#clara click clacks

[the-s1lly-corner]

You points

I'd like to hear some of your general headcanons for itward! Any and all headcanons you can think of >:)

General Itward hcs!

I got too silly guys

This is gonna be long so buckleup

Side note, my silly little goofy baking marathon has begun, so requests are REALLY gonna slow down today and tomorrow and likely Tuesday as well

I current have multiple pies in the oven as we speak <\3 (note from the future i was typing for so long the first batch of pies finished and the second group just got put in)

My bodies gonna hate me for this but imma get paid (yaaaay!!!!)

Love to think that itward is self sufficient. He grows his own stuff and scavenges for any metal parts he needs what whatever (his ship, a project, ect)

As such he also builds and maintains his own stuff; the ship is the most obvious thing! But I like to think nearly everything in the ship itself was either made by him or found abandoned !

Its canon that he loves forks, both stated in the character sheet thing KMG posted as well as the copious amounts of forks decorating the main area of his ship! I mean he literally has a wall covered in forks! I can easily see him having even more forks stashed away somewhere

Torn between headcannoning him to just have them in a jumbled heap in a drawer somewhere... and headcannoning that he sorts them by size, material, color, and style... both seem so in character for him.. hmm..

I can say for certain that he has a box somewhere full of random stuff hes collected and it's not at all neat and organized. Rocks, gears, bolts, sticks, glass vials, jewels, and so on! The "oo pretty I think I'll keep this and use it for later (never uses it for later)" mindset! I like calling those lil trinket boxes "crow boxes"

"The one many children talk about", as said by the man himself. So fran and the twins arent the only ones who have interacted with him... dad of dozens of children

I was gonna go somewhere with that previous point but I genuinely forgot what I was gonna say

Has made stuffed animals and dolls at least once for all of his kids. And yes, that includes Clara and Mia, at least before they tried to kill him... reluctantly makes bunnies for kids who ask

Speaking of bunnies, since it's been proven that itward wasnt bluffing or lying about his fear of them (KMG made a post showing off a type of Kamala that basically makes you addicted to their candy, making you eat them til your guts explode) (which... is horrifying and makes me wonder, did itward see that happen to someone? Perhaps one of his kids? A friend? Or did he not and the concept just scares him so much?) It's a little funny that itward has a bunny plushie on his ship

Sad hc but I like to think it belonged to one of his past children and as much as hes afraid of it he doesnt have the heart to give it away

While we're on the topic of sad stuff, I dont think itward can shed tears. So in place of them, his bones start to rattle a little

While I also headcannon that his bones rattle when hes nervous or flustered, and perhaps on the rare occasion that hes angry, it does happen when hes sad enough

Okay no more sad, I like to think his hat steams when he gets real excited about something or embarrassed. The top of it just. Pops open and theres the steam billowing out

I dunno I think it suits him and his aesthetic...

Stole this idea from someone else but he can purr; it's mostly involuntary imo and if you listen close enough you can hear his bones vibrating and clacking against one another

His eyes glow in the dark! Not too bright, it's fairly dim, but it's enough for him to see around and for you to see where he is in a dark room!

Creaky bones. He is OLD! probably VERY OLD! So it would make sense his bones click and make noise thanks to the general age.. wear and tear you know? Especially prominent in his spine and ankles

Has a habit of clacking his teeth/jaw when speaking, as well as when hes just. Not doing anything

Prone to fiddling with his rings (!! Will get to that in a second!) As well as the accessories on his coat; and sometimes, even his hat!

Okay the rings! I like to hc that itward makes his own accessories too ! That includes the gems and chains on his coat (heck, hes probably made his own clothes!) And I like to hc that he sometimes wears rings !

Sometimes sells his stuff; more likely to sell shoes and clothing, as well as his machines and services! Sure he mostly lives off stuff hes found or grew, but theres some stuff that he cant just find or grow.. plus its generally a good idea to have some money somewhere

I'm pretty sure hes good friends with palontras and ziar (given him and palontras work together to help Fran and the painting of ziar in itwards ship) but I also like to think he is friends with the wizard and cogwind!

Mostly because I wish we got more stuff for both of them... also him and cogwind can bond over their interests!

Does not stay in one place for long, given that KMGs labels him as a wanderer, but assuming he keeps Fran around to raise her I think he anchors down to one place... well not ANCHOR but like, cutting down on traveling at least a bit, especially in the beginning so fran can fully come to terms with everything shes learned (the truth of her parents death, the grieving process, learning she may or may not be part of something larger if memory serves me right, it's been a while since I played the game, as well as being shot.. like yeah she was healed physically but like imagine how shes gonna feel when that fact she was shot mentally sinks in) ... cant have her bouncing between different realities and the spaces in between them constantly

Ponders

Listens to Antonios (giant old ant dude) old music, I think! Probably has a bunch of old vynlls laying around somewhere

Frequently has to clean his hands, especially his fingers since hes always working on SOMETHING, he doesnt wanna walk around with gunk in the grooves of his fingers. Very yucky very gross and very un-gentleman..ly...

I keep trying to wrap this post up but I keep remembering hcs/coming up with new ones

Anyways COMMITS to the bit when hes playing a game with Fran, or really any kid hes looking over. Tea party? Hes gonna bust out his very best manners. Yes he will wear a tiara if its offered to him. It will go over his hat, of course. Playing doctor? Oh he'll moan n cry about how sick hes feeling, please help him! Ect ect, things like that!

Sometimes makes shadow puppets and tells stories. Both in the form of little shadow theatres, but sometimes he will use his own hands and project the shadows onto the wall!

Very good at coming up with stories on the fly

Also very very good at comforting people, I think. Hes been around for a while and he just OOZES comfort

So if you have a nightmare or struggle with anxiety, itward wont let you just suffer and be scared, hes gonna do what suits you best to calm down; distractions, holding, taking, quiet, grounding, ect ect ect anything you need

[tsukkisbean]

cuddling | headcanons

genre: fluff!!

characters: kuroo, bokuto, akaashi x gn!reader

warnings: none

a/n: idk how i feel about these but,,, inspired by conversations i had with some mutuals!! read under the cut for bokuto and akaashi! also sorry i got really soft for akaashi and ended up having a lot of dialogue hahaha,a,,

original request here

kuroo tetsurō

i know most people see kuroo as a super tough charismatic dude but sometimes he just wants to be coddled like a baby don’t even try to change my mind on this

after a particularly rough day at work he comes home with a tiny grey cloud over his head : ( he gives you a quick hug and kiss but doesn’t stick around for long

you finish up whatever you’re doing grab a bag of chips or something from the pantry and run up to your shared bedroom to find your boyfriend laying in bed on his side, under the covers

you peel the covers off his body and dangle the chips in front of him

“baby, do you want me to feed you?”

he can’t help but smile at you, tugging on your arm gently to pull you onto the bed with him

you happily oblige, immediately climbing in and snuggling up against his back

you prop yourself up onto your elbow, your hand gently threading through his messy bed head and he lets out a content sigh

he leans his head to rest on the crook of your neck, while you have one arm slung lazily around his waist, occasionally feeding him a chip or two

you throw one leg over his hip, and automatically his fingertips finds your leg, mindlessly tracing patterns over the fabric of your pajamas

he’s holding his phone in one hand, randomly playing through cute cat videos that show up on his recommended

“y/n should we get a cat?”

“if you really want one but why do you need one when you have me?”

his body rumbles with laughter in response to your snarky comment

before you can get mad at him he turns his body to catch your lips in a kiss

he sits up, pulling you up and into his lap, your legs automatically straddle his hips, and arms encircling his neck

“are you feeling better now?”

“y/n i never have a bad day with you in my life”

bokuto kōtarō

bokuto is away for a game so you’re at your shared apartment all by yourself for the weekend

to help pass the time you start a new show and you end up getting really into it

hours pass and now you’re wrapped up in a big blanket, sitting on top of a bunch of pillows on the floor in front of your tv, so into the show you don’t even hear the front door open, or the approaching footsteps or even the booming voice of your boyfriend that’s been calling you since he left the elevator (sorry neighbours)

being the impatient, excitable man that he is when you don’t respond for the nth time he decides to try to get your attention a different way

just as the show is about to hit it’s climax, your body is shoved to the floor, face stuffed into the pillows and you completely miss the big reveal

when you try to get up, your body is held down by a heavy weight that is your beefy (<33) boyfriend

“bo get OFF before i hurt you”

“you already hurt me when you ignored me for the past 5 minutes”

“wait when did you get home?”

“exactly my point y/n”

you have nothing to say to that so you just let him lay on top of you, his head resting on top of yours, arms and legs sprawled out

you reach one arm out, slipping it under bo’s  and automatically his hand curls around yours

your other hand reaches behind you, gently curling and uncurling against the nape of his neck

while the two of you watch tv (mostly you because he has no idea what’s going on) he’s placing kisses all over your neck and on your cheek and jawline

“bo i’m trying to watch”

“pay attention to me :-(”

“the episode is almost over, i’ll pay attention to you after, okay?”

the episode comes to an end, and your half your body is asleep from being stuck in one position for so long and so you call out to your boyfriend to get him to move

when he doesn’t respond you notice how slow his breathing and how still his body is against yours in contrast to his usual energetic behind

then you realize he’s fallen asleep on top of you but you don’t mind because you know how hard he’s been working with his team

akaashi keiji

recently, akaashi’s been working late nights at the office so that he can meet deadlines so the two of you haven’t spent much time together

so when he gets home just after midnight he’s surprised when you come running to greet him at the front door but he immediately pulls you into his arms, and buries his face into the crook of your neck just drinking in your presence because he missed you that much

he knows he really should wash up and get ready for bed, but he can’t bear to leave your side so, still holding onto each other, the two you shuffle over to the living room, plopping onto the couch

you’re sitting between his legs, one of his hands intertwines with yours, the other holding one your favourite books, flipping to a random passage

his chin rests on your shoulder, whispering each line into your ear, occasionally pausing to place a chaste kiss on your cheek or temple

“i am nothing special; just a common man with common thoughts, and i’ve led a common life. there are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten. but in one respect i have succeeded as gloriously as anyone who’s ever lived: i’ve loved another with all my heart and soul; and to me, this has always been enough.”

his voice is so soothing, and you can feel yourself teetering between consciousness and sleep but you try your best to keep your eyes moment, not wanting morning to come where he’d have to leave you again

he shifts your positions, all while still holding your hand, so that the two of you are now laying down and this time your bodies are facing each other, legs tangled together

you hear a soft thunk as he places the book down on the coffee table, his now free hand making it’s way to rest on your back, tracing small patterns, mostly hearts to silently show you he loves you

his mouth is busy placing gentle kisses on the knuckles of your hand that’s still locked with his

“keiji, where do you see yourself in 10 years?”

he lets go of your hand, and you can’t help but feel sad at the sudden loss of warmth but the feeling quickly fades when both his arms hold you tight, your head meeting his chest

“here with you, just like this. only thing that’ll be different is that i’ll have put a gold band on your finger”

though he can’t see it, he can feel your lips part into a wide smile against his chest

the two of you lay there in your peaceful bliss, his steady heartbeat lulling you to sleep

[minourp]

The people have spoken! Presenting: Genderbent part 2, the Tools.

These shouldn't be as fun as they are. Also, why do they all look like their normal selves except Waldo?

I give you: Riley (Revvit), Clara (Click-Clack), Ace (gender neutral), and Wanda (Waldo).

[hb-writes]

3, 6, 9 and 12 for Clara? :)

Hello, friend! Thanks for the asks. See below the cut for responses. :) 

3. How easy to annoy is your oc? Do they have common pet-peeves or are they stoic in response to everything? What is their reaction if the source doesn’t stop?

Clara hate her hair being pulled. She’s had very long hair the majority of her life and her siblings always find it ~*~HILARIOUS~*~ how upset she can get about it, so they often give a braid a little tug just to get a rise out of her. 

While Clara has gotten quite good at tuning others out when reading/ working/ studying (she did grow up around a noisy betting shop, after all), Clara absolutely struggles when she has to be at the new offices, dealing with the noises of other people in the context of a quiet office space. One secretary taps her pen repeatedly on the desk, another sighs quite a bit. And sometimes the ‘click-clack’ of the typewriter sends her a bit mad. She often storms off to settle herself in Tommy’s or Michael’s office to get away from the sound. 

6. What is your oc’s vocabulary like? Does it match the way they talk? How would you describe their speech?

In a single word, I’d say her vocabulary is extensive, especially considering the time and place and class in which she was raised. I imagine many words would go mispronounced on the first use though because she’s learned them through reading, not necessarily from speaking. Clara is often quite confident when she speaks, very self assured or at least, presenting as such. She’s clever and can be quite matter of fact and serious, even as a little girl. It may read as a bit pretentious at times in certain circles. 

9. Is your oc afraid of touch or do they actively seek it out? Is there a reason for this? What are the exceptions?

The answer to this one can be found here! 

12. How skilled at lying is your oc? How frequently do they lie? For what reason? What situations would be the exception?

The answer to this one can be found here! 

[mimicofmodes]

Sanditon, episode 7 part ii

I have had a moment to recover.

If I may speculate on symbolism here, I feel like Charlotte and Mary Parker both being in blue spencers with white-grounded gowns in this scene ties Charlotte in as a Parker “wife”, if only -to-be.

Georgiana is feeling REAL BAD, and it’s only made worse by the fact that she has to listen to preacher man read scripture at her. Fortunately, Arthur comes to rescue her, very awkwardly! She puts up her hair and gets dressed in the dark plum pelisse she has only worn, I think, in that first escape attempt that led to her almost jumping off a cliff. Not a good sign of her mental state!

Charlotte goes rowing with Sidney so he can practice, and they have a veiled conversation about marriage. He gives her the oars and helps her row, which is ... okay, it’s kind of nice, if we hadn’t broken Stringer’s heart I wouldn’t be loving this. As they’re silently and companionably sitting together, Eliza and co. come by, and it seems clear to her that his heart is elsewhere.

Esther click-clacks down a room in some anachronistically heeled shoes. Very soft flats were the order of the day in the Regency. As she reaches the piano where Clara once taunted her about Edward, the man himself bursts in, trying to turn the situation to his benefit. She breaks up with him, very understandably.

Meddlesome Susan provokes Eliza and Sidney to talk about marriage, then interrogates everything Eliza says to try to get her to admit that she sees Charlotte as a rival. Charlotte’s done with this and leaves - a victory for Eliza, until Sidney comes after her. But Sidney can’t just say he likes her, so she pushes him away (emotionally) and storms off from him as well.

This is clearly going to be an emotional race: Stringer has realized that Sidney is his rival and wants to beat him; a drunken Edward tells Babington that he’s welcome to his sister, as she’s dead to him.

Yes, this definitely feels intentional.

Charlotte wishes Stringer luck as Mary wishes it to her husband, and he’s confused. I’m confused! Is there still hope??

I feel like ... maybe Crowe and Babington ... aren’t going to show well ... and indeed, once the fourth team in the race (the only one made up of randos) starts gaining on them, Crowe steers them all directly into the bank. This leaves Stringer vs Sidney.

And Stringer’s team wins, adorably! Take that, upper classes!

Susan basically promises to get the Prince of Wales to Sanditon, which of course pleases the Parkers. As she leaves, Tom tells Mary that the regatta was both of theirs and apologizes for keeping stuff from her, which is sweet. But he should really have put his waistcoat and coat back on, it’s very very bad to be out in the street half-dressed, even for a man.

Edward and Clara meet for the last(?) time, Clara in her red Gothic gown, which now certainly seems symbolic of, you know, her scarletness. She’s definitely handling this a lot better than his drunken ass, pointing out that she’s always had nothing but that this new life is going to be hard for him. I really want to know what she’s going to do next.

Interestingly, Esther is also in red - a red gown and that spencer. Babington bursts in and starts saying that he understands her because obviously Edward has given her poor self-esteem, which I can’t tell if the narrative is endorsing because it seems pretty wrong to me. (She has always had an equal share of power in their relationship onscreen, and while he’s been a jerk from time to time about how she won’t get married, there was nothing to suggest that he’s been training her to hate herself.) She collapses into tears, which implies that the narrative does endorse this interpretation.

A tense meeting between Charlotte and Sidney in the Parker home by romantic candlelight. 1) Eliza’s gone back to London, 2) Sidney’s not going with her, 3) he’s his best self when he’s with Charlotte. “That’s all,” and he walks away. Credits!

[supersoldierfreak]

Take It Or Leave It - Part 10

Hey babes!

Once again, I want to thank everyone so much for all the support you have given me throughout this process of writing TIOLI and I know I haven’t updatedany of my stories in forever. This is because one, this is a side hobby for me and two, I’ve been incredibly busy with school, exams, family stuff so it’s been a but hectic so thanks for bearing with me and I love you all!! 

You pulled yourself out of bed, which in itself was probably the hardest thing you were going to do today. Suddenly hearing the bed move you turned around quickly only to realise that you had fallen asleep in Tony’s room and he was just reaching out for where you had been. Careful not to wake him, you gathered your shoes from the floor and crept out the door so you could take a nice long shower to refresh yourself and wake up. 

Blow-drying your hair was quick for once which meant you compensated by spending overly long deciding what to wear for the day of gala outfit shopping ahead. Settling on a nice pair of jeans and a cute top, you applied natural makeup and did your hair into a casual loose updo. The nude sandal-like heels completed the outfit with your matching colour bag. 

You knocked three times on the girl’s door and you waited for her to open up. Groggily, Wanda opened her door and took your appearance in. 

“Hey, girl.” You slipped past her and into her room. “There’s a company gala fundraiser on Monday night which doubles as a party to welcome people from our sister firm in Cali over and its tradition that I buy a new outfit each year. Wanna come shopping?”

The brunette seemed to snap to attention with a smile. “Shopping is like my cardio so give me a minute.” She flung open the doors to her wardrobe. “What look are we going for?”

“Smart casual; it’s fancy shopping and Harvey gave me his card.”

Wanda picked a burgundy long sleeve dress off the rail and spun to you. “Are we inviting Nat?”

“No need I heard shopping and I was already here.” Nat walked into the room smug.

You grinned. “Perfect! Now speedy changing I want to avoid the hoards of people.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Final store before lunch, girls?” Nat spun to look at you as she walked into the store first.

“Definitely; I’m starving.” You hummed in agreement to Wanda’s reply as you immersed into the first set of rails.

Moving on, you made your way into the long floor length dresses. Reds, blues, greys, greens and almost every colour in between. Sticking to the pattern, you would pick up two options for yourself and than one for the others as they did the same. Nabbing a cute pair of earrings, you made your way to the changing room to meet Wanda and Natasha. On the third dress you just stood in the mirror looking at yourself and smoothing down the soft fabric and twisting side to side to see every angle.

“You alright in there Y/N?”

“Why yes, yes I am.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Here we have the Avengers Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff seen with a mystery woman apparently shopping in high end boutiques earlier today. The trio were seen to be laughing in almost all cases and also had lunch together in Il Paradiso del Cibo. The woman has reportedly been seen entering and leaving the Avengers Tower numerous times in the last few weeks and furthermore sources have said that she is an attorney for the group of heroes, who is employed in a high end law firm: Hughes and Wood. Thank you all for watching the 6 o’clock news. Now onto Sarah for the weather report today.”

You groaned and switched off the TV. Great, now you were going to be hounded by paparazzi every time you went anywhere, you probably won’t even be able to go to work anymore normally.

The following morning you were up early and ready for the day before most of the Avengers had woken up, just Sam and T'Challa greeting you in the kitchen as you walked through on your way to the firm. As you had expected, you were hounded by reporters and photographers and journalists and cameras as they tried to get a glimpse of the latest Avengers Saga character. Although you would definitely deny it later you had almost ran into the firm where the security guards stepped in and prevented all of them from entering the building.

"Y/N? You're here early!" The receptionist said, surprised.

You laughed. "Can you blame me? I was trying to avoid the hoards but I don't think that worked out so well in all honesty."

"Really? What makes you think that?" She teased.

"Thank you, Clara." You smiled. "Any post for Harvey or me?"

Clara winked as she handed over a small pile. "That's for Harvey." She then gave you a slightly larger pile with a large box. "And this is for you. Have a nice day!"

You walked into the elevator. "You too!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The gala was in full swing below, lawyers and clients mingling alike and there were some people that you didn’t know and you presumed they were from the sister firm in Cali. Smiling, you looked up at Harvey next to you and straightened his bow tie. Smoothing out your new gown - which complimented your figure perfectly, what with it backless and having a plunging neckline - you accepted the man’s waiting arm and walked out into the room. Your shoes which had been a gift from Harvey clicked against the floor as you surveyed the scene. The pair of you descended the staircase, a silent hush filling the loud space. You took a deep breath, unsure of whether to be flattered or to feel awkward. Allanah stood at the bottom, waiting to greet you and as you reached her, the room went back to normal.

“You both scrub up nicely.” The woman commented, her eyes drawn to where your arm was linked with Harvey’s.

“Well, I was told we had to impress Sunshine State’s visitors.” You smirked as you accepted a glass of champagne from a waitress, and one for Harvey.

Allanah gave you a stern look. “In any respectable way without causing any trouble.”

You pouted. “Me? Cause trouble? I have no idea what you mean.”

Harvey grinned before steering you away to greet clients and engage in idle small talk.

“How come they like me more than you?” Harvey complained as he ordered you drinks at the bar. You had been going around and as Harvey said, the clients had been much more friendly and open with you than him despite being his clients.

You rolled your eyes. “Because I don’t treat them like clients, Harvey, I treat them as if they all individually mater as acquaintances.” You took a sip. “Probably helps that I actually get to know them on a personal level.”

Harvey scoffed. “Oh come on, who wouldn’t want to be friends with me?”

“Anyone who can see your insatiable ego.”

“That’s bullshit.” Harvey objected. “And no way do you know all my clients on a personal level!”

You laughed happily and put an arm around his torso. “Pick any one of your clients.”

Harvey smirked before placing an arm around your shoulder. “Arnold Johnson.”

“Go and ask him about Anna, his oldest daughter who’s currently at UCLA doing marine biology, and Justin who’s recently gotten a sports scholarship whilst he’s still a Junior in high school.”

Harvey smirked as if he’d won the jackpot and sauntered off into the crowd after placing a kiss to your cheek. You discreetly checked your phone and ordered another drink.

Lord knows you’ll need it.

Happily, you watched as everyone mingled before a certain Redhead cake up to you.

“You look stunning.” Natasha checked you out as she shipped on her champagne.

“Oh please, you look like you came straight off a runway.” You embraced her and pulled away as Harvey back dejected. “First off, I told you so. Secondly, Harvey, this is Natasha Romanoff. Nat, this is Harvey Scott."

“Pleasure’s all mine.” Harvey shook Natasha’s hand as her eyes flicked over his form.

"Harvey! It's been so long! How are you?" A tall blonde woman came clacking up to your group and wrestled Harvey into a hug.

"Zara Williams. Help!" Harvey mouthed at you much to your new annoyance and amusement.

You slid into his side and caused Zara to release him. "Harvey hun, who's this?"

He pulled you close by your waist. "Y/N this is Zara Williams, and Zara, this is Y/N L/N and my girlfriend." He pressed a kiss to your temple causing a cute blush to cover your cheeks.

Natasha's eyes widened almost unnoticeably.

"Pleasure." Zara looked like she'd swallow a pint of lemon juice.

You smiled sweetly. "Oh, I'm sure the pleasure's all mine."

TAGLIST:

@nyxveracity @ariii287 @pointlesscasey y @tahiti-island-dream @jayzayy @kapolisradomthoughts @curlycals @castellagreen @chipz4dayz @the-obsessive-fangirl @darkmelodies1 @saltymaddiee @lalalahgh @sammysgirl1997 @woofstar64 @marvel-lously @madamrubrum @ailynalonso15 @laqueus-ludovios @evyiione @steve-thotgers ​ @in-the-potterhead-know @ironspiderguy

[threehundredpicturebooks]

Brave Girl: Clara and the Shirtwaist Makers’ Strike of 1909

Author: Michelle Markel

Illustrator: Melissa Sweet

Publisher:   Balzer+Bray / HarperCollins

Publication Year: 2013

Awards: Kirkus Starred Review, 2014 winner of the Jane Addams Children’s Book Award for Younger Children

Brief Summary: When Clara Lemlich arrived in America, she couldn’t speak English. She didn’t know that young women had to go to work, that they traded an education for long hours of labor, that she was expected to grow up fast. But that did not stop Clara. She went to night school, spent hours studying English, and helped support her family by sewing in a factory. Clara never quit. And she never accepted that girls should be treated poorly and paid little. So Clara fought back. Fed up with the mistreatment of her fellow laborers, Clara led the largest walkout of women workers in the country’s history.

Ideas for using this book in classroom or library: women’s history month displays/storytimes; I’ve wanted to do something about labor unions so I could include Click, Clack, Moo and The Day the Crayons Quit, so this is a good addition. 

Special features included (if applicable) – Selected bibliography

Where I Accessed The Book: Blount County Public Library (J331.892 MARKEL)

[allofthecaffeine]

here is another prompt: clara must supervise detention but she is running late so 11 steps in for her. when clara finally arrives, she is greeted with chaos, bc it's the doctor. she is Not Amused and makes the doctor sit through detenion with the rest of the students.

Ooooh nice one. Okay, here we go:

Detention

Clara knew it was a bad idea to call the Doctor as soon as she hung up the phone. But she had an appointment across town and knew she wouldn't make it in time to host Detention. So she'd called. He'd agreed. And now, she regretted.

Running up the steps of the school, she prayed to every god she could think of that her classroom would still be in one piece.

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

The Doctor ducked, the paper plane zooming through the place his head had been at an incredible speed. No one in Detention had wanted to follow Clara's instructions - Boring, they'd called it - and so, in order to keep the children happy, he'd offered to teach them how to fold a proper paper plane. The one they all called Bullseye had gotten really into it, drawing on the desk as well as the plane. Some kids even used paints. Musing thumped loudly from a speaker hidden from his view. A plane filled with tack pins, still wet with yellow paint, hit the wall by his ear with a thnk.

The Doctor smiled. Clara is going to be so pleased, he thought. Look how much fun they're having.

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

Clara almost ran down the corridors in her haste to get back to her room. There was music playing; the bass-y, electronic music favoured by many of her students. She sped up. Heels clacked loudly against the floor, and she scrambled around in her purse for her keys as she moved.

But when she reached her door, she found it unlocked. Ajar, even. Opening it completely, her jaw dropped.

Dozens of paper planes were soaring through the air, paint and pins and glitter covering almost every surface. The music was even louder, here, and Clara watched in horror as Billy Matthews painted a phallus on his desk.

"What on earth is going on in here?!?!?!"

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

The children went silent.

The Doctor turned around to face the door, meeting Clara's glare with his own optimistic gaze. Watched as she frowned.

"Doctor," she said, voice flat and dangerous. He gulped.

"I asked you to mind the Detention students," Clara continued.

"Yes! And I did, see! They're all enjoying themsel-"

"They aren't supposed to be enjoying themselves, Doctor. Detention is punishment."

"..... Oh."

Clara stepped further into the classroom, and the Doctor watched her shut the door with a soft click. She leveled her glare at everyone, most of all him, as she surveyed the damage. Raised an eyebrow.

"Well then," she said, walking over to her desk. She swept off two fallen planes, righted a pencil cup. "I guess you lot have some cleaning up to do."

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

Clara observed from her desk as the students picked up the planes. Straightened desks. Cleaned up glitter and paint and turned off the music. As they sat back down in their seats, ready to sit out the last half hour of their Detention the proper way, she saw the Doctor pout. He was wedged into one of the desks between Holly Wright and Esther Bloomsbury, and looked very uncomfortable. She almost took pity on him. But no. This was his mistake. And now he had to pay the price.

"Right," she announced, addressing her pupils with a smirk, "roll call. Doctor?"

[rrrawrf]

2 & 6, "Id rather see the world end, in all honesty"

2 is eli and 6 is arvio, and i cannot honestly come up with a way to shove them together in the same place, so i am going to write a quick little thing for each one and just be happy with that (hopefully). we’re gonna start with arvio bc i have a clearer idea for him. @knowledgeispowerandimcorrupt, for this prompt thing.

ARVIO

Arvio’s hands itched to run over the sleek frames of the machines arrayed before him, to pry off their covers and peek inside. He wanted to see if their guts were as well-designed and put together as their outsides, but before he could take more than a few steps forward, he felt a warning squeeze around his ribs.

The mechamancer shot an irritated look over his shoulder. Mock hung between one large man’s thickly-gloved hands, and the only thing that showed the machine was still alive was the occasional, irritated twitch of Mock’s metal tail, like a frustrated feline. Mock was still only about the size of a housecat; six months since its resurrection hadn’t been enough for it to get any larger. Of course, this time, it was for the better - it was impossible for Arvio and Mock to go unremarked, not when one was a mechamancer who should have died decades ago, and the walking, sentient, cat-like machine he called a familiar. The man holding Mock squeezed it again, and Arvio felt a corresponding pressure around his sides.

“Stop that,” he said quietly, stepping back. They couldn’t really hurt Mock just by shaking the little thing around, but Arvio still felt irritated and anxious that they had his familiar, and he did not. “I just wanted a look.”

“We’re not that stupid,” Clara said, and gestured with two of her fingers. Two of her soldiers, a man and a woman, moved up to take Arvio’s arms. For all that he was supposed to be the rebel Straxians’ one last hope at restoring the country to a monarchy, he felt more like a prisoner than the king they decided he had to become.

Arvio didn’t resist, even as the man’s grip on his right arm was tight enough to bruise. Clara stepped past Arvio, her boots clacking against the floor as she looked up at the enormous machines of war ranged around them. “They are beautiful, are they not?”

They were, in a frightening, fascinating way, Arvio agreed. “Who designed them?”

“Lux,” Clara said enviously. “We found these blueprints in his lair, once you had - disposed of him. I couldn’t find a team of engineers up to the task of building them properly… but you can fix any of their mistakes, I’m sure.”

If Lux designed them, then Arvio’s suspicions were confirmed. These were machines of war. He closed his eyes, and Mock gave a low, ear-grating noise that made its holder give it another shake.

“Quit that,” Arvio snapped, trying to pull out of his captors’ hands. He almost freed himself from the woman, but then she kicked the back of his legs and they forced him to kneel. 

“It wouldn’t be necessary, if you would just tell me that you’ll join us,” Clara said. Arvio rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue in exasperation. “We know how to destroy a familiar, Arvio, even one so - bizarre as that one. Help us, and you - and Mock - will have your very own throne.”

Clara was wrong. She was that stupid. Arvio could see every one of these machines she wanted so badly for him to bring to life, and that was all he needed. Fine. She’d get her wish.

“In all honesty,” Arvio said, as engines clattered and roared to life all around them, “I’d rather see the world end.”

ELI

Playing a game of ‘would you rather’ with a supervillain was not the way Eli thought he’d spend his Friday evening. It had gotten him out of another three hours of listening to Daniel expound on his list of reasons they shouldn’t sever the knot, though, which was a blessing of sorts. Of course, if one of the questions had been ‘would you rather be here, or at home with your daughters and your rabbits,’ Eli would pick the second option.

Instead of asking that, though, the young man wiped his mouth on his sleeve and passed Eli the bottle. It was a little tricky to drink when one arm was in a makeshift sling and the other was handcuffed to a metal staircase railing, but Eli managed. He wasn’t supposed to be drinking on the job, but in this case, Eli felt it was better to just go along with what Spook wanted, which meant sharing a bottle of whiskey and playing the sort of game college-aged Mormons still thought was a fun way to pass the time, instead of clubbing or tagging trains with graffiti or some other properly risque behavior better befitting eighteen-to-twenty-nine-year-old unmarried adults.

(Eli wouldn’t know, but one of his younger siblings had been hanging around with some Mormon YSAs, whatever that meant, and had all sorts of hilarious stories of how they spent their time.)

He’d stumbled on the idea that Spook might have been raised Mormon quite by accident, but Eli couldn’t be sure; his sister might’ve converted, but Eli still knew very little about that church. On the other hand, Spook was engaging in underage drinking, which was definitely not a very Mormon activity, as well as supervillainy (which might very well be a very Mormon activity. Eli didn’t want to make assumptions about someone’s religion.)

“Would you rather,” Spook asked finally, his words slurring only a tiny bit even though they had already gone through one bottle, “set a bomb where no one would die, or go to prison for twenty years?”

This whole conversation had gone in a similar fashion. Eli considered Spook a little sadly. It was obvious something was wrong with the poor kid’s head, but it was also obvious that he had picked the bomb option. He had very nearly crushed half of Eli’s team last week, when they were all supposed to be working for Spook.

Javed had pulled them off the contract the second it became clear the kid was going off the rails, but it hadn’t been in time for Eli to get out. He had been stuck here for five days, now, wondering what was going on up above them. Spook had finally shown up a couple hours ago, miserable and bleeding from a cut on the side of his face, and for all that he’d nearly died because of the would-be villain, Eli couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

“Depends,” Eli said, settling back as easily as he could. “Would anyone still get hurt by the bomb?” He didn’t hand the bottle back, because he still felt vaguely responsible for making sure Spook drank as little as possible. The kid was only taller than him at the moment because he slumped over his knees several steps above him; Eli was on the landing. His shoulder and arm ached terribly from the awkward position of being cuffed to the wall, his other arm had a sharp pain that flared whenever he moved, and he seriously needed to use the restroom.

Spook wrapped his skinny arms around his equally skinny legs and rocked back and forth, shoulders hunched. Throughout the game, Eli had teased out what had happened - not only to the city above them, but in Spook’s private life. People didn’t just wake up and decide to terrorize a city with bombs and arson and weird riddles. Something had pointed Spook in that direction.

“Ten people would end up in the hospital,” Spook mumbled into his knees, “maybe - maybe including some friends.”

Eli closed his eyes. Dammit. Spook would be lucky if he ended up with just twenty years in prison, and not have Mercury Independent baying for blood. “Prison,” he said heavily, and watched Spook cringe, as if Eli had condemned him.

It was his turn. Eli took another drink when he noticed Spook reaching for the bottle. A little disappointed, Spook sat back. Eli tipped his head against the cold concrete wall and thought. “Would you rather apologize for hurting someone, or put more people in danger?”

It was as close as he could come to asking Spook what he was going to do - or what he had already done. Eli kept the alcohol close to his chest so that Spook wouldn’t try for it again. The kid let out a sudden wail and buried his face in his knees.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, “I’m so, so sorry, I can’t - I can’t stop now, they’ll - they’ll kill me -”

Eli stared, then sighed. Enough was enough. His arm changed from flesh to the same metal that the stair railing was composed of. When Eli broke the handcuffs with a sharp jerk, Spook barely twitched from his fetal position.

The change swept over the rest of Eli’s body; he already knew better than to come at Spook when he was merely skin and bone. Spook flinched when Eli touched him, and Eli tensed in turn - but instead of hurting him, Spook relaxed as Eli gathered him into a hug, ignoring the stab of pain in his broken arm when Spook jostled it.

“It’s too late,” Spook mumbled, letting Eli cradle him like a child. “It’s too late - I-I’m so sorry, I ruined everything, and - and now they’re gonna kill me if I stop now.”

“It’s not too late,” Eli said soothingly, and hoped desperately that he wasn’t lying. “It never is, Alma.”

Spook flinched at his real name, and Eli just held him a little tighter. After a long, long moment of Alma sobbing into Eli’s chest, he pushed the bigger man away, and then fumbled something out of his jacket, and into Eli’s hand.

A chill ran down Eli’s spine as he saw what it was.

“Would,” Alma started, choking down a sob and staring at the floor. “Would you rather - would you rather kill one person and save the world, or - or watch it all end?”

Alma still held the barrel of the handgun, keeping it pointed at his chest as he forced out the words. Eli stared, cold down to his very core. Flinching the entire time, he brought his other, broken arm out of its sling, and forced Alma to let go of the gun he’d shoved into Eli’s hand.

It took a moment, but Eli finally unchambered the pistol, gritting the teeth against the pain, and threw the now unloaded gun behind him, further down the stairs.

“I’d rather watch the world end, in all honesty.”

[mykidsgay]

13 Books to Teach Children About Protesting and Activism

It's never too early to teach your kids about equality and justice! Here are some great books about activism to add to your kid's shelves 📚

The Day the Crayons Quit by Drew Daywalt

Click, Clack, Moo: Cows That Type by Doreen Cronin

A Is for Activist by Innosanto Nagara

Rosa by Nikki Giovanni

¡Si, Se Puede! / Yes, We Can! by Diana Cohn

Brave Girl: Clara and the Shirtwaist Makers Strike of 1909 by Michelle Markel

Separate Is Never Equal: Sylvia Mendez and Her Family’s Fight for Desegregation by Duncan Tonatiuh

Malala Yousafzai: Warrior with Words by Karen Leggett Abouraya

Swimmy by Leo Lionni

We March by Shane W. Evans

The Book Itch: Freedom, Truth, and Harlem’s Greatest Bookstore by Vaunda Micheaux Nelson

Elizabeth Leads the Way: Elizabeth Cady Stanton and the Right to Vote by Tanya Lee Stone

Miss Paul and the President by Dean Robbins

[sapphaero]

Character Study: Holliday

Holliday pressed the door to Wes’s room shut and stayed there, silent, waiting for the ward nurse to pass by.  It was easier for her to let the bouquet she was holding fall to her side, close her eyes, and count the nurse’s steps than to look at the man lying so very still on the hospital bed, so Holliday tilted her chin up towards the ceiling and listened to the nurse’s heels click-clacking down the hospital’s corridors.  It was only when the footsteps faded from earshot that Holliday convinced herself to push off the door and approach Wester’s bedside. 

“Hey, Wes.  You’re looking good.”  The quiet words seemed loud in the wide room, too casual for its spartan walls, too sincere for its comatose occupant.  Still, Holliday couldn’t quite bring herself to look at him.  She scanned the room, taking note of what her blood money had paid for: the wide windows and pressed sheets and wilting flowers in a vase by Wester’s bedside.  She plucked the old flowers out one by one, considering their dry petals and limp stems and how their sweet smell was only just beginning to carry a hint of rot.  It reminded her of the dead roses in the basement under Clara’s bar, of Sedna’s shadow and Sesereth’s smile and the blood on Lucas’s hands, of the hole in her shoulder and the man in the bed.  Holliday swallowed and stopped thinking and said, “Zee tells me you might be waking up soon, so I got you these.”  She gestured halfheartedly with her bouquet of roses.   She carefully undid the ribbon that held the roses together slotted them one by one into the vase as she said, “Thought it’d be nice, maybe, if you got to smell roses right away instead of, y’know, these dead things.”

Once her hands were empty, she sat down in the chair next to his bed and stared forward in silence for a moment, before she deflated all at once, shoulders curling in and head bowing towards her knees, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.  “I am such an asshole.  Shouldn’t even really be here.  I fucking put you here.  But it’s just — I don’t know — it’s easy to talk to you, Wes.  Easier than talking to the ghosts in my head, anyway.  Better view, too.”  Holliday glanced at him before she could think better of it and promptly lost her train of thought.  There was something beautiful about him, quiet and peaceful, with all his soft edges traced in moonlight, as if he were a sleeping prince from one of her mother’s stories.  Looking at him, it was easy to believe that happy endings could be a kiss away, but then she was no knight gallant and, more importantly, what she felt when she saw him wasn’t true love.  It was guilt and want and sorrow and fear.  It beat against her ribcage like a trapped bird dreaming of freedom.  It ached.  It hurt.

Holliday let her head drop into her hands and breathed, pressing the heels of her hands into her closed eyelids.  “I really shouldn’t be here.  I just — everything’s been shit lately.  And I’ve come to realize — I’ve come to terms with the fact that for the last six months I’ve been twisted around.  Couldn’t really tell which way was right and which was left anymore.  And then there was you, and you were just — ”  Her jaw worked as her eyes flicked up to the ceiling, tail lashing in irritation as she searched for the words, “— fucking cute, and clever, and you couldn’t have just brushed me off, could you?  No, you had to go and be — you had to go and make me think — ”  Her lower lip trembled, and she fell silent.  “You made me remember who I used to be.”  Holliday spoke the words as others spoke of the deaths of loved ones.  “The person who might’ve stood a chance of making you happy.  And I can’t be that woman again.  But I want — I want to try.  I, uh…”  She breathed in hard through her nose, felt the truth words clogging her throat and swallowed them down.  There were some truths she couldn’t speak, not even to an empty room, not even to herself.  

Holliday tried on a smile instead, sitting her chin on the heel of her hand, as if there weren’t tears in her eyes, as if she were front row at a grand show and not almost crying at the bedside of a beautiful stranger.  “You’re gonna hate me when you wake up.”  She said the words without a hint of doubt, before she reached down for her flask and took a long sip of whiskey.  “I don’t blame you.  Can’t see me deserving much else.”  Holliday felt the whiskey’s burn settle in her stomach and levered herself to her feet.  “But all that doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re alive to hate me.”  Holliday pressed her hat back onto her head and stopped just before the door, listening again for the sound of the ward nurse’s steps.  “So just…get well soon, alright, Wes?”  Holliday glanced back once, then disappeared into the darkened hallways without another sound.

[tsukkisbean]

24 cakes pt.2 | drabble

pairing: tsukishima kei x fem!reader

genre: smut

warnings: cock warming, dacryphilia, recording (idk if there’s an actual name for this), cunnilingus (face sitting), swearing, all characters are aged up!

a/n: the second part of my one shot (so twoshot? idk) or we could call it an alternative ending :-) idk anyways enjoy!!

a sly smile appears on tsukishima’s face, “oh yeah? i can think of plenty of things that i can beat you at right now.”

your palms hit the counter as your body shoots out of its seat, “oh yeah? let’s go then. right here, right now.”

in four long strides, your boyfriend made his way around the counter to stand before you. one of his hands gently stroked your cheek. the other found its place on the small of your back, firmly pressing your bodies together.

his lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending chills up your spine, “pretty sure i have more willpower than you.’

you mentally curse yourself for ending up in this situation. you should have known better. you should have known better than to fall prey to tsukishima’s provocation once again. but here you were, seated at your desk with your boyfriend’s cock buried deep inside you.

letting out an exasperated sigh you lean forward to rest your arms on your desk. your hands curl into fists when the sound of tsukishima’s smug laughter fills the room.

“what’s wrong? can’t take the heat?” his breath fans your skin as his lips ghost along the back of your neck, stopping to nip at it every so often, “just awhile ago you were sooo confident you could win against me.”

when you don’t respond, tsukishima’s hand comes down harshly against your thigh. a choked moan makes its way out of your throat, despite the searing pain left behind by the impact, “mm i’m talking to you, baby.”

you don’t want to admit defeat. you can’t give him yet another thing to taunt you about. so you try your best to think about anything but the annoying pulsing sensation coming from your lower region. but the way your boyfriend’s starts to trace lazy circles along your thigh, makes things a little hard.

completely at your wits end, you sit up, leaning back until your back meets tsukishima’s chest. your breaths are shallow and uneven, and it’s probably the lust taking over but the mere feeling of his breath on your skin makes you dizzy.

despite tsukishima’s hold around you, your entire body twitches when his free hand roams down to meet your clit. immediately you bite down on your tongue, refusing to make anymore sound and give him any sort of satisfaction.

but when he starts to rub gentle circles on your clit, you know you’re about to lose, “kei, n-not fair.” your voice comes out an octave higher than usual, quivering with every word.

his lips meet your neck again, this time sucking on a harsh patch of skin - surely there’ll be a mark tomorrow morning, “don’t remember saying anything about being fair.”

clenching your teeth in annoyance your fingers find his thighs for some stability. if he wasn’t going to play fair, neither were you. and in a last-ditch attempt to outdo your boyfriend, you clench as hard as you can around his cock.

a growl erupts from his throat, teeth clamping down on your shoulder. the sudden impact causes you to yelp, your fingers digging little crescent shapes into his skin.

this time it’s him who can barely form the words, “fuck, y/n stop that.” you can tell from the way his voice fluctuates that you’re inches away from winning.

you turn your head slightly, cooing at the sight of your disgruntled boyfriend, “what? you never said anything about being fair.”

he only glares at you in response. with the tables now turned, you can feel confidence and adrenaline coursing through your veins. you pull his hand away from your clit, bringing his fingers to your mouth. swirling your tongue around his digits, satisfied when you see the corner of his mouth twitch. you release his fingers from your mouth with a small pop, a string of saliva being the only thing connecting them now.

through hooded lids, you notice there’s a layer of sweat now formed on his forehead. you watch as his jaw clenches and unclenches, and how his nostrils flare in annoyance. but the tell tale sign that you’ve won? the dark tint in his usual golden eyes.

you brace yourself, but what you expect never happens. instead, you’re lifted onto your feet, and your lower region is met with the cool draft of the room. you feel your boyfriend leave your side, but before you can complain, he returns behind you with your laptop in hand.

“kei, what are you doing?” your eyes flicker between his eyes and the machine in hand.

he ignores you, placing the laptop on the desk and lifting the lid. when it powers on, he gestures for you to put in your password. although you’re still uncertain where this was going, you comply.

once your home screen loads, tsukishima is quick to pull up photobooth and press record. when the realization dawns on you, you feel your entire body heat up. but whether it’s from excitement or embarrassment, you’re not entirely sure.

his hands find the hem of your shirt, and now you’re completely bare. through the camera, you realize that tsukishima is pretty much fully clothed at this point. you turn to complain, but don’t get too far when your body is pushed forward. you catch yourself with your forearms, and now your eyes are level with your laptop screen.

seeing yourself through the webcam made your heart churn - you were now certain it was excitement. your pussy clenches in anticipation, something which your boyfriend takes notice of. running his fingers along your dripping folds, he coats them with your essence. he holds his fingers between you and the laptop, the webbing of your arousal glistening off his fingers in the light, “you’re so wet, it’s kinda cute.”

immediately, you feel your body heat up even more than before. but before you can retort, your boyfriend’s figure disappears from the screen. and in flash, your legs are forced apart, the draft replaced with a new warmth. your knees buckle at the stimulation from tsukishima’s tongue sliding along your folds, but his grip on your thighs hold you in place.

you watch as your expression changes on camera as your boyfriend eats you out. it’s absolutely lewd but you force yourself down on him more, eliciting a strained moan from him, “fuck kei.. m- more. fuck.”

he continues to lap at your juices, darting his tongue in and out of your pussy, occasionally giving your clit a teasing flick. if tsukishima weren’t holding your legs from below, you’re certain they would have given out long ago.  

tears to begin to pool at your eyes, your throbbing pussy crying desperately for sweet release. your legs begin to quake as you begin to reach your high, it’s almost as if you can taste it, “k-kei, ‘m close.”

but it never comes, and you should have known better. that’s just how he always is. you curse under your breath, shooting daggers through your tear filled eyes when your boyfriend emerges on the screen once more.

his smirk says it all, you may have won the battle but he’s about to win the war. sucking in the air between your teeth, you debate for a moment. but the thought gets lost when you feel the tip of his cock prodding your entrance once more.

you push your hips back, but his hands hold you in place, “ask nicely, y/n.” the way your name rolls off his tongue only pisses you off further. you catch each other’s gaze through the computer screen, neither wanting to make the first move.

the stand off is cut short as a ringing sound fills the room, tsukishima’s phone vibrating against your bed. the cake. an extra five or ten minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

it’s as if tsukishima is thinking the same thing because in a single motion, he bucks his hips forward, filling you completely. you groan in the unison as his cock slips out of your wet folds with ease. as he rocks into you, the sound of your moans and skin slapping against each other drown out the sound of the ringing alarm, the cake now forgotten.

your hand travels down to find your clit. the combination of tsukishima bottoming out with each thrust, his hands digging almost painfully into your sides, and now your fingers rubbing your clit in distraught circles drives your senses off the chart.

the tears come rushing back, your cries turning into a mixture of sobbing and moans. as the stimulation continues, your walls clench involuntarily, and that’s all it takes to send the both of you into a frenzy.

you remember the screen before you and so you try your best to watch as the two of you come undone together. his thrusts are sloppy and erratic and his mouth hangs open, a string of swears slipping past his lips, “fuck ‘m close. tighten up a lil’ bit.”

your body is convulsing uncontrollably, but you try best to comply as your climax runs its course through your entire body.

his hand roughly grabs your jaw, tearing your eyes away from the screen for a sloppy kiss. and within moments, you feel yourself filled to the brim with tsukishima’s cum.

neither of you move, simply choosing to enjoy the moment. the air in the room is muggy, your entire body aches and you can definitely feel tiny trails of cum leaking down your leg, but you couldn’t care less.

this time you swoop in for a sweet kiss, your sinful acts from just moments ago completely forgotten, “i love you kei, happy birthday.”

he nuzzles his face into the side of your face, pressing a chaste against your temple, “i love you too, y/n.”

however, the moment doesn’t last long as the high pitched beep echoes throughout your apartment.

the two of you scramble to clothe yourselves before darting back to the kitchen. tsukishima, pulls the oven door open while you pull open the balcony door. once the smoke dissipates and the alarm shuts off, the two you stand before the oven, staring at his burnt cake.

you try to hold back your growing smile, but your attempts are futile. you are absolutely giddy, “looks like i may have won twice today.”

[upperrubberboot]

Navy Captain reads to students during Read Across America event.

CORONA, Calif. (March 2, 2011) Capt. Jay Kadowaki, commanding officer of Naval Surface Warfare Center, Corona Division, reads "Click Clack Moo: Cows That Type" to students at Clara Barton Elementary School during a Read Across America event. The annual reading motivation and awareness program is celebrated on the birthday of Theodor Geisel, better known to millions as children's author Dr. Seuss. (U.S. Navy photo by Greg Vojtko/Released)

[tearmann-safehaven]

'🎀' A moogle would deliver a high quality crafted box with Clara's name on the top. The box is light and easily fits comfortly in her hands. Should she open it a variety of chocolate and white chocolate covered fruit are inside. A note would read within the box. "It's been a while since I got you anything Red. Don't eat it all at once. I don't want to have to come and take care of you all night. I found myself thinking about you so Happy Valentiones day."

Send 🎀 to give a Valentine’s gift to my muse, if no description is given, I get to choose what the gift is

Having been awoken by the moogle tapping at the attic window, Clara fully expected the package to be for her stepmother, but was pleasantly shocked to find her name written in tiny scrawl on the box. Upon opening the lid, the scent of chocolate filled her nose, painting a guilty smile on her face.

She read the letter, a blush coloring her dirty cheeks, and held the paper to her chest, spinning about the room. Humming to herself, she allowed herself a few minutes of revelry as she popped a chocolate into her mouth. It was sweet and rich, more delicious than anything she could remember. 

Clara pet the moogle’s head, beaming. “Thank you ever so,” she tickled its chin. “And can you thank him for me? I haven’t the time to go across town.”

The moogle trilled and spun in place, its eyes creasing in mirth. “Certainly, kupo!”

As the little creature fluttered away, as did Clara’s heart. She flushed and reread the letter, unsure of the feelings that had stirred in her. Only a few years ago, they hated each other...now he was sending her a gift on a day meant to celebrate love? Clara sighed softly, fingering the box lid with a small frown. 

“My, my, my,” the familiar, dulcet voice of her Elezen stepmother echoed in the small space of the room, her heels click-clacking upon the wood floor. “It seems you have a secret admirer.” 

Clara spun around in surprise, hiding the box and letter behind her back. “No, I haven’t!”

Severine sneered. “Now, now, Clara...you know how I feel about secrets.”

“It was just a letter,” the girl protested. “It’s completely innocent!” 

Her stepmother towered over her, backing her up into the wall and ripping the letter from her hands. Sharp, grey eyes scanned the page, narrowing in rage. “Hmm...take care of you all night?” she lifted Clara’s chin with a forceful hand. “Such a little whore, aren’t you? Your father would be ashamed.”

Shameful tears sprung unbidden into Clara’s eyes. “No! I’ve never--”

A fist cracked across her jaw and sent her tumbling to the ground, stunned. Severine stood over the girl and pressed a heeled foot against her cheek.

“I’ll send that boy a letter back, don’t you worry. You can’t honestly think he has feelings for you?”

At Clara’s whimper, the Elezen woman raised her eyebrows. “Oh my...you do, don’t you?” she chuckled. “Foolish child. Look at yourself.”

She stepped on Clara’s fingers, grinding down until she felt them snap and the poor girl let out a cry of pain. “Dirty, too skinny, messy hair, too-big-eyes, cleft chin, scarred...” Severine wrenched the box out of Clara’s other hand and bit into a chocolate. “No one wants you. No one ever could. You’re nothing...you are less than nothing.”

Severine turned, her long gown sweeping across the floor.

“Remember that.”

[banditwrites-blog1]

Sunset: Chapter One

“So, when’s your class with Daniels?” 

Jessica Irving – she of way too old for college age – glances up from her plate, where she has been pushing around the last few peas with the tines of her fork.  They’re too mushy to stab and too slippery to scoop, and at this point, she’s half-decided to be done with the whole thing.  She leans back in her plastic chair and pushes her glasses back into place.  “Ara, I don’t think they like it when you sit on the chairs like that.” 

Her roommate rolls her eyes, situates herself a little more comfortably on the backwards chair, and rests her arms on the back.  “If they do, they don’t say anything, so there’s no point in changing it.”  She reaches over and takes one of the peas, rolls it between her fingers, then pops it into her mouth, swallows with a grimace.  “I hate peas.” 

“Then why did you eat it?” 

“I don’t know.  Giving them a second chance.  Or a third. Or a fourth.  They’re kind of a side staple, so they tend to get infinite chances.” 

“And you decided to waste one of those chances on the dining hall slop.” 

“Never said I was bright, did I?”  As proof of point, Ara takes another pea and pops it into her mouth, grimacing again. “Honestly, I think part of it is you didn’t add any salt.” 

Jess takes one of her books off the table, shoves it into her backpack. “It’s not my job to season my food to your tastes, Ara.”  She sits back up, taking her glasses off and folding them neatly.  “You can get your own bowl of peas and season them however you like.” 

“Yeah, but I hate peas.  No amount of seasoning on my end will make them taste better, and I’ll just end up wasting the entire bowl.  It’s better to just steal one or two of yours.”  Another pea, another wince.  “Even if they taste kind of like green mush.”  She reaches for another, only to have her hand slapped away. 

“If you really hated them, you’d stop eating them – and stop complaining.” 

“But I’m hungry.” 

“Ara, we are in a dining hall.  You can get anything you want.  You don’t have to keep stealing what’s left of my peas.” 

“Yeah, but I stopped to talk with you first.  About Daniels.”  Ara waves one hand in the air.  “You have a class with her this semester, right?” 

Jess pauses, standing at the back of her chair, one hand on her tray. She squints a little bit, trying to concentrate.  “Yeah. I think….”  Her lips press together, and she shakes her head once, pulls a folder out of her backpack and shuffles through some papers before finding her schedule.  “Tomorrow and Thursday at two-thirty.  Last class of the day.”  She begins replacing her folder.  “Why do you ask?” 

“Iris wanted to pass something off to her about the scholarship.” 

“Iris your roommate from last year.” 

“Yes.” 

“And she can’t pass it off herself?” Jess zips her backpack shut and hoists it onto one shoulder. 

Ara leans back in her chair until her back pops then gives a little shrug. “Probably could, but with her classes and work she’s super busy.  Kind of like you are.  Anyway, she doesn’t have one of Daniels’s classes this semester – sounds like she couldn’t squeeze it in – and I figured I’d check with you in case you’d be able to see her before Iris did.”  She flashes a grin, canine poking out of one corner.  “Which it sounds like you do.  So I’ll just get the thing from Iris tomorrow and pass it off to you so you can pass it off to her.  Simple!” 

“No, no, no, not simple.”  Jess places her hands on the table and leans forward.  “I don’t even know this professor, and you want me to just—“ 

“You’re helping out a friend, Jess.  Besides, Daniels isn’t the sort of person to care about…whatever it is you’re worried about.  She’s totally chill.”  Ara stands, props her hands on the small of her back, gives the buffet a long look, then glances back to Jess.  “You’re going to be late if you don’t head out, and I’m hungry, so—“  She gives Jess a quick kiss on the cheek then scampers off. 

“Ara, quit doing that in public!”  Jess opens her mouth to continue, but Ara’s already waving her off and meshing with the crowd of people.  She sighs, shakes her head once again, then picks up her tray and heads out of the hall. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” 

The young woman reaches forward, and her hand touches Diane’s shoulder.  It’s gentler than her mother’s touch; she presses her lips together, shakes her head, doesn’t speak.  It’s easier that way – not speaking and looking away – but the woman doesn’t move, eyes searching as though to name the problem. 

Diane notices when she catches it and winces. 

“Is it the ice cream?  On your shirt?”

She doesn’t want to nod, hadn’t wanted her to see, feels that ruining the brand new shirt within moments of the purchase means that she isn’t grateful for it, that she’s the sort of person who can’t take care of her clothes, that she doesn’t pay attention enough to make sure that nothing goes wrong.  (She forgets that the stained pants and sweatshirt in the tied plastic bag are not her fault.  How could she prevent what she was never told?  And yet she still feels ashamed.) 

The chocolate looks dark against the periwinkle blue. 

Her mother will kill her. 

“You know…it almost looks like some of the polka dots.  I wouldn’t have noticed if—“ 

Diane looks up.  At first, she just wants the confirmation, wants to see Ms. Sphinx’s face and know that she isn’t lying to her, but then she pauses, afraid.

"If…?”  The word is nothing more than a whisper, throat raspy at best.

“Well, I wouldn’t have noticed. I think--”

There is a sharp knocking on her office door, and the memory is lost.

Diane lets out a stifled groan, and the golden retriever curled up at her feet nudges her empty hand with its cold black nose. The knocking continues.  She brushes a hand through the strands of blonde hair that have pulled themselves out of her hasty ponytail, arranges her off-kilter glasses, and tries to shake the haze of sleep from her mind.

Nothing doing.

A louder knock.

“Diane, you told me to meet you here at a quarter past five, and I know it’s more like half an hour past, but it’s not my fault. My office hours ended at five, but one of my students needed some workshopping, and—“

Diane opens her office door with a blank look and blinks once at the woman in the hallway in front of her.

“Oh, good, you’re still here.”  Libby grins, head cocked to the side with a Cheshire’s grin. “I was so sure you must have left by now, but I figured it’d be better to check just in case, because I didn’t see you or Champ on the quad or on the ways out, and I thought fifteen minutes, you’d have given me somewhere between five and ten—“

“Because you are never on time.”

“—right, because I’m never on time, so the two of you wouldn’t have gotten too terribly far, so I raced over here – about ran into one of the students, I really need to stop doing that—“

“Libby.  You’re here. I haven’t left.”  Diane steps backwards into her office, holding the door open with one hand.  “Come in while I finish getting my things together, and then we can go.”

Libby steps in, shutting the door behind her. “You’re not already ready?” she asks, head tilted just so, curls spilling over one shoulder.  Her eyes light up as she sees the golden retriever and squats down, rubbing its head.  “Hey, Champion!  It is so good to see you!  Can you speak?”

Champion barks, and Diane’s jaw clenches.  “Libby, how many times do I have to tell you—“

“Don’t have Champion bark in my office.”

“—don’t have Champion…yes.”  Diane steps back from her bookshelf, a book in hand, and sits back down at her desk, rearranging her papers into an organized pile before putting the stack in her briefcase.  She runs a hand through her hair again, trying to pat down any strands that might be sticking up, then kneads her fingers into Champion’s fur, scritch-scratching his skin.  “Time to go, Champ.”

The dog stands and turns to his owner so fast that Libby has to scoot back out of the way to keep from getting whacked in the face with his tail.  He gives her a bright smile, tail wagging.  Libby scrunches her nose.  “Did you have to do that while I was petting him?”

“Yes.”  Diane gives a smug smile and shrugs.  “You should be ready now, right?”

Libby feigns a pout.  “Of course.  I’ve only been here two minutes; that’s not near enough time to be distracted by—“

“Good.  Let’s go.” She pauses, as though considering, and there’s this spike of something like fear.  She speaks anyway.  “Before you get distracted.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going, I’m going.”  Libby pretends that she’s pushed out of the room and crosses her arms across her chest while Diane locks the door.  She blinks, taking in the semi-frazzled look, and grins.  “Were you asleep?”

“No.”

“You’ve got a bright red mark right there.”  She reaches forward, and her friend flinches, steps away.

“I was dozing.  Waiting on you.  Remember?”  Diane shifts the briefcase strap on her shoulder while Champ stands between them, tail still wagging.  “Are you joining us on our whole walk, or am I dropping you off somewhere?”

“You’re dropping me off.  I’ve got a date.”

Diane knows better than to stop walking, to let herself be too distracted by what Libby’s saying.  She knows the other woman too well, knows that this is a hook for something, knows that if she were Clara, she would be moaning and groaning and upset.  At least, she knows this from what Libby has told her about her younger sister, not from personal experience.  She’s only met the other woman in passing.  At her flower shop.  When going through some of the plants.

And yet, she follows up on the question anyway as they head down the stairs.  “Who with?”

“Oh, no one.”  Libby lets out a sigh, hand on the stair rail.  Champ’s claws click-clack on cobblestone that pretends to be stereotypical floor.  “The bar. Someone’ll show up, and then I’ll have a date.  With one of them.  You know how it goes.”

“I know how it goes with you.”

“Exactly.”  Libby recrosses her arms once they reach the bottom of the stairs, turning sideways through the door as Diane holds it open for Champ, fingers clenching her tight white shirt.  “Not my fault I’m irresistible.”

Diane scruffs one shoe against the pavement as Champ races to the nearest grassy area.  “I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use.”

“I know it’s not the word you’d use.  But it’s the word I use, and that’s what matters.”  When Diane doesn’t say anything in response, instead glancing down at the fallen red leaves before following after Champ, already finished with his business and heading down the sidewalk, Libby continues on to a different topic.  “The kid who wanted workshopping – she’s actually kind of good.”  She taps a finger against her jaw.  “A little old for our purposes, so if she auditions for things, she’s going to end up in parental roles because it’d just look weird if I tried to have her as a teenager or kid playing against all the tiny twenties.  Or actual teenagers, although they’re never that good.”

“Sounds kind of like what happened to you.”

Libby winces.  “That’s nothing like what happened to me.  I just had better things to do.”

“Your mom.”

“Of course, my mom.”

“Of course.”  Another scuff of the shoe – Champ races back to her from where he was ahead of them, nudges her empty hand with his nose.  Diane smiles, runs a hand through his fur.  “What’s her name?”

“Di, you know my mother’s name.”

“No, no, the kid.”

“What kid?”

This pulls Diane out, and she looks up at her friend, a dead stare, not even blinking.  That stab of something cold again, and her words soften before she speaks. “You were talking about one of your students – the one who needed workshopping?”

“Oh!  Jess!” Her lips pull to one side.  “Hasn’t decided on a major yet.  Bright red hair, built like a twig, super tall—“ Libby pauses, gives Diane a once over, “—probably has at least a foot on you, which would be great for comparisons if she were a guy, but she’s not, so she’s got three strikes – old, female, and tall – and that’s not particularly good for us.”

“How old?”

“Hm?”

“How old?”

“Oh.  Like, not like us.  Just, like, took a few years off or something.  Like one of those kids who gets knocked up and waits until their kids are in kindergarten or something before taking a few classes a day to get some sort of degree.”  She tilts her head to the side.  “Only Jess doesn’t have a kid – asked her what her deal was and she didn’t want to say, which is weird because she’s almost as talkative as I am if you get her talking—“

“I doubt anyone rambles on as much as you do.”

“No, they don’t.”  Libby laughs.  “But sometimes they try.  I just talk over them until they quit.  Tons of fun that way.”

“Mmmm.”  Diane nods in acknowledgment.  This is something she’s learned – easy enough to let Libby talk and occasionally make a comment, make herself heard, and that last bit is the hard part.  She has never been particularly good at making other people listen to her if they decide against it; the force terrifies her.  Even with Libby – repeating herself as often as she does is a learned behavior.  She isn’t comfortable with it, but she does it anyway.  “As long as you don’t talk over me, we’re fine.”

Libby scoffs, hands on her hips.  “You are my best friend, Di.  If I can’t talk over you sometimes, then what am I supposed to do with my life?”

Diane shakes her head – amusement etched into the lines of her face, although she does not laugh.  “As long as you don’t talk over me all the time.”

“I don’t make any promises.”

“Of course you don’t.”

Champ bounds ahead, turns around to the two women and barks once, then continues forward, stopping at the next couple of people, tail wagging.  The couple glances up, and Diane gives them a little wave, ring finger crooked just so. She tilts her head to the side and asks, gentle as can be, “How is your mother doing?” 

“Hm?”

“You said Deb took her to the hospital last week, that she’s been staying there for some tests.”  Diane doesn’t turn to face her – the sudden scrutiny would make her afraid, and so she does not do that to a friend.  “Has she gotten any better?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Diane watches as Libby gives her a half-hearted shrug.  “Deb hasn’t said anything, so I would expect not.  But you know Mom – they don’t expect better from her.  Kind of surprised she’s lasted this long.”  A pause – and Diane turns, then, glances at her friend who is still smiling but less cheerful.  Libby tosses her curls and gives a little laugh.  “I think I’d better leave you to Champ and those new friends he’s making. Unless you’d like to join me?”

“No, no.”  Diane shakes her head, one hand up, palm out.  “Last time I tried to get a drink with you, you left me about halfway through and I ended up drinking alone.  If I wanted to do that, I could stay curled up with Champ and a good book without having to face any sort of judgment.”

“You and your judgment.”  Libby crosses her arms again.  “But we’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?  Maybe we should do lunch.  I don’t leave you behind when we do lunch.”

Diane presses her lips together.  “Maybe.  Text me your schedule, and I’ll see what I can do.”  Before Libby can make an objection, she continues, “On the way to the bar.  Let me know when you’re free.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course!” Libby says, turning to go across the street.  “I’ll text you!”

She won’t.  Diane knows she won’t so doesn’t hope for anything past that.  She jogs after Champ, catching up to where he has met two…students, they have to be, they’re too young to be anything else.  “Thank you for entertaining my dog.”  Her eyes roam over one of the girls’ hair, no longer shocked at the bright pink shade.  She’s gotten used to those sorts of things in the past few years.

“Oh, no, ma’am, it’s totally cool!  He seems super sweet!”  The pink-haired girl’s eyes widen, and Diane catches a hint of purple to them.  Contacts, probably.  Those come in different shades, too, now, right?  The girl leans forward, almost afraid.  “It is a he, right?”

“Yes.  Champ. His name’s Champ.”

Champ ignores the pink-haired girl, nose butting against the other girl’s thigh.  She pulls one hand out of her hoodie pocket and rubs it against the top of his head. “Hey, Champ.  Pleasure to meet you.”  Then she cocks her head to one side.  “You can shake, can’t you?”

Champ – hearing the word – leans back until he is sitting then holds his paw out.  The second girl takes his paw in her hand and gives him a hearty shake.  “Good dog.”

The pink-haired girl looks to her friend with wide eyes.  “Ava, how did you know he could do that?”

“Didn’t.  Just guessed.”

Diane nods once.  Champ’s a bright dog, but she doesn’t want to say it.  She holds out her own hand.  “Professor Daniels.  Your name is Ava?”

“Yes.”

Ava drops Champ’s paw and takes Diane’s hand in her own.  Her hand is rough; Diane can feel thick lines across it and guesses that she has dry skin. Eczema maybe.  They feel almost like scars.  She glances to the other girl, who is looking at her with wide eyes. For a moment, her heart constricts – has she done something wrong?  But she cannot think of anything, and before she can speak, the other girl has her mouth open.

“You’re Professor Daniels!  I’ve heard a lot about you!”  She grins, claps her hands together.  “I’m Ara – I was Iris’s roommate last year!”

Diane chooses not to ask how Iris is doing – this is far more social contact than she would like at the end of her day – and she nods, gives a small smile.  “I’ve heard nothing about you, unfortunately.”  She steps back, brushing her hand against her pants.  “I hate to be rude, but I really need to be going.  As much as Champ loves new friends, we have other engagements.” By which she means her own work – not papers to grade, but studies she would like to pursue.  She rubs her hand along her dog’s back, and he looks at her expectantly.  “I will have to speak with the two of you later.  C’mon, Champ.”

Champ barks once, nudges Ava’s hand with his nose, then follows his master as she walks away. 

For a moment, Diane is afraid that she has come off as rude, but she tries not to keep that thought roaming through her head. Instead, she distracts herself. Two blocks west and they hit the vendor with the hot dogs.  Perhaps Champ has earned himself a treat.

Best not to tell him this far ahead of time, though.

[doctor-micah]

We take Lana to protests! We want her engaged! When we are not in the streets, fighting white supremacy and structural violence and institutional racism, we read her books about protesting and activism to keep the conversation going. Keep up the passion! Keep up the fire! These books will help ● The Day the Crayons Quit by Drew Daywalt ● Click, Clack, Moo: Cows That Type by Doreen Cronin ● A Is For Activist by Innosanto Nagara ● Rosa by Nikki Giovanni ● ¡Sí, Se Puede! / Yes, We Can! by Diana Cohn ● Brave Girl: Clara and the Shirtwaist Makers Strike of 1909 by Michelle Markel ● Separate Is Never Equal: Sylvia Mendez and Her Family’s Fight for Desegregation by Duncan Tonatiuh ● Malala Yousafzai: Warrior with Words by Karen Leggett Abouraya ● Swimmy by Leo Lionni ● We March by Shane Evans ● The Book Itch: Freedom, Truth, and Harlem’s Greatest Bookstore by Vaunda Micheaux Nelson ● Elizabeth Leads the Way: Elizabeth Cady Stanton and the Right to Vote by Tanya Lee Stone ● Miss Paul and the President by Dean Robbins #WokeBaby #Pediatrics #DoctorMicah #Activism PHOTO: GeekMom