i love you annabel

We loved with a love that was more than love
—  Edgar Allan Poe
2

Look at my “now” picture… really look at it! Aren’t I shiny and good and pretty?

I’m Annabelle, and I wasn’t too shiny when I first came to Last Chance Ranch in Quakertown, Pennsylvania. I was on the streets and sick and injured, and couldn’t even walk, like you can see in my “before” picture. Fortunately, they saved me from a Terrible Fate, and now I’m healthy and perfect!

I love to play with my dog friends here, and snuggle in my blankets, and play fetch for hours! I love my volunteer friends, too.

But the days are dragging on and on… and my other friends get adopted, and I get left behind. I’ve tried to be more patient, but I guess I’m not very good at that.

Will you help me? If you live near me, maybe you could come see me and find out if I could be part of your family? And if you don’t… could you just hit that little reblog link? It makes miracles happen!

My friends are monitoring the email at pets@lastchanceranch.org in case you have any questions. I’m waiting to hear it say they have mail… hope in my heart and a wag in my tail!

Hurry! I love you!

Annabelle

fereldenpeach  asked:

♖: Having their hair washed by the other from the nonsexual acts of intimacy prompts (Annabel x Cullen because I love them!)

Thank you so much for the prompt @fereldenpeach <3

SFW - fluff / banter/ domestic - Cullen X Annabel Trevelyan for @dadrunkwriting

(ok this is very similar to my earlier piece, apologies but it really just wouldn’t work the other way around, Annabel would just turn this into shameless smut - so maybe next time? :P)

—-

“I’m fine,” Annabel insists, swatting Cullen’s concern away with the wave of her hand. “I just need some sleep.”

“Annabel,” he states, calmly but firmly. “You’re covered in blood…grime…and…Maker what is that?” He withdraws his fingers from toying with her hair to find them covered in black slime.

She frowns and studies his hand before throwing a shrug. “I don’t know, I killed a lot of demons, ok? How I am I supposed to keep track of which one’s goo looks like what?” She pushes lightly past him to head for her bed.

Creasing his brow his eyes narrow and he grabs hold of her arm. “Bath. Now.”

She stops and tilts her head at him. “Is that, an order, Commander?” One of her eyebrows arches.

“Yes,” he catches the little flare of mischief in her eyes and shakes his head. “But not that kind. You need a good wash then a good night’s sleep. Go,” he’s already lightly pushing her towards the pre-arranged bath by the fire.

“But I’m exhausted, can’t it-“

“No,” he cuts across bluntly. He nudges her back and she grumbles something under her breath that he doesn’t catch as she starts to undress.

Respectfully he keeps his eyes away, not that its anything he hasn’t seen before, but merely because he’s determined to do what is right by her. Bath then bed. If he watched her strip and bathe he’s not certain he’d be able to control himself.

Instead he busies himself at her desk, vainly trying to organise things that she has let spiral wildly out of control. How did she work in such chaos? He hears the soft splosh as she steps in the water followed by a weary sigh.

She had, by all accounts, closed two rifts today, killed a bear and somehow managed to ‘talk’ a stray ram back to its home. It was dark before the party arrived back, fresh from their last demon killing spree, and all looking rather worse for wear. Even Sera lacked her usual chipper greeting and instead had made a gruff ‘noise’ at him then wondered off to the tavern.

Engrossed in sorting the papers it takes him a while to notice the silence. Silence and Annabel rarely go together. His eyes snap to the bath to find her curled up, her shoulders siting just above the foamy water, with her head to one side and eyes lightly closed. Even her lips have opened slightly, the way they always did when she slept. He smiles gently and approaches, rolling up his sleeves as he goes.

Her hair is almost black when wet and is spilling out around her, still tangled with Maker knew what. Kneeling behind the iron tub he rests his elbows against it to simply admire her. Despite the heavy black marks under her eyes, the wild hair and the recent graze on her cheek she is still, undeniably, the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

He attempts to wake her by clearing his throat, then huffs a small laugh at himself, what was he thinking? He’d seen her sleep through raging storms without stirring. Gently he squeezes her shoulder and her eyes dart open with a muffled cry of alarm.

“Shh, it’s just me,” he reassures her and she shuffles, seemingly realising what’s happened.

“Sorry… I did tell you I was tired…” she mumbles, a yawn escaping her as she rubs the back of a soapy hand across her eye which she seems to instantly regret with crazy blinking.

Pulling her hair gently back he chuckles lightly and pours a small jug of warm water over it. Softly he crinkles his fingertips through her locks to start removing the day’s dirt and grime.

“You know,” he mumbles as she rests her eyes at the pampering treatment. “It’s a good job it’s not the other way around, because unlike, someone, I have a little self-restraint.”

“It’s not my fault you’re irresistible,” she murmurs in reply, cracking one eye open to look at him with her trade mark smirk.

Without warning he leans over and kisses her plump rosy lips, his own highly-regarded self-restraint failing him, as it so often did around her. 

“It seems I’m not the only one,” his voice is hushed against her kiss as he pulls away. He’s still determined to do whats right and not simply what he desires and so returns to running soap through her hair.

“Can I expect to be pounced on in the morning?” she asks lightly, leaning her head back once more to relax into his hands.

Now a dark smirk creeps across his own lips. “Oh, very much so.”

-

Thanks for reading - likes, comments, reblogs always welcome! 

Baby Osterfield (Harrison Osterfield)

Originally posted by hazosterfield


Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Reader

Warning: None

Summary: Harrison and Y/N are expecting and the two decide now is the time to decide on baby names.

Author: Dizzy

A/N: This was a fluffy fic request by anonymous who said, “Can I have a Harrison request where you guys are thinking of baby names and it’s all fluffy? It’s okay if not 😊”


Masterlist Request a Prompt


“Hey, babe.” Harrison greeted as he walked into the front door of your little home.

“Hi, honey.” You replied as he kissed you softly. “How was your outing with Tom?”

“It was good.” Harrison smiled. “You wanna know what he told me?”

“Let me guess…” You trailed off, tapping your chin. “He tried to convince you to name the baby Thomas?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“He texted me saying that we need to name the baby Thomas if he’s going to be the godfather.” You replied. “He also threatened to talk like this.” You mustered up the best Godfather impression you had when you said ‘this’.

“He’s a real character, isn’t he?”

“Tell me about it.” You laughed. “But, speaking of baby names, don’t you think we should think of some? Since the baby’s coming soon.”

Harrison took a seat next to you on the couch, lifting up your legs and placing them on top of his lap.

“That’s a great idea!” Harrison chirped. “I have a few names picked out already.”

He pulled out his phone and started to scroll, not noticing the glowing look of happiness on your face. He had thought of baby names and you didn’t know. He wanted be a dad, you knew that, but you didn’t realize how into being a dad he was.

“Really? Tell me them.” You said happily. “I’ve picked out a few as well.”

“Well, since we both agreed to not know the gender, I picked out gender neutral names and then boy names and girl names.” Harrison explained. “My top five names are Rory for a girl or boy, Nicholas, Peter, Annabelle and Mariana.”

“Aw.” You sighed contently. “I love those names.”

You could picture having a little boy or girl with any one of those names, running around the house and Harrison chasing them.

“Thank you, baby.” Harrison said, placing a peck on your lips. “Now, what are your names?”

“My top five names are Lucy, Charlie for a boy or girl, Christopher, Iris and Matthew.”

“Damn, your names are better than mine.”

“Oh, please, I loved all the names you chose. Let me guess, Tom convinced you to have a kid named Peter?”

Harrison chuckled and nodded. “Of course he did. If he couldn’t have Thomas, he might as well have Peter.”

“How about we narrow it down to a top six? Two girls names, two boys names and two gender neutral?”

“That sounds perfect.” Harrison agreed. “But, we have to keep Charlie. I could picture us having a little kid named Charlie wrecking havoc on our house.”

“Oh, definitely.” You grinned. “I loved Rory. ‘Rory Osterfield’ has a nice ring to it.”

“I liked Matthew. We could call him Matty as a nickname for when he’s little.”

“Oh, and write Annabelle down. I loved that name. It’s a little old fashioned and it’s just very pretty.”

“I thought you’d love that name when I thought of it.” Harrison confessed. “I thought 'Annabelle Osterfield’ was a pretty name.”

“That’s so sweet, honey. I love it. I also loved Mariana and Peter. In all honesty, I’ve always loved the name Peter.”

Harrison laughed. “Looks like you’ll have to thank Tom for the name Peter.”

“Just because we might name the baby Peter does not mean Tom gets to be thanked for it.” You joked. “And doesn’t he know we were going to give the baby 'Thomas’ as a middle name if they were a boy?”

“I didn’t tell him.” Harrison chuckled. “I was going to make it a surprise, but I didn’t realize he was gonna beg for the baby to have Thomas as a first name.”

You slapped his arm playfully. “Harrison! You were supposed to tell him!”

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t help but want to make it a surprise!”

You sighed. “Okay, I respect that because I didn’t tell him either.”

“We are both terrible people, I guess.” Harrison laughed. “Plus, I think it’s better if he didn’t know.”

“I agree.” You sighed. “Do you think the baby will be a girl or a boy?”

“A boy, definitely.” Harrison said.

“How do you know?”

“I just do. A father’s intuition, I guess.”

And he was right, the baby was a boy. A cute little boy named Matthew Thomas Osterfield, who was adored and spoiled by his Uncle Tom.

anonymous asked:

Have you ever read "Annabel Lee" by Edgar Allen Poe because it seems like a poem that fits samifer very well or any relationship w/an angel. Especially the line that goes: "The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me— ".

Y E S 

I am a big fan of Poe’s work, and even know some pieces by heart. (Guess my favorite? Hint: the subject’s name appears in my tags quite often)

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
  Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

I get definite samifer vibes from this work - the strong love expressed so bittersweetly - the tragedy of it - perfect choice. 

Demon

By: ProMarvelFanGirl

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count:1248

Warning: All Fluff

Prompt: 127. She’s 6, how can she scare you? 

Requested by: Anon 

Summary: Bucky babysit’s you niece!

A/N:  This is from my old prompt list!  Enjoy!


Your phone’s ringing broke your concentration on the movie you were watching wrapped up in Bucky’s arms on the couch.   You removed yourself from Bucky’s warmth and walked into the kitchen to answer the phone as not to disturb Bucky, who was half asleep.   

Bucky curious as to why you left the room followed you, plopping himself on one of the dining room chairs.  With a lazy smile, he patted his lap for you to take a seat.  You shot him a grin and gave him a shake of your head. Pouting Bucky tried to grabbed you as you paced by him.

“Well I have to work and I don’t think it is a good idea.”  You say into the phone. Bucky shoots you a confused look. You shake your head at him, letting him know not to worry.

“Yeah well Bucky is probably really busy. I don’t think he would want to watch Annabelle.” You say looking at Bucky.  He gets a big smile on his face and shakes his head yes.   The last time he saw your niece Annabelle she was 4 years old and was the sweetest little princess.

“Well Bucky just told me he would watch her for the hour I have to be at work.  Okay bye.”  You hung up the phone and looked wide eyed at Bucky.  

“Are you really sure that you want to watch Annabelle.  She is older now.  She has some more personality from the last time you saw her.”  You smile finally sitting in Bucky’s lap.   Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist and dipped his head into neck.  

“Doll it will be fine, I am a master assassin, I think I can handle one little girl.”  Bucky scoffs at you a little insulted you didn’t think he could do it.  Bucky usually was away on missions when Annabelle came to visit so he wasn’t around her as much as you.

Keep reading

It’s Annabel who first calls them Wellenore.

“‘Travels Through Time with Wells and Lenore’,” she reads. “Well … it is a very accurate title.”
“You hate it,” says Lenore, tugging the page from Annabel’s ghostly grasp. “Whatevs. It was just an idea.”
“I do not hate it!” Annabel says indignantly. “I think it’s a lovely idea. You just need a better title, that’s all.”
Lenore falls back in her chair dramatically. “It’s no use! Apparently just being hella literate doesn’t mean you can be totes eloquent.”
“Nonsense,” Annabel admonishes. She sits straight, her manner wholeheartedly in her frank-and-slightly-school-teacherish way. Lenore likes this side of her friend, although it can be a little irritating when one is trying to be tragically heartbroken.
“You have your own unique way of being eloquent, Lenore,” Annabel continues. “Every writer does. I think you should stop trying to be like Edgar and H.G. and all the others and just be yourself.”
Lenore fiddles with a lock of her ghostly-perfect hair. She avoids Annabel’s eyes and says, “I just have no clue where to start.”
Annabel hums, looking at the sheet of paper in Lenore’s perfectly-manicured hands. “How about, ‘The Hella Wellenore Chronicles’? Or ’Totes Time Travel with Wellenore’? Or ooh I know! ’The Totes-Not-At-All-Basic Wellenore Wanderings’!”
Lenore, after sitting a little stunned for a moment, bursts into laughter. Annabel grins delightedly.
“No offence Anna-Banana, but they are all totes terrible titles.”
Annabel looks a little deflated, but then smiles a little apologetically. “Yes, well, that’s because I don’t have you’re voice,” she says, patting her friend’s hand (or trying to - Annabel still hasn’t quite got the hang of going corporeal, and her fingers go right through Lenore’s - but it’s the thought that counts). “If you find your unique eloquence, you’ll have no trouble coming up with a title. And then, a story.”
A few months later, Lenore stands with H.G., not-at-all nervously holding out a sheaf of written-on papers. The top one is mostly blank, with only two sentences; the title:
A House Full of Nerds’,
and under it, the dedication:
For the man with the terribly embarrassing name.’
H.G. grins in his adorable H.G. way, and Lenore feels her cocky confidence grow under the smile. It is a few moments longer than Lenore would like to admit before she realises they are just standing there grinning dorkily at each other. (That is, H.G. was grinning dorkily - Lenore liked to think she was smiling flirtatiously. Again, it’s the thought that counts.)
“So? What do you think?” she asks. “It isn’t finished, but I think it is pretty fab.”
“It - it is indeed, fab,” stutters H.G., and Lenore can feel the dimples pushing into her cheeks in a mimic of his. Okay, she was definitely grinning dorkily now. When had her afterlife become so totally lame?
“I am very excited to read it,” he continues. His eyes flicker to and from hers. “My dear Lenore, I do believe you will be a wonderful writer.”
She looks at his adorable dorky face - he’s turned a little pink, and it makes her stomach flutter. Impulsively, she kisses his cheek. He is corporeal, luckily (that would have been hella awkward) as he is still holding her story in his hands.
It is fleeting, tender. He smells of copper wire and smoke and ink.
He looks surprised, then pleased. She tucks her hair behind her ear.
“Annabel wanted me to have ‘Wellenore’ in the title,” Lenore says abruptly, rolling her eyes. “Totes lame, right?”
H.G. looks considerate for a moment. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but … 'Wellenore’ is a combination of our two names, is it not?”
Lenore nodded. “Annabel’s always coming up with things like that,” she says, reluctantly fondly.
“It is rather tacky,” concedes H.G.. He looks a little crestfallen, and moves to leave the room, still holding Lenore’s story.
The lady ghost hesitates for only a second before calling to him, “It’s kinda great though.”
He stops at the door and gives his most adorable dorky grin ever (oh, she is in so much trouble). “Yeah,” he says. “It’s pretty great.”


For @black-sheep-come-home who requested cute & fluffy Wellenore. Sorry for the delay, I wrote it on the plane but then waited to re-read and edit when I was no longer run-over-by-a-truck jet lagged. Hope you like it! (Please excuse my liberal use of the words ‘dorky’ and ‘adorable’, but really, how else can you describe H.G.?)

“i know how the story goes..” | part one

part two / part three

michael + reader
word count: 944

writing masterlist | request/ask/feedback

summary: michael is still friends with his ex-girlfriend who thinks he’s still in love with her and will do anything to break the two of you up

>>>


We were at his parents’ house after dinner with his family and a couple of his closest friends.

I stood in the living room, a glass of water in my hands, as I watched - and tried not to be too obvious as I did - my boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend laugh and talk in the next room.

I’d tried telling myself that I had nothing to worry about. Michael and I had been together for almost a year and a half and Annabelle knew that.. right?

“Michael, honey! Come get dessert for everyone!” Karen called from the kitchen. 

I watched Michael finish his all-too-friendly chat with Annabelle [A/N: She doesn’t exist, I just needed a villain.] and head into the kitchen as Annabelle herself turned to face me.

I flashed her a smile and she grinned back, walking towards me.

“Hey, I saw you watching the two of us and I just wanted to say-” she started but I cut her off before she could say anything else.

“I’m not worried, I totally get it. I mean you’re one of his best friends, I’m not going to be one of those girls and make him stop talking to you entirely.” I reassured her.

“Oh but I was going to say you should be worried.”

My forehead creased in confusion. “What, why?”

She flashed me another grin, only this time, it seemed cynical, like she was mocking me. 

“Because Michael and I are going to be together. See, sweetheart, he still loves me and I still love him. He’s only with you because we haven’t seen each other in ages and you dropped out of school to join him on tour. Pretty stupid if you ask me, considering he’s not going to be with you anymore.” The whole time she said that, she was inspecting her perfect manicure, as if what she was telling me wasn’t a big deal.

I was speechless. 

I let out a nervous laugh. “Did he tell you that? Because I’m pretty sure he would never do that. Michael and I are very happy together.” I tried to be as polite as possible. I didn’t want to stoop to her level and spout bad things.

“Oh honey, that’s where you’re wrong. See, Michael and I go way back. We have more chemistry than the two of you will ever have. He loves me, not you.. You’ll see.” she said, her sinister grin crawling back onto her face.

“What are you-” I didn’t get to finish my sentence as she slapped my glass out of my hands, letting it shatter into a million pieces on the hardwood floor. 

The next thing I knew, she slapped her own cheek, hard, before screaming and leaving her hand against her cheek.

Everyone came running into the living room we were in, including Michael.

As he ran up to us, Annabelle turned to him, tears springing from her eyes. “Mikey, she.. she hit me!” She cried out, throwing herself onto him.

“What?!” Michael and I yelled in unison.

“I-I didn’t! She hit herself!” As I said it, I knew how ridiculous it sounded.

“Why the fuck would she do that?” He yelled. 

I watched as he lifted his arms to wrap around her shoulders, holding her close to him.

“She’s trying to turn you against me, Michael! Can’t you see that?” Michael turned to look at Annabelle, who kept up her act and even sniffled a little.

“You little bitch, I can’t believe you would-” I yelled out, forgetting that we had an audience. 

“That’s enough, (Y/N)!” He yelled back, making me shut up.

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes but I blinked them away quickly, not wanting to let Annabelle see how much this affected me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Karen and Daryl escorting people out of the room to give the three of us some space.

“Mikey..” Annabelle started, pushing herself off him. “She’s been threatening me ever since I got here and I.. I just don’t think I can do this anymore. It’s me or her, Michael.”

I stared at her, shell-shocked. “I never..” I couldn’t finish my sentence, I couldn’t believe she would say something like that.

“Y-you want me to choose?” He asked and she nodded.

This was it. It was time for Michael to make his choice that would determine whether I would see him again - or not.

“We can’t go on like this, Mikey, with her threatening me all the time, it’s too much for me to handle.” She told him.

He looked back and forth between the two of us, but I knew what his choice was.

“I choose..” 

I cut him off before he could continue.

“Don’t. I know how the story goes. The best friend always wins and the boyfriend ends up with her. The girlfriend’s always the bad guy so just..” I wiped the escaped tears with the sleeve of Michael’s sweater that I was wearing.

Grabbing my bag off the couch, I turned back to Annabelle. “You were right, he does love you. I wish the two of you the best of luck together.” My tone was bitter and sarcastic and I knew it.

Walking out the door, I stood on the porch for a few seconds, praying that this was all a dream and that Michael would be running after me to stop me from leaving and tell me he loved me.

But he didn’t. No footsteps, no nothing.

Hiking my bag further up on my shoulder, I began the long walk home, tears still streaming down my cheeks.

It was over.