constellations. You teased him about being a vampire, given the way light seemed to avoid him.

“See? You look great already.”

You said, trying to lighten the mood as you started on his eyes with a dark, smoky shadow.

Tate looked skeptical, inspecting his reflection in the mirror.

“I feel like I'm about to perform some dark ritual or something.”

He chuckled, but the sound was more serious than light-hearted.

“Trust me! You’re just channeling your inner goth prince!”

You quipped, adding a dab of silver to accentuate the darkness surrounding his dark brown eyes. As you pinched his cheeks for a light blush, he swatted your hands away, gently, but a smile crept onto his lips.

“Okay, okay! Maybe it’s not so bad.”

He muttered, pretending to focus on anything but you. You loved how he always softened for you, gradually letting down the walls he built against the world.

As the makeover progressed, you smeared a dark eye pencil over his lids, stepping back to admire your handiwork. He caught your gaze in the reflection of the mirror- confused, bold, and distinctly… Tate.

“I look like a hot mess.”

He teased.

You smirked, leaning closer, whispering conspiratorially.

“Tell me you don’t love it!”

Right then, he turned his head to meet your eyes, a flicker of something deeper passing between you. You could suddenly feel the air thicken with tension. Without hesitation, you absentmindedly brushed a hair from his face, lingering just a moment too long. It felt right.

“Yeah, I don’t love it.”

He replied, lips curling into a smirk that didn’t quite match his words,

“I love you.”

His tone was playful yet serious, sending a jolt through your heart.

You felt warmth rush to your cheeks.

"What?"

You managed to get out, the sudden vulnerability making your heart stumble.

“Maybe I meant it, maybe I don't.”

He said quietly, the smile fading into something more earnest. But before you could respond, he leaned forward, brushing his lips against yours, barely a whisper of a kiss that sent shockwaves through your body.

It was surreal. In that electrifying moment, the glossy red of your lipstick stained his lips and mingled with the taste of something more profound- a thousand unspoken confessions laid bare in the soft graze of connection.

You didn't pull away; you pressed into it, your hearts mutual in that shared moment stolen from time.

As you pulled back- only slightly- you were greeted with a curious arch of his brow.

“What was that for?”

You fumbled for words, excitement and confusion knotted in your throat.

“I don't know. It felt right.”

He said simply, the sincerity in his eyes causing your breath to hitch.

“More than friends then?”

You whispered, half afraid of the answer.

“Maybe?”

He replied, his breath warm against your lips.

“Maybe we’ve always been.”

You were both gleaming with that newfound clarity as laughter mingled with a deeper understanding of what was simmering between you.

You broke the silence first, your voice teasing.

“You DO look like a hot mess, but at least now you have the confidence to own it.”

Tate chuckled, the tension ebbing away as if it had never been there. He raised a finger to his lips, as though contemplating something profound.

“Tell me I don't look stupid like this, and I might just agree to more makeovers.”

His playful demeanor returned, the laughter echoing in the room, clearing out the tiptoeing emotions that had filled it moments before.

“Only if you’re willing to kiss me again.”

You replied, heart racing from the challenge, a smile creeping back across your face.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the darkened room was lit by flickering candlelight, igniting shadows that danced across the walls within the painted confines of comfort. Tate stared at you- hauntingly beautiful.

In that faded horror house, surrounded by the remnants of forgotten lives, you found truth in each other's fleeting touches, weaving together the essence of two souls that shunned the world but found solace in one another.

This was great request! I loved working on ths one! I can write anything for any character babes and don’t forget- requests are always open and welcome <33

I love you guys so much

El <3

(all images were made by: El via canva & paint)

[roses-of-the-romanovs]

Yep I wonder what it would be called though. Okay fun question, while she'd have a podcast, what would be the ideal jobs for her sisters, brother, and parents if they were plopped into our timeline? I'd so see Saint Anastasia opening a gallery. :)

Maybe Maria’s would be about art and painting? Or maybe religion? I’m having trouble coming up with a name and instead my mind keeps wandering to “Maria’s Mayhem,” which while interesting is not particularly descriptive.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Nicholas stayed a military man and became a soldier since he always liked the military life! He might also be an athlete.

I find Alexandra’s handmade cards and such to be beautiful, and she could make money selling them. She was also involved in charity work and I have no doubt that would continue to be a big part of her life!

With the children it is harder since they never got to live and develop their characters and passions. Perhaps Olga, like her mother, would be involved in charity work. While she was the most proficient scholar out of the children, she didn’t seem particularly inclined to composition and I don’t think she would have pursued a literary career. So for me, her direction in the modern world isn’t quite clear to me. She could accomplish her “dreams of happiness,” get married, settle down, and live a quiet, tranquil life. Some people suggested that had she lived, she might have become a nun, which is also a possibility in the modern world (although the fact that she included marriage in her dreams of happiness renders this possibility on the not-so-likely side for me).

Tatiana could be a nurse! Being also talented at handiwork, she might be able to make money off of that as well! Although she helped lead the Tatiana Committee she didn’t seem to enjoy the meetings (or Neidgart!), so I wouldn’t seriously consider running for president or something like that.

Maria, as aforementioned, could run a podcast :) Maybe follow in her Aunt Olga’s footsteps and become an artist. Anastasia might too.

As for Alexei, at first I thought he would be the hardest one since he was so young, but I think I have it now!—he could collect and sell vintage trinkets! (Or just cool items in general.)

[my-own-walker]

On The Other Line - Epilogue

note: sorry this took so fucking long i literally forgot about it lmao. many thanks to the anon that reminded me.

summary: the happy happy ending, marital bliss and such

warnings: none, just like fluffy stuff

+++

The vanity mirror in front of me lit up my face unforgivingly. I sat staring at my reflection, all too critical of the person staring back at me. Sighing, I picked up my moisturizer and got to work. An attempt to not feel so gross.

It had been years since Colin and I made the promise to each other to be together. 6, actually. 6 years ago to the day.

The date held a certain significance to both of us. Exactly two years after Colin's plea for us to give things a try behind the library, we got married. It was a small ceremony in the Easttown Fire Hall, the cheapest venue. The reception began as soon as we said our 'I do's.' We cleared out the makeshift 'altar' and it became our dance floor.

Small, yes, but also beautiful. I wore a vintage gown. A yellowing babydoll fit floor-length dress with deteriorating lace detailing and sheer fabric sleeves. It was my grandmother's. Colin had only proposed a few months prior. He was so excited to marry me, we rushed the whole ceremony. Looking back, I wouldn't have it any other way.

He wore a deep blue suit. He stood so stiffly at the altar it was as if he was in the police academy again. He cried as he said his vows. We danced all night in mutual bliss, surrounded by our closest family and friends. My Uncle Nick cried, too, when he made his speech, harkening back to the night we first met in his bar. It made him happy to take ownership of the beginning of our relationship like that.

Our first dance was to 'Waterloo Sunset,' by The Kinks. I didn't want anything sappy. Colin cried regardless.

Our tradition became going on a date every year on our anniversary as if we were only first dating again. We owned a house together, yet he'd still show up at the front door and ring the bell, flowers in hand like he was picking me up for our first date. He'd go visit his mom for the afternoon and get ready there, all so he could make things seem authentic. I loved how fresh it made things feel.

Only this year, I actually had butterflies. Not first date jitters, of course. No, this year I had a secret. One I was going to tell Colin about at dinner, or whenever it felt natural, I guess. Putting the brush down, finally satisfied with my work, I opened the bedroom closet to see a dress with a note attached to it.

'I saw this and thought of you. I can't wait to see you tonight. Love, Colin.'

I giggled to myself at his terrible handwriting. I unpinned the paper and brought it to the box I kept all of Colin's handwritten notes in. The dress was a precious brown floral mini-dress with a ruched chest and a white Peter Pan collar. There were puff sleeves and a tie in the back. It was exactly something I'd wear. My heart swelled when I noticed the price tag on the sleeve (the actual price hastily scribbled over by Colin) and saw it was from my favorite vintage store in town.

I slipped it on, softly praying it would fit, and to my surprise, it zipped up with no issue. A wave of nerves and nausea hit me. I doubled over slightly, scared I'd ruin the dress, trying to let it pass.

The doorbell rang so I forced myself to straighten up, slip on some shoes, and meet my 'date' at the door. I turned the knob and saw Colin standing on the step, wearing a brown shirt that matched the color of my dress perfectly under a suit jacket. His tie was knotted pristinely, signaling to me that it was his mother's handiwork. He had a bunch of daisies in his hand, my favorite type of flower.

'Holy shit,' he breathed, drinking me in.

'Oh shut up,' I giggled, feeling shy like I was a teenager all over again.

'That thing looks fuckin' awesome on you,' he grinned. 'I did a good job.'

'Ever the humble man, Zabel,' I quipped.

'Well, Mrs. Zabel, shall we?' he suggested, extending his hand to guide me out of the door. We walked arm-in-arm to the car, daisies now in my hand. He was sure to open the door for me demonstratively, further playing up the chivalry.

The restaurant he picked this year was a pretty good distance from home. I wasn't surprised to see it was an Italian place when we arrived. His favorite. The meal went well. It was a place we'd never tried before but we both ended up loving it.

Shortly before the dessert menus came, Colin produced a small box from his jacket pocket along with a handwritten letter.

'Colin, you didn't have to do that,' I whined.

'Uh-huh, yes I did,' he smirked. 'I don't wanna hear none of that shit, you're my wife and I want to spoil you.' He slid the box over the table to me and gestured with his hand for me to open it. I looked down and weighed the object in my hands.

I looked up at him, gazing through the strands of hair that had fallen in front of my eyes disapprovingly, knowing he spent all too much on an insignificant 4th wedding anniversary. I opened the tiny black velvet box to reveal a pair of dainty gold dangly earrings. One a sun, one a moon, each one possessing both of our birthstones.

'These are beautiful, my gosh,' I breathed, getting all choked up. 'I didn't get you anything nearly as nice!'

'You didn't have to get me anything, gorgeous,' he replied with a smile.

I took the earrings out of the box and put them on, then took a moment to admire how they looked on me using my phone's camera. I grabbed the letter off the table and slipped it into my purse for safekeeping.

'If I read that here I'll probably cry so embarrassingly we'll never be allowed back,' I laughed. 'Now my gift to you.' My stomach lurched at the thought. I couldn't exactly pin down why it made me so nervous to tell him my secret.

Colin took the card out of my hand and opened it. It was a regular anniversary card, but I made a very intentional writing error.

'The 3 of us have an amazing year ahead?' Colin read aloud.

'Mm-hmm,' I nodded, smirking.

'Who's the third?' he laughed, trying to make fun of my mistake. I didn't reply. I just sat there smiling until I saw the look of understanding wash over his face. 'No...'

'Yes,' I grinned.

'You're pregnant?!' he exclaimed, as calmly as he could, given we were in a public setting. I nodded. 'How long have you known?' His words came out in a breathy whisper. Tears brimmed in his eyes. He couldn't contain his smile.

'Just a couple of weeks. I figured it could wait until today.'

He sprung out of his seat and came over to the other side of the table, taking me by my hands to pull me to my feet.

'We're gonna have a baby,' he declared as he wrapped me in a tight embrace. 'I'm gonna be a dad.'

He pulled away, holding me at arm's length, looking at me with sparkling joy in his deep brown eyes. I had never seen a smile so big on his face. I was at a loss for words. His utter delight with the news told me everything I needed to know about our future.

+++

The happy ending Colin deserved :') I'm literally so sorry I forgot about this story idk what happened lmao. Thanks again to the anon that reminded me and thanks to all of you for your continued patience!

[south-of-heaven]

toni storm dressing fem!reader up for a gala?

Glamour || Toni Storm x Reader

Summary: Toni makes it her mission to make you look absolutely gorgeous for the upcoming gala.

The anticipation for the gala tonight had been building for weeks. You were excited, yet also a bit nervous about what to wear and how to make an impression. That's when Toni, your incredibly stylish girlfriend, decided to take matters into her own hands.

"Come on, love," Toni said with an excited glint in her eyes. "We've got some work to do."

She ushered you into the bedroom, and you couldn't help but chuckle at her enthusiasm. She disappeared into the closet, emerging with a vintage dress that looked like it belonged to a silver-screen starlet. The fabric was rich and velvety, the deep blue a perfect match for your eyes.

As Toni helped you slip into the dress, she muttered to herself about how stunning you would look. Her fingers worked deftly, fastening buttons and adjusting the fit until it clung to your curves perfectly.

"Absolutely breathtaking," Toni whispered as she stepped back to admire her handiwork.

But she wasn't finished. Toni had big plans for your hair as well. She sat you down in front of the vanity mirror, her skilled hands working wonders as she pinned your hair into an elegant updo. It was a timeless style, reminiscent of old Hollywood glamour.

With every brushstroke and twist of a pin, Toni's devotion to making you look your best was evident. She seemed to revel in the opportunity to pamper you and showcase your beauty.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she stepped back, her eyes shining with pride as she took in the sight of you. You turned to the mirror and couldn't believe your reflection. Toni had transformed you into something out of a classic film, elegant and timeless.

"Wow," you breathed, your heart filled with gratitude for the woman who had just made you feel like a star.

Toni leaned in, planting a soft kiss on your lips. "You're the most beautiful person in the room tonight, love, and everyone will see it."

The gala would be a night to remember, not just because of the glamorous event but because of the love and care Toni had poured into making you feel like a million dollars. With her by your side, you felt invincible, ready to take on the world, and look fabulous while doing it.

[primroseprime2019]

Spirit of the Wolf- Chapter Two: The Stranger

Fallon was cleaning his hands with a rag as he stood beside an old car, a 1969 Chevy Camaro. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the garage windows highlighted the dusty motes dancing around him. He'd just finished replacing the car's timing belt and was taking a moment to admire his handiwork.

'No doubt the owner's gonna be thrilled,' he thought with a soft chuckle. A gruff redhead man walked over and Fallon looked at him.

It was Joe McKinney. He nodded in approval and patted Fallon's back. The boy smiled and he looked back at the Camaro.

Just then, a brunette girl poked her head out from under the hood of a nearby car, her hair tied back in a ponytail, her face smudged with grime. "Hey, Fallon, can you take a look at this engine? I'm stumped," she sighed.

Fallon grinned, "sure thing, Em. Let's take a look." As he walked over to Emily's workstation, he noticed a brunette man, Lou, tinkering with a vintage motorcycle in the corner of the garage, his face hidden behind a pair of goggles. Mac was nowhere to be seen, most likely out on a parts run or grabbing a snack from the vending machine.

Emily gestured to the engine, "I've tried everything, but I can't figure out why it's overheating. I've checked the coolant, the radiator, everything."

Fallon leaned in, his eyes scanning the engine. He traced the hoses, checked the water pump and examined the cylinder head. Then he spotted something peculiar.

"Em, did you notice this?" He asked, pointing to a small crack in the engine block. Emily peered closer, her brow furrowed, "no. I missed that. What does it mean?"

Fallon's eyes narrowed. "It means we've got a serious problem. This engine needs some serious work."

A strawberry blonde man, Mac, walked into the garage, chowing down on some Doritos. "Hey, guys. What engine?"

"Impeccable timing as always, Mac," Fallon chuckled, "Emily's got an overheating issue, and I just found a crack in the engine block."

Mac's eyes widened, his mouth still full of Doritos. "Whoa, that's not good. You're gonna need some serious magic to fix that one, Fallon," he said, his voice muffled by chips.

Emily rolled her eyes good-naturedly and she playfully nudged him with her elbow, "hey, watch it, Mac. Fallon's a master mechanic. Not a magician."

Fallon shook his head with a chuckle. "Actually, I think I've got an idea. Mac, can you grab me that new welding torch we just got in?" He asked, his mind already racing with the repair. Mac nodded, still munching on his snack, and headed to the storage room.

As Mac walked away, Emily turned to Fallon, her expression curious. "What've you got in mind, Fallon?"

"I think I can weld a patch in there, reinforce the block. It'll take some finesse, but I think we can save this engine."

Emily nodded, impressed. "You're a genius, Fallon. Let's get to work!" Mac walked over with the welding torch.

Then a blue truck drove up to the property. Fallon, Emily, Mac and Lou looked over at it.

"Whose truck is that?" Fallon asked curiously. "Oh, you haven't seen him before," Lou replied, "that's John Otto's truck. He's one of Joe's friends. I think he's also some kind of hunter."

"Hunter?" Fallon repeated, furrowing his eyebrows. Lou shrugged, "I saw a crossbow strapped to his back last I saw him."

The truck door opened and a twenty-two year old man stepped out. He had black hair and deep blue eyes. He was wearing hunter gear.

Joe emerged from his office, a warm smile on his face. "John! Good to see you, my friend." He walked towards the truck, extending a hand. John Otto shook it firmly, his deep blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled.

"Joe, it's been too long," John said, his voice low and smooth. "I see you're still keeping busy with the garage."

Joe nodded, gesturing towards the building. "You know it. Can't let these young folks get all the work done without me." He winked at Fallon, Emily, Mac, and Lou, who were watching the exchange with interest.

John's gaze flicked over to them, his eyes lingering on Fallon for a moment before returning to Joe. "I see you've got some new faces around here."

Joe nodded, clapping John on the back. "Yeah, let me introduce you. But first, come on into my office. We've got some catching up to do."

As Joe and John walked towards the office, Fallon felt a shiver run down his spine. There was something about John that made him uneasy, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He pushed the feeling aside, focusing on the task at hand. "Alright, Em, let's get back to work on that engine."

Emily nodded, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I wonder what John's doing here."

Mac leaned in, his voice low. "I heard he's some kind of werewolf hunter."

Fallon's eyes widened, his heart racing. Werewolf hunter? What did that even mean? He shook his head, despite the uneasiness settling in his gut.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Joe and John emerged from the office, their conversation wrapping up. Joe clapped John on the back, and they exchanged a nod before John headed back to his truck.

"Alright, folks! Closing time!" Joe announced, his voice carrying across the garage. "Great work today, everyone. Let's get cleaned up and head on out."

Fallon, Emily, Mac, and Lou began wrapping up their tasks, putting away tools and covering the cars. Fallon couldn't help but sneak a glance at John's truck as he drove away, wondering what had brought him to the garage.

"Any of you got any plans?" Mac asked. "I've got to head to my second job tonight," Lou replied.

"I'm just heading home," Fallon replied, trying to ignore the sense of unease that lingered in the back of his mind.

"Hey, Em, want to grab some dinner at the diner?" Mac asked, breaking the silence. Emily nodded, and they started walking towards the diner, the evening air crisp and cool. Fallon fell into step beside them, his eyes scanning the shadows.

Why did it feel like they were being watched?

"So Fallon! How's your brother? I haven't seen him since he was, what, fourteen?" Fallon asked curiously. Fallon looked at her and chuckled, "he's sixteen now. He's in RPHS."

"Damn, really?" Mac whistled, astonished and he smiled, "that's great, Fallon. How's your mom?"

"She's alright," Fallon chuckled, "she's been doing pretty good for the past few days. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"See ya, man!" Mac chirped happily and Emily waved. Fallon walked down the street, shoving his hands in his pockets as he made a beeline towards his family's house.

He sighed heavily before he saw Phelan sitting on the porch steps.

"Hey, little brother," he greeted, "everything alright?" "Yeah," Phelan looked at him, "I told Mom that my class was going on a field trip to the forest."

Fallon cocked an eyebrow, "really? And what'd she say?" "She said to be careful," Phelan chuckled, "and to have fun." He rested his head on Fallon's shoulder, "wish you could come with."

"Heh, I know," Fallon sighed, wrapping an arm around his brother's shoulders. Phelan smiled.

Summer looked over at them from the kitchen and she smiled softly. She walked to her room and she went inside. She walked over to the dresser and when she opened the top drawer, she took out a picture of her and a man in his forties. The two of them were in their wedding attire.

Summer's eyes saddened and she ran her thumb over the man's face. "I wish you could watch your sons grow, Conan. I... I want so badly to tell them but... I can't. I'm sorry but I can't," she whispered, resting her head on her arm, a small tear running down her cheek.

In the forest, a seven foot tall Gray Wolf walked through down a path. The sounds of crickets filled the air but the wolf ignored the noise as it walked to a large house. The bricks were painted dark blue and the roof was golden. There was a moon symbol on the center of it.

The wolf walked into it before it transformed into Timber. He walked over to a statue of a woman who was holding a moon above her head and wolf-like statues were sitting around her, staring at her.

He knelt down in front of it. "...Lady Lunaris," he murmured, "the time is coming. Fallon and Phelan are going to end up in the middle of this. In a world of werewolves. I fear that they aren't ready yet."

There wasn't an answer, not that he expected one of course. He pursed his lips into a tight line and he let out a heavy sigh.

"I know you're there, guys," he said. A sixteen year old boy and a nineteen year old girl walked into the house.

"So... I heard you ran into Phelan," the girl, Paige, started, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"Yeah," Timber sighed as he pushed himself to his feet, "Tala was with him." "Why does she never tell us these things?" The boy, Shade, frowned.

"I don't know," Timber replied. And frankly, he was too tired to really care. "Let's go back," he said, "I'll tell the leaders."

Paige and Shade nodded before the three walked out of the house and into the darkness of the forest.

[mosneakers]

Erik Darling steps into the Darling family home, welcomed by the comforting tunes and occasional crackle from the vintage radio. The warm, inviting aroma of freshly baked goods fills the air, ~undoubtedly~ the handiwork of little Gwendolyn, who's been happily experimenting with her new kitchen playset—a special treasure Erik scrounged to save up for.

The pets rush to greet him, and he calls for his wife from the bottom of the stairs.

Agnes, who was busy upstairs, perhaps in the midst of changing Persephone's diaper or meticulously folding fresh laundry, hurriedly scurries down the stairs. She meets her devoted husband with a warm and loving embrace.

Agnes: Welcome home, dear! How was your day? Erik: [Pulls her closer] Better now. Agnes: I'm sorry I didn't get time to make myself up! It's been so chaotic around here. Erik: Can you run out of time to make yourself up more often? This is just how I like you, honey!