#yetta reads

[dark-academia-slut]

Ugh, I am a very capable woman but that does not change the fact that I would very much like those 4 vampire boys to protect me and fight for me

I am so, so, so in love with this <3 <3 <3

Fight | Poly!Lost boys x GN!reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence, reader gets touched by a rando, fighting, first time writing a fic for the Lost Boys.

Summary: An outsider thinks the reader is selling themselves to the Boys and thinks it’s okay to harass her, right in front of them!

–

Music blared through the boardwalk; the boys surrounded you, their human mate enjoying the show. Paul was dancing and laughing with Mark, David was smoking leaning against a railing eyeing the crowd for their dinner, and you were leaning against the chest of Dwayne. His hands rested on your hips as you moved to the music.  

You couldn’t help but laugh watching your boys just be that your boys. Paul swaggered up to you, a big goofy grin on his face, and pressed a tongue and teeth-filled kiss against your lips. You laughed again as he pulled away mouthing the words to the song being sung before practically tackling Marko. The cute cherub was one wrong move from a fight constantly, and Paul almost got decked, almost. Only stopped because Marko realized who it was. You couldn’t help but shake your head at the antics of your boyfriends.

You pat at your jacket pockets and count to see how much cash you had before deciding to break off to get overly expensive concert water.

“I’m gonna be back,” you pulled slightly from Dwayne, who gently held your wrist as you pulled back.

“What’s up, sweetheart,” he asked.

“Just thirsty, I’ll be back,” You gave him a quick peck on his lips weaving a bit.

You gently lay a hand on David’s shoulder; his crystal blue eyes stare up at you his hand touching yours.

“Water,” you respond to his look. “I’ll be fine you keep thinking about dinner, okay?”

David didn’t say anything, just gave you a mildly annoyed look before scoping the crowd letting your hand slip through his.

It was a surprisingly short line, most likely due to the booth running out of alcohol and everyone moving on to a different one. Yet it seemed to take a lot longer for the attendant to get your water, you didn’t mind waiting. It was nice to step away from the crowd a bit, and take a breath of… not exactly fresh air but air not suffocating from the stench of body odor and general wet-butt-concert smell.  

It was a wonder your boys could stand the stench.

You leaned against the counter of the booth, back turned slightly from the crowd, tapping on the wood to the drum beat as best as you were able. Two cold and thin hands ran over your ass, a smile on your face assuming it was Paul or Marko only to turn and be shocked to see… some guy.

Great. “How much do they pay you,”

“What?”

“To have all of them all over you, they gotta pay good to gang bang you, eh?” He grabbed at your face, but you pushed him off.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” David’s voice was loud.

Relief of not needing to fight some asshole washed over you.

“C’mere kitten,” He called you, and you morphed into the group of biker punks.

Marko looked like a ticking time bomb about to explode on the guy. He thought he was being slick. Smooth. Trying to get on their mate.

That wouldn’t happen.

Ever.

“Oh, you who I talk to about how much a fuck with them is?” he said right to David’s face.

The platinum blonde sneered, tossing his cigarette to the ground. But Marko was quicker. His fists flew hard, potentially breaking the bone of the man.

They were crowding around ready to tear him apart, Dwayne the only one holding back to keep you from getting involved.

They only stopped when security arrived, throwing the whole fighting group out of the venue.

“You guys don’t have to do that,” you tell them, walking back to their bikes.

You mount Marko’s feeling like you need to hold onto him the most. He joins you on his bike, allowing you to wrap your arms around his middle.

“Doll, we won’t let you be disrespected like that,” David said, lifting your chin with his gloved finger to face him.

His touch elicited a happier feeling than that of the groping bastard. A smile cracks on your lips, and David presses a quick kiss to them.

“At least we have dinner now,” Paul said, pinching your cheek playfully before mounting his bike.

You lean against Marko, cheek against his patterned jacket. “Thanks for defending my honor, Marko,”

“Of course, dove. What kind of mate would I be if I let someone treat you like that,”

With that, they kicked off their bikes and recklessly took you back to the cave.

[november-rising]

“my mum has a saying: every book has its time, and not every time is the right time for every book. that doesn't mean you'll NOT read them, just not now, and that's completely fine.”

@owlsinathens shared this with me about books she gifted me as I apologized for not be further along in the readings as I thought I should. Because of my own traumas with “you better be grateful” regardless of what precipitated the “gift” from parents and the expectation that I SHOULD utilize fully what has been given no matter what unless you “want to be ungrateful”, I’ve put pressure on myself to knock out the series.

Books shouldn’t be knocked out.

They are pure wonderment- good, neutral or bad. These worlds should be cherished. I didn’t have that luxury growing up - to cherish stillness, family, others, or myself.

Literature in many of its forms, including fanfics, allowed me a safe escape. It allowed me the chance to express, process, scream, learn and bandage many things in my life over the last 25 years. (Note: acknowledging that I’ve been escaping so much since I was 10 is quite telling.)

What I’m trying to say is that there are great people and great books (and great fanfics) that should be given the time they need. No pressure. No expectations. No obligations. Just enjoyment.

Life lessons come from anywhere. Tumblr has been my most caring tutor.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: you hadn't been sure what to feel after demanding Ajay bring the others. bring everyone. it'd been reckless, stupid. Wally you had figured had been fine, perhaps even Ajay too, but everyone? it had either been the dumbest thing you'd ever done or the smartest. thankfully, you'd learned enough about the others to know what topics to avoid and which to use to your advantage...

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.22

You sat in the dining room, the French doors closed for privacy. Your family was in various positions around you as they helped you study the pile of file folders your mother had exhumed from the enormous wooden chest in the basement.

The dining room itself was large yet cozy, eclectic, lived in; it was where your mother brought her clients for readings and spiritual counsel. A round table took up the middle of the room; a tea tray and plates of finger foods were placed in the center where a hokey crystal ball normally sat. Shelves along the back wall were stuffed with books from the Barnes & Noble witchcraft section, boasting titles like, "A Witch's Guide to Garden Magick," and, "Spells & Incantations for a Better Life."

The plum-colored ceiling was decorated in constellations that Andrew had painted the week before your mother began marketing herself, and the wood floor was covered in a layer of Persian rugs thrown here and there that had absorbed the heavy musk of the incense your mother burned during sessions.

It was a beautiful room, to be sure, and you hated every inch of it. All the frivolous bits and bobs that encouraged people to believe a lie mocking you from their perches. Portraits of people who meant nothing to your family; taxidermized crows and owls and foxes. A mounted stag's head, because why not? It added to the rustic, sorcerous atmosphere.

"What about Rhonda Botezatu?" Ginny inquired around the stem of her cigarette holder. She was done up in a silk kimono, purple hair peeking out from beneath a bronze turban. An homage to Old Hollywood starlets who'd aged into roles they'd rather die than assume. Her thin fingers and wrists were bedazzled with chunky costume jewelry, but her neck remained bare. Apart, of course, from the delicate silver pendant she rarely removed.

You couldn't help smiling at her. She was absolutely marvelous.

"Rhonda..." You began, trying not to peer down at the notes. "Died April 1964. Murdered by Alfons Manfredo, the guidance counselor. She was really into Beatnik Culture and was going to study Engineering at UC Berkeley." You wilted, looking down at the yearbook photo paperclipped to Rhonda Botezatu's dossier. Rhonda stared up at you, the hint of a smile on her lips, clever eyes bright beneath layers of eyeliner and mascara. Your heart lurched.

"I used to watch her and her younger sister, Daria, when she was a child. Her parents were neighbors." Ginny divulged, using her cigarette holder to point out the window as if to indicate the exact house. "Her older sister, Yetta, was a pain. Refused to babysit; too busy husband-hunting, but Rhonda was a hoot. Questioned everything." Ginny chuckled, rolling her eyes, "Pecked at me all day, asking this and that. Couldn't shut her up unless I put on a record and let her dance out all that energy." Her eyes went distant, a fond expression settling into her features. "Precocious. Would've changed the world if she'd been given the chance."

Your mother huffed, hovering over you as she rifled through the mound of documentation. "You skipped Janet Hamilton."

"Ooh, that idiot," Ginny slumped forward dramatically, an impression of being utterly disgusted by something. Your mother cleared her throat with intention, eyes narrowed in distaste. Ginny sighed and rolled her hand regally in your direction, "Alright, chicken, tell us what you know about her."

You stifled a giggle into the back of your hand, sharing a fond look with Andrew at Ginny's antics. "Okay, Janet. She died in 1960, but...I didn't see how...did I miss that?" You asked, scanning the sheet of paper you'd pulled from the dossier.

"No, sweetheart," Nanna assured, "There's no record of it that I ever found. Of course, by the time I started gathering information, a lot of time had passed." You could tell she was trying very hard to search her memory. Unfortunately, however, it seemed she kept finding only blank spaces.

"It was an accident of some sort," Ginny piped up. "Broke her neck somehow. Falling down the stairs, I think."

Nanna frowned, shaking her head at herself, "I vaguely recall some mention of it...honestly, you'd think I'd remember." The laugh that bubbled out of her was strained, tinged with disbelief. "She was my math tutor." A glance at Ginny to confirm, "I could've sworn it happened right before I started middle school."

"Don't look at me," Ginny scoffed, "Maybe you should scribble it down before you forget to again." She looked at Andrew, roping him into the joke, "You need to get your mother checked out, Drew, before she starts forgetting your birthday."

Positioning her reading glasses just above the tip of her nose, Nanna plucked the paper from your hand, adding, in beautiful cursive, a note about Janet's death. "You did forget his birthday last year..."

Ginny took a quick sip of her sherry, rushing to defend, "Oh pish, I did not. I told you, the gift was delayed." And then, as a side note, "Poor Reggie really is losing his mind," though she didn't sound worried about her old friend cum antique dealer. Rather, it was a pitying statement of fact, said in the manner most elderly people use when discussing each other's senility. She put her sifter down and whipped a taunting stare at Nanna, "You know, Babbigail, had either of you listened when I suggested you try the Sudoku, you wouldn't be losing your marbles quite so early."

"Oh, baldercrap," Nanna retaliated, "I'm just as sharp as I've always been!" She narrowed her eyes, mock-accusing, and presented to the room, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were cheating."

"Cheating?"

"I wouldn't put it past you to use spells all willy-nilly for your benefit."

Nanna winked at you when Ginny scoffed, outraged, straightening her spine and puffing out her chest, "Oh, how very dare you! My own sister!? Implying I would ever turn my back on the Circle!" She lifted the back of her bejeweled wrist to her brow, "Judas!"

You and Andrew dissolved into fits of laughter at the theatrics. Ginny and Nanna bickered often, always making a show of it for everyone's entertainment. It was one of many reasons that you were glad you were all under the same roof, even when it got crowded sometimes.

Behind you, your mother wasn't as amused by the performance, scoffing as she patted your head, reminding you to, "Focus, sweetheart, you only have two days to memorize all of this." She flashed an annoyed look between Nanna and Ginny, "If you two are finished, maybe we could get back to it?"

Ginny sagged sideways against the back of the chaise longue, waving dismissively with her cigarette holder, "No need to get worked up, Alice. The girl has plenty of time to sort all this out." Still, she gestured for you to move on to the next student.

Bernadette King, died in 1969 after tragically falling from a height in the old gymnasium. Then Dawn Burton, died in 1972 by accidental electrocution. Next was Yuri Vyarheychyk, a transplanted Belarussian boy who'd somehow fallen head-first into a kiln during a pottery lesson in 1978, succumbing to severe burns before the ambulance had arrived.

"Are you guys sure I should go there?" You asked, face twisted in concern as you absorbed the seemingly endless pile of information on the table, evidence that too many awful things had transpired at Split River High before now. "It sounds kinda dangerous."

"You'll be just fine," Ginny said, "You're too important. The Awen won't let anything happen to you." It sounded like something a great-aunt was obligated to say, those reassurances that you were the 'most specialist of special children.' In a world where you'd witnessed something profoundly horrific take someone you'd considered more special than yourself, your great-aunt's statement was of little comfort.

Nanna reached across the table and petted your hand affectionately, tacking on, "You have nothing to worry about. We've all attended and we're just fine. Your sister actually really enjoyed herself."

You gave her a tight smile, "If you say so," then accepted the next dossier Andrew pulled out of the pile.

"We're getting into the 80s, now." He informed, eyes twinkling as he stared over your head at your mother. "Starting with the totally hunky football star—"

"Don't start," Your mother warned. You could feel the look on her face, something eye-twitchy and vexed.

Andrew snickered, rising to the challenge, and tapped his finger on the photo clipped to the front of the folder. It drew your attention down to a face that—your breath caught, an unusual warmth blossoming within you as you took in the young man grinning up at you from the photo. The print in the top right corner said his name was 'Walker Clark'. He was...hot. Like center-of-the-sun hot. Soulful, brown eyes, kissable lips, hair swept back in a perfect 80s poof.

Andrew whistled, long and punctuating, forcing a blush to rise on the arches of your cheeks. "I think girly's got a crush," He ruffled your hair obnoxiously, "Aurora had the same reaction when we put her through the paces. 'He's so hot, oh my god,'" He mimicked in a high falsetto, "'If I could see ghosts, I'd literally ask him out, I don't care.'"

"Rory had to do this too?" You wondered, eyes never wavering from Wally's handsome face.

"Of course she did, chicken. Everyone has to. Even your grandmother had to and she can't see ghosts." Ginny explained.

"But why? If Nanna and Rory can't see ghosts, what does it matter?"

Nanna smiled sweetly at you, "Understand, dear, abilities don't always manifest fully at an early age like yours did. Before Aurora entered high school, her empathy was very subtle. Then, in her junior year, out of the blue, she could identify each ghost without batting an eye. If the Ciorcal of the Craft allowed it, I bet she would've had whole conversations with them without needing to see or hear them."

You knew Aurora's empathy was acute, how she could wield it like a weapon or a gift depending on her mood. You'd never tell her, but you found it pretty remarkable. Almost envied her for it. Your life would be much easier if you couldn't see the dead.

"That's why we do this, chicken. It's a contingency, just in case our powers manifest late or they mature faster than we have time to do something about it." Ginny elaborated and it made sense. Similar to Aurora and Nana, Andrew hadn't had any indication that he would develop Connectedness until much later, but now he gleaned incredible things from objects on command.

You didn't realize you'd been staring at Wally's photo the whole time, not once looking up to acknowledge those around you, until Nanna leaned over and voiced, "He was very handsome, wasn't he," obviously having been observing your predicament, "And so respectful. His mother and I were in a book club together with some of the other moms from the school." Suddenly, her tone shifted, turning solemn, "Bea was hard on him, though. Drove him to be the best." She sighed, "I really felt for him."

You listened with half an ear, more interested in pondering what Wally had felt about the pressure his mother supposedly put on him. Had he been equally as motivated? Or had he buckled under the weight of expectation? A tiny sliver of your soul yearned to have the chance to ask him, ignoring for the moment the Rule that your whole family lived by.

"Come on, sweetheart," Your mother's voice interrupted your thoughts, "we have a lot to go through and 2004 is going to be tricky." She flipped open Wally's folder, thus forcefully removing his face from your line of sight, doing for you what you hadn't been able to do for yourself. You exhaled a shivery breath, swallowing thickly as you accepted the first of three typewriter-typed pages. Your mother pointed to the third line of the second paragraph, "Alright, let's start here..."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Ajay had smuggled you into the school and up to the roof, managing to keep you from being caught. There had been one close call when Barry had treaded around a corner, flashlight up, demanding to know if anyone was there when your sneaker had squeaked against the linoleum. You'd watched in fascination as Ajay had manipulated his ghostliness to his advantage. He'd marched right up to Barry who, as a living person, had been unconsciously driven to avoid the invisible obstacle, his brain having fed him some rationalization or excuse that had sent him on his way. Piece of cake.

Presently, you stood near the roof's edge, fidgeting nervously as Ajay helped two people over the raised side of the portal, one after the other. You gulped, your heart beating faster and your palms clammy as you took in who they were. Rhonda Botezatu and Charley Morino. Fuck...shit... Instantly, you regretted telling Ajay to bring everyone. God, could you get more stupid!? This was such a bad idea, your mother's voice reverberating inside your skull threats of squalls and storms and ill-fated summonings. Despite the desire to stand your ground and do this for Simon, your soul trembled in despair, unable to shake the feeling of failure after years and years of being told not to let them know you can see.

You squirmed under Rhonda and Charley's attention, your eyes flicking up to their faces and then back down to your shoes as your nerves began to fray. God, Simon, you fretted, I hope it's worth it. 'It' being all the possible repercussions you could face should anyone discover what you'd done. And the more who knew what you could do, the more it was likely that someone would find out.

As you contemplated your friend, a shadow flickered over Rhonda's shoulder. A there-and-gone impression of movement that had wobbled like hot air rising from a desert road. You squeezed your eyes shut and opened them again, seeing nothing to indicate what you'd witnessed had ever occurred.

"Isn't that the chick Wally was hung up on a couple of years ago?" You heard Rhonda ask Charley as they approached. Strangely, they moved as if they intended to make room for someone else between them, but, as you checked on Ajay's progress at the portal, you didn't see anyone else emerge.

"I'm not sure..." Charley answered her, openly studying you through slitted eyes; suspicious, cautious, clearly unsure what he thought about you. Still, he emanated a warmer, more welcoming aura than Rhonda who was all attitude and cool eyes. "If it is, we owe him a massive apology."

Rhonda didn't seem to agree, "She'd better make it up to him. Took him forever to stop sulking."

You were both pleased that Wally's friends had his back and cowed at the reminder that you'd basically gaslighted him in sophomore year, and Rhonda seemed keen to hold that against you. Surreptitiously, you kept peeking behind Rhonda and Charley, willing the universe to be kind and deliver Wally's fortifying presence to you. With him beside you, you felt you could handle Rhonda's cutting remarks and Charley's weighted stare.

As if on cue, the connection began to rumble and roll inside you, rising with more interest as you felt Wally get closer, and your heart started to pound for an entirely different reason.

"So," Rhonda started as she stopped two feet in front of you, arms crossed and expression tightly controlled, "You can see us."

You didn't know what else to say apart from, "Yep," wincing as it fell out of your mouth.

Rhonda's glare turned lethal, "And you didn't think that maybe you should try and help us?"

"I—"

"Oh, no, wait, that's right, you decided to help Ajay and leave the rest of us to rot, is that it?"

Charley reached out and touched her arm, sending her an expression of warning before returning his attention to you. "I am curious about why you decided now was a good time for a big reveal?" He asked in a roundabout way, tone sprinkled lightly with denigration.

That, at least, was a simple answer. "Simon's in trouble and I want to help get him out of it."

"Right," Charley looked at Rhonda, briefly seeming to cast behind her, then looked back at you, "The o t h e r living person who can see ghosts. Are you guys part of the same coven or...?"

As sarcastic as he sounded, you sensed his genuine interest and decided to expand on—wait, "Simon can what?"

Ajay's words from earlier flew out of the ether and into your head: "Everyone just got over Charley keeping Simon a secret." Well, fuck me sideways. At the time, you'd been too distracted by the fact that Ajay knew about you and Wally. Then that, of course, had been eclipsed by Ajay's purported friendship with Aurora that she'd never bothered to disclose. With all those thoughts vying for attention, your brain had swiftly filled in the blanks about Charley and Simon with something that made enough sense to keep you from poking at it. Charley, you'd guessed, had kept Simon a secret like most teenagers keep their crush a secret from their friend group. To avoid getting teased.

Thinking about it now, you realized that was the second-most idiotic thing you'd ever come up with after encouraging Ajay to give you an audience with a bunch of ghosts you were supposed to avoid like the plague.

"Are. you. fucking. k i d d i n g. me!?" You dropped into a crouch, top half folded over your knees as you dug your fingers into the back of your head, wholly and utterly defeated by the endless siege of fuckery that had been unleashed since last Friday.

"We'll take that as a 'no'," Rhonda remarked, sounding as though she was checking her cuticles. "So, what are you? A necromancer or something?"

"No," You said miserably into your knees. You rose, rubbing your temples as you tried to process everything while simultaneously explaining, "And I'm not a witch, either, so you can forget about that coven bullshit."

You were getting riled up, angry, confused; Simon could see ghosts, too? Seriously? That could have made the conversation you and he had had on the swings a helluva lot easier, dammit. But, nooo, he'd kept that to himself. And, honestly, fuck Aurora, too, because you'd spent the last three years of your life on edge and constantly alert when you could've, maybe, given fewer shits?!

Another odd, shadowy flicker distorted the air almost directly in front of you but you ignored it, your frustration gaining momentum because, fine, yeah, you hadn't said anything to Simon either, but what the fuck anyway—!

Just as you were about to scream into the void, a warm, calming sensation swept over you, the familiar scent of Wally's cologne and the pomade he used in his hair curling under your nose like a cartoon wafteron. You tilted your head up, eyes immediately locking on his, and the tension seeped out of your muscles. Wally's steps were measured, his jaw tight, shoulders squared as if he was fighting to control himself from jumping on you.

Right. Ajay had insisted that you and Wally act as if you'd never interacted. Earlier, it'd been easy to agree, the connection subtle and at ease; now, you weren't so sure. The syrupy-slick sensation lulled you into a dreamlike fog, transfixed by Wally's closeness. You watched Wally's throat bob when he swallowed, eyes drifting to his lips before slowly tracking back up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.

"Hi..." You said, voice catching as Wally neared.

The others observed with assorted expressions of confusion and intrigue, Rhonda asking, "Whaaat the hell is happening?" to which Charley replied, "I have no idea..."

Ajay explained on your behalf, tone entirely put-upon, "It's the cRaZiEsT tHiNg. I noticed it before. Like they have some kind of mYsTeRiOuS cOnNeCtiOn drawing them together..." Glimpsing at him, you saw Ajay's features had flattened, his demeanor projecting exactly how done with everything he was, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to care. Wally was right there, gazing at you with soft eyes and a lopsided smile.

The flicker appeared again, though, unlike before, an almost physical energy came with it, arcing outward from its source into your front, forcing you back a step. A look of alarm spooked Wally's face. He lurched forward a step, simultaneously bringing his hand up as if to place it on something.

What happened next happened so quickly that you almost didn't catch it. As soon as Wally's hand made contact, a featureless silhouette popped into existence. You couldn't make out who they were, could hardly register anything as you stumbled backward another step in surprise, the back of your leg hitting the low ledge that lined the roof. From there, gravity took over, pulling you down as you teetered precariously over the wrong side of the ledge. Everyone reacted at once, Rhonda and Charley reaching out, Ajay yelling and grabbing the silhouette, and Wally—

"No!" Wally shouted as he leapt forward, grabbed you by the front of your sweater, and hauled you tightly against him before you plummeted several meters down onto the concrete below. He whirled around, planting himself between you and the ledge, his nose in your hair, heart hammering under your palm, panting from the adrenaline rush. His embrace was viselike, keeping you together as a jolt of fear shot through you.

"Are you okay?" He asked, eyes the size of saucers as he cradled your face in his big hands.

You peeked helplessly up at him, a lump in your throat and pressure behind your eyes, Jesus Christ, you'd almost joined them in the afterlife...but that wasn't the thought that blared in your head like an air raid siren.

"Do it again." You commanded, breathless, gripping Wally's arms and encouraging him to turn around. "Touch whatever you just touched again."

He blinked at you, dumbfounded, obviously not understanding what the hell you were on about.

"Whatever you just did," You instructed, "do it again," placing your hand on his shoulder to show him what you meant. Although he continued to stare at you like you'd grown a second head, he released you and moved back. You marveled as he stepped forward a few feet, picked his hand up, and then placed it down seemingly in midair. Except it wasn't midair. It was a shoulder that became visible under the weight of Wally's hand.

He shot you a peculiar expression, eyebrows drawn in doubt, "Uh...like this?" And then he stepped aside.

You gasped, going very, very still as your mouth fell open and your eyes bulged, a single, quivering utterance tumbling out of you. "Holy shit."

Everyone, including Wally, watched you in wonder, completely oblivious to the miracle that had just occurred. Everyone including—

"Maddie!?"

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-ONE - PART TWENTY-THREE

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[justforbooks]

Jeannette Charles

The Queen’s most famous lookalike, who enjoyed a long career in film and television thanks to their uncanny resemblance

In 1972, Jeannette Charles was in her mid-40s and settling down to life in an Essex village, having returned, with her husband, Ken, from Libya. They had been living there for some years, but left following the army coup led by Muammar Gaddafi.

On reading about the artist Jane Thornhill in a local newspaper, Charles decided to commission a painting of herself for her husband’s birthday. Thornhill asked whether she could submit it for the Royal Academy’s summer exhibition in London, but when she did, the venerable institution returned the picture, believing it to be a portrait of Queen Elizabeth II and having been told by Buckingham Palace that the monarch had not sat for it.

The resulting publicity began a new chapter in the life of Charles, who would spend the next 40 years as the Queen’s most famous lookalike, and who has died aged 96. She appeared on British television and in Hollywood films, alongside stars such as Leslie Nielsen, Priscilla Presley and Mike Myers, and also modelled for Spitting Image when the satirical TV show was making the Queen’s puppet.

Charles said of her uncanny resemblance to the monarch, whom she never met: “We both have the same bone structure, so the same style of makeup and hairdressing suits us best. But I’m 2 inches shorter than her, so my clothes wouldn’t always look well on her and vice versa.”

She also made personal appearances – opening shops, handing out gifts with the flamboyant piano virtuoso Liberace and presenting a silver disc to the rock group Queen – and Muhammad Ali put in a special request to have a photograph taken with her. Commercials kept her busy, too, but Charles insisted: “I am not an actress. I only do the one role.”

Her first job as the Queen was posing for a London Weekly Advertiser poster that featured her reading a paper, with a stuffed corgi at her feet. However, London Transport, which was due to display it on buses and Tube trains, objected and never used it. Charles said it was a lesson: “too real … a little vulgar”. She insisted she was a staunch royalist, and told the Guardian in 2022: “I would never do anything that reflected badly on the monarch or myself. Over the years, I’ve turned down large sums to pose for Page 3-type pictures and insisted I should never be introduced as the Queen when making appearances.”

Jeannette was born in London, 18 months after Princess Elizabeth, to Yetta (nee Wonsoff), who was Dutch, of Polish descent, and Alfred Clark, a chef, later restaurateur, and was brought up in Perivale, Middlesex. Her resemblance to the future monarch was spotted when she was still a child. She recalled: “On a trip to Greenwich when I was 11 or 12, a photographer asked if he could use me in some shots, saying, ‘She looks like Princess Elizabeth.’ Later, I’d draw crowds, especially abroad, and sometimes had to run away.”

After leaving Wembley high school, she took a job as a secretary and spent evenings acting with an amateur group in Acton. She dreamed of acting professionally, and passed an audition to train at Rada, but could not afford the fees. Instead, she emigrated to the US at the age of 24 and settled in Midland, Texas.

While working there as an au pair, she met Ken Charles, a British oil drilling engineer with BP. His work took him to Canada – where they married in Alberta in 1957 – and then to South America and Libya.

They returned to Britain in 1969 and, when regal fame came to Charles, she found herself travelling the world again. At home, her early screen appearances were in the sketch shows Rutland Weekend Television (1975), with Eric Idle and Neil Innes, Spike Milligan’s Q series (from 1976 to 1980), and Not the Nine O’Clock News (1980). She was also in sitcoms such as Mind Your Language (1978) and Never the Twain (1990), and jetted to the US for a 1977 appearance on Saturday Night Live.

When Hollywood came calling, she put on the royal tiara to appear in National Lampoon’s European Vacation (1985). In The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad! (1988), she was seen flat on her back with Nielsen on top of her as they slide down a royal banqueting table – when his inept detective believes the Queen is about to be assassinated and jumps to her rescue. For Charles, another highlight of filming that wacky movie was being invited to Presley’s trailer for lunch. “We became good friends,” she said.

She was back in Hollywood for The Parent Trap (1998), with Lindsay Lohan, Dennis Quaid and Natasha Richardson, and Austin Powers in Goldmember (2002), when she mistook its star, Myers, for a crew electrician on first meeting him.

Alongside chat shows, corporate events, fete openings and other appearances, she appeared in Motörhead’s music video promoting their version of the Sex Pistols song God Save the Queen in 2000.

Charles’s autobiography, The Queen & I, was published in 1986.

Her husband died in 1997. She is survived by their three children, David, Peter and Carol, and her sister, Delinda.

🔔 Jeannette Dorothea Louise Charles, lookalike, born 15 October 1927; died 2 June 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[dark-academia-slut]

Oh, this is so sweet and soft... I wish I had my own personal vampire boyfriends <3 <3 <3

The Lost Boys (1987) x Fem! Reader - Payment

Warnings: None

Fandom- The Lost Boys 1987

Pairings- Poly! Lost Boys x Female! Reader

Title- Payment

“Is she awake yet?” 

Marko’s voice was unusually soft as he entered into the nesting area where you lay resting in Paul’s arms. You were laying on your side, your face pressed into Paul’s chest as he sat still on his back for you to use him as your personal teddy bear. 

“Not yet,” Paul whispered back, eyes not leaving your form as you breathed deeply, in and out, almost in a entrancing pattern. 

“We’re heading out soon, you should wake her up,” Marko nearly bursted into laughter at Paul’s horrified looking face. 

“You know she hates when she wakes up and we’re gone,” Dwayne murmured lowly, hovering in the doorway. 

“I just hate waking her- she looks so peaceful when she’s sleeping,” Paul’s pout was obvious as he looked to Marko and Dwayne with puppy eyes. 

“I’ll help you,” Dwayne decided, his lips upturning into a smile as he approached the bed, crawling to lay behind you just where David had been hours before to help you fall asleep. 

Rather than wake you though, the two simply watched- all desire to awaken you from your deep slumber gone. Your breath was deep and slow, your mouth open ever so slightly as your cheek was squished against Paul’s body. Your lips looking soft and pretty and oh so sweet, something they always remembered from your kisses. The answers of someone like you could love a rowdy group like them always evaded them. You were gentle, pretty, soft, and kind. Heart swelling of sympathy, your heart always on display. In concert with that you were understanding, trying your best to understand everyone- even if they had hurt you. Now these guys? They killed for fun, terrorizing people on the Boardwalk when they got too bored, and enticed others to make bad decisions that would end up benefitting them despite the hurt it would cause to those actually making such decisions. 

“Babycakes,” Paul murmured lowly, tone not too loud as to not startle you awake. “Time to wake up, sweet thing,” He leaned his head down to press kisses against your forehead, arm reaching up to draw patterns on your back. 

“It’s time to get up, little one,” Dwayne whispered from behind, his hand massaging yours- each knuckle getting an affectionate rub before he moved to your palm. 

Stirring from your sleep, Paul frowned as your expression lost it’s peacefulness and was replaced with scrunched brows- your mouth shutting as your head twisted to bury more into Paul’s chest. 

“Oh, c’mon now babycakes,” Paul couldn’t help but laugh at your antics, making a sleepy grin form on your face as you pulled yourself from his chest to stare at him. “Why d’ya wake me up?” Your words were slightly slurred from sleep, your eyes bleary as you pouted up at him. 

“So you could have time to wake up before we left, love,” David now called from the doorway, Marko standing at the edge of the bed. 

“Mmm,” You closed your eyes in thought. 

“Hey hey, don’t fall back asleep,” Marko called out to you, making you open your eyes again with a laugh, “I wasn’t trying to, I was just thinking…”

“Thinking about what?” Dwayne murmured, taking your hand up towards his mouth to give a kiss to it. 

“Thinking about- those,” You looked at Dwayne, making his eyebrow arch in a silent question. 

“Kisses,” You clarified, a grin spreading across your cheeks. 

“Oh I see, our little love wants kisses?” David grinned, approaching the bed.

“As a payment, of course,” You nodded at David, “Payment for waking me up so early.” 

“A payment is only fair,” Dwayne murmured, turning your head to press a kiss to your lips, a sound of surprise leaving you before you melted into him. The kiss ended all too soon, only for Paul to tilt your face towards him for his own kiss to be placed on your lips. 

David’s hands were free of his leather gloves for once, his hands feeling much softer than the leather as they cupped your cheeks and brought you into a deep kiss. 

“My turn,” Marko’s voice greeted your ears in a singsong manner after a moment, his impatience showing as when you opened your eyes he was already biting his nails to stave off his urge to approach you. 

“Marko,” You cooed, arms open for him as he eagerly clambered onto the bed, careful not to crush you with his weight as he pressed kisses all around your face, your laughs filling the room and their hearts before he captured your lips in his. 

Maybe they weren’t the nicest people, or the kindest- heck they were murderers… but you chose them, chose to love them and you didn’t shy away from their secret when they told you but embraced them with a warmth that never dimmed. 

“Mmm,” You sighed, “I think that satisfies payment in full, my dear boys.”

Tags- @icefrozendeadlyqueen​

[groovebunker]

For the fic ask, 23 and 48 😘

23. what's a trope, au or concept you've never written but would love to?

strap in bby bc you know there isn't just one.

- accidentally dating/super slow burn friends to lovers where everyone else figures out they're dating before they do

- noir/pi au (can't stop thinking about this)

- 'the proposal' au which i guess is fake dating (which i have done) but more specifically having to fake marry to keep cc in the country, yetta being a terror.

- parenthood!!! mom!cc!

- the au that enid called the 'hey mamas lesbian cc' au which lives rent free in my head - cc & max betting on who can get a date with fran first.

48. what's the last fic you read? would you recommend it?

ache with wanting you. unequivocally.

[pinkcowqueen]

For shipping bingo, Suzette x Yetta, Zilith (Zillah x Lilith), and intellectual investment (Edvard x Barnaby)

You've really clocked my need to ship anything gay , haven't you?

Thoughts time:

Edvard/Barnaby: This is such a vibe honestly, I've read a few really good fics for this pair! You're going to make me rewatch To The Depths! at this rate

Zillah/Lilith: Yes. Very much yes. They work together so well, and have amazing chemistry and I need to watch the Lampblack Wedding again now. Because there was some stuff at the start of that episode that I rewatch constantly

Suzette/Yetta: Just pure wholesome. They give off married couple vibes. Just pure fluff I love it

[damonalbarnsgf]

my top songs of the year tell a story and it's of my deepest agonies— 1. Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac: Not getting the blue blazer despite being described as a "promising student" by my teachers. It was spring, my most loathed time of the year. 2. cowboy like me: wondered if i'll ever find love at all. (also this & silver springs makes the perfect anodyne for me) 3. The Bomb by FATM: The distraught call in June when i, unflinched, was sure, for sure, that i had lost all feelings and he never really liked me at all so it wasn't a tacky decision (fallings buildings is the only thing that turns you/me on.) 4. Vienna by Billy Joel: got a score lower than I expected in my board examinations or more so, failed to meet my own expectations. Read a lot of neurotic poems and wondered if Vienna waits for me at all. 5. Don't Take the Money by The Bleachers: By late August, I was back on track (literary fest trophy, Biology Topper, new crush yetta zetta) new hope! new heartache!

[dark-academia-slut]

this is just such a precious, precious fic and i ADORE it very much so... why can't i just have a henry!sherlock for myself???

we'll be alright

summary : in which they fight but there's no doubt that they'll end up alright.

pairing : sherlock holmes x reader

warnings : slight spoiler for enola holmes 2, ooc!sherlock, slight angst

author's note : so, hi!! i love you, thank you for sticking around, i love you!! <3

tagged : @0oolookitsme

masterlist

navigation

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“sherlock?” 

“enola. what are you doing here?” sherlock questioned, swaying as he tried to focus on his sister. “it’s not safe. there are scary people about”

“yes, let me know when you meet one,” enola sighed, walking towards him and standing close in case he fell over. “brother, are you quite yourself?”

“i’m fine, it was just a disagreement over a glass of wine and whose wine it was,” sherlock waved her off, looking around. “there was another disagreement that i had, not here, no. at home. it quite upset me. very much, in fact.”

“you fought with y/n?” enola asked, her eyebrows raising. she absolutely adored y/n and to hear that her brother and her sister-in-law were fighting was a shock considering they were totally smitten with each other.

“i find after wine, it’s very difficult to make your arms and legs move,” sherlock completely ignored her question, swaying dangerously. enola rushed to support, a wince escaping her as sherlock leaned on her for support. “i don’t usually imbibe but i’m not a case, you see. it’s proven rather tricky”

“cab,” enola called for a carriage, walking while supporting her brother’s weight, losing her footing every once in a while during their very short walk to the side of the road.

“hello,” both the holmes’ siblings greeted the driver, moving to sit inside.

“where are we going?” sherlock asked, looking at enola for answers.

“221 baker street,” enola replied, helping him get in the cab.

the ride to 221 baker street was filled with silence, with enola occasionally trying to ask about y/n and sherlock mindless chatter about his latest case.

the pair of siblings exited the cab, paying the driver and walked to the front door. after opening it, enola stood with sherlock in front of 221a and stopped, looking at her brother for any sort of indication that he was going to open it.

“that’s a and i’m b,” sherlock mumbled, his eyes unfocused as he first pointed at the door in front of them and then at the stairs going to the upper level.

enola sighed, rolling her eyes slightly as she moved over to the staircase. she looked at the number of stairs they’d have to climb before looking at her drunk brother.

“i didn’t know you had steps,” enola mentioned, wanting nothing more than to just sleep and wake up in a week or so.

“one should always have steps to avoid people stepping on you,” sherlock said, his words slurring together as he stood there. “that’s a tip, you should probably write that down.”

“alright,” enola started as she let go of him slightly and helped him lean against the wall, “how about i go upstairs and get y/n and she can help me get you upstairs?”

“y/n?” sherlock’s attention shifted to enola, his head leaning on the wall. “i don’t know if she’ll be here.”

“why not?” enola asked, worry growing in the pit of her stomach. had the fight really been that bad?

“she was quite upset with me,” sherlock spoke, his words stringing together to a somewhat coherent sentence. “i wouldn’t be surprised if she chose to go and stay with her sister for the time being.”

“we’re not at all done with this conversation as i’m very eager to know just how you’ve messed it up with the most loving and caring woman but we do need to get you upstairs,” enola said, her tone of voice sharp as she supported sherlock and guided him towards the first step. “all right, lift your left leg.”

“enola?” a voice questioned from the top of the stairs, making both the siblings look up. “and sherlock? what happened?”

“y/n!” enola exclaimed with relief in her voice, excited to see her sister-in-law and to get some help. “could you please help me in getting your drunk husband in the apartment?”

“y/n, love,” sherlock called out but his voice was ignored by both the ladies, leaving him with a frown on his face.

“oh my, i’m so sorry,” y/n rushed down the stairs, her dress flailing behind her as she went to sherlock’s other side and supported him. “did you get him here all by yourself?”

“had to,” enola informed, climbing up one step at a time. “he was drunk and got thrown out of an establishment.”

“god,” y/n mumbled, ignoring sherlock’s attempts to talk to her. it was obvious that she was angry with him. “i’m sorry you had to see him like this, enola.”

“it’s alright,” enola replied in her cheerful voice, the one that made y/n smile at the girl. the company of three finally reached the top of the stairs and y/n opened the door. “i can hold this incident over his head for years to come. at least, until he does something else.”

“i got him from here,” y/n assured the girl, her hands going over her husband’s shoulders as she supported him. “you go, get freshened up."

“alright,” with that enola went off in the direction of the bathroom, leaving sherlock and y/n alone.

“you should sit down, sherlock,” y/n said to her husband, leading him to the couch in the corner of the room. 

“you’re right,” sherlock mumbled, tripping as he moved across the carpet. “of course you are, darling.”

sherlock sat on the couch with a grunt falling from his lips, y/n’s hand automatically going to his shoulder while the other cupped his cheek, making him look at her. when she realised what she was doing, she quickly withdrew her hands and folded them in front of her, trying to ignore the confused look on her husband's face.

“are you okay?” she questioned, keeping in mind to keep her voice low.

“yes, i’ll be up and running in no time,” sherlock assured, reaching for her hands but stopped when she made no move to take his.

“i was worried when you stormed out and didn’t come back before nightfall,” y/n admitted, her fidgeting with the numerous rings she wore, a nervous habit she had; something sherlock always picked on.

“i apologise,” sherlock whispered, burying his head in his hands, the light from the lamps making his head hurt. “for worrying you. and for other things.”

“that’s alright,” y/n replied, chuckling lightly, though it was weak and she sounded tired. “i think i'll always be worrying when it comes to you. i’ve made my peace with it.”

"you're not mad?" sherlock asked, his voice muffled.

"we'll talk later, sherlock," y/n spoke, her voice sharp as she took a deep breath. "you make it hard to be mad at you, when you're in this stage."

“i suppose i don't make it any easier," sherlock asked, a small smile on his lips though y/n couldn't see it. "being me."

"you don't," y/n looked away, choosing to look at the portraits on the wall. "but that's okay."

sherlock was about to say something else when enola's voice sounded from their bathroom.

"i better go and see what she wants," y/n spoke though she made no move to leave. a moment passed between the couple before y/n moved towards him and pushed him to lay on the couch by his shoulders. "you, rest. please."

"if i must," sherlock said, leaning into her touch and craved it when it was gone. he settled and closed his eyes. "is she to stay the night?"

"yes," y/n spoke sternly, leaving no room for argument making sherlock grumble but he didn't object; knowing it would be fruitless.

y/n moved through the living room, making her way to the bathroom and knocked twice before waiting for enola to open the door.

"a moment," enola called from the inside and half a minute later, the door was thrown open and y/n was pulled inside.

"is everything alright?" y/n questioned, looking at the teenager whose hair were down, strands falling in her face.

"could you do my hair, please?" enola questioned, a pink tint on her face. "i usually just throw them in a bun and that does the trick but i love how you do your hair and since i'm here and you're here, maybe you could do my hair?"

"of course i will!" y/n exclaimed as she pushed enola's hair out of her face. "you shouldn't ask, enola. you're like my sister. i basically raised you."

"still, i felt the need to ask," enola shrugged, handing her the brush that was on the counter and turning around.

"you shouldn't," y/n reassured her, brushing her hair softly. "i'd never refuse."

"i'm glad to hear that," enola smiled at her, looking through the mirror in front of her. "is sherlock okay?"

"he's resting," y/n mentioned, starting to braid small braids. "at least, i hope so."

"did you two have a fight?" enola questioned, no longer being able to control her curiosity.

"he told you about it?" y/n asked, mild surprise on her face but still, she smiled at the girl.

"he wasn't sure if you'd be home when we reached here," enola spoke, wincing slightly as her hair got caught in one of the many rings y/n wore, the latter apologising profusely as she untangled them. "said you might've chosen to go to your sister's house. and he also mentioned something about a disagreement at home when i first saw him outside the bar."

"oh, um, we did have a fight," y/n admitted, a small frown on her face as she recalled the harsh words that were thrown around. "but i'd never just leave."

"did he apologise?" enola questioned, admiring the braid y/n had finished. "please tell me he did."

"he did," y/n assured the younger girl. "i wouldn't be here any longer if he didn't."

"that's good," enola smiled, her fingers twirling around the braid. "you're both good then?"

"i don't think it works like that, darling," y/n spoke slowly, her eyes trained on her hair, a sad smile on her face as she refused to look at her in the mirror. "it's not just a simple 'sorry' and then everything is fine."

enola stayed silent as she thought about what y/n and finally after a couple moments, spoke. "what do you mean?"

"i mean, you can't just hurt someone and then realise that what you did was wrong. you can't apologise and expect everything to be okay, that's not how it is," y/n spoke, her voice calm and controlled but her mind was filled with the words that sherlock and her had spoken—yelled at eachother. "the person you hurt, they're not just going to forget and forgive you."

"then, what are we supposed to do?" enola spoke, her voice a whisper as she watched y/n finish off the last braid and tuck it neatly with the others. "if we apologise but they don't accept it, then what? we're supposed to keep on telling them?"

"we need to show them," y/n corrected her, turning her around to she could pin up the strands that kept getting in her eyes. "with actions, not just words. with what we do, with gestures. they need to know that we cherish them, that we're thankful that they're here, with us, they need to know that we love them and that we're sorry."

"sherlock does that?" enola asked, her eyes on her sister in law.

"he does," y/n whispered, looking down as she felt the familiar burning in her eyes and the floor became a mosaic. "he really does."

"then why are you both not okay?" enola asked, comforting y/n as she rubbed her arms.

"because i'm so worried," y/n started, her breathing heavier and her voice choked up. "i'm so worried, enola. it's starting to affect me physically. he's taking on dangerous cases everyday, the next one more dangerous than the last and he goes out without any sort of protection and i'm so scared that he's not going to come back home to me."

"he's always going to come back to you," enola spoke, her hearting hurting when she heard y/n sniffle. "he's sherlock and you're y/n. you'll always find eachother."

"last night, he didn't come home until midnight and i had stay up waiting for him because i hate it when he comes back and there's no one greeting him and he had a cut on his upper arm and i freaked out," y/n rambled, her hands clutching enola's, the latter not letting go even for a second, "and we had a small argument about him coming this late and coming home hurt when i've told him many times to take someone from scotland yard with him but it ended in a big fight and we both went to bed angry, it was the worst. in the morning, i brought it up again and he just—yelled at me and i yelled at him and he just stormed out."

"i—i don't know what to say," enola breathed out, her hands still onto y/n's. "except, let me go out there and smack some sense into him."

y/n let out a shaky laugh, letting go of enola's hand to wipe her eyes.

"letting all of that out felt good," y/n admitted, sniffling slightly, twirling enola as she looked over her hair. "i needed this, thank you, enola."

"of course, y/n," enola smiled, her eyes sparkling under the lamp in the corner of the bathroom. "thank you, for doing my hair."

"don't mention it, love," y/n waved her off, her heart feeling lighter. "the guest room is neat and clean, you should get some sleep."

"ah, yes," enola spoke, looking at herself in the mirror before smiling at y/n. "i'll see you in the morning."

"of course," y/n smiled back tiredly, her head hurting.

"good night," enola called as she walked away from the bathroom and towards the guest room, her voice drifting as the door closed.

"good night," y/n whispered, knowing that there was no way she heard her. she looked at herself in the mirror, taking note of the year stained cheeks and how anyone could tell that she had been crying. her hair was a mess, flicks restricting her view.

she sighed, before opening the faucet and washing her face, cursing at herself for not doing it earlier as it already made her head feel less heavy.

after drying her face with a cloth, she made her way to the living and spotted sherlock in the same position in which she had left him. he seemed to have fallen asleep, with how even and deep his breathing was and how he was still and peaceful. there was no furrow of his eyebrows, y/n noted as she admired him.

"sherlock?" y/n called as he leaned over him, her voice barely audible as she didn't want to startle him. "we should head to bed."

sherlock groaned as his hands covered his face, moving slightly but he made no indication of sitting up.

"sherlock, please," y/n spoke, her hand on his shoulder. "let us go to bed."

"hm?" sherlock hummed, opening his eyes a fraction before closing them.

"sit up," y/n ordered, her voice still light. sherlock pushed himself up, looking up at her with tired eyes and y/n had to resist the urge to kiss his forehead.

“come on, let’s get you in bed,” y/n spoke softly, holding onto sherlock's shoulder as he stood up. she lead him to their bedroom, his body swaying slightly at the movement, making y/n grip onto him a bit tighter.

“that sounds nice,” sherlock mumbled, his hands holding her waist as he walked into their bedroom with her support.

“it does, doesn’t it?” y/n sat him on the bed, removing his coat, tie and vest. “have some water before you fall asleep. here.”

“i’m not going to fall asleep,” sherlock huffed before drinking the water y/n from the glass on the bedside table with a small ‘thank you’, “i’m not tired.”

“sure you aren’t, love,” y/n muttered, helping him get under the covers and adjusting the pillow under his head. “do you need anything else?"

"huh?" sherlock asked, his head falling against the pillow. "no, i suppose."

"alright," y/n moved towards the dressing room to change into her night gown. "i'll be back in a minute."

y/n only got a hum from him in reply as she made her way into the small attached dressing room and changing as fast as she could into her night gown. folding the dress as neatly as she could, she opened the door to find sherlock sitting up with his back to the headboard.

"sherlock?" y/n asked, confusing evident in her voice as she made way towards him. she sat on the edge of the bed, her worries increasing as sherlock stayed silent for the better part of a minute.

"i'm sorry," sherlock spoke, his voice small as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "for yelling, for storming out, for worrying you, everything. all of it."

"it's okay, love," y/n didn't even notice the term of endearment fall from her lips. "we can talk in the morning. you need to rest."

"no, it can't wait," sherlock argued, opening his eyes and looking at her with utmost seriousness. his hands clasped hers, holding them with a firm grip. "i have only just realised how much worry i cause you."

"sher—"

"if you were out there, i don't know what i would do," sherlock continued speaking, the words falling from his lips effortlessly. "and i realise that i have been selfish, worrying my wife about my well being, coming home late and sometimes even injured."

"darling—"

"i'll work on that," sherlock nodded, not noticing y/n trying and failing to speak. "i'll talk to lestrade about getting a constable with me on dangerous cases."

"love—"

"we already went to bed angry at eachother yesterday," sherlock spoke tiredly, his eyes dropping and his grip on her hands going lax. "i didn't want you to be mad at me tonight. i love you and i'm sorry, y/n."

"i love you and i'm not mad, not anymore," y/n shook her head, smiling as she leaned over and kissed his forehead, stroking his face with her thumb. "i just worry about you, a lot."

"and from now on, i won't give you a reason to," sherlock promised, leaning into her touch.

"good," y/n dropped another kiss to his forehead, smiling when he looked up at her and leaned in to kiss her on the lips. she smiled as she met him halfway.

the kiss was messy, with y/n leaning over him and sherlock's hand supporting her. y/n's hand found the front of his shirt, pulling him even more closer while sherlock's hand circled her waist, tracing small circles on her hips as he kissed her back with fervour.

they broke apart, their breathing heavy as they smiled at eachother, hearts beating fast.

"you need to sleep, mr. holmes," y/n reminded him, pulling away from him and moving towards her side of the bed. "you're tired."

"no," sherlock denied, watching her as she got in under the cover. "maybe, yes. god, am i tired."

"told you," y/n smiled at him with satisfaction. "sleep."

sherlock watched as she leaned over her bedside table and turned off the lamp settled comfortably, shifting slightly. he waited until she was fully settled in before moving close to her.

he laid his head in the crook of her neck, his nose touching her collarbone as his breath hit the exposed part of her neck, making her shiver. her hands automatically went to his hair, running her fingers through it.

minutes passed as y/n laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and running her fingers through her husband's hair.

"sherlock?" y/n asked, her voice barely a whisper.

after hearing no answers from him, she shifted lightly to get a good look on his face and smiled as she noticed that he was fast asleep. his mouth was parted slightly and each exhale of breath made y/n shiver and get goosebumps. his grip on her was relaxed and the look on his face was so peaceful that it made y/n feel at peace.

kissing the top of head, y/n inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and sending a prayer to whatever force that made him hers.

sure, they had their disagreements, both big and small. their difference of opinion cause a rift every now and then but still, there was no doubt.

we'll be alright, she thought before falling asleep with the love of her life.

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[windmaedchen-fairytail]

Niko Dreyar

Niko was always sensitive to the well-being of the people around him and preferred to listen and talk instead of raising his fist and fight. Learning from Wendy Marvel herself first when he was still younger, he then went on to study medicine in Fiore's top university once he was old enough.

Now being a fully trained doctor with some years of practical experience under his belt, Niko aims to bring back his grandfathers guild and make it be known beyond Fiore's borders.

With its growing number of doctors, researchers and wizards, the Neo Raven Tail guild will soon transform into Ishgar's most trusted institution to bring forth medical wizards. No matter where an Neo Raven Tail doctor came from or where they are going: their mission is to provide impartial aid to anyone in need.

Niko is Laxus's and Astra's first born son, followed by his younger sister Yetta, brother Lyosha and sister Ina.

He was always a quiet child and hated confrontation. He could read, study and dream for hours towards his goals.

Learning from Wendy allowed him early access to some magical treatment of injured people. He doesn't become a Dragon Slayer but he makes use of the ancient spells he learns to transform them into more easily acquired magic for a wider range of wizards.

Through his insecurity about his ears he learns about his grandfather and remains always fascinated by him and his former guild Raven Tail. Niko will never forget meeting him through Milky Way, where Ivan reveals his abandoned childhood dream of becoming a doctor. He later on does learn about Ivan's misdeeds but values and cherishes him in his memory regardless.

Wendy Marvel remains Fairy Tail's medical advisor but joins Neo Raven Tail to support her younger friend.

Members of Neo Raven Tail join other guilds for critical missions or venture into disaster areas to provide help.

I am somewhat unhappy to admit, that Niko Dreyar will join such a critical mission and find his death way to early in his life. T_T He will be remembered as a husband and father, founder of Neo Raven Tail and as a most courageous and honourable man offering his hand selflessly to even those no one else did.

[echoes-lighthouse]

The Society Of Unity

Hi guys! This isn’t self-ship related, but I just picked up an old story again and I wanted to introduce my OCs with some moodboards, if anyone was interested! Sharing my ideas helps me stay engaged, and I’d really love to finish writing this book this summer if I can! 

Each of these characters is a member of The Society Of Unity, a political student group at a school for witchcraft in the Kingdom of Ebka. Each of them has their own reasons to be interested in politics, but they share a conviction that the kingdom is doing things wrong. 

Mira

The main character of the story! A Witch of Shadow, who can manipulate shadows to lift and move objects. She’s very studious, and enjoys reading stories of rebellion, smuggled in from the Southern Republics. She’s the founder of the Society of Unity, and likes everyone to share their opinions peacefully, to work together for change. 

(six other characters are under the ‘read more’!!!) 

Anninurik 

Mira’s love interest and secondary main character! Anninurik grew up in the rural area, where famine is common, while their crops are seized by the Guilds that sell it in the cities. Her entry to the University is a great accomplishment, and she’s vowed to focus on her studies. But anger at the nobility burns under everything she does. A Witch of Blood, she uses her breath for small enchantments and her blood for more detailed rituals, drawing on the power of her own body. 

Adrik 

Mira’s old friend, a Witch of Hope that uses the bonds and emotions between people to create illusions. His parents are both metalworkers, and he’s the first witch in the family. They’re confused but supportive of his studies, as well as his childhood interest in theatre. Adrik thinks of himself as a supporting character: always quick to lend a hand to any of his friends, in return for a good cuddle session. 

Trissy

Coming from the wealthy Southern family, Trissy is a friendly Witch of Sight who spends most of her time with friends from class. However, her visions have led her to the Society of Unity, and she’s convinced that they have a destiny to find the lost princess of Ebka, the true heir to the throne. She’s determined to hone her talents enough to see their future more clearly. 

Lynia 

Lynia is from the far North, and her fair skin marks her as a Changeling, left by the Fae. She is a Witch of Hope, using her own conviction to create small objects. Sensitive to both light and sound, she often wears dark glasses and fabric tied around her ears when she has to go into a crowd. The Fae are only encountered in the Northern edges of Ebka, where they live under the snowy land, and Lynia’s appearance is often seen as a bad omen. But Lynia loves her friends fiercely, and enjoys the little things in life: the taste of a sweet bun, the chilly water of the rivers. 

Yetta 

Yetta is a dropout of the University, who is trying to make a living as a Witch of Sight on the streets of the town. She mostly comes to the Society meetings because there’s food there. She grew up in the country and witnessed a failed revolution against her parents’ landlords when she was young, and has no faith in the Society’s convictions. But neither does she have any love lost for the ruling classes. 

Kondra 

Kondra grew up in the same city as Trissy, but came to the Society before she did. Kondra is endlessly curious and friendly, joining all the radical clubs he can find. He has a very wealthy family, and enjoys using his noble connections to further the causes that he picks up along the way. It’s hard to get a real read on his convictions, but he’s unfailingly warm. (Pun intended: he’s a Witch of Heat, absorbing and producing fire and heat through his power.) 

Thank you if you read this all the way to the end!! I’ve written 12,000 words about these kids, and I’d really like to finish their story if I can! It’s designed as an exploration of the revolt vs. reform arguments, set in a fantasy world roughly inspired by Imperial Russia and Late Medieval England. I really need a name for the book..... 

[dark-academia-slut]

Oh my dear Gods, I am truly and absolutely obsessed with this story and especially the writing!!!!! It is so absolutely beautiful and amazing and truly magnificent

So, so, so very much in love with this. It is so cute fluffy, has a smidgen of angst and it is simply adorable and I love luke so much

Flatline

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: A certain hospital equipment exposed Luke's feelings for you (funny, fluff, friends to lovers, banter dynamic, minor injuries, happy ending).

Note: I’m sorry if this is not as good as my other works, writers block + being sick has been killing me.

Word count: 2.7k

It was somewhat strange at first to see Luke in normal clothing rather than that bright orange camp shirt that you’ve grown so familiar with. But after spending four days outside of camp and on a quest together, you’ve actually somewhat grown fond of the sight. You could still vividly remember the moment he picked you as his quest companion without an ounce of hesitation. It wasn’t surprising, considering you two have always made a good team, a likely result of training with each other for three years straight. Nevertheless, it warmed your heart that you were his first pick. 

“Are you okay?” You asked inspecting Luke's wound as he sat against a tree and sighed in relief when you realized the cut was not too deep. 

Just a couple of minutes back, you two were walking through the forest and on your way to the nearest bus stop that could take you back to camp. However, the universe must have thought the long journey was not enough of suffering because somehow, you two came across a chimera that managed to claw your arm and Luke in the abdomen. 

“It’s not too bad. I think we can still make it to the last bus if we just quickly wrap your wounds up,” you noted. 

Meanwhile, all Luke could do was watch you. He knew he should be listening, but how could he when you were so attentive to him at that moment? He hungrily took in the way you were taking care of him in such a worried manner as if you were his personal guardian angel. Part of him wanted to soothe your worries, but he selfishly wanted to enjoy it this time because it was for him. 

“Hey, did you hear what I said?” you asked when you didn’t hear a reply. You turned towards Luke, but was quickly caught off guard. 

There was something sincere and sweet about the way he was staring at you. However, somewhere along three years of knowing him, you have concluded that Luke Castellan must have made it one of his life missions to annoy you because he has never passed up on any opportunities for flirty antics just to see you grow flustered. Hence, you ignored how he was gazing at you, though you scowled at yourself internally upon feeling your cheeks warm up. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” you forced out. 

“Like what?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Luke almost chuckled at how you started blushing from just the way he was watching you. Oh, if only you knew. Luke loved getting your attention on him. He would snatch up any chance just to have your eyes on him or to have you care for him. The boy loved just seeing you blush over his little teasings. It was also fascinating to him how you never realized the true intentions behind his actions. Luke knew that half the camp probably knew that he was absolutely dotted on you from the way he was acting like a five-year-old boy chasing after his crush. Though, you always deemed his words and gestures as playful and jokes rather than genuine.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied. However, the cheeky grin on his face told you otherwise, and you hit his arm in retaliation. ��Ouch, is that the way to treat an injured person?” Luke joked.

“You’re barely injured. The wound is not even that deep.” 

“Well…surely, if it’s not that bad, you can just kiss it better, right?” Your cheeks tinted a more evident shade of pink at his words, and you let out a deep sigh before giving Luke a playful glare. He only smirked at this, and Gods, you found that annoying yet endearing at the same time. Meanwhile, the boy was proudly relishing the idea that he was the cause of the blush that was adorning your cheeks.

“Okay, I say, let’s find somewhere safer, and then I’ll disinfect and wrap your wound up, yeah?” You suggested, purposefully deciding to ignore Luke’s previous words.

“Yes, ma’am.” Luke breathed out. 

However, before you could help Luke up and relocate, two hikers spotted the both of you. It was a middle-aged married couple, and you slightly cursed under your breath. As you predicted, they started panicking at the sight of Luke’s bleeding wound and asked if you both needed help.

“Oh no, we’re fine,” you tried saying, though you could see the husband already calling 911. “Seriously, we have this handled,” you tried to reassure them, reaching out to the husband so he’d put the phone down, but the wife touched one of your shoulders.

“How did this happen?” the over-caring strangers asked.

“It was…a bear,” you settled on saying, grimacing when you realized you were less convincing than you wanted. You hoped the woman would not ask for further elaborations because that would require the impromptu level you were not ready to play at.

“The ambulance should be here soon,” the husband informed while keeping 911 on the line, and you abruptly turned to him. Now, your mind started panicking. You two were meant to keep a low profile.

“What? No, he’s really fine. It’s just a minor injury. Look! He’s practically like he always is. Right, Luke?” You turned back to Luke, hoping he’d attest to your words against these strangers. However, you were caught off-guard by the sight of him with his eyes closed instead. “Luke?” you called again, this time louder. Yet, you were met with the same response - utter silence.

Then came the sound of sirens, and the next thing you knew, you were sitting on a chair next to a hospital bed where Luke was lying still. You’ve been sitting there for two hours, calmly waiting for the boy to wake up after recovering from the initial panic over the thought of something seriously wrong with him. The only noise in the room was from the ticking clock on the opposite wall to you, as well as the occasional sound of magazine pages being turned.

“Y-Y/N…?” The quiet sound of Luke calling out your name pulled you out of your thoughts, and you looked up from the magazine in your hand. “Where are we?”

“The hospital,” you answered promptly. You watched as the Hermes cabin counselor looked down at the item in your hand, then back up at your face again. 

“Well, you seem awfully calm. Not even worried at all about me?” You almost chuckled at his words, slightly in disbelief that even after getting knocked out, Luke somehow still had the energy to joke.

“Nah, the doctor told me you were going to be fine. Apparently, it was the mild concussion from knocking your head against the tree that made you pass out. Said you’d be up in like three hours or so.” Luke nodded as he remembered the chimera shoving him, causing him to bash his head against a tree. The boy sat up on the hospital bed, and you helped him by adjusting his pillow so he could lean against it.

“So you would have cared otherwise?” He gave you a teasing grin. Things like that had you thinking sometimes if he was just being playfully flirty or if he meant more. Luke does not seem to do this with anybody else at camp. But once again, you ruled out the theory of him having feelings for you in that way. 

“Only because I would not have anybody else to harass if you die,” You poured Luke a glass of water and handed it to him. He only smiled at your witty reply and took a sip of water. However, you took the opportunity to be honest, just so he’d at least know that you do care about him, despite the sarcastic remarks before.

“On a serious note, though… I’m glad you’re okay, Luke,” you sent Luke a sweet smile. Though there it was again — that look. However, for some reason, he didn’t whip up a clever, flirty line to joke around, which made you wonder what was on his mind.

Meanwhile, Luke felt as if his lungs had lost half its capacity. Gods, under the moonlight, you looked ethereal. It made him wonder for a second whether he was in a coma because you felt too good to exist in this ever-so-cruel world. Don’t even get him started on the way you were smiling at him, so sweet like caramel that his eyes were tracing to forever remember. He internally sighed, wondering how many more signs must he give out before you would get that he was genuinely interested in you.

You misinterpreted Luke’s look as one of vulnerability. Your brain theorized that maybe he was shaken from the chimera attack, so you slowly but surely grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. However, you didn’t notice the slight hitch in Luke’s breath as soon as you did this. His eyes almost fluttered shut at how nice it was to have your hand around his. If he could hold your hand every day, he absolutely would. You started rubbing your thumb on his knuckles as well. Oh, to be somebody you found worth worrying about and caring for. Luke thought maybe he did win the lottery after all. He could feel his heart wanting to crack his ribcage open to jump out of—

Unexpectedly, you heard a sudden continuous beeping from one of the equipment nearby and looked at it. Luke followed your gaze, and his face immediately started flushing over the drastic change in the heart monitor’s graphic representation of his heartbeat. The beeping still continued when you looked back at him with evident concern on your face.

“Woah, are you alright?” Luke tried muttering an affirmative answer but froze when you leaned closer and lightly graced his forehead with your hand. The boy gulped while you were cluelessly trying to see if he was coming down with a fever or not — which you assumed he was due to the way his face seemed to have warmed up. However, you were greeted with a normal body temperature and the sound of the heart monitor beeping even faster.

Suddenly, everything clicked. You cast your gaze on Luke again, tilting your head in amusement.

“Am I making you flustered?” Luke’s cheeks flared even more at your words. The Hermes cabin counselor looked away from you, taking his hand out of yours now as he attempted to slow down his heartbeat. However, you immediately took hold of his face and moved it back towards you. A mischievous grin grew on your face as you took in Luke’s blushing. How could you pass up the opportunity to finally torment him and get him flustered, especially when he has been doing the same thing to you for the past years?

Luke watched as you had him wrapped around your fingers both figuratively and literally, smirking as if you knew you had entire control over him. But he knew you only knew the surface level of it because even he doesn’t know the extent to which he would go for you. The only thing he knew was that he was in deep, deep trouble. He knew whatever part of him that was logical would perish as soon as you let him be yours. Yet he did not seem to mind discarding all his senses and submitting to whatever these feelings were.

“Careful there, Castellan, keep looking at me like that, and I might just have to believe you’re secretly obsessed with me.” You were only joking, but the way his eyes fluttered when you said that made you gulp. 

“And what if I tell you I am?” At his words and the sound of his heartbeat speeding up on the heart monitor, you froze. 

It was as if all the clues had come crashing down at once. It finally sunk in for you that perhaps you were wrong this whole time for thinking Luke was not into you. Because now, this hospital room had somehow become a crime scene filled with evidence of his feelings for you - the way he was intensely looking at you with dilated pupils, the uncontrollable speed of his heartbeat that you could feel where your fingers lay near his neck and pulse point, his shallow and nervous breathing, the beeping sound from the heart monitor that would make others think it has gone haywire, and most of all, the earnest and resigned look on his face as if he had already embraced the fact that his feelings for you would not change whether or not they would be reciprocated.

Your hand left his face to brush his dark curls. Your eyes cast down at his lips quickly before looking back up. You noticed the yearning in his eyes and how he copied your actions. 

“...Can I?” Luke uttered breathlessly as if all the air in his lungs had been replaced with pure, relentless wanting. Even as a victim of heavy longing and subjected to desire, Luke still awaited the green light. His eyebrows slightly scrunched as if silently asking for permission, and you knew exactly what he wanted when he glanced down at your lips again. 

One tiny nod from you, and he pulled you in. His hands delicately held the sides of your face as your lips clashed. Almost instantly, Luke felt as if he might flatline soon from the way your kiss was seemingly sending him into a cardiac arrest. He practically melted as you giggled into the kiss when the heart monitor started beeping even more frequently, indicating Luke’s increasingly erratic heartbeat. Something about this moment felt so urgent yet endearing like a long-awaited wish come true.  

Slowly but surely, he wrapped his hands around your waist and pulled you up onto his hospital bed effortlessly, as if desperately needing you to just be closer to him. You both somewhat laughed at this before you wrapped both arms around his shoulders without breaking the kiss. 

One of your hands started playing with his hair. You were not sure why but you pulled it and almost instantly, Luke had to break away from the kiss as a raspy groan escaped his lips. Your other hand on the side of his face and neck could feel the way it echoed as a hum in his throat, and you gulped at your effect on him.

Luke licked his lips as he stared at you again. He came to the conclusion that after that kiss, you were wrong that he was obsessed with you. Instead, he was everything above that - devoted, fervently fixated, infatuated, an addict who shamelessly wanted and needed you. Gods, maybe he was a madman when it came to you.

Your eyes flickered to the clock nearby and noticed it was 4:41am, realizing there was just enough time for the two of you to leave the hospital and catch the next bus back to camp. That prompted you to whisper, “I think we should leave now. If we do, we’ll be on time for the next bus.” Luke groaned at your words while you hopped off the hospital bed and grabbed your jacket. The boy unhooked himself from the heart monitor, though his eyes lingered on it for a bit while a smile grew on his face. 

“Why the rush?” He asked, grabbing his own jacket before opening the door for you.

“Cause as lovely as that was, I don’t want to make out again in a hospital,” Luke froze before grinning at your words.

“Oh, does that mean it might happen again? Us making out?” He asked, watching as a cheeky smile grew on your face despite you opting to just shrug at his question. You fanned your hand out before him, smiling even more when he put his hand in yours. 

With that, you led him out of the hospital hand in hand while he grinned like a fool behind you.

Honestly, Luke would blindly go anywhere you lead him.

-------------------------

masterlist

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[runn0ft]

WIP meme: smile, already, read

Whew, three. Okay.

Numero uno, smile. You can have a little more than a sentence here because I feel like it needs context.

Sometimes he’d catch Yetta’s eye from across the dinner table. She’d smile at him as she would scrape another helping of food onto his plate, but something in her gaze left him feeling pinned, like he was a specimen she had dissected and catalogued. She saw him, too. That was just Yetta, though. It didn’t matter if the way she looked at you was cutting or kind, she always had your number.

Meyer had her eyes.

Already.

The hard line of Charlie’s cock against his own, even through their shorts, is already so good it’s almost unbearable.

This is technically reads but whatever, it counts.

He finds the name-tag especially offensive. It reads Salvatore but he’s taped over it and written CHARLIE in crude, block letters with a sharpie. He thumbs at it angrily.

[kiivg]

I was so obsessed with you’re art! It seemed like no one else did Dorian/Blackwall and Kruber/Saltzpyre stuff, artwork or otherwise. And then all the dedication you put into drawing and writing for No One was so amazing. Loved your stuff then, and still love it now! Happy you’re still around and kicking, King!

.Obsessed? Thank you, that’s so sweet. I can’t imagine someone else finding a passion for the things I make. I do rather like being the person who makes those tiny ships, and I can’t tell you how many people have tagged my Dorian/Blackwall things with “I should have thought of this ship years ago”. I’m reminded of my Alistair/Gaspard stuff, I made people ship that, I made people like that. Fantastic. There’s too much power in art.

.Enjoy No One on a horse, though, I’ve never actually been up close to a horse, so maybe my size ratio is bad, because I have heard too many horror stories from my father about them. I have heard too many stories of my parents being chased by large animals, and that’s… suspicious. No One, as he is now, on a horse of perhaps odd size?. (Ramblings below.)

.I mean, because you mentioned No One and my almost zealous writing of his story, I want to write a bit about Not That Kind of Man. Simply because I love it. It’s a thing that’s explorative for me, being able to delve into my own characters and figure out little things about them I wouldn’t have otherwise thought about.

.Like, an example, Andrastopher Cousland my Hero of Ferelden, and his relationship with his brother Fergus. Now Andrastopher has massive issues regarding what canonically happened at Castle Cousland, and because of this he fortified the castle, like to the point that other nobles think he’s mad for doing it, and he keeps Fergus in there when he can. Not like a prisoner or anything, but he has mercenaries patrolling the halls, he has people able to deliver him a message in mere moments if need be. All because he wants to keep Fergus safe. Hell, he even rides day and night to reach the castle in NTKoM because he thinks Fergus is danger.

.Andrastopher’s love for his brother is maddening. He won’t let anything happen to him, he knows that if Fergus is in peril, he will defend him, until he himself perishes first. But, it’s not reciprocated. Not in the same way. Fergus, I think, doesn’t realise what Andrastopher went through. They both lost family; they both count their dead together. But Andrastopher saw it, Andrastopher suffered it, and Andrastopher survived it, if only for that night.

.If I hadn’t written NTKoM, I would have just kept them friendly as brothers.

.But, I know, that Fergus does things to Andrastopher, and Andrastopher forgives him (unknowingly I think) because Fergus can do no wrong. Fergus is his brother, and Andrastopher loves him. One of the things he does it cut Andrastopher’s hair. Which seems silly, really, I mean you’d be annoyed about that if your sibling did that to you, but it’s nothing major. Except, if anyone can remember what Andrastopher looked like, he had extremely long hair; and in NTKoM it is described as “unsightly when the wet ends stick to his arse” more or less, I don’t have the exact quote. And he takes pride in his hair, and the reason why is revealed in the chapter I’m writing now.

.“[Annette, Andrastopher’s ex-wife] knew of haircare, and she had pampered [Andrastopher] in his youth, whence bathing himself was a difficult thing… It was one of the things that had kept him alive back then, something most would have laughed at, just one thing that made him feel less disfigured, less monstrous.”.

.And Fergus cuts it off because he wants Andrastopher to look more like a nobleman than the barbarian that he makes himself out to be, just so that he might impress Sophia, the woman that Fergus is currently courting. He doesn’t care for Andrastopher’s feelings over it, he just does it without thought of why his brother has kept his hair so ungodly long.

.And, again, I wouldn’t have known this without writing NTKoM.

.But, it isn’t the only thing. I know a whole bunch about my OCs that I wouldn’t otherwise have though of. Like, No One can’t swim and can’t actually walk in boots anymore, Goddard Trevelyan is afraid of pretty much every animal, Marcus Hawke has pretty much hidden an entire village with magic, Andrastopher doesn’t drink alcohol, Lei can’t remember names for shit. And there’s more, but I’m not one for revealing all my story factors before I’ve written them in.

.Anyway, if you’re still reading this, I want to explain more about NTKoM’s basics.

.On the surface it looks like 600k of sloppy Blackwall/OMC drivel that doesn’t sound appealing. I mean, strange stinky werewolf falls in love with strange stinky bear? Not the story I’d read realistically. And I know that my writing in the beginning is somewhat awful and vulgar (I was learning!) but it’s so much better now.

.And it’s so much more. Early on it’s mostly No One and Thom, and it’s written like that because No One doesn’t want anything to do with anyone else. Only, Goddard sees him, and he has his own questions, and he has an Inquisition to ask them. And what happens when a demon wolf ravages Skyhold? You request the only family in Thedas who have a heritage in hunting the things down, because they’ll be the best. So Andrastopher arrives, with new knowledge, and his eyes are sharp, and No One cannot hide from a man who has learnt how to recognise his enemies and allies in just a second. Perhaps Goddard asks one too many questions, finds out a history he didn’t know he had, finds out he fathered a child some twenty years ago. That’s Lei. Bastard born, half-elven, strong-willed and strong-jawed.

.There are a fair few storylines that run parallel to one another, actions that No One takes that affect Andrastopher’s story, Goddard’s decisions which alter Blackwall’s path. Many things just like that, throughout, and, right now, I’m at the point (almost) when everything converges back. The next chapter, I think, will be when everyone of my characters are back in Skyhold, and that is the beginning of the end. Amidst the stone walls there will be murder, triumph, revelations on a dozen tongues to a thousand ears. And everything will come together, to the final point of the story I began almost four years ago, when I thought of a repentant Chevalier named No One whilst I was in the shower.

.And, I think, honestly, it’s worth a read. I know it’s terribly long, and it’s only bound to get longer. In my notes I’ve written that there’s only three months left of this story, though I do tend to write day-by-day in NTKoM, there will be some drastic time passage for a certain reason. Granted those three months will take me a long time to write, and I won’t lie about that. But it’s just so brilliant, and it’s just fantastic.

.And. I’m certain it would be so much more popular if it was Solas or Cullen that I wrote about.

.Only, it’s not just No One/Blackwall that I write about explicitly, though they probably have the most amount of smutty scenes. I wrote about Goddard and his wife, Yetta, then Andrastopher and Zevran, No One and Caldwell, Blackwall and Raas, Goddard and Florent in the past, hell, I even mention The Iron Bull and that Orlesian dragon enthusiast that I cannot remember the name of. And background couples! The Iron Bull and Dorian become something, Quincy and Kina become a couple, and Lei has too many crushes! I am building up to something deliciously smutty, however, and I cannot wait to get to it.

.Plus, I have this big family tree I’m remaking because I’m adding more characters to it, I currently have 215 names on it, because I’m hellish. I’m two hours in and this is where I’m at.

.Ah! I just want to talk about it all day. I really wish people would read it. It’s difficult to explain the plotline to people in real life when you’ve got a dozen storylines with a dozen characters to each one, and you’ve knowledge of over half a century of this story wrapped up in your head.

.I wrote 7k words the other day, and about 4.5k of that was a smutty scene to begin the lovely chapter 60. Can you believe?.

.Thank you for the ask!.

[dark-academia-slut]

am i currently spiraling down a luke castellan rabbit hole?

yes, yes i am

do i care even one bit?

not at all, and this post is simply stunning and is adding fuel to my love for luke <3 <3 <3

luke castellan x fem!reader

I think we need to talk about possessive!luke castellan and his shy!gf …

luke who likes to mark you up with love bites!! he desperately needs everyone to know you’re his, and he can’t give you his last name (yet. he plans to as soon as you’re both ready) so he makes do with love marks instead … he’ll have you pressed against the mattress, his thumb pushing gently into the hollow of your throat to hold you still. you’re breathless underneath him as his mouth works away at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. and the lovely sounds you make when he does it just egg him on further! not to mention how pretty your neck looks when he’s finished.

luke who buys you a necklace with his initials and tells you you’re not allowed to ever take it off … he’s half joking and half super serious but you smile softly and tell him you wouldn’t want to take it off, anyway. and luke hopes the time never comes when you do want to, because he really likes how his initials look dangling over your sternum. it makes him dizzy every time he catches a glimpse.

luke who loves when you cling to him!! especially in public or at big group events, you’ll often cling to his arm or his waist in your shyness. and he loves it, something about being your protector stirs a feeling in his chest that he can’t explain. of course, he’d let you do your own thing if you wanted, but you don’t want to. you seem to want to be latched onto him as much as he wants to be latched onto you. he’ll always have a strong arm around your shoulders or waist, or have his bicep hooked between your soft hands. even when he’s talking to his friends he’s got you glued to his side.

luke who’s super handsy and touchy because he’s just so so obsessed with you! in public he tones it down (for your sake, of course. if it was up to him you’d be in his lap 24/7), but when you’re alone he’s so grabby and needy, tugging you by your belt loops to give you a kiss, hauling you into his chest by the hips to wrap you in a hug, pinning you against the wall to tease you (and then make up for it by slathering you in kisses).

luke who’s just so sickeningly obsessed with his shy girl, and he has to make sure that everyone, especially you, knows you’re his forever <3

[groovebunker]

firstly, thank you for answering all my questions <3

I finished their story. Idk why I feel so heartbroken.

I'm soooo happy their story ended in the loveliest thing ever. And the one by one confessionals as if dragrace kinda scenario of the family. All of those got me laughing my soul off, esp poor Gracie. Like imagine she saw them doing—okay, too mature for baby Gracie there. (idk which timeline in this, but bc I'm just in s1, my mind is there so Gracie is still smol). Yetta (whom I never met YET), the reassurance they give to Claire. Like that's the most parental figure she'll ever got since her fucked off family refuses to have Claire. (I'll give her everything I have fr. Claire is just that important).

Back to heartbroken. I think it's because it's finished. Nothing to distract me again lol. But, my head is lightheaded still. Thanks to this fic. Got a little over dramatic and listened to ton of heartbreak songs since I'll miss them. Ao3 authors who created the 100 stories will feed me through this pain. (I know you're the most who created those, hallejuah to you.) Small fandom problems (used to it, why do I love impossible fandoms?) Or might be bc I feel like some problems might occur to their life and then Claire might fled? I know deep down she won't, my overthinking is just killing me. I mean a small argument that morning and Claire is already hanging on a thread. Thank you, sandwich, made by Francine.

So, yeah. You can see how I love your story. Only if someone will understand me like you do lol. I might mouth off someone with my now thoughts about them (until canon ruins it. canon always ruins things. been there, done that lol)

To end off, I admire your acknowledgements. I hope you're happy with your decision and have a wonderful wonderful day (I'm not telling you, I'm just wishing you'll have it. if not, I'm cursing the soul of the person who made it bad).

Merci beaucoup <3

this has made my DAY. i'm sorry you're so sad you finished but there's still so much fun stuff to explore in the tag (pls read vignettes from the kitchen and the couch, it's the fic that made me want to write for them and it's phenomenal). there are also a few short (pwp) pieces in the wwyd universe up on ao3 and rumour has it, there might be something new soon to celebrate its first birthday 👀

the first part of the last chapter is one of my favourite parts of the whole fic - especially sylvia being told and just sort of shrugging. yetta & cc are such a brotp to me - it's a theme in some of the other stuff i've written for sure. i just love them so much.

honestly, finishing it made me so fucking emotional so i get it. canon does get quite batshit towards the end of the show but what can we do? (write tons of fic about it, apparently). feel free to mouth off at all times, i love talking about them so much.

all things are possible through the squad, honestly.

thank you so much 💖