double takee

anonymous asked:

33 please! thankyou in advance <3 congrats on 1k btw!

Thanks so much! <3

33. celebrity/fan au


All Jughead wanted was a coffee, that was literally it. He figured he could duck across the road from the hotel into the discreet coffee shop without being noticed. In a cap and sunglasses, obviously. Even though it was raining. He didn’t even bother alerting Reggie, his manager come bodyguard, who was asleep in the other room. Both of them were exhausted enough from the tour, he wasn’t about to wake the guy just for a coffee. 

He tugged on the collar of his jacket in a last ditch effort to hide his face, and crossed the quiet street to the cafe. So far, so good. He took his glasses off as he walked through the door, but kept on the rest of his ‘disguise’ in tact. The girl behind the counter did a double take before greeting him. 

“H-Hi there, how may I help?” 

“Can I get a double shot espresso, to go please.”

“Sure, coming right up,” she smiled, still looking at him like he had two heads. She took a to-go cup from the stack and started on his drink. Jughead stood off to the side, checking his phone. Touring was tiring, and as much as he loved to play his songs for his fans, he hated fame. He despised it. The numerous amount of times he thought about quitting a day added up substantially. He had no personal life, his one and only friend was the same one from his childhood. It was impossible to differentiate between those who genuinely wanted to know him and those who wanted the claim to fame. 

“Excuse me?” The girl behind the counter asked, grabbing his attention. “Are you, are you Jughead Jones?” He sighed, great. He couldn’t even get a damn coffee without being recognized. He loved his fans, truly, but he missed just being a nobody. He put on his best star boy smile and nodded. 

“That’s me,” he replied. He hadn’t noticed a girl in the back corner of the cafe, who had clocked him as soon as he left the hotel. In the short amount of time he had ordered and been waiting, she had tweeted his whereabouts. 

“Would it be okay.. Could you sign something for me?” She was sweet, he decided then. She didn’t freak out like a lot of them did, much to his relief. She handed him his coffee then, which he put down on the counter.  

“Of course,” he patted his pockets, “do you have a pen or something? Sorry, normally I carry one with me.” She smiled and reached under the counter for a pen, pulling out a little notebook as she did. He signed a blank page, Jughead Jones, and then drew a little heart for good measure. 

“Thank you so much.”

“Anytime,” he replied, flashing her one last smile before turning to leave. Shit. There were a group of young girls out the front of the cafe now, whose squeals he could hear even from inside. He turned back to the girl behind the counter. 

“Sorry, is there a back door? I’m not really in the mood.” She nodded, pointing him to a door that led to a corridor. He nodded his thanks and pushed through the door, just as another girl was opening it from the other side. This one was blonde, and he was instantly taken aback with how big her eyes were. 

“Sorry,” he said, trying to push past her. 

“You can’t come back here,” she begun to tell him, her eyes wide in recognition. At that very moment the group from outside became brave, pushing into the cafe. The commotion caught the blondes attention, and before Jughead could begin to explain she grabbed his wrist and pulled him through the door. She continued to pull him down the corridor and into an office, letting him go to shut the door. She turned back to him with a sweet smile. 

“This happens a lot, being LA and all,” she explained. Jughead was still shocked with how instantly he was attracted to this girl. She was gorgeous, and his fingers itched to write about her. He hadn’t been struck with inspiration so suddenly in a long time, if ever. “I’m Betty.” 

“Jughead,” he held his hand out to shake hers, “Jughead Jones.” She rolled her eyes and laughed. 

“I know who you are,” she informed him, “I actually have tickets to see you tonight.” 

“Huh, that’s funny,” he replied. She nodded. Betty was still leaning against the door. 

“You can stay in here until the hoard disperses, if you like. I wouldn’t even risk the back door right now.” 

“Thanks so much, Betty,” he said genuinely. “I’ll call my manager, let him know.” She gave him a nod and left the room so he could call Reggie. 

“Dude, you’re an absolute tool,” Reggie laughed down the phone once Jughead had told him. “I’ll get dressed and come over, give me a few.” 

“Thanks Reg,” he replied, hanging up just as Betty came back in. She handed him the coffee he had left on the counter. “You are a true life saver, Betty.” She gave him a smile and sat down on one of the other chairs in the room. “So, are you in LA just to be in LA, or?”

“Some days I may as well be,” she laughed. “But, truth be told, I write screenplays. Well, I attempt to write screenplays,”  she sighed. “But this is my day job, so I won’t quit it, as they say.” 

“Show business is a hard one.” She glanced at him thoughtfully. 

“You did alright, big shot,” she teased. It came easy, he realised, conversation with Betty. Normally he was awkward in any situation, but there was something about her that calmed him. Part of him wanted to bottle it up and take it with him. He could really use it. He shrugged before responding. 

“I just got lucky, I think.” He heard Betty scoff. 

“Oh please, you’re just a talent that deserves the recognition,” he could be mistake but he could swear she had began to blush. She caught his gaze. “Honestly, Jughead. Your music, it’s so great.” He gave her a smile of thanks. 

“I never wanted to sing, you know.” She tilted her head in question. He shrugged again. “I just wanted to write, songs, poems, anything really. The singing came after.” 

“So it was just a fluke that you sing like an angel?” she asked, laughing. Now it was Jugheads turn to scoff. 

“Shut up,” he teased. “I do enjoy it, don’t get me wrong. But not this shit.” he gestured to where he sat, hiding from a hoard of girls. 

“Yeah, must be hard having the option of any girl you like,” she smirked. It was a joke, an obvious one, but Jughead felt the urge to tell her he wasn’t like that.

“That’s not me.”

“Oh, Jughead, I was kidding.” There was a flash of sincere worry across her face. 

“I know,” he winked. “I just don’t want you to think I’m some woman hungry pop star.” 

“I would never,” she said lowly, a smile playing on her lips. At that moment Jugheads phone buzzed with a text from Reggie stating he was waiting out the back door for him. Jughead tapped out a reply that he would be out in a minute. He couldn’t deny the disappointment he felt, he wanted more time to talk to Betty. “Your getaway ride here?” 

“Yeah,” he replied without looking at her. She stood from the chair and walked over to the door, checking the coast was clear. 

“You’re good to go, Jones,” he liked the way she called him that. 

“I owe you Betty, truly. Thank you so much.” He rose from his own chair and walked towards the door she held open. “I don’t know how to repay you.” 

“Well,” she drawled, “I’ve never had a song written about me before you know.” There was a joking tone in her voice, but with the way her eyes shone and her lip sat between her teeth, he was inspired enough to write a whole new album. 

“Your tickets, for tonight, are they any good?” He asked abruptly. 

“I’m in the stalls,” she told him. He shook his head. 

“I’ll get Reggie, my manager, to come back with VIP passes for the gig.” Her eyes widened in shock and she shook her head. 

“Jughead, you don’t have to do that, honestly.”

“No, shush, I want too.” He smiled down at her, and then suddenly she was hugging him tight against her. 

“Thank you so much,” she spoke into his ear, and Jughead felt himself shudder. She made to pull away, but Jughead held her close for a moment longer. “And they say don’t meet your heroes.”

“Shut up,” he joked.


Later that night, as he stood in front of a sold out crowd, he looked for Betty in the front row. His heart raced as he saw her, smiling up so brightly at him. 

“Okay, I’m doing something a little different tonight,” he told the crowd, earning and outburst of cheers. He held Betty’s gaze as he spoke again. 

“I was struck with inspiration today, for the first time in a long time. So if it’s okay with you, I want to play you a new song. I only wrote it today, so be kind.” 

Betty looked up at him with a question in her eyes, one that was answered as he sung about a blonde with eyes like he’d never seen before. 

Critical Analysis of Why the “Bitch’s Prince” Line was Kinda Hot
A brief essay that I’m definitely going to regret posting

Let’s be honest: there are those among us who, though sobbing helplessly since last Thursday, are still thinking sometimes about how, in the fight the week before, Vecna called Vax “bitch’s prince.” (If you didn’t, this probably isn’t the meta for you. Move along. You don’t need to be nosy about other people’s kinks, as analyzed through unnecessarily close reading of an improvised D&D game.)

So, why did half a dozen people double-take in the middle of the liveblogging/chat to feel their cheeks flushing, their minds spiraling? Was it just a particularly well-spat phrase, in a villain’s voice that Matt kept trying and trying and failing to not make sexy? Not quite. The answer, as with many matter of sex, boils down to one thing: power.

See, we’ve heard the Raven Queen called “bitch” before, and would again ere the end. But when Vax did it so pivotally in the tomb in ep45, or when Vex and Keyleth and Percy agree on it later, after his ultimate departure, it is almost respectful in its rudeness and crudity. It is spitting defiance in the face of the literal inevitable, “Take me instead, you raven bitch” - “I acknowledge your divinity but I don’t CARE, I will FIGHT YOU ANYWAY for the one I love.” When Vecna says “bitch”, however, there is no implication of respect, but rather an acid bath of resentment. This is the equivalent of an upper management man sniping about a woman who is more powerful than he, a woman who has worked and fought and coldly taken her way to that power. He says it behind he back, too, rather than to her face as Vax once challenged her - a challenge which is implicitly echoed by VM whenever they subsequently use the appellation, even if they aren’t doing so to her face. And to us, the viewers, used to seeing the Raven Queen as this divine force of death and fate - I mean, that can be hot, too, but so is the connotation of a high-powered executive businesswoman in a black pantsuit and nice blouse, high heels and perfect makeup, who gets called a “bitch” by her wannabe-colleagues because she’s professional and takes no shit, you know? That’s definitely hot. As this analogy indicates, the epithet does succeed in bringing the Matron of Ravens slightly down to earth, not the untouchable goddess but (as we had already begun to see her) a more approachable figure. Ultimately, however, tone and context paint her as a reversal of conventional femininity, and emphasizes the power she wields over others (specifically Vecna), enough to fuel such resentment. 

The status of the “bitch” is, of course, reflected in her “prince.” A mere “bitch”, as Vecna attempts to dismiss the Matron of Ravens, wouldn’t be respectable enough to have a “prince.” So, if you accept the truth of "bitch”, “prince” becomes a mocking title, a parody of the power such a title should imply. Vax, thus, is favored, but as nothing more than a prize, a treasure, of the Matron of Ravens. Her favorite pretty piece to show off. To continue the business office analogy: a kept man. (Hot.) And hotter still: simultaneously to appreciating the mockery and implied humiliation/objectification/pride (whatever exactly gets your rocks off about Vax being the Raven Queen’s favorite lovely thing), we appreciate the previously detailed acknowledgement-via-resentment of a “bitch”’s power, and that the “prince” thus does have true power and authority, as her lieutenant. Indeed, in traditional monarchical titling, a Prince would be second only to a ruling Queen, and due to inherit… The inquantifiable “hotness” of the epithet, “prince” specifically, derives from the balance between Vax as the powerless, pretty plaything and Vax as the powerful, trusted second-in-command - a tension strengthened, with the total “bitch’s prince”, by the reference to the power structure the Matron of Ravens upends (bringing Vax with her), and the impotence of Vecna’s slur to really do a damn thing about it.

…Lemme put it a different way: Idk about y'all but the image the phrase conjures in MY head is Vax lounging on a throne in a hall of black marble, a throne beside and half the size of a much larger, more ornate seat, decorated with flashing obsidian, all drawn in the way people used to draw the homestuck kids in AUs where Derse and Prospit were to some degree real kingdoms which they ruled. But that great throne is empty and this smaller one contains a half-elf in some combination of silk and leather that’s, like, formal, but also Sex. A silver circlet on his brow, a cloak of black feathers bound with a raven-head pin at his neck. His eyes rake over the petitioners before him and he drawls, “My Queen did not care enough to see you today, so I speak in her place. So? What do you want?”

While walking to work this morning, a FINE young gentleman came out of the student center wearing a full tux with tails. I did a double take at the sheer level of fancy that was happening so early on a Wednesday morning! He also clearly had a mallet bag and plays percussion.

My inner band geek and fancy lady got SUPER stoked, and I proceeded to make all the dirty “You can bang MY drum anytime, sir!” jokes in my head. In my head, though. I try to stay classy. ;)

Originally posted by usedpimpa

Diamonds and Diversions

Klaroline AU Week Day 2: Adversaries Cop/Cat Burglar AU

“What kind of cat burglar leaves notes for us?”asked Stefan conversationally, eyebrows furrowed in a confused frown as he leaned on Enzo’s desk. Detective Enzo St. John snorted in laughter as he slid the latest note in the series along with the accompanying polaroid across the desk for his colleague to see.

“Oh, there aren’t for us mate” he tells Stefan knowingly, eyes finding a particular blonde partner of his across the room as the woman in question was leading the latest lead across the floor towards the interview room.

Stefan quickly scanned the note and then did a double take as he realised that Enzo meant Caroline. “Wait, what? Are you saying that ‘The Original’ as this guy calls himself knows Care? Has she been interviewed?” Enzo snatched the note back quickly lest Caroline see him casually chatting about their case and have his head over it. Ever since the disaster of a date she and Stefan had last year, she’d stayed as far away from the youngest Salvatore as possible. And Enzo couldn’t help but see her point. As usual Stefan had grabbed completely the wrong end of the stick. He’d much rather get to work with Damon but he works over in homicide, constantly chatting up a certain Elena Gilbert so Enzo’s shit out of luck on that front.

“No you idiot. But that doesn’t mean he’s against the idea. It’s why Saltzman has kept her on the case. Trying to draw the bastard out.” Enzo had no idea how The Original, the latest and worst cat burglar New Orleans had ever seen had found out about his new partner but the thought of Caroline as bait made his skin crawl. The beautiful and bubbly blonde had become the addressee of notes that the thief left behind and when the noose had started tightening due to Caroline’s nose for a story, pieces of jewellery had been left behind as gifts. The longer it went on, the more extravagant the pieces became. It was one of the weirder courtship gigs Enzo had ever seen.  Even worse for the department, the pieces Original leaves behind are from other burglaries, normally ones previously unconnected to the case.

Caroline had just settled one Rebekah Mikaelson in Interview Room One when she came to collect him. How Miss Mikaelson was connected, Enzo failed to see but Caroline appeared to have a gift for sniffing out blood as it were.

“Coming Enzo?” she asks, retrieving her cup of coffee from her desk, shoved up against his. Stefan she doesn’t even glance at.

“On my way Gorgeous”

***

When Enzo enters the room he has to school his expression and remember to keep his head. Miss Mikaelson is actually gorgeous. Shit. Maybe Caroline taking the lead on this one isn’t such a bad idea.

“So, Miss Mikaelon before we begin may I just say that’s a lovely bracelet”

What the fuck is she doing? Enzo picks a spot on the wall, just above the false mirror to refrain from reacting. Rebekah nods, a frosty smile on her lips, stroking the piece fondly. “Thanks. Someone very dear to me gave it as a gift. Now what precisely did you call me in for? I don’t think I’m here to discuss my jewellery”

“Not yours, no. And that’s not yours is it?” Caroline leads forward on her elbows like a leopardess stalking her prey. Watching Caroline work would be terrifying if it wasn’t also exceptionally hot.

Keep reading

daily writing snippet

You’ve changed, Mordred doesn’t say but Leliana can see the question in his eyes, the double-take he makes as those eyes sweep over her, takes in her hood and her mail coat and her unsmiling face, and it hurts her in the veins of her heart like she’s never known something like this can.

Mercifully, it only lasts for a second. A stutter, no more. Then he zeroes in on her face and he grins, toothy and bright as sun on a day less cold than this one, and picks her up, lifts her up over his head, yells, “LEILA!”

“Mori,” Leliana replies, shocked. The same surprise reflects in Mordred’s face a moment later and he awkwardly lets her down and steps away. There’s pink on his cheeks. He fidgets and looks anywhere but at her, mouth gaping like a fish.

Leliana’s heart hurts a different way, then. More like homesickness than anywhere then. She doesn’t check who’s looking for once and she grabs him by the shoulders and she yanks her close. Their armor clash, cold and hard, but Leliana buries her nose into Mordred’s dark hair and exhales shakily.

He clutches her back, arms around her without hesitation. Makes a wordless delighted noise that reverberates through Leliana. “Long time no see!” he says, bright and cheery. Happy – and warm, under the royal blue cloak that (she recognizes with a start) she has given him.

It isn’t easy, but she let go. “Long time no see, and whose fault is that?” Leliana scolds, clapping her hands against Mordred’s cheeks, then pulls on them until he squeaks indignantly. “I said ‘send me letters, Mori’ and what did you do? Took a six year vacation back to the Deep Roads! You didn’t even let Nathaniel know where you’ve gone!”

“He whash pwobably fuggin’ ya,” Mordred managed through his stretched mouth.

Leliana smiles the smile of a murderer.

“On my order,” Mordred hurries to add, prying himself free of her grip at last. He purses his lips and glances at the rather dismal and cold village around them. For a moment the cheer drains from his face, replaced by a searing look of distaste, and Leliana follows his eyes to see a group of Chantry sisters scattering like someone have thrown fire at them.

“Don’t worry about them,” she assures him and brushes herself off nonchalantly. A quick glance from her scatters the rest of the hovering agents. This isn’t a spectacle for their eyes.

“Oh, ’m not worried,” Mordred answers. Rubs the heels of his boots into the snow, an irritating habit he seemingly hasn’t shed in ten years. “Not ‘bout chatty no-goods anyway. What’s going on? Your messenger said something 'bout a war, mages and templars rebelling, that I was partly responsible 'cos Anders, and then died. Everyone else’s been tellin’ confusing stories.”

He looks at her curiously, the tilt of his eyebrow not entirely unkind. Leliana chews the inside of her cheek for a moment, thinking, before she throws her arm around his shoulder and guides him towards the closest establishment with food and fire. (Finds that he’s actually, inordinately warms, and crowds a little closer.)

“You should probably sit down for the whole story,” she says. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” Mordred sighs gustily. He grumbles something else unintelligibly under his breath. “Probably should get me away from anything I can throw, too.”

“Noted,” Leliana smiles. After a moment, as they turn into an empty street, she leans her head on his. “I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances, Mori. I haven’t seen you for a long time.”

“Well, we’re here now. Plenty o’ time to make up for it.”

Mordred’s tone brooks no argument. Leliana closes her eyes, exhales, opens them again to look at the frigid, endless blue sky above them and the Maker who doesn’t care.

She chooses to believe him.

anonymous asked:

Real quick imagine meeting Dark and Will and they do a double take because ‘is that-no it can’t be’ and they realise your eyes are a slightly different colour or you’ve dyed your hair, but they’re sure they’ve been given another chance, and they could not be happier

Wilford would try to go talk to them but Dark would stop him and shake his head, saying that they deserve peace in their second life.

  • me: they hurt me!! I'm gonna be distant! that'll show them!
  • them: hey
  • me: hey 💘💓💖💕💓💞💕💗💝💓💞💝💘💕💕💖💗💘💕💞💘💘💖💗💘💞💕💞💞💕💘💕💖💗💖💕💞💞💖💖💗💖💘💞💫
3

TBH if someone was making me live in some strange isolated place for an indefinite period of time…gotta take the essentials.

“i find myself at times wondering what might’ve become of the girl with the beautiful golden mirror, but such fantasies have no place amidst reality.”

so like, morrigan is ashamed of loving fancy stuff, and forces herself to dismiss them because her upbringing has forced her to only consider survival and power to be worthy goals, right? so i feel like she’d start out in origins with much more practical clothing and only start wearing stuff like her canon outfit after some time spent recovering from flemeth’s influence… but idk, that’s just my onion

2

“Be the reason someone smiles. Be the reason someone believes in the goodness in people.”

Roy T. Bennett

10

I could see all the stuff that was special to me. All the stuff that matters. I love you, Shelly. And I wanna spend my time with that. I mean, you know, if that’s okay with you.