#Bisque radiators

[ukbathroomshoponline]

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[honey-minded-hivemind]

🍷The Heir of Evil🐉 AU Reader Lore, Part Two: IceWings and Other Tribes Edition:

• IceWings in this AU aren't well known amongst the dragons, due to living in the Ice Kingdom, where it is cold all year round and is cold enough that other dragons could last maybe a day or two, as long as they are are not too far in their territory, but no longer than that...

• IceWings are regarded as strange and unnatural due to being the only tribe of the ten existing tribes to like the cold, need to be cold, and radiate coldness from their scales...

• IceWing blood is blue, but if their blood is rich with iron, it can be almost indigo in color. The lighter blue their blood, the more anemic and sickly they are...

• IceWings have slightly odd voices, high-pitched in some notes and low and soothing in others; their voices and tones seem to match the wintery environment they live in (when mad, their voice is thick and roaring like a blizzard, when sad their voice is like soft snowfall, when happy their voice is like twinkling icicles, when panicked their voice cracks like breaking glaciers-)

• IceWings wear different pendants and charms for good luck, health, love, and happiness. Circles represent and are supposed to draw in good health, a predator's teeth or claws or talons symbolize good luck, cute animals like seals or foxes or puffins or penguins are thought to bring happiness, twined branches or tails or antlers symbolize love, and three moonglobes represent the tribe's resilience and love and loyalty to their kingdom (there are more pendants and charms and symbols, but I'll explore those at a later date)

• It is traditional for an IceWing dragonet at age three (about 6 in human years), to have caught at least three pieces of prey, one from a circle of subsistence, one from the snowy tundra, and one from the ocean/coast...

• IceWings have festivals dedicated to the Great Ice Dragon, ones for arts and crafts and inventions, ones for ice carving, ones for poetry and literature, festivals for feasting, festivals for fasting, even festivals to honor the dead and to celebrate dragonets and families...

• IceWings drink frozen lemonade, berry slush drinks, iced coffee, and cold sweet tea. They have to use cups ands glasses and goblets carved from ice, made from metal, or a specialty type of porcelain or wood that won't shatter in the freezing climate of the Ice Kingdom...

• IceWings eat a variety of cold and raw dishes, such as: salmon and tuna carpaccio (thinly sliced meat), lightly sautéed reindeer, fish larb (fish salad), caribou and lobster surf and turf, sashimi, shrimp sushi, prawn cocktails, crab and lobster bisque, crab cakes, elk/oxen/hawk jerkey, whale fins served with whale and seal blubber, shark steaks, orca filets wrapped in seaweed, seal and moss salad, puffin served whole, stuffed hawks...

• Reader wears a pendant/pouch necklace, gifted to them at hatching by their late parent. No one saw Reader's hatching, save for their aforementioned late parent and an old "friend" of their's...

• Reader shines their scales at least five times a day, as they like to feel clean and to shine like a polished diamond. Part of it is because they have to look and act perfect at all times, so if they were dirty, it might reflect badly on them and their tribe...

• Reader donates any food the palace can't eat to the outer villages of their kingdom. This has earned them a reputation among the IceWings outside of the palace as a benevolent ruler, one who cares about them. Reader also goes to festivals thrown by those villages, and pays respect to each village elder and bard, as well as their monuments to the Great Ice Dragon and ice spirits...

• Reader doesn't remember much about their parent, and they don't know who their other parent/s were. Neither do the nobles, generals, or advisors who knew the royal family before they disappeared or died or were executed...

• Reader's army of pet foxes adore them, and Reader has more-or-less forbid eating any foxes that have a collar, as those are pets of either Reader or someone who was gifted a pet fox/kit...

• IceWing hybrids are sometimes looked down on outside of the IceWing tribe unless they (seemingly) hate the IceWings (or at least the royal family and nobility) and embrace their other tribe fully...

• A few of the platonic yans are IceWing hybrids or IceWing hybrid descendants (can you guess which ones?)

• Reader wears a few ceremonial pieces of IceWing jewelry, but prefer to wear anything that isn't too flashy or gaudy. They like colorful gems and charms, but prefer pastels or lighter shades; anything too bright or even (-IceWing gasp-) neon is politely refused (IceWings might be chromophobic? Afraid of too many different colors? It kinda makes sense, as the Ice Kingdom doesn't have a large variety of colors)

• Reader is the last surviving royal of the IceWing Royal Family; all their other relatives have either been executed, died of mysterious causes, or disappeared without a trace...

• Reader loves different foods from other tribes, but mainly avoids anything too spicy...

• Reader likes to wear silver, pale gold, or black metals, and likes shiny objects: teacups, earrings, glasses, stones, beads, bones, ice carvings, etc. ...

• Reader will meet their other parent/s eventually, but... a few defining moments happen before then...

•Reader adores teapots and teacups, and when they were little, always wanted to have a tea party, but never did. Even as an older dragonet, they still (deep, deep down) kinda want to have one...

And have some different teas and teacups, all of which 🍷Heir of Evil🐉 Reader would want:

(Imagine that last one is their main pet fox sleeping in a large teacup😊🫖🍵☕)

[sealrock]

11. surrogate

no content warnings word count: 626 words

The remains of the bisque doll's head lay shattered on the floor, its body cracked and split from the impact. Its silken dress was ripped to shreds by enraged fingers, its beautiful raven hair, fancy curls fashioned with bows and ribbons, yanked from the scalp and strewn across the room. Blood droplets stained the plush area rug, the hand of the child who destroyed her gift sliced from an errant piece of the doll as she mercilessly smashed it against the hard floor.

"Paris, what have you done?!"

Paris stood still under shocked stares, her fists curled tight as she regarded her aunt and uncle—her surrogate parents—with a glower of deep-seated resentment. Blunt nails dug into her palms, the wound pulsing and oozing fresh blood the more Paris clenched her fists. Paris said nothing, she just tightened her jaw.

"What's wrong with you?! That was a very expensive gift from your grandfather, young lady!"

Paris narrowed her eyes at her uncle, a look of defiance he didn't particularly like. Paris braced herself for the swift backhand, but she stumbled to the floor. Still, she didn't cry out at the radiating flares of pain in her cheek, that was what he expected.

"You insolent girl! Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

Paris dug the heel of her bloody palm into the rug, sending a scornful look toward her speechless aunt, her wide eyes emphasized by her spectacles. She was useless, doing nothing but wringing her hands as she looked between her husband and niece. Paris refused to let her be her mother.

Paris didn't want a stupid doll. She didn't want stupid gifts or stupid girly clothes. She wanted to go back home, she wanted to be home with her real family.

Her uncle sighed through his nose, his nostrils flaring and teeth gritted with vexation. He loomed over Paris, and while any other kid would cower away and cry, Paris refused to cry. She refused to bend to his rules.

"Fine," he threw his hands in the air, earrings dangling as he shook his head, "if that's how you want to be, then so be it."

"Alimar, what are you—"

Paris was grabbed and dragged by her wrist down the stucco hallway and into a tiny broom closet, the door slamming in her face as she was tossed inside.

"Things may have been different in your old life, but you'll learn soon enough that you can't have everything your way. You will stay in there until I deem you ready to come out. You'll learn to respect me, my wife, and your grandfather."

Paris wiped her bloodied hand on her frilly dress as she sat in the corner of the musty closet, the lock turning on the other side. Heeled footsteps faded down the hall before silence fell over the area. Paris' face grew hot, the tears she managed to hold back finally spilling over like an overflowing cup. Drawing her stocking-covered knees close to her chest, Paris wept in the stillness of the closet, biting her tongue hard enough to keep from whimpering.

In the darkness of the closet, Paris seethed, wincing at her swollen cheek. She didn't want to stay here with these people, she never met them before. The adults all look at her with disgust, they talk about her as if she wasn't in the same room with them.

This was her family now.

No.

Never.

They're all fake, a replacement family.

"I hate you… I hate you…"

Her words came out as a broken hiss, regarding no one in particular. The more she repeated herself, the more the tears flowed.

"I hate you both. I hate you all. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you."

[gayuu-the-necromancer]

Chapter 4

The Grim Reaper Waits At The Palace Of Death...

(I can't escape....)

These 8 mysterious men, put me inside a carriage, which gracefully rode through the night town.

Beyond the window, I see the cityscape of London.

The palatial palace flew away.

And before I knew it, the carriage is pushing forward into the dense forest.

(Where are we going? And.....what's going to happen to me?)

I left my delivery at the mansion, but I don't know if I'll get paid for it...

On top of that, I'm actually worried if I can return home alive.

(The fact that they are all working in a group and heading to the same place must mean that they are some kind of an organization)

(Then if I have to guess....they must be taking me to their leader)

The Grim Reaper of the Palace of Death...that's what the red-eyed man, William said.

(If that's true then, I....)

The flashbacks of the bright red scene comes back to my mind and a shiver ran down my spine.

Gentlemanly man: "Miss Kate."

Kate: "Yes....!?"

I looked up quickly and saw a gentleman with a mysterious smile pointing out the window.

Looking out the window, the carriage is before I know it, already passed through the forest and crossed a drawbridge over the water.

Gentlemanly man: "We're here. This is the stronghold of evil that could be the end of your life...not our base."

Kate: "Mm...."

(What is this place?)

As soon as I get out of the carriage, the gothic castle that appears before me takes my breath away.

Surrounded on all sides by forests, and ponds to avoid being seen, the bright and brilliant pagoda piercing the night sky radiates an overwhelming presence.

It is so majestic that it makes me want to prostrate myself.

(Never thought there would be a castle like this in London....)

Kate: "Is this...real life...."

Gentlemanly man: "Yes, unfortunately. It is neither a dream nor an illusion. It is a painful reality from which there is no escape."

(Reality....or didn't this guy just say something outrageous?)

(The end of life or the root of evil...oh god, my head)

Feeling dizzy, I became unsteady on my feet.

Then accidentally, I bumped into someone and turned around in a hurry.

Kate: "Sorry, I didn't mean to."

Man with blond hair and blue eyes: ".....I don't mind....are you okay?"

(He's so close...)

The man who held me by the shoulders peered at me. His delicate-looking golden hair just close enough to touch.

(This guy....is so beautiful, that it's scary. He looks like a bisque doll)

Among the art-like forms, only the dark eyes, barely perceptible stare at me with a creaturely temperature.

Kate: "I'm fine. Thank you."

Man with blond hair and blue eyes: ".....I see."

(U-Umm....)

Man with blond hair and blue eyes: "..........."

(Please let go of me sir....)

As I was puzzled, a hand reached out from the side and poked the blond man's hand.

Man that looks like a cat: "Master El, no running away."

Man that looks like a cat: "Miss Kate, you can talk to me. I'd like to get to know you better."

(Huh....)

My other hand was entwined by a cat's tail and I was flabbergasted because I was sandwiched between two men from both sides.

Man with a gun: "Now you guys. You two can save that for later. Right now your priority should be reporting to Victor, okay?"

Man with a gun: "After deciding what to do with her, we all will have enough time to get to know her."

The man who offered to help was a great man with intelligent appearance.

The rational eyes behind the glasses and the calm appearance of the person, eases me a little bit.

(Maybe this guy is easy to talk to)

Kate: "....What's going to happen to me?"

What I had wanted to ask for a long time came out of my mouth without thinking.

Man with a gun: "You will know. Because we're the ones deciding that."

The egoistic grin on his face made me erase the sentence 'Maybe this guy is easy to talk to' from my mind.

William: "Kate. Come here, follow me."

Kate: "....Yes, Master Rex."

William: "Ahahaha! You don't have to be so formal. Just call me William."

Kate: "Okay....Master William."

..........

(Wow...amazing)

Stepping into the castle, it was as if the world had changed for me.

(I never thought I'd set foot in a place like this, even once in my life....)

The castle is as magnificent as its exterior, and it is no wonder that it is said to be owned by the British Royal family.

A dangerous, mysterious and beautiful unknown world spread out before my eyes.

(Only the bastions of those who might be criminals....)

(....So beautiful)

William: "I see you liked it."

Kate: "!?"

A shiver runs down my spine as I hear whisper in my ear.

I quickly turned around to see a giggling and amused Master William.

William: "Let's go now. The Grim Reaper is waiting impatiently."

Chapter 5 - Grave Secret

[scarletslippers]

For the AO3 Wrapped - 5 / 15 / 27 / 29

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

Hands down Sandwich Night. No idea my little fic about grilled cheese would get so much love, especially since the fic that inspired it, there’s a heart on your sleeve (I’ll take it when I leave) didn't get as much traction as I had hoped.

It also made me feel very powerful for a few days to make the fandom collectively crave grilled cheese. 😂🍞🧈🧀❤️

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

Married housing fic, obviously. Who knew my random shower thought would spiral this much? A snippet for you....

“Hey, I only snored that one time I was sick so you can’t be missing that.”

But she is. Missing the quiet evenness of his breath beside her. Missing the warmth he radiates even without touching her. Missing feeling the bed move as he readjusts in the night.

27. What do you listen to while writing?

Nothing! Honestly music would distract me 😂 Once I'm getting close to finishing then I put my nace playlist on more when I'm cleaning or driving, looking for title inspiration. I also do this if I'm feeling stuck with a fic - just not while I'm actively writing.

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? (Bless you for asking this again because I have too many. Part 1 here)

1) Food has always been Ace’s thing, learned at his mother’s knee or rather Rebecca’s kitchen table. Cookies and kugel, latkes and lekach, babka and bagels. The longest way he’s loved her, by silently handing her water or fries, pressing her with his gaze to take just one more bite. Buying a grilled cheese sandwich from a diner in the middle of nowhere so she’d have a real meal to fill her belly, even when he’d gone. Soothing her with takeout lobster bisque after they’d fought, filling her with both soup and hope. - Sandwich Night 

2) He listens, studying her carefully. Her hair carries a bit of a ghostly flour cast, windswept in riotous waves that manage to still curl prettily around her face. The wide neckline of her dress shows off the line of her collarbone, the effect somewhat marred by the edge of the burn that creeps up her shoulder. He leaves her face until last—cheeks flushed with excitement, lips curling in a satisfied grin, eyes alight with triumph and contentment.

This. This is what he didn’t want to miss. - have my back (yeah, every day)

3) But then she never got to say goodbye. Nancy hates her mother a little bit for that, but she hates ballet for it more. For being the thing that brought them together and the thing that divided them. 

Taking class again is a kind of torture—balm for her tense muscles and weary soul, respite for her restless mind, yet a constricting band around her heart. Ribbons that wrap and squeeze with a knot pulled too tight. It’s hard to breathe. - my only love sprung from my only hate 

Send me a writer’s AO3 wrapped ask! List here.

[ronaldanthony4]

One of those days inspiration struck like a bolt of lightning. I found myself once again in front of my computer screen, ready to embark on the creation of another digital artwork. This time, I chose to bring to life a character that has captivated anime fans worldwide—a character whose vibrant personality and distinct appearance make her a fan favourite. The character I was about to illustrate was none other than Marin Kitagawa, the female protagonist from the anime "Sono Bisque Doll wa Koi wo suru," or as it's known internationally, "My Dress-Up Darling."

Creating digital art is something that I've grown to love deeply. Each artwork is a journey, a blend of technical skill, creative vision, and, most importantly, passion. For this particular piece, I was especially motivated. Marin Kitagawa is not just any anime character—she's a complex, lively, and endearing figure who has resonated with me on multiple levels. To capture her essence in my artwork, I needed to focus on every detail that made Marin uniquely herself.

As I began sketching the outlines of Marin's figure, I reflected on what makes her so visually striking. Marin is an above-average height girl with a slim waistline that hints at her youthful energy and agility. Her light skin tone contrasts beautifully with the bright colours surrounding her, whether it's her clothing, accessories, or the vibrant settings in which she finds herself. But it wasn't just her physical attributes that I needed to get right; it was also her personality, her aura, and the emotions she evokes in those who admire her.

Marin's eyes are one of her most captivating features. Naturally, they are dark brown, deep and soulful, but she is almost always seen with dark pink colour contacts when she isn't cosplaying. This choice of colour contacts adds a layer of playfulness to her character, a hint of the mischievous and the fantastical, which aligns perfectly with her love for cosplaying and her otaku tendencies. In my artwork, I made sure to capture this duality in her eyes—the natural depth of her brown irises paired with the vibrant pink that she chooses for her cosplay adventures.

Her hair, however, is where the real magic lies. Marin has smooth blonde hair that flows like liquid gold, with an ombré transition to pinkish-red or citrus orange at the tips. It's long, reaching down to her waist in the rear, and has a certain luminosity that makes it appear almost otherworldly. The way her bangs cover a majority of her forehead and eyebrows, reaching down to her eyelashes, gives her a youthful and somewhat playful look. I spent a significant amount of time perfecting the gradient in her hair, ensuring that it looked as natural and as vibrant as possible. Each strand had to reflect light just right, giving her that shimmering, almost ethereal quality that fans of the anime have come to adore.

But Marin is more than just her appearance. She's boisterous, extravagant, and messy—a whirlwind of energy that brings life to any scene she's in. Despite her playful exterior, she's also quite mature in her way, though not without her clumsy moments. As I worked on the details of her expression, I wanted to capture this complexity. Her smile needed to be wide and infectious, radiating warmth and enthusiasm, but her eyes had to show that she was always thinking, always planning her next move or cosplay project. Her boisterous nature needed to come through in her pose, which is why I chose to depict her giving a peace sign—a gesture that perfectly encapsulates her cheerful and outgoing personality.

Marin's love for cosplay is one of her defining traits. She's a huge fan of magical girl anime and adult video games, and she sees cosplaying as the ultimate form of love for the characters she admires. This is why, in the anime, she is so meticulous about her cosplay—she doesn't want to spoil the image of the characters she loves by doing them any injustice. This dedication is something I wanted to reflect in my artwork. Every detail of her swimsuit, from the black fabric adorned with playful floral patterns to the delicate straps that hold it in place, had to be perfect. The swimsuit is both revealing and tasteful, a reflection of Marin's boldness and confidence in her skin.

But Marin isn't just confident—she's also kind, friendly, and incredibly outgoing. She's the type of person who would never judge someone for their interests, no matter how unconventional they might seem. This is a trait that I find particularly admirable, especially in today's world, where it's so easy to be overly critical or dismissive of others. Marin's open-mindedness is something that I wanted to capture in her expression. Her smile is not just a simple gesture of happiness—it's a beacon of acceptance and warmth, a sign that she welcomes everyone with open arms.

As I continued to work on the artwork, I thought about Marin's more vulnerable side. Despite her outgoing nature, she can be something of a scatterbrain on occasion. She's not afraid to admit when she's made a mistake, such as when she poorly knitted a prototype of her first cosplay outfit despite having a step-by-step guidebook. This side of her makes her more relatable, and more human. I wanted to hint at this vulnerability in my artwork, perhaps in the slight tilt of her head or the way her fingers curl slightly as she gives the peace sign. It's a small detail, but it adds depth to her character, showing that she's not just a perfect, one-dimensional figure—she's a real person with real flaws and strengths.

Marin is also a procrastinator, often opting to watch anime over doing work and completely losing track of time as a result. This is something that I can relate to, as I often find myself getting lost in my creative projects, only to realise that hours have passed without me noticing. In this sense, working on this artwork felt like a kind of homage to Marin's character—a way of connecting with her on a deeper level. It was as if I was able to channel her essence through my work.

One of the things I find most intriguing about Marin is her boldness and immodesty. She's not afraid to let Wakana take her measurements for her first cosplay outfit, even if it means doing so while wearing a bathing suit early on in their friendship. This boldness is something that I wanted to reflect in her pose and expression. In the artwork, Marin stands confidently, her hand raised in a peace sign, her body language open and inviting. She's comfortable in her skin, unafraid to show off her beauty and her personality.

Marin also has a teasing side, which I find endearing. She enjoys making jokes at Wakana's expense, laughing at him whenever he gets embarrassed and flustered. But this teasing is never mean-spirited—it's always light-hearted and affectionate, a way of showing that she cares about him. I wanted to capture this playful side of Marin in her smile, which is wide and full of life, with just a hint of mischief in her eyes. It's the kind of smile that makes you want to smile back, the kind that brightens up a room.

But even Marin isn't immune to embarrassment, especially when she begins to realise her feelings for Wakana. This realisation brings out a more vulnerable side of her, one that is rarely seen but adds depth to her character. In my artwork, I tried to hint at this vulnerability in the way Marin's eyes are slightly downcast as if she's lost in thought or perhaps a little uncertain about her feelings. It's a subtle detail, but one that I hope adds a layer of complexity to the piece.

As I added the final touches to the artwork, I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Bringing Marin Kitagawa to life on my digital canvas was not just a creative endeavour—it was a journey into the heart of a character who has captured the imaginations of so many. Every brushstroke, every detail, was a step closer to understanding what makes Marin so special, not just as an anime character but as a representation of the passion and dedication that so many fans have for their hobbies and interests.

In the end, I was pleased with how the artwork turned out. Marin stood on the beach, the sun shining down on her, the waves gently lapping at the shore behind her. She was the picture of confidence and joy, a true embodiment of the character that so many have come to love. But more than that, she was a reminder of why I love creating digital art in the first place. It's not just about capturing the physical likeness of a character—it's about capturing their spirit, their personality, and the emotions they evoke in those who admire them.

As I saved the final version of the artwork and prepared to share it with the world, I felt a sense of connection to Marin Kitagawa that I hadn't expected. Through the process of creating this piece, I came to understand her in a way that went beyond simply watching the anime or reading about her character. I had spent hours studying her features, her expressions, and her personality, and in doing so, I had formed a bond with her, one that would stay with me long after the artwork was complete.

And so, with a final glance at the completed piece, I hit the 'upload' button and watched as Marin Kitagawa, in all her vibrant, joyful glory, was shared with the world. It was a moment of pride, but also gratitude—for the opportunity to create, express, and connect with a character who, in her way, had inspired me to push the boundaries of my art and my imagination. It was a moment of pride, but also gratitude—for the opportunity to create, express, and connect with a character who felt like a true kindred spirit.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Where There's Smoke

Fandom: DC Comics, JSA, Flashfam

Summary: Jay and Joan think nothing can go wrong on the perfect blind date. They didn't account for the fire next door.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Jay Garrick, Joan Williams

Relationship(s): Jay Garrick/Joan Williams

Additional Tags: Blind Date Fic, Jay Garrick POV, 1940s AU, No Powers AU, No Capes AU, Romantic Fluff, Love at First Sight, Al Pratt Mention, Mary Pratt Mention

Chapter One: Blue Poppies

I sat in the restaurant alone, tugging awkwardly at my tie as I kicked myself for coming early. “Hi, I’m Jay—. No . Nice to meet you, I’m Jason—. No, it’s best not to start off that formal—.” A woman in a sky-blue evening gown swept in, crossing the floor at full speed, taking my breath away. There was no one like her. There’d never be anyone like her. She stopped in the center of the room and looked around before spotting the blue poppy on my lapel. She pointed at me and held her wrist up so I could see her corsage. I stood up once she got to the table and pulled out her chair, unable to hide the smile on my face as she settled in. 

“I’m awfully sorry if I’m late,” she apologized. 

“You’re not late. I’m just—. I got here early. Nice to finally meet you,” I smiled. The pretty young woman reached across the table, and I kissed the woman’s hand. I hadn’t planned on it, but it felt right. She grinned, taking a sip of water as she fixed her eyes on me. 

Time slowed down when I looked at her. I wanted to commit every detail of her face and dress to memory because I knew. I knew that she was the one. “Mary didn’t tell me your name, so I’m guessing Al didn’t tell you mine. I’m Joan Williams,” she introduced herself. 

“Jason Garrick. Everyone calls me Jay. You should take a gander at the menu. I’m uh—. I don’t know much about this fancy restaurant food, but I tried lobster once overseas,” I confessed. 

Joan smiled at me. “Have you tried lobster newburg?” Joan asked. I shook my head. “Lobster newburg is a hot bisque draped over flaky pastry. Do you like heavy cream?” 

“I do. Do you mind ordering?” I asked. I didn’t want her to think of me as a dunce, but I’d rather have her order than get something I didn’t like. It was expected that I order our meal as the man, but she seemed amused with my admission of ignorance. 

“Don’t worry. Order the lobster Newburg for yourself and the lamb chops for myself. I usually have my lamb chops with a side of green beans. The lobster newburg is good with spinach if you enjoy that sort of thing. For cocktails—. Do you drink?” Joan questioned. I nodded. “What do you drink?” 

“I like to have a tall Manhattan on the rocks… And you?” I asked in reply. 

“Orange blossom with sugar on the rim. I think it’s delightful,” Joan answered. I thought she was delightful . I tapped my fingers on the table, smiling at her as I tried to think of something intelligent. 

“Have you heard of the nifty new machine they call the microwave oven? It’s been around for two years, but it’s a high-density electromagnetic field generator connected to a metal box that pops corn and heats up hotdogs. There’s a restaurant in Boston that has one. Gosh, it sure is something,” I smiled. Joan stared at me for a moment, chewing her lip. I was convinced I’d lost her interest right then. 

“ Radiation to cook? Isn’t that dangerous?” Joan asked. Thank goodness! She humored me.

“I don’t know. I suppose it’s one of those things they’ll find out much later,” I answered, “I wouldn’t mind taking the risk, though.” 

Joan giggled. “You’re an adventurous spirit, Jay Garrick. I like that,” Joan replied. I couldn’t help but smile. The waitress came to take our order. 

Joan smiled sweetly and nodded at me. “Lambchops and green beans for the lady,” I paused, “And I’ll have the lobster newburg and spinach,” I ordered. 

“And what are we drinking tonight?” the waitress questioned. 

“Tall Manhattan on the rocks for me, and my date will have an orange blossom with sugar on the rim if that’s alright?” I replied. Joan took a piece of bread from the tray and carefully broke off pieces to eat. The waitress smiled and left us alone. 

“How’d I do?” I whispered playfully. 

“You were perfect,” Joan laughed. Oh, I loved her laugh. Mature and warm, from the back of her throat like a ginger tea with honey. “Jay, would you like some bread?” 

I nodded. Joan broke a piece of her bread and reached across the table. It was such a strange gesture that I laughed out loud. But I took her offer. “Thank you, Joan,” I chuckled. Joan nodded. 

“You passed,” Joan smiled. 

I washed my bread down with water and looked into her eyes. “Pardon?” I asked. 

“Some men are such drips. But not you. You’re swell,” Joan smiled. My cheeks went rosy. “I hope you don’t think I’m—.” 

“You’re more wonderful than I could’ve imagined,” I interrupted. Joan covered her smile with her hand. “Joan, I hope you don’t think I’m too forward, but I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” Joan’s eyes widened, and she swallowed hard. 

“Hot diggity dog, Jay. You sure do know how to make a girl feel special… You’re so sweet,” Joan whispered. The waitress brought our drinks and Joan offered me a sip. I could taste hints of vermouth but the smoothness of the gin and the warm, summery sweetness of the orange made me smile. I loved a sweet drink, but it was a first date, and I wanted to impress her. But the drink made me giggle. I offered her a sip of my drink, and she laughed. She put her hands over mine as I poured a sip of my drink into her mouth. Four polite fingers over her mouth to stifle a laugh as she swallowed her sip. 

I turned away to laugh. “Is it—? Is it bad?” I asked. 

Joan shook her head, leaning forward for another sip. I took a sip of her drink and then we took a sip of our drinks. Joan couldn’t stop giggling which tickled me pink. We doubled over, forehead to forehead, and then we met eyes. She was close enough for me to smell the bergamot and jasmine. I caught a glimpse of her eyes like sunlight through amber glass. “Jay?” 

“Yes, Joan?” I whispered. 

“Would you like to dance while we wait?” Joan asked. I nodded, taking her hand and escorting her to the dancefloor. The band played My Darling, My Darling , and she let me hold her close on the dancefloor. I appreciated how light on her feet she was. I wished I was a little lighter on mine. Joan let me lift her up enough for her feet to glide across the floor and be safe from my two left feet. “Jay Garrick... Jay.” 

“Joan Williams… Joan,” I whispered in reply. We stopped turning, moving side-to-side as Joan held my face in her palm. “Do you have a pen in that purse of yours?” 

“I do. Why do you ask?” Joan whispered.

“If we ever get married, I want to know what song to use for our first dance,” I confessed. Joan glanced over my shoulder. I turned in the direction of her glance. “Dinnertime.” 

She held my hand as we approached the table. I pulled out her chair and sat across from her. Joan pulled out a notepad and wrote the name of the song and a few other things before folding the paper and handing it to me. “When,” Joan replied.

“I beg your pardon?” I asked. 

“Don’t say if… Say when,” Joan corrected me. She nursed her drink for the remainder of the meal, and I’m not ashamed to admit I stalled my way through dinner. I didn’t want the night to end. Be careful what you wish for. Because that’s when the fire started.

[looksforleaders]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: 💜EUC PartyLite Ivory Snowflake Illuminescents Fragrance Warmer.

[pop-punklouis]

Hi Hope!!

It's finally new years, so here I am off anon! 🥳 (It would be funny if I sent this in with anon on out of habit). I've absolutely loved getting to talk to you over this month, you're the loveliest!! I already thought you're one of the coolest ppl on here anyways so really this month has only proven me right 😌

Not sure what the protocol here is lmaooo BUT I hate leaving things unanswered so I'm answering your answer to my last ask! Very glad the soup discourse happened only at the end of the month then jdhdh *whew* tbf I've had soup lately that's been good but I swear something about texture puts me off it's sad bc I really wanna like soup 😔 ooh I kinda get that. I think hot chocolate loses a little of ours allure when you grow up. That or I simply haven't had good hot choc in a while but imma say the magic was lost while growing up.

Pls horror movie is always a good option for a watch. I don't even remember tbh I've got really bad memory it's concerning but I know we watched Orphan. Whether it was part 1 or 2 is now fuzzy to me. That and another one I can't remember 💀

Anyways, I'm super grateful to have had your replies to look forward to as well! It deffo made a very dull Dec that much brighter. I feel like it could've easily been dull, and I'm not usually any good at having to strike to conversations with ppl I don't know well but it helped that you just radiate the loveliest, kindest, most inviting vibes. Sending you all my love back and more 💗

~ Niv 🌱

HELLO!!!!

ah it’s so nice to properly meet you bb 🥺🤍 i’m so happy we were matched for the holiday pals because i’ve also had such a wonderful time talking to you this past month. thanks for always being so kind and up for chatting about legitimately anything with me 👐🏼

do you like soups that don’t have any food in them like tomato or cream or mushroom etc.? since there isn’t much texture there to feel. tomato bisque is probably my favorite soup of all time 🥵🥫 and yesss i think there’s also something about our tastebuds too that change/we grow to not like a lot of richer, sweeter flavors such as candy, chocolate, ice cream etc. i think i read that somewhere a few years ago 🧠

i watched orphan 2 on a flight recently and i was pleasantly surprised with how much i assumed i wouldn’t like it because sequels/prequels very often bore me. but i enjoyed it for what it was! i bet watching those horror movies drunk was so fun djdkfkfk

and i feel the same 🥺 i looked forward to talking to you 🤍 like previously mentioned i’m so happy you were one of my holiday pals. it never felt like we didn’t have much to talk about or didn’t know one another. you have such a warm and golden spirit about you i hope you know that!! sending you the BIGGEST hug 🫂🥺🌸

[havebruises]

“Cauterizing a Wound” with Warren + Mitchell requested by...I can’t remember but it was probably @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi and they’re Warren’s hurt tag list anyway! for @badthingshappenbingo​

requests open

cw: | captivity + restraints | injuries, knives + blood | light choking | nausea | noncon touch | intimate whumper | burning, obviously | blink + you’ll miss it suicidal ideation

-

“I don’t know why you cry so much. You’re not exactly made of porcelain, doll.”

Warren gave a half-coughed laugh, because it sure felt like he was, after all the bruises and fractures and injuries. A toy some naughty child had smashed against the wall without knowing how fragile he was on the surface. Blood-brushed bisque cracked all the way over with no hope of repair.

Normally, something so broken wouldn’t be allowed near anyone’s hands, for risk of the shattered material cutting up vulnerable fingers. He would be trashed, simple as that. But Mitchell had no worries guiding his touch over bare unwilling skin. It wouldn’t cut him. Warren wasn’t made of pottery. He was flesh. He had nerves, sparking with pain unlike any real doll and it was so gratifying feeling him twitch with agony.

He was soft, too, under calloused hands. Shaking and taut as a wire against his restraints where his limbs were spread out on the table, wrists above his head and ankles down at either corner of it, leaving him forcibly exposed like the knife sessions. Despite the icy metal surface, lying on the table ended up being the rare place he felt warmth in this place- from the constant intimate touches, and from the smears of fresh blood all over his right thigh. Mitchell loved to have one hand on a blade and the other hand smoothed over some vulnerable part of his body. He supposed it should have been a relief, to no longer be so cold. All it did was make him more sensitive to the pain.

Mitchell had won the scuffle an hour prior. The first time Warren had ever really tried to fight, had had the opportunity to fight in weeks- and he’d screwed it up. Warren had been pinned on his back with Mitchell’s knees squeezing his sides, both of the man’s hands on his jaw looking over cuts and bruises like they were reflections in a crystal. The sudden indignant rage that swelled in his chest and knotted up his stomach prompted him to make a move for the blade Mitchell had set aside nearby. The confidence that assuming he wouldn’t try at least- it was disgusting.

As sudden as the decision was, Warren wasn’t quick enough to avoid a big hand snatching his wrist. It squeezed him so hard he thought it might snap in multiple places, forcing him to let go of the knife. It had clattered to the ground and Mitchell simply released the boy’s wrist and scooped it up. One hand pressed down firmly across the front of Warren’s trachea while he adjusted his stance atop the redhead and sunk the knife-tip recklessly against soft flesh. 

“You know better! What were you thinking?” Mitchell hissed, affronted.

Warren choked and grasped at Mitchell’s wrist, trying to pry it away from his neck with a short scream as the sharp edge cut into the muscle of his thigh like it was paper. Slow at first, dancing a thin jagged line into his skin.

Then, it hilted without warning. A massively impulsive gesture from someone who always took his time with every cut, and had moments of thought between each blow. His captor usually made sure he had the time and energy and meaning required to make every move count. Like someone was scoring his infliction of emotional damage. Like he was being judged by how long he could keep the boy from bleeding out while still making him scream.

This wound in the boy’s leg was agonizing and risky and Mitchell hadn’t thought ahead, but the penetrative motion of it just felt so pleasurable that he didn’t even move at first. He just watched Warren gasp, the poor young man shivering hard to remain still rather than squirm and make it worse. Warren had been there long enough to understand that twisting about always made it worse. His chest still heaved under Mitchell, and his eyes had rolled so nicely in the moment. The fingernails digging into the man’s wrists were easily ignored for the sweet whine that trailed down in the back of Warren’s throat.

Even now, standing above his doll at the body-slab table and cleaning the messy flesh that betrayed Warren’s lack of porcelain- it had been worth it. Mitchell was already considering doing it again. He just wished he had someone else to take care of the mess afterward.

The deep slice had been scrubbed out, but it still bled in rich pulses and pooled over the edge of Warren’s thigh into a puddle at the crease between his leg and the shining metal of the table. It’d be an issue if Mitchell simply decided to stitch it up. A life-threatening, pallid sort of issue unsolved by even deep tissue sewing.

And whoever had any fun with something as small and painless as a needle and thread? It was worth the risk of infection, in Mitchell’s eyes. Well worth it.

Oh, and how Warren wailed when he saw the slim metal rod heat up to that telltale matte coal-red, smoke flickering in the air above it. His arms strained beside him and his wild eyes met Mitchell’s, pleading with him- begging- offering him anything in return for that implement not going in where the knife had only so soon ago came out. He could feel the thick blade’s path in his leg and he knew where that iron would go. 

“Stop stop stop wait--”

A rough hand clapped over his forehead and shoved his head down with a clunk, not wanting to stop those sweet cries but also refusing to let him jerk around like an animal and harm himself. That was Mitchell’s job, as Warren was so often reminded. It was usually an accident, when Warren hurt himself- so far, anyway. The mad grab for the knife had been the closest the redhead had gotten to trying to kill himself, and only because the motion had been so monumentally stupid that Mitchell might have just killed him for it. But Warren was apparently worth the trouble.

“Shh, doll,” his captor called down to him, with a little smirk that implied he didn’t really hate the sobs. “This is for your own good, why are you crying this time?”

He dropped the heavy iron tip down and let it graze the side of Warren’s thigh, the boy’s breath catching as he fell silent to the sound of soft sizzling. His leg felt aflame, like laying his palm flat on the hot metal of a stove only he couldn’t wrench himself away. He arched his spine sharply, but the restraints held him as safely as they always did.

The tip of the iron moved inward, toward the oozing wound, then- inside it. 

Warren yowled, mouth wide open and teeth bared, eyes wide and fists white-knuckled and shaking as Mitchell wiggled the implement into his slickened, open flesh, searing shut any split veins in the way of it. That’s all it took blissfully, the boy’s eyes rolling back and his body falling limp other than the tremble overtaking his whole body and his short panting breaths, sweat sheening his skin. He hardly twitched when Mitchell pulled the iron out and turned it off, setting it aside on the table to cool.

He woke to the scent of cooked meat, burnt hair, and antiseptic, the stench lingering in the air with the misplacement of a friendly barbeque in a morgue basement. It roiled his stomach instantly, and he had to clench his jaw and swallow hard to keep from vomiting. He’s freezing and wet, the table still dripping with water from the hose- though his leg had been towelled off and there was a dry tautness on his skin that implied bandaging. He couldn’t find the energy to move his head and look.

He didn’t want to. There was a dull, hollow pain that radiated up and down either side of his leg, leaving the outside of the radius numb from exhausted nerves and half-consciousness. The muscle in his thigh twitched on its own and he winced every time.

Mitchell leaning above him took up all his vision, toweling off his hands. Warren, shaking and pale, was most striking when splattered in blood. His red hair stuck thinly and contrasted to his forehead, and his lips were bruised and bright from being bitten.

Gorgeous, Mitchell thought, saying nothing. Warren said nothing. The silence was loaded with terror, matched in equal measure by his tormentor’s pleasure. He felt as if his pain was worthless in that way. It meant nothing, and the helplessness that curled around in his gut whenever he noticed it would be distracting- but for the pain.

He’d never felt such pain, even long after the iron had cooled. The sheer amount of it brought blackness into the edges of his vision, framing his captor in a closing tunnel. Soon Warren was overtaken again, finding blessed peace in unconsciousness lying flat on the table.

There was a time when he’d first arrived that he’d fought sleep. He wasn’t fighting anymore.

Warren was nothing less than grateful for it now.

[marshmallowprotection]

What soups k think your cmc’s favorite is.

Minji: sweet potato bisque. This soup is delicious. Is sweetish and creamy and savory I it’s from sweet potatoes. It also smells amazing.

Judas: either French onion or New England clam chowder. Someone fancy for the fancy man himself.

Lila: I feel like she loves chicken and rice, or maybe wanton soup. I’m kinda stuck on her

Bora: either beef barley soup or chicken noodle soup

I can agree with those. Those feel tried and true, believe it or not. Finding those things that radiate their general energy isn’t always easy. Bora is very simple in that she enjoys the basics. Minji and Judas are more refined with their choices so you can expect something that takes a bit more preparation and effort to get what they want. Lila is in the middle, whereas she’s the sort of person who likes pretty much anything, but you can never go wrong with some classics that are staples for making a lot for the future in preparation. 

[ukbathroomshoponline]

Keep your towels warm and dry with our range of Zehnder and Bisque contemporary heated towel rails on available at Bathroom Shop UK Yorkshire! Contamporary Heated towel rails provide enough heat output to not only dry your towels but also warm your bathroom when the central heating comes on. Make a statement with our range of contemporary designs that are leading the way in modern towel rail and radiator innovation.

[fungusbabey]

nurse - john b/reader

requested by @caliban-is-my-girl y/n is sick, and john b isn’t going to let her suffer alone

+

y/n woke up feeling like absolute shit. stuffy nose, sore throat, headache—the whole nine yards. she was supposed to go out on the boat with the gang today, but now that was definitely not happening. she could feel the heat radiating from her forehead. she reluctantly rolled out of bed, pausing briefly when her vision blacked, took cold & flu pills, and then crawled back under her comforter.

before going back to sleep, she figured she should let everyone know she wouldn’t be able to make it. she texted the group chat and was bet with an “aww, feel better babes :((” from kie, an “ew, gross,” from jj, and treatment advice from pope. nothing from john b. twenty minutes later, there was a knock on her front door. she ran a hand through her unbrushed hair and was just barely able to make herself walk to the front of the house, undo the deadbolt, and open it.

standing on her front porch was john b., with his always-messy hair and a smile on his face. there was a bag on his arm and a cup in his hand.

“m’lady,” he bowed, handing her the cup. “only the finest coffee from the wreck,” he winked. “your favorite.” he invited himself in and sat the bag on the counter. “you see, today, i’m gonna be your nurse... like one of those assistants that come and help old people all day,” he teased.

“and what exactly does that entail?” she questioned playfully, feeling a bit less congested now that she was upright.

“sit down first,” he insisted, gently pushing her back onto the couch. “first of all, we’ve got some tomato basil bisque, also from the wreck.” he took a decomposable container from the bag and gently handed it to her, as well as a spoon from the silverware drawer. “eat up,” he coerced. when she carefully spooned the warm soup into her mouth, he nodded and continued. “i got some snacks, popcorn and chips and stuff,” he listed, holding up several bags in turn and placing them on the kitchen table. “some nyquil, in case you can’t sleep tonight.” he sat that aside. “and um... some pajama pants, fuzzy socks, and lip balm. kie said girls like that stuff when they’re sick.” he may been blushing, but it could have just been a sunburn from the day before.

“i’m gonna stay here with you as long as you need,” he comforted. “i don’t have anyone to make me go home, and your parents are out of town, so...”

“hey, aren’t you guys supposed to take the pogue out today?” she furrowed your brows in concern. “don’t let me ruin your plans. go have fun.”

“i already talked to them,” he explained, waving a dismissive hand. “they didn’t want you to be alone, either. they’re just gonna go on a drive or something. don’t worry about it.”

she smiled gratefully and wondered how on earth she was lucky enough to have such great friends... and to have the cutest, sweetest boy in the obx voluntarily taking care of her.

“now, finish up your soup and go take a nice, relaxing shower. i’ll get everything ready,” he grinned, his dimples on full display on his freckled cheeks. 

she drank the remaining bit of the soup from the cup before taking the bottoms, socks and lip balm from the tall boy with a grateful grin. her face heated, and not just from the fever. she grabbed an oversized t-shirt and a pair of comfortable underwear from her room before heading to the bathroom and taking a long, hot, soapy shower. when she returned to the living room, she couldn’t help the surprised gasp that escaped her.

john b had transformed the pull-out couch into a bed, collected all the blankets and pillows he could find, and piled them on in a cozy disaster. toward the foot of the bed was a huge bowl of popcorn.

“come on, sicky,” he joked, patting the bed next to him. “let’s find something good to watch.” when she slid into the bed, he felt his heart race at the citrus scent that he could smell, hidden beneath strong vapo-rub.

after nearly half an hour, they finally settled on the princess bride. “always a classic,” he noted. she laughed along at the ridiculous movie, and she was so absorbed that she didn’t notice john b. sneaking lingering glances, covering a smile with his hand when he would catch sight of her natural, comfortable state.

she fell asleep not even halfway through and didn’t wake for another few hours. john b gently tucked her in and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face.

she wasn’t awake to feel his soft lips press to her forehead.

[alvrnina]

so i spent my day creating fusions of all my ocs!!

Vivonne (Viv and Yvonne): A strong, sisterly bond forms these two into the most stable form of the bunch. This fusion is beautiful, elegant, refined, and showmanlike, dazzling everyone around her with her graceful, dance-like movements. She also gains flight-capable feathers, and her strength lies in her immense speed and agility. She can also whip up powerful gusts of wind with her wings and feathered tail.

Klaine (Klaus and Yvonne): Between Yvonne’s tough, cool outward personality, her well-hidden sweet side, and Klaus’s relaxed, carefree nature, this fusion has a bit of a cool older brother-like personality. He gains control over electromagnetism, enabling him to generate and harness massive amounts of electricity to use for a variety of purposes. Klaine can be pretty arrogant at times and likes to show off his abilities, although he does his best not to let his displays of strength damage anyone or anything around him. He’s very protective over the other Hoodians, whom he cares for like younger siblings, and he’ll strike down any threats to the Neverhood without a shred of mercy.

Vivius (Viv and Klaus): This behemoth of a fusion is a fire-breathing powerhouse, but unfortunately, he doesn’t have much restraint and can be pretty unstable and dangerous as a result. While Yvonne and Viv bring out the best in one another, Viv’s rambunctious side is unfortunately brought to the forefront by Klaus’s silliness in this fusion, and coupled with this massive beast’s sheer size and strength, his goofing around can get out of hand pretty easily. He can also be quite hot-headed, and it’s not a good idea to get on Vivius’s bad side.

Klavinne (Klaus/Viv/Yvonne): The ultimate combination between the three, although it is immensely difficult for them to remain stable in this form for a long period of time. This colossal beast retains the fire, wind, and lightning abilities of the three lesser fusions, making it a formidable foe. The piercing roar it lets out before it charges into a fight is enough to make the ground beneath it tremble like a leaf in the wind. Its glowing wings radiate so much heat that if a normal klay so much as touched them, they’d be baked into bisque in seconds.

and of course, here’s how they stack up with one another size-wise!! Klavinne’s an absolute unit!!

[chanroyer]

*   ♤   ⧽   —   welcome back to gallagher academy, chantal royer! according to their records, they’re a second year, specializing in advanced encryption; and they did not go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of chipped nail polish and a sucker stuck between teeth, waves that can never seem to be contained, the click of keys on a laptop, the feeling you get when you step too close to a fire. when it’s the aries’ birthday on 03/30/1999, they always request their lobster bisque from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation.

*   ♤   ⧽   —   google  doc   /   pinterest   /   wc  .

chan really said i wanna hack into the pentagon just to see if i can

so,   sparknotes  version  of  her  doc   —

  -   born  in  sunny  los  angeles  as  lana  stephens .      she  had  two  siblings,   her  mother  was  a  police  detective  for  the  lapd,   and  her  dad  was  a  science  teacher .      perfectly  normal  and  happy  family,   until  rachel  stephens’  work  followed  her  home .      she  had  been  investigating  a  case  surrounding  an  organized  crime  group  in  the  area,   and  they  caught  on .      to  keep  rachel  and  her  partner  quiet,   they  started  the  house  fire  that  would  consume  almost  all  of  the  stephens  family .      lana  was  the  only  survivor .

   -   she  was  eight  when  this  happened,   and  her  brain  wasn’t  ready  to  cope  with  what  she  had  seen .      so  it  just  wiped  nearly  the  entire  night  clean .      but  she  had  seen  a  man  outside  the  house,   and  was  insistent  on  this  fact   --   he  had  looked  right  at  her .      but  the  word  of  a  grieving  child  wouldn’t  hold  up  in  court .      the  police  department  believed  her,   and  due  to  this,   they  were  concerned  for  her  safety  if  she  were  to  stay  in  la .      so  the  u.s.  marshal  got  involved  and  put  her  into  witness  protection,   which  is  when  her  mother’s  sister  melanie,   who  was  living  in  paris  at  the  time,   agreed  to  take  her  in .      lana’s  name  was  changed  to  chantal  royer,   her  appearance  was  modified,   and,   for  all  intents  and  purposes,   she  was  now  melanie’s  daughter .

   -   after  it’s  decided  that  the  case  holds  no  ground  and  is  thrown  out  before  getting  far  in  court,   chan’s  no  longer  technically  under  the  protection  of  the  u.s.  marshal .      they  helped  her  establish  the  new  identity  and  comped  her  plane  ticket,   but  otherwise  they’ve  washed  their  hands  of  all  direct  involvement  of  her  well - being .      such  is  the  nature  of  the  american  government .      however,   if  the  case  were  to  be  reopened  and  they  find  more  evidence  against  the  group,   then  she  could  be  called  back  to  testify  at  any  time  and  would  be  reinstated  under  witness  protection .      yadda  yadda  yadda .

   -   spent  eight  years  in  france  before  moving  back  to  the  u.s.  to  finish  high  school .      graduated  from  a  new  rochelle  public  school  where  she  picked  up  an  interest  in  computers,   started  attending  nyu  just  after .      she  was  the  poster  child  of  ~directionless  youth~  during  the  time  she  met  a  girl  named  mal .   mal  took  chan  under  her  wing  and,   just  maybe,   she  found  herself  falling  for  this  girl .      mal  proceeds  to  introduce  chan  to  her  boyfriend,   and  the  two  of  them  then  lead  to  her  involvement  with  their  local  hacktivism  group .      as  you  can  guess,   this  ends  p  badly .      whoops !

   -   so  they  get  caught  trying  to  expose  corruption  within  the  city  government  and  nypd .      chan  gets  slammed  with  allegations  of  hacking  into  classified  state  personnel  files  ( which........she  did,   but  she  wasn’t  gonna  say  so ),   and  was  threatened  jail  time .      howeveeeer  her  involvement  in  this  caught  the  attention  of  someone  with  ties  to  gallagher,   who  managed  to  get  her  an  alternative  choice .      avoid  having  a  record,   and  go  to  gallagher  academy .      safe  to  say  she  chose  gallagher .

   -   she  gets  to  the  campus,   has  a  chip  on  her  shoulder  for  a  sec  before  mellowing  out  and  finding  that  she  loves  the  curriculum .      flies  through  her  first  year  advanced  encryption  classes  and  her  curiosity  is  fully  sparked  by  everything  the  school  has  to  offer .      why  go  to  nyu  and  study  bullshit  when  she  can  actually  be  taught  something  useful  with  her  skills ?

misc   --

   -   aries  poster  child .      act  first  think  later .      when  she  applies  herself  to  something  she’s  so ?      determined ?      VERY  straightforward .      impulsive  but  also  the  first  to  turn  around  and  call  someone  out  for  making  a  brash  mistake  .  .  .  dumbass

   -   oui  oui  baguette

   -   buy  my  silence  permanently .     for  $8000  a  month  i  will stop

   -   bisexual  but  like .   at  what  cost ?    prefers  all  women  and  attracted  exclusively  to  men  that  are  fuckin  idiots

  -   her  aunt  is  still  vibing  in  new  york,   doing  fashion  stuff,   and  is  who  chan  goes  home  to  on  breaks .      their  neighbor’s  a  new  rochelle  police  officer  and  chan’s  an  ABSOLUTE  pain  in  his  ass,   nancy  drew  style .

   -   can  blend  in  somewhere  just  as  easily  as  she  can  ensure  she  sticks  out .

   -   childhood  trauma  out  the  wazoo  but  at  least  at  gallagher  it’s  not  fuckin  weird

   -   her  existence  just  .  .  .  radiates  the  aesthetic  of  an  80s  or  90s  film

   -   long  winded  pop  culture  debates  take  up  half  of  her  brain

   -   i’m  just  here  for  a  laff  xx

   -   she  just  likes .   knowing  things .   she’s  not  a  gossip  and  she  stays  in  her  lane  but  she  be  knowing

   -   she  can’t  fight  for  shit  but  she’s  working  on  it

   -   kinda  morally  ambiguous ?      like  she’s  good  at  heart  and  has  a  propensity  for  goodness  but  also ?      if  given  the  right  opportunity  she  would  DEFINITELY  take  herself  off  the  grid  to  do  whatever  she  wanted  w  the  skills  she’s  picking  up  at  gallagher .      could  easily  end  up  fulfilling  the  ‘ hacker  in  a  heist  film ’  trope .      she  won’t  bc  she’s  ultimately  prepared  to  Do  Good  as  seen  by  her  having  a  penchant  for  hacktivism  but  .  .  .  she  rlly  could

   -   character  influences :   nancy  drew,   birkoff  ( nikita ),   alec  hardison  ( leverage ),   amy  bendix  ( punisher......shocker ),   mike  ross  ( suits ),   ginny  weasley,   a  touch ?  of  jesper  fahey  and  nina  zenik  ( six  of  crows ) .

   -   this  is  really  all  i’ve  got  rn  just  know  i  love  her  and  i’ve  been  conceptualizing  her  for  over  a  week  now

[flowerfan2]

Reproaches and Recriminations

Ok, so I doubt Yom Kippur fic is a thing, but today has me thinking about making amends.  The title comes from one phrase of a traditional Yom Kippur prayer, in which worshipers consider a list of transgressions they may have committed.

Aziraphale/Crowley, 1300 words, A03

There’s a chill in the autumn air, and Crowley notes with concern that it isn’t much warmer inside the bookshop.  He flips the sign to closed with a thought as he shuts the door behind him and sets off to find Aziraphale who, not surprisingly, isn’t at the front of the store.  He almost never is, preferring to let customers assume that no one is there to help them and then, hopefully, take their leave.

As expected, Aziraphale is in the back room, an array of books lying open on the desk in front of him.

“Crowley, hello,” Aziraphale says, standing up abruptly and clasping his hands together in front of him.  “I didn’t hear you come in.”

This is undoubtedly untrue, but not important in the least, so Crowley lets it go.

“Bit cold in here, don’t you think? Surprised you haven’t lit a fire.” He flinches a little as the words tumble out, the horrific memory of the bookshop in flames flashing through his mind. Maybe he’ll get Aziraphale an electric fireplace.  They do wonderful things with LEDs these days.  The fake logs even glow.  Much safer than the real thing.

“Oh, it is cold, isn’t it?” Aziraphale tuts and goes over to the ancient radiator, but he seems to lose his train of thought before he actually gets there.  

 “What have you been up to today? Reading anything interesting?” Crowley wanders over to Aziraphale’s desk, noting that none of the texts are even in English.  Guess it hasn’t been a rom-com kind of morning.  Maybe that accounts for Aziraphale’s distracted manner.

 Crowley pokes around some more.  He’s not being nosy, exactly, he’s just never been good at keeping still.  Aziraphale’s winged mug is tucked in between a dusty old pencil sharpener and a lamp, but it’s empty of tea.  There’s not a single crumpet or packet of crisps in sight.  He glances up and finds that Aziraphale is staring somewhat nervously right back at him – until he sees Crowley looking and quickly turns away.  

 Something is clearly off. Crowley quickly runs through his own recent actions.  Things have been going well between them in the weeks since the day the world didn’t end, and they have established a rather comfortable routine. He doesn’t think he’s mucked anything up yet. He hasn’t ignored Aziraphale’s calls, or forgotten a lunch date. Which reminds him…

 “Right.  Well, if you’re not too busy, let’s just go.  The place will warm up while we’re at lunch, if it knows what’s good for it.”

 “Lunch?”  Aziraphale turns, looking for all the world like this was the first he’d ever heard of such a thing.

 “Yes, lunch.”  Crowley perches himself on the arm of the aging sofa.  “You do still eat lunch, right?  You seemed to do fine with it yesterday, at that noodle place.  And the day before, even with the fermented sushi debacle?”

 Aziraphale frowns at Crowley.  “Don’t be silly, of course I still eat lunch.”

 “Well, let’s go, then.  You were talking about pastrami the other day, we could go to that place where you got the knishes, they’ve got pastrami too, I checked.”

 “They’re closed today,” Aziraphale says.  

 “Okay, then we can do Italian. That bistro with the cold soup you liked, although given the weather maybe something warmer would be a better choice.  French onion, squash bisque,” Crowley ticks off some of Aziraphale’s favorites.  “Come on,” he says, when Aziraphale makes no move to leave.

 “I don’t want to leave yet.” Aziraphale says faintly.  “I’m afraid my mind was on other things this morning.”

 That seals the deal, then. Something is definitely up.  Usually nothing short of an apocalypse takes Aziraphale’s mind off lunch.  It’s not hyperbole, Crowley knows this from experience.  And the way Aziraphale is pacing the room isn’t doing anything to convince him otherwise.

 Might as well cut to the chase.  “Aziraphale, what’s wrong?”

 Aziraphale looks at him worriedly, confirming Crowley’s hunch.  This does not, however, make him feel better.  “I have to talk to you.”

 “Okay,” Crowley drawls, trying to keep his voice steady.  He pushes a foot hard against the floor to stop it from tapping.  “So let’s talk.”

 Aziraphale comes to a stop in front of him, squares his shoulders, and bites his lip.  Crowley notes with some trepidation that Aziraphale is trembling. This can’t be good.  Crowley courageously suppresses the urge to snake out of the shop and hide under a rock.

 “I need to ask your forgiveness, Crowley,” Aziraphale says.  Crowley’s first thought is relief – he didn’t screw anything up – and then he starts to panic, anyway, because this is weird.  Aziraphale is an angel.  They don’t do anything that needs to be forgiven, by definition.  (Although, to be fair, this seems to be more of an aspirational goal than a reality, given recent events).  And Crowley is a demon.  He doesn’t get to be forgiven, let alone need to forgive an angel.

 “No, you don’t need to do any such thing.”

 Aziraphale squirms.  “I do.  For the way I treated you.  Many times. But… at the bandstand, in particular. We’ve never discussed it, and there are some things I need to clear up.”

 “Nah, angel, it’s fine.  You were under a lot of stress, we both were-”

 “Please, my dear, let me finish.” Aziraphale is standing even closer to him now, his clear blue eyes imploring.

 “All right, sure.”

 The moment sits.  Crowley feels like he might shake right out of his skin, but he stays balanced on the arm of the sofa, and waits.

 Finally Aziraphale breathes, and continues.  “You <i>are</i> my friend, my dearest friend, and it was wrong of me to say otherwise.  Terribly wrong.  Even if I was upset.  Even if I was… confused, about what to do next. Having doubts about matters that I never thought I’d doubt.”

 Crowley nods, but Aziraphale shakes his head at him and goes on.

 “You didn’t deserve to be included in that, Crowley.  My doubt and confusion.  So many times I lashed out at you, when you didn’t deserve it.  You have been the one thing, the one being, who has never let me down.  Even when you had every right – every expectation, to do so.”

 Crowley is suddenly warm down to his toes, despite the faulty radiator.  

 “I hurt you, and I am so sorry. I value you more than I can say. Please forgive me.”  

 Crowley swallows hard, and thanks whoever that he still has his glasses on (he and Aziraphale have been pretending for millennia that Aziraphale can’t see through them, and there’s no need to act any differently today).  “Of course, angel,” he says, voice tight.  “Nothing to forgive.”

 Aziraphale practically stomps his foot. “But there is, don’t you see?  I – I love you, and I was horrible to you, and you don’t deserve it.  You have to understand that it isn’t right for me to treat you that way.”

 Crowley nearly falls off the arm of the sofa, struggling to right himself as his limbs flail.  “What – you – you what?”

 Aziraphale extends his hand and helps Crowley stand up.  His skin is warm and soft, and his touch seems to calm every nerve in Crowley’s body.  “I love you,” Aziraphale repeats softly.

 Crowley feels heat spread through his chest.  He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a breathless “oh…”

 Aziraphale raises his free hand slowly and cups Crowley’s face.  “Are you all right, dearest?  I hadn’t meant to blurt that out, just now.  Not the most romantic way to tell you how I feel.  I had rather planned on a picnic.  Perhaps I should ask your forgiveness for that, as well.”  

 There’s a hint of humor now in Aziraphale’s tone, and that treasured fondness.  Crowley starts to breathe again.  They are returning to familiar territory, for the most part.  He’s safe here.  And, it turns out, against all probability, loved.

 “It’s okay,” he stutters.  “I’m good.”

 A smile spreads on Aziraphale’s face. Crowley is suddenly overcome with an overwhelming desire to kiss it.  

 So he does.