#don’t ask me why he’s doing a yorkshire accent for I do not know

[javelinbk]

Paul McCartney listening to his transistor radio in New York, 9th February 1964

[makethatelevenrings]

Do you have any list of endearments that are commonly used by brits? Cause I’m no British so sometimes I just assume those are common for them.

Not an attack I’m genuinely curious, I saw some who got too offended over something so small. It’s not cool.

Languages and dialects are a side quest interest of mine so haha I’d actually love to answer this. I’m not British either. I’m American. But Americans have dialectical endearments that are common in certain regions. If someone from the PNW or New England called me “sweetheart” or “darling” outside of romantic context, I’d be swinging. But if a Southern woman called me that? I’d beam.

Brits commonly use “love, hun, sweetheart, dearie” are used in platonic instances (like a waitress asking “what do you want, hun?” but sweetheart, love, or baby could be used in a romantic sense as well. pet is common for north England, but I just think Simon would have too much beef with the idea of “a pet” to comfortably use that word.

Scouse is different from Mancunian which is different from Brummie, Welsh, Cockney, Scots, Geordie, Yorkshire, Kentish, etc. etc.

Here’s the thing I want to expand on and (this is pretentious and I know but I think paid money for this degree lmao) I’m coming at this through the critical lens of less a fanfiction writer and more of a English literature focus:

1. Try and make endearment usage feel natural to the character. “Love” makes a lot more sense than “lovie” for Simon Riley. “Pet” makes more sense for Jamie Tartt. They’re both Mancunian, both same slang, but you have to consider their personalities. Simon doesn’t feel like he’d use endearments that much tbh. He’s more likely to slip up and call you soldier or cadet.

2. Cliches are okay (there’s a reason why they’re so commonly used) but there’s also a reason why people say to refrain from them. If every single fic in the tag uses the same exact endearment…it gets old. Give your story a more authentic and natural feel by building a lore behind a nickname. Literally act out dialogues to yourself to see if it feels normal.

3. Research! As someone who edits essays and stories, it is so obvious when you don’t fact check or you make generalizations when the resources are easily available to learn this info. I’m not saying you have to become an expert on a topic or a place, but doing research for writing strengthens the material and makes it more believable. It adds richness to the detail while simultaneously opening up your horizons within the world. I love dropping little fun facts and tidbits on people that I’ve acquired through the years.

4. Less trying to write out accents, more trying to use slang or patterns of speech. I’ve opened fics where the author tries to model accents in the speech and left it virtually unreadable. “Wot” has me DYING because it just…it’s unnecessary. Listen to videos or shows with people using the accent you want to emulate and try to model off their pattern of speech.

To end, here’s some fun Mancunian slang words I’ve found that everyone should look up!

Bobbins, buzzing, Chufty badge, dead/well, get done, leg it, let on, sorted, swear down, give your head a wobble, mingin’, snide.

OH, to add, shows with a good cast with accents that are more than just “British”: Peaky Blinders, Call the Midwife, Bake Off, QI, and really just look up accents on YouTube so you can hear the difference in cadence, slang, etc.

[pr3ttyv1s1tors]

teachers pet

there’s a new substitute teacher. mr. alex turner. and it seems like y/n has started to develop a little crush on him. she faces some trouble with him until he one day asks her to see him after class, but what’s gonna happen?

* - smut

———————————————————————————————————-

god it’s the 3rd time i’m late this week, i think to myself. i hate mrs. norris, she’s so strict and she’s gonna humiliate me infront of the whole class for being late, again.

my heart starts to beat faster the closer i get to my classroom. suck it up y/n.

"hey mrs. norris sorry i’m late again i just-" i ramble, avoiding eye contact.

but as i slowly look up, i realize it’s not mrs. norris. it’s a very attractive young man actually. tall, lean, and this gorgeous hair. my thoughts disappear and i stand by the door like a fucking idiot.

i hear giggles scattered around, but i can only focus on the warm smile he greets me with.

"what’s your name?" he asks with his smooth voice that caught me a bit off guard.

wow that yorkshire accent is so sexy.

"y/n"

"well y/n," he says as he slowly walks up to me, "i’m no mrs. norris, clearly," he chuckles, "i’m mr. turner and i’m gonna be a substitute for a while."

i nod.

"find your seat please."

i nod again and quickly sit down. that was fucking awful i mean what even was that y/n?

a few days pass and mr. turner is still with us. if i’m gonna be honest i can’t really focus in his classes. he’s just so..

days turn to weeks. and i can’t stand to look mr. turner in the eye. i turn into a nervous wreck whenever i’m in his class. i barely do any work and i skip a lot. but that’s alright, as long as he doesn’t know about my stupid crush on him.

i’m sitting alone, enjoying my lunch when i get a text.

mom: why haven’t you been attending your english classes?

shit. how the hell does she know about that?

y/n: ?

mom: your teacher called me this morning, you better attend today or you’ll be grounded for a month.

y/n: fine

great, just great.

mr. turner’s class is the last period today. time passes quickly and it’s time for his class already. oh how i’m looking forward to it.

the lesson is going alright i guess, we’re just writing an essay on health. boring. i’m just gonna sit here until i can go home.

but then mr. turner goes in on my document, seeing his name pop up on my screen made me almost run out the door.

fuck fuck fuck fuck.

about 5 minutes later i get an email from him. i really don’t wanna open it but i mean i kinda have to, he’s right there, staring at me.

y/n

i see you haven’t written anything yet, and it’s been 25 minutes. i’ve also noticed that you’ve been skipping class too, today is the first time i’ve seen you in 3 weeks. i don’t know if you do this with the other classes too but this is starting to become an issue. see me after class.

sincerely, mr. turner

see. me. after. class. those words terrify me. god i wish someone would just fuck me up the ass.

i look up at him and give him a slight nod. he smiles in response.

i decide to finally start on my essay, i only reach like 200 words and then the bell rung.

oh no.

my clasmates start to leave but i just put my pc in my backpack and sit on my seat.

mr. turner greets everyone goodbye and finally shuts the door. he slowly turns around but only stares at me.

"come with me to my office."

his office is built in with the classroom. i go there first and he walks behind me. i sit down on a chair and fidget with my nails. don’t say anything stupid y/n, just shut up.

he sits on his chair on the opposite side of the desk, still staring at me.

i look up aswell, looking at his every feature. he’s hotter than i thought.

"how do i look?" he asks.

"what?" i reply, panic in my voice.

"nah i’m only messing with you," he chuckles.

"oh," i laugh awkwardly.

"so, you know why i asked you to see me after class. and i just have to ask, are you doing alright?"

"uhm, yeah. yeah i’m doing okay."

"well are you skipping other classes?"

"no i’m not," i say quietly.

"oh, well, i looked at your past grades in this class. straight a’s. so can you please tell me what the issue is?" he raised his voice a bit now, getting impatient.

i look down at my shoes, not making a sound.

after a long pause he chuckles. what?

"i get it now," he continues laughing.

he walks around the desk, kneeling by me.

"you’ve got a little crush on me."

"i uhm-"

"it’s alright," he says, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear.

"it’s totally alright," he whispers sensually in my ear.

it sent a shiver up my spine, and i cross my legs tighter. he notices and looks up at me again.

"open your legs please."

i never expected to hear that from a teacher, but i obey.

his hands travel up my thigh, keeping it there. fuck he knows what he’s doing. my pussy’s probably soaking by now, yearning for his touch.

"please mr. turner."

"please, call me alex."

i nod and he reaches his hand up higher. i’m only wearing a skirt so it’s easy for him to reach.

"no undergarments?" he smirks.

i don’t say anything but just smile, a bit embarrassed.

"fucking sexy," he chuckles as he rubs my clit slowly and presses his lips against mine. god this feels so good. his fingertips rub my clit softly, his kisses are soft and sloppy.

"wait," he pulls back from the kiss and stops rubbing my clit but keeping his hand there still, "have you done this before?"

"no," i say quietly.

"hey don’t be embarrassed, come with me." he smiles as he stands up and reaches for my hand.

there are no students or teachers left at school. we’re the only ones left, and we walk hand in hand out to his car.

don’t tell me he’s gonna fucking drive me home or something.

"where are we going?” i ask.

"to my house, i wanna make it a bit more special for you. y’know, unless you wanna fuck on my desk."

i laugh and get in the car.

so he wants to fuck me.

he places his hand on my thigh in the car and hums to himself.

after like 10 minutes we’re finally at his house. it’s so big and stunni-

my thoughts are interrupted by his lips smashed on mine. rougher than before. he tastes like mint, and i just want more and more.

"sorry i couldn’t wait," he says, practically in my mouth.

we’re finally in his house and he takes me to his bedroom. i lay down on his bed and he hovers over me. he kisses me again, but this time passionately. i wrap my legs around him and slightly moan in his mouth, i can feel him smirk. his hand travels up my thigh and rubs my clit. i wrap my legs around him tighter.

"fuck," i moan in his mouth.

"god you’re so sexy." he chuckles as he unbuttons his shirt.

"can i.. take off your shirt?" he asks.

i nod, sitting up. i lift my arms and he takes off my shirt, leaving my very revealing lacy bra.

"lay back for me will you love?"

i obey. he spreads my legs wide open, totally accessible for him. without a warning his tongue makes contact with my clit. fuck. he licks up my slit, making me arch my back. pushing my pussy into his face. i grab a handful of his hair, trying not to moan.

"don’t hold it in, i wanna hear your sweet voice moan for me."

he gets back to eating me out and i moan as loud as i can. a knot starts to form in my stomach, continuing to grow. my legs start to tremble, and my grip on his hair tightens.

"alex i think i’m gonna-"

"i know, let go for me yeah?"

a few seconds later i can’t hold it in anymore. i finally release and my eyes roll back until i see nothing but stars. i’m in pure ecstasy. my legs shake so much that i can feel his hands hold me down.

"that was amazing," i say, out of breath.

"yeah? glad to know i can make you feel good then." he says and kisses me.

"but i don’t think i can continue," i say awkwardly.

"what do you mean?"

"i can only cum one time," i say, a bit embarrassed. i’ve never been able to cum more than once before.

"ah, too sensitive?" he chuckles.

"yeah."

"that’s alright, we’ll just save it for another time then." he smiles and goes to get a towel so i can clean myself up.

[ezdotjpg]

I would certainly like to hear more about your Link headcanons if you are willing to share!

unsure if this is what u wanted when u asked this anon but I’m using this as an excuse to talk abt my lu accent/voice headcanons (which also apply to their non-lu game counterparts in my brain when applicable). I have more for some than others sorry

Wild:

prefers generally not to speak and sign instead. BUT

intensely Scottish-adjacent Accent Wild is a great love of mine

in my brain he is actually incredibly soft spoken tho. his voice is rlly light and soft and on the higher side. he’s a tenor when he sings lol

like. he’s chaotic he’s just not loud abt it. the juxtaposition between what he says and how he says it is half the humor

often trails off sentences without finishing a thought. blanks out on words sometimes, but also sometimes remembers obscure idioms and slang from 100 years ago that have fallen out of use in his current hyrule

I feel like he has this kind of flat, meandering intonation. how do I describe this. u know this animatic that jojo made once. that’s rlly how I imagine wild speaking besides the accent lol

Time:

I like imagining him with an accent I can only describe as Gently Irish

like it’s the Kokiri accent he had as a child and it’s faded over time. No one else on his hyrule has quite the same accent

a deep voice link but Not the deepest. he’s like 3rd

also very soft spoken but he speaks with such gravity he commands attention anyway.

he rarely raises his voice but when he does. by god u done fucked up

not quite relevant to this post but LOUDEST DAD SNEEZES EVER. it’s like a GUNSHOT. and he acts like nothing happened

Twilight:

I’ve said this before but I’ll say it again. extreme southern twilight. country boy. y’all’d’ve, yeehaw, howdy, and the like. It’s more of a texas twang than a Deep South drawl tho

includes all the phrasing idiosyncrasies that come with that

2nd deepest link voice

uses a lot of ordonian slang no one understands. there's a lot of about goats.

his voice and the way he speaks is really Warm

not afraid to Yell. in fact he will. he’s hollering right now

very rich singing voice. hums a lot

Warriors:

extremely posh british accent.

I actually don’t think he’s spoken like that all his life, but he worked very hard to train himself to speak this way

he is smack dab in the middle of the chains high and low voice scale

also a member of the Extremely Commanding Voice crowd. don’t make him use his captain voice

Legend:

idk I imagine him with a general American accent with a bit of a nasal quality to it.

I also like the idea of him with a HEAVY Yorkshire accent but I lean towards the first

Another tenor

there’s a really piercing quality abt his voice and the way he speaks

extremely dry, sardonic tone

always kind of sounds like he’s annoyed

absolutely allergic to sounding sincere. often sounds like he’s being sarcastic even when he’s not. The verbal equivalent of resting bitch face

LOUD

bonus Ravio: He has a Jersey accent. a strong one. I don’t make the rules. that’s the accent in lorule. fight me about it.

Hyrule:

I’ve seen ppl headcanon him with Jason Ritter's performance as Dipper Pines and like. yes. YES.

since legend is his direct predecessor I imagine him w the same accent, but he has this kind of strange musical, dream-like quality to the way he speaks. something is just a little off

sounds like a sweet boy

always sounds just a little bit exhausted

is terrifying when he raises his voice. like bro ur triple fucked.

Wind

i also just kind of imagine him w a general American accent but I like the idea he tricks them all into thinking he actually speaks like a pirate for like the first two weeks of being in the chain

no volume control

run on sentences galore

curses too many times in a sentence just because

Sky:

stick with me here. I tend to imagine him with the accent that Swedish people have when they speak English. don’t ask me why. but like a light accent just kind of that quality to the vowels

actual deepest voice link

he’s on the quiet and soft spoken side but can get surprisingly loud under the right circumstances, especially when he’s angry or excited

makes a lot of?? sound effect noises in his daily life?? like when he does actions he’ll make a little sound effect to go with it??

also guilty of using obscure skyloft idioms no one understands. he does it more than anyone else

talks in his sleep and he always sounds so urgent and it's terrifying bc when does sky ever sound that urgent

Four:

either a general American or English accent?? I am not sure yet

I love the idea tho that each color has a slightly different manner of speaking, and that if ur paying attention you can tell who’s piloting the plane in that moment

like that blue is more assertive and curses more, vio is dry, somewhat snippy, and uses a lot of big words, red speaks really fast and uses a lot of flowery language, and green speaks simply and straightforwardly. Four can be any of these things at once

this is too long anyway as always subject to change whenever i feel like it lol I spend a lot of time thinking abt this. also when I reference specific accents what I really mean is, The Hylian Equivalent Of An Accent That Sounds Like This

[medusinestories]

Aaa Miranda is in this ep and so of course this got Long!

Black Sails, III (S1 ep03)

- I just LOVE the domestic scenes of Flint waking up at home, surrounded by white crisp linen, wearing an oversized shirt, and going straight to a pot of something that smells good (I'm guessing it's tea or a spice he intends to use afterwards). And also how, outside of the rough life at sea, he's actually delicate, wincing when Miranda tends to him a bit roughly.

- I think a reason why I didn't really understand Miranda on my first watch is because she's sulking in a very cool/restrained way in these scenes. She's relieved that Flint's back, but finds small ways to put him down (commenting on the blood on her floor, chiding him for not telling her about the wound, stinging him with disinfectant) that express that she's not altogether happy with him/his behaviour.

- In the meanwhile, Flint's back to being Captain Oblivious. In spite of Miranda's little digs he's so smug about having found the schedule that he doesn't notice that she's unhappy. It's only when she doesn't jump for joy when he gives her the Middleton book that he cottons on that she’s not in a great mood.

- Also, I'll die on the "Flint is bi" hill, and to me the way Flint looks at Miranda when she's fixing his bandages is not only smug but also seductive - she’s the one who’s not receptive in this moment. But the fact that Miranda talks of "having you all to myself" in the same conversation also suggests that their relationship is (still) romantic/sexual. (and while I’m on my unpopular opinion spree, I don’t want to hear anything about “straightbaiting”: reducing Flint and Miranda’s relationship to a trick used by the creators to make the audience think Flint is straight is deeply disrespectful of whatever these two characters share)

- We get to see a lot of Silver writing out the contents of the stolen page, and boy is he proficient with a quill and ink. Where/how/why did a little thief he learn to read and write? This definitely isn't the typical education of a London orphan.

- "Don't torture me, my pain threshold is very low, and I'd say anything to make it stop"... so Silver is threatening to be incoherent and/or inaccurate under torture? A pretty weak argument when faced with someone who wants to torture you for information. And this reminds me that Gates (and Flint, and Billy though he looked very ill at ease) was ready to torture Max in the previous episode to get information, though he presented it as a last resort. And yet here Flint snorts and walks away when Billy suggests torture decides to take Silver along with their crew. So how is Silver different from Max, here? Could it possibly be related to the fact that he and Flint eyesex stare at each other all through the conversation, hmm?

- Back to Breaking Billy: Billy wants to do everything in his power to prevent the crew from finding out that Silver is the actual thief, imo mostly because he doesn't want the crew to find out that he lied to them about Singleton. Billy is shown to be a terrible liar: when he brings Silver to Randall, saying Silver lost a bet to him, Randall immediately tells him that there's no betting onboard, catching him out and putting him in an awkward situation. Gates also warned Billy off canvassing to find out if the crew is still angry with Flint, and was quite right: Morley and Turk immediately figure out what he's doing. However, by the end of the episode, he also uses his reputation of being honest to convince Morley that Singleton was, indeed, a thief. I wonder how he feels about using his reputation of honesty to cover up a lie.

- In the meantime Silver actually does what Billy was trying to do very badly: he finds out who's still against Flint. Unlike Captain Oblivious, Silver has somehow intuited that Billy needed to find the dissenters, possibly because he's figured out that Billy hates keeping up the lie. In any case, he plays double agent in order to gain Billy’s trust (perhaps a bad strategy to gain an honest man’s trust... just saying).

- Hornigold, after an incredibly pompous tirade about the noble origins of the chair he’s sitting on, has the gall to call Flint arrogant and presumptuous. Apparently, arrogant and presumptuous is the kind of people who Gates is friends with/drawn to. I also can't help but wonder why Gates believes that Hornigold's crew knows and trusts him and that it'll be easy for him to captain them. I wonder if Hornigold used to have Gates as a Quartermaster, pre-Flint. The fact that Hornigold tells Gates that he's starting to speak like Flint, in a reproachful tone, could also  be a clue.

- Gates' advancing age is a major subject in this episode, with Hornigold saying that Gates is one of the rare people who's actually getting dumber with age, and Rackham playing on Gates' doubts about his physical condition and mental alertness to convince him to enrol Vane in their capture of the Urca. Gates himself mentioned previously that he doesn’t plan on pirating all his life. Interestingly, Flint doesn't once suggest that he has any doubt about Gates’ ability to captain a ship, and I really don’t think he has (both a sign of great trust, but also a Captain Oblivious trait, as he’s seemingly blind to Gates’ anxiety and possibly the reality of Rackham’s comment about Gates’ physical condition).

- In this episode, Miranda hands her copy of Meditations to Richard Guthrie. Some people have asked why she'd hand something so revealing about Flint to someone like Guthrie. At the point where she gives the book to him, he: 1) doesn't know who she is (she refuses to answer when asked) 2) is supposedly bedridden and being guarded by an armed man, and therefore 3) wouldn't be able to guess who "T.H." is with the information that he currently has. She didn't expect Richard Guthrie that would be a sneaky bastard who was less wounded than he appeared to be and who’d go snooping around her house at the first occasion (btw, snooping parallel: Guthrie in Flint’s house finds out personal information and Silver in Flint’s cabin finds out strategic information). I think that what Miranda wanted was to have someone she could talk to about Meditations, a book that she, her husband, and Flint had all enjoyed, and that she likely couldn’t share with Flint anymore because it’s too painful a subject for him.

- Which brings me to Miranda's situation: her loneliness and the precariousness of her life is already framed quite clearly in this episode. The pastor sends spies to watch her house when Flint is around, and openly asks her to join his congregation so that he can save her from Flint and the impending arrival of the Navy. In the meantime, the crew believe she's at the centre of Flint's "evil": some believe that she's a witch who controls Flint, and Morley tells Billy that she's the reason why Flint treats the crew like pawns.

- The whole Flint/Gates workplace comedy scenes never fail to crack me up. Flint laughing at the suggestion Vane should captain the second ship, followed by "you're serious", and Gates doing damage control in a very restrained tone at first, then the second time screaming insults at Flint... just... *chef's kiss*

- Rackham is shown to be incredibly devious and persuasive in this episode. He manages to convince Gates to convince Flint to take on his worst enemy as a work partner (in a moment when he's getting into Gates' head, he goes as far as to imitate his Yorkshire accent!). He's also extremely aware that Vane isn't all that interested in money, but definitely interested in what Eleanor will think of him. I’d also note that if someone is callous about Max in this episode, it’s him: he sends Vane to “deal with her”, expecting him to kill her off.

- As much as we know that Flint's "tough captain" behaviour is partly an act, we tend to forget that Vane is also shown to be keeping up appearances in order to remain a leader of an extremely difficult/unruly crew. I didn't address the punch in the face he gives Eleanor in ep 1, but he explicitly says this was to avoid losing face in front of his men after she punched him. The same goes for the capture/beating/rape of Max: "what you did required an answer", he tells her. But then chooses to secretly set her free rather than rape/kill her as he’s expected to do. He's obviously smitten with Eleanor, and is the one who initiates tender moments after sex. This is why I can never really dislike this ship, because it's between two very damaged people who are at odds mostly because they’re in a power struggle where they each have to look strong/powerful.

- I hate hate hate the whole Max-rape plot, as I'm sure most of the fandom also does. I do get that Max is furious with Eleanor, and possibly extra-furious because Eleanor instantly turns saving Max from Vane's crew into a strategic move where she punishes Vane (ironically, the one who wanted to let Max go) by forcing Vane’s crew into joining Flint, rather than focusing on, say, Max’s wellbeing. But "Max wants to hurt Eleanor/is hurting from the breakup so badly that she willingly submits to being raped/beaten by the crew, AGAIN"... hrm. I have trouble connecting this self-destructive side of Max's personality with the character we see after her ordeal. Again, opinions welcome because I may be missing/misunderstanding something, but I feel like the writers didn’t really know what they were doing with her character at this point.

[101flavoursofweird]

Fic Questionnaire

Thanks for @sixtyfourk for tagging me! I’m putting the questions under a cut because it’s quite long :’)

I’ll tag @northernscruffycat, @northelypark, @edward-elbowlick, @vermontwrites, @asa-liz, @yoshi-g-teh-first, @call-me-rucy, and @aquamarineglow but if there’s anyone else who wants to do this, please go ahead!

How many works do you have on AO3?

107… but a lot of these are just reposts or prompt-inspired fics that are 10 lines long!

What's your total AO3 word count?

378242 words

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Professor Layton, PLvsAA, Layton Brothers Mystery Room, Rhythm Thief, Voltron: Legendary Defender (I only watched the first two seasons, haha…), The Ancient Magus Bride (I was in it for the cute dragon mage— not for the main romance), Steven Universe, Ace Attorney (only as a part of PLvsAA), Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts, My Hero Academia

…10 fandoms altogether, but some like PLvsAA and LBMR fall under the PL category.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Aizawa Doesn’t Give Hugs - MHA- 1111 kudos - (Why can’t I update my most popular fic?)

Fireflies - Steven Universe - 221 kudos - (Again, WHY DID I NEVER UPDATE THIS?)

Reset - PL - 134 kudos - (This is the one I feel the worst about because it’s an ongoing long fic for my main fandom and I’ve had so much support from readers but I just can’t find the strength to update it…)

Worth Fighting For - PL - 86 kudos - (My incomplete Whumptober fic!)

Mending - Voltron - 85 kudos - (I think this was one of the first fics I posted on AO3 and I was really happy about the response it got! And for a fandom I’d never written for before!)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I usually respond to comments pretty quickly because I want to show my appreciation for people who take the time to comment :) If I’m ever slow to respond it’s probably just because I’m busy or I’m trying to formulate a long response. If a person leaves a longer comment, I try to make my response longer!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

That’s probably ‘To Boldly Flee’. It’s a fic I originally posted on FF.net but it’s now part of an Aurora & Luke oneshot series called ‘Looking Foward’ on AO3. The fic stars Aurora and Luke in an AU set during Azran Legacy. It diverges from canon after Descole steals the Azran keystone in the Nest. Aurora doesn’t want to go to the Azran sanctuary and face her ‘duty’ as the Azran emissary— she also doesn’t want to get STABBED IN THE HEART— so she decides to run away with Luke.

Aurora receives even more angst in this AU than in canon. After Descole’s betrayal, she starts to doubt herself and her friends, aside from Luke.

With a bit of help from Rook and Bishop, the two of them fly to London and then to Misthallery when they hear Targent have taken over the town. During this time, Aurora has her identity crisis about being a golem and having the fate of the world resting on her shoulders. She eventually decides to help Luke save his hometown because Luke is worth the world to her.

This all culminates with Luke getting fatally(?) wounded and taken to the Golden Garden. Aurora is so distraught by this point that she almost ‘floods the whole world’ in a kind of failsafe doomsday device the Azran may have implanted in her. Luckily, Descole and Layton show up to assure her that Luke is alive— but just barely. Aurora returns to her normal self and they get Luke to hospital. Aurora waits by Luke’s bedside for him to wake up. Aurora mentions that Emmy’s fate is unknown, but they still mourn for her.

In the original FF.net ending, Luke wakes up.

In the AO3 ending, Aurora just keeps waiting for Luke. ‘She could not age, so she would wait until he awoke. Even if it took forever...’

If I ever did write more of this story, Aurora and Co would probably go to the other Azran sites (Ambrosia, the Infinite Vault of etc) to search for a cure for Luke. But at it is, the fic is left open-ended as to whether Luke ever recovers.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not really hate but there was one anon review that may have been ‘too brutal’ (their words). I can’t say it hasn’t affected the updates on that particular fic.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I wrote a couple of light smut fics back when I really shipped Layton/Emmy. I think I’d cringe if I went back to read those fics (but then again, I do that with a lot of my old writing). I can’t see myself writing smut now.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I can’t say I’ve had a fic stolen, but I was reading a fic a while ago and the wording was veeery familiar. I’m not sure why because the fic was already good up to that point? Why would they bother copying my writing? XD I can’t complain, though! We’re all technically stealing the original creator’s characters and concepts by writing fanfic.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, for my Rhythm Thief AU, Déjà Vergier! In this AU, 16-year-old Raphael gets taken in by the Vergier family. A Deviantart user called BakApple kindly translated my writing into French. With the help of Google Trabslate, I started translating their French Rhythm Thief fic— ‘July the Fourteenth’— into English, but I didn’t get around to finishing it. My translating skills are nowhere near as good as BakApple’s!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I wrote a PL fic with called ‘If You Only Had Time’ with an awesome writer called Glowbug. It’s an AU (of course) where Rachel Bronev survives and she runs away from Targent with eight-year-old Emmy. Glowbug doesn’t seem to be active online anymore, which is a shame, but I don’t mind! I’m just glad we were able to write 6 chapters.

I don’t think I’d co-write any more fics now… but more for the co-writer’s sake than mine! I’m notoriously bad at updating long fics and I struggle to write under pressure or within a time limit. There’s a reason why I don’t enter Big Bang events, as much as I’d like too :’)

Writing fics is a hobby first and foremost. If I don’t feel like writing something, I’ll leave it and come back later, hopefully with renewed inspiration.

But I’m always happy to discuss fic outlines/ideas/characters’ with other people!

What's your all time favorite ship?

Apparently the ship I’ve written the most fics for is Janice/Melina on AO3?

There seems to be more content for them recently and that makes me SO HAPPY.

Ranhengela might be a close second favourite… Sometimes I literally forget both of these ships aren’t canon.

My favourite characters tend to be those who are so selfless and would sacrifice their lives for the ones they love— e.g. Janice and Henry— even if their significant other is presumed to be dead. I want these characters to be happy but I also want them to through ANGST.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I don’t want to say Reset… but maybe Reset? I haven’t given up completely but I’ve lost a lot of confidence with this fic. What I wanted most out of this story was for Luke to bond with other characters aside from Layton— his parents, Arianna, Emmy, Flora etc.— and to give these characters a chance to shine. But I guess I realised I can do this without all the crazy plot twists and time travel mechanics… like in Ready Now, for example. Most of that fic is just Arianna bonding with Luke, Layton and the others, and it’s hopefully giving Flora her chance to shine too! I guess after giving Arianna her own chapter in Reset I just really wanted to write about her, haha.

What are your writing strengths?

Someone mentioned in a nice review that I often fuse canon with fanon? That’s usually just me poking fun at the series— like when Arianna’s mother asks about Flora’s age and her adoption status, Arianna and Tony just shrug at her comedically. Who knows, really? :’)

I’ll often just make two character sit in a room TALK about their feelings.

Dialogue is an easy one, but I like writing dialogue for characters and getting their voices down. (I will forever portray Dalston with his official Yorkshire accent— not the fake posh accent they gave him the the US version of Miracle Mask.)

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think it’s cool! …If it’s not used to mock another language— apart from English. Please make all the English jokes you want. I’ll probably agree with you and laugh at them.

I remember when I was re-reading Goblet of Fire and I cringed every time J. K. Rowling wrote about a character who wasn’t English.

I’ll occasionally throw French words or sayings into Rhythm Thief fics especially because that’s what they do in the game. It’s hilarious how Charlie has an English accent but then she’ll sprout a random French phrase.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Pokemon, but that short oneshot is long gone.

What's your favorite fic you've ever written?

I’m going to be boring and say Bonds Left Unbroken— an AU where Layton and Desmond both get adopted by the Laytons. I think I enjoyed the earlier chapters more, focussing on younger Desmond and Hershel, and especially their time in Stansbury. The later chapters don’t really branch out from canon that much, aside from the fact that Hershel and Desmond are on the same page during Azran Legacy.

I feel bad that I never got around to finishing the ‘bonus’ episodes, but it kind of just felt like the original series with Desmond phoned in :’) But I’m still proud of the original fic!

[mr-walkingrainbow]

Yay! Finally someone who will! I've been thinking a lot of this weird AU where theyre at the X school, tell me what you think! Prompt: Starting at the end of the movie, the gang finds themselves at the school for mutants. Sam & reader (name doesnt matter!) have a hard time fitting in/adjusting at the school and find themselves getting closer and closer, until they finally become an item!

Sam x reader

Your very nervous,

it’s the only think you can really think of.

Panic isnt right for the scenario.

And fear sounds to dramatic.

But your very nervous of this new Mutant school.

And that sounds correct.

Sam stands besides you, holding your hand in support.

You blush and look away. He doesn’t know you like him.

Shame.

Shame on you.

You want to feel excited that he’s holding your hand. It feels warm against your sweaty palm.

But you’ve seen him with Illyana. And are convinced he likes her.

“Hey Luke!” Roberto calls out.

You look over.

“That one metal guy asked for our last names. What’s yours?”

Truth be told, you’ve never told them your last name. You never wanted to. It was best to remain inconspicuous. Tell the least amount of information.

It was best.

“O is fine Berto.” You speak in your Yorkshire accent.

“Luke. O,” Illy states drily, “Wow I feel like I know you so much now.”

“Illy,” Sam mutters protectively. Him and Dani are the only ones brave enough to really say anything to her.

The Russian just rolls her eyes in response. Dani leans in, whispering something no one can hear.

Illy nods. But does nothing else.

“Shall we go’n now?” You ask.

Everyone nods but illy. Who instead pulls out Lockheed. Holding him close.

You think you understand. Lockheed was her comfort, her security. Something you wish you had right now.

Everyone walks in. But no one is at ease.  The place is large. Filled with people bustling around. A guy with green skin nearly bumps into you, but Sam pulls you out of the way in time.

“Thanks,” you blush, “Uh, thanks.”

“Course.” He nods.

This blonde woman walks over. Briefly glowing blue. She blinks a few times and they dim to normal.

“Hello,” she introduces, “I’m Esme. Some call me Cuckoo, others stepford. But you can call me Frost.”

The others look at her apprehensively.

The blonde shrugs, “Esmes cool too.”

Her eyes glow once again.

“Ugh, be quiet!” She snaps.

You flinch backwards, and Esme offers a apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” she reaches up a pale finger, tapping it once against her mind, “Sisters.”

The woman doesn’t offer any more words then that. So you nod uneasily.

She starts to walk forward, and everyone looks at each other before following.

“We have a lot of cool things here,” the mutant starts talking, “Thermal rooms for Berto to flame in. Chains and gear outside for Sam. Courses for Rahne to run, and even something for Dani!”

Esme abruptly stops. You nearly crash into her if it wasn’t for Sam.

“How do you know who’s who?” Dani questions nervously.

She turns around, staring at everyone with intently piercing eyes.

“I know things. Now,” she swivels her head to glance at you and Illyana, “Your thoughts are unexplainable. I should say unhelpful. You, Luke, are thinking to hard.”

You blush. But you don’t know why.

The eyes trail to stare at Illy.

“And your having a conversation with no one?”

The Russian glares.

“Not true. I’m having one with Lockheed!”

Esme looks confused, “Where is he.”

Illy blushes, but holds up the puppet for her to observe.

You notice Dani grabbing her free hand. Rubbing her thumb over her knuckles soothingly.

Esme blinks, and then they glow again.

“Ah. He’s your friend. Back in limbo.”

Illy jerks, “How do you know that.”

The woman smiles, “All in a telepaths work.”

Everyone takes a subtle step back. So that’s why she walked in front of them. So they couldn’t see her eyes.

You immediately try and think of nothing, but somehow think of Sam instead. Esme looks at you with curiosity, but thankfully says nothing.

Her eyes glow again, momentarily making her face blank and stony.

“Oh.”

She looks embarrassed almost, “Um. I just received word that you aren’t needed at the main office yet. Your free to explore. Just don’t break anything.”

You look at her, trying to find an earpiece of some kind. She notices you and raises her eyebrow defensively.

Esme then turns around and leaves, whispering “Sophie! Phoebe! Shut up!” On her way out.

“Uh,” you turn back to your group, only to find them all gone except Sam, “Thanks for staying.”

He nods, “I wouldn’t leave you.”

You blush again. And look away.

The day goes on. As you and Sam struggle to find something that works for you. Roberto was psyched at being given clothes that don’t burn when he flames up. Rahne loved the obstacle course. And Dani was interested in practicing her powers.

Illy hadn’t said anything. Just gnawed on her thumbnail and talked to Lockheed.

You and Sam had tried to find the chain thing outside. But their was too many people. And it made Sam feel claustrophobic.

“I feel like we don’t belong here.” You confess later on.

He looks at you understandingly, “I get what you mean. Though I don’t think Illy likes it either.”

You roll your eyes, “She doesn’t like anything.”

“Hey,” he snaps quietly, “She has reasons not to like things.”

You nod, “Sorry. I forget.”

He looks at you. His kind eyes making you blush.

“Why do you do that?”

“H-huh?”

“Why do you blush around me.” He wonders.

“I-um,” you falter, “I k-Kinda like you.”

He doesn’t respond and you immediately get up to leave.

“Wait!” He grabs your wrist, spinning you around.

You don’t have time to process anything before he kisses you, his lips surprisingly soft.

“I like you to O.”

You smile.

Maybe this place was ok after all.

hey!!! I hope you liked this! Tried to incorporate everything you wanted! 🥰

[clare-with-no-i]

Omg! It’s the Figg anon, and I can’t believe you answered my question!! I love your discourse, and am totally tempted to get a tumble just so we can be discourse besties! Re: new anon house elves post, I agree that it’s inherently problematic to think of any enslaved creature as happy, esp. as that narrative has deep roots in American anti-abolitionist culture. IMO the magic that keeps house elves tied to families is so strong, that IF there was an elf alive at L&J’s death, it would have gone...

to Harry and shown up at Privet drive. I also think the elves are tied to the actual houses and in my HC the potters had a history of marrying HB’s, and their big estate came to them from a HB / non magic origin. Ridiculously twisted hc, I know. New less promblematic discourse topic: have you decided which county Potter Manor is in? (Or where the other MWPP+L hail from?)

--

omg! hello! it makes me so happy that you’re excited to be in the Discourse!! feel free to send an ask any time, always happy to receive them :) and very happy to make discourse besties tyvm!!

also I stan tf out of you rn for that note about American anti-abolitionist culture!! hell yes historical abolition discourse on my blog and contextualizing of literary themes!!!! I completely agree. I didn’t really have ample time this morning to get into the roots of that statement or its implications in that ask, but YUP. I’m with you. and this take on elves being tied to families is super interesting and I really dig your HC - but I also wonder how that would have worked with L+J going into hiding, the eventual hiding of Harry at the Dursley’s...etc. very intriguing though hmmm I could see myself diving into this idea and ending up with, like, a dissertation on Potter elf lore oh NO lmao

ok ALSO - this next question! I love it!! I was actually just talking to someone about how I really like Sophie Skelton for Lily because she has a northern English accent (I think somewhere in between General Northern English and Urban West Yorkshire accent, because she’s from a suburb of Manchester? if someone could correct me I’d be chuffed tysm), and I think it would be really dope if Lily was Northern, especially given the cultural divides between southern and northern England. I think having a Mancunian (or a small suburb of it, given that she’s from Cokeworth) Lily Evans would be a really cool aspect of her background. this would also mean that Snape had to train himself out of any dialectic tendencies toward a northern accent, which I ABSOLUTELY think is something he would do in order to fit in with Pureblood posh culture.

so, I think it’s canon that Sirius is from Islington, London, right? that’s were Grimmauld place is? but I don’t doubt he the family had country homes scattered throughout various counties.

I think James was probably from outside a small, wealthy town like Hertfordshire, where he could grow up with acres of land. I like to think that in such an historic town, there was also a lot of Wizarding history as well.  And I think that GH was a family home that they might have gone too once or twice, given the Peverell history in that area.

ok I have no idea why, but I think that Peter grew up in, like, Thanet LOL. I could see him growing up in Margate but I have absolutely no idea why I think that. Planet Thanet ayyyyy where are my Kent people at??

WOO! I went crazy with this. thanks for asking!! :) x

[13atoms]

Knowledge (Dh!Doctor x Reader) ft. Whittaker!Master

The Master had forced her away into The Doctor’s head, and what she found risked tearing you apart from him. Or bringing you closer. [2k] [Implied NSFW]

*

“Oh!”

Her thick Yorkshire accent dripped with amusement as The Master leant over you, blonde hair losing its perfect coifs from her maniacal running around the room.

Fuck, where were you?

“I see what’s happening.”

Right. Trapped under the control of a Time Lady with something to prove. To your relief, you could just make out The Doctor, conscious but seemingly struggling.

You mentally cursed The Master, as your body ached from the position you were held in. You’d met her by accident, happening upon the same market which specialised in Gallifreyan technology.

‘I worried she might have traps set here,’ The Doctor had mused, as you were stunned into compliance by a device The Master wielded like a gun. ‘I’m so sorry.’

His hand had reached for yours, but you were unable to grip back, muscles out of your conscious control.

You were held in a field of some kind, unable to move. Even speaking required unfathomable effort. You could barely utter more than a syllable. The room you were locked in seemed nowhere, you couldn’t see natural light nor could you sense any difference from the gravity you were used to.

A space ship? A planet? All that was discernible was that this was a cell of some kind, more restraints scattered around the room, and a heavy door slammed closed.

Only The Master seemed able to open or close it, her hand recognised by the scanner beside the door.

“I’ve been in his head, you know,” she told you. “I know what he’s hiding.”

The Master’s heels clacked on the floor as she took steps around the room to where The Doctor was cuffed on the floor, fighting the effects of whatever he’d been drugged with. She hadn’t even bothered with you, but then again The Doctor had put up a more substantial fight.

You were mere collateral.

“I could hypnotise her, if you want.” The Master mused, leaning down to hiss in his face. “Let you take what you want.”

“I wouldn’t. Never.”

You frowned in confusion, before taking great efforts to smooth out your face. You couldn’t give her the satisfaction of reacting – it was what she wanted.

“Aw, but you want it so bad!” she mocked. Her squat down to his level made him scowl, lip twitching in a way you’d never seen on your sweet Doctor’s face. She was getting to him. “You’re desperate, lover boy.”

“Stop.”

“Hm, I don’t know. Why don’t I ask your human companion over here?”

She stood, strutted towards you again. The stasis field made it easy to keep your face blank, even as panic took over your body. You couldn’t recoil from her, and she pressed her body close to the bright bars surrounding you.

“He’s awfully lonely, isn’t he?”

“N-no.” You spat out. He’s got me, you longed to say.

Behind her The Doctor was moving, no doubt weaselling his way out of the bond as he was so prone to. You were relieved to see he didn’t seem as dozy as he’d convinced The Master. You just had to keep her talking.

“Sweet. But I think he is. Do you want to know what I saw in his head? What he’s been dreaming about?”

Behind her, The Doctor was finally on his feet. You gave her a scowl.

“Not– ” you cursed the paralysis in your body, as your words cut off. Not my business.

With a dramatic, slow turn of her head, The Master followed your eye line. Her face morphed into a grin as she pointed her weapon, fixing it perfectly on The Doctor before she’d even spun to face the Time Lord.

He froze, real fear seeping into his expression, his beautiful eyes wide and glassy.

“Cheeky.” The Master chided.

You wanted to tell him sorry, for giving him away, for being trapped. You could kick yourself for ruining his escape. The Doctor didn’t deserve to die here, because of you.

“I think I owe your human friend here some details,” her hand reached towards you, and you were horrified you couldn’t recoil from her blood-red nails. “Knowledge is power, and all that.”

Her skin was almost on yours when The Doctor moved, and she growled with frustration, powering the weapon up to make him halt.

“You stay out of her head!” He bellowed, “This is between us.”

Laughter. Loud, maniacal laughter.

“Your wandering mind has made her part of it, though!” she told him, “I’m offended, frankly. Another human?”

“Please, she’ll leave me.”

What?

“Please, what?” she prompted.

He resisted for just a moment, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. Unprompted, he sank to his knees.

“Please, Master.”

She laughed again, and you felt sick at the sheer horror on The Doctor’s face. Now he was closer, you could see the scuffs and marks on his sweater, what looked like her heel print. Your heart broke for him, kneeling before the woman he used to consider a friend.

You longed to speak, distract her so The Doctor could escape, promise him you were okay. You couldn’t say anything.

“Good.”

A muted scream left your throat as she shot, the barrel of her weapon sending light straight into the centre of his chest. He didn’t shrink, or keel over. A field appeared to mirror your own, holding him on his knees, in position.

The Master was between the pair of you, looking at you for your reaction, before huffing.

A second later, you found yourself able to speak freely, muscles moving above your shoulders.

All you could ask her was:

“Why?”

She chuffed.

“We still have things to still discuss.”

“Please just let us go. We’ve done nothing to you.”

“Wrong.”

The glint in her eye unnerved you, but you held your chin up in defiance. She approached you once again, The Doctor forgotten as he watched wide-eyed, unable to speak.

“He has taken everything from me,” she circled you, “and finally I can take something back.”

Oh, god. You. She meant you.

A single red nail brushed your jaw, and your arms ached with the instinct to hit her away.

“Then kill me.”

Free from paralysis, you fought not to sob, the click, click of her heels making your heart beat out a staccato. She could see through your bravado, but you kept it up anyway. You had to.

“Let him go, and then kill me.”

She seemed to think about it. At least, you thought she did, tilting her head and squinting like The Doctor would with a particularly difficult puzzle.

“No. I actually intend to let both of you go. Strangely.”

Thank you, you wanted to breathe. But you knew better. You suspected a twist. And she provided one, shark-like grin contorting her features.

“He’ll lose you on his own.”

“He won’t.”

She smiled indulgently, and you winced at how blatantly she was inspecting your frozen form.

“Sweet. He will. I’ve seen inside his head.”

You kept quiet hoping The Doctor, from his spot on the floor, knew you weren’t scared of anything she could tell you. The burning planets, the people he’d killed, you knew about it. Over wine and the fireplace in the library, he’d told you, begging you to still be his friend, to stay.

You’d never rejected him yet.

“I already know about it. About the Time War. The Academy. Everything.”

The Master’s wince pleased you, as you brought up their shared history. She was only shaken for an instant, though. That smile returned.

“It’s not the things he’s done, my dear. It’s the things he wants to do.”

You repressed a gasp at her growl, how close her face was to you.

“If I can’t show you,” she shot The Doctor a look, “I’ll tell you.”

For a moment, she staggered away from you, clasping her head. Then, she laughed.

“You don’t get to play at telepathy now, Doctor. I will destroy you.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, before straightening up again.

“He really cares! He’s trying to get into my head! Even at The Academy he was never much good at that, poor dear.”

“There’s nothing you can say. Let us go, or I’ll…”

Half-hearted. Part of your script. Superceeded by the part of you which desperately wanted to know what she was talking about, even as the futility of your situation set in.

You’d leave when she wanted you to.

“Did you know he leers at you?” she began, scowling. “That water park was a clever choice, I’ll admit. He enjoyed your swimwear. You’d be executed for that kind of indecent exposure on Gallifrey.”

Oh.

A shiver ran down your spine as you remembered the day, how fun it had been, how the two of you had shared ice creams when he couldn’t choose a flavour, how you’d enjoyed his awkwardness at wearing board shorts. You’d chosen your own swimsuit especially because you thought he might enjoy it.

“Did you know Time Lords don’t sleep much, human?” She stood beside you, watching The Doctor as you did. You tore your eyes away, desperate to spare him the embarrassment. “It’s strange he goes to his bedroom anyway, isn’t it?”

You closed your eyes. You couldn’t bear to watch either of them anymore.

“He thinks about you. Imagines you. Touches himself while he pictures you’re there.”

Her voice was low, a sickening mix of disgust and seductive, and you tried to tune it out.

“He’d like to be on his knees for you instead, wouldn’t you dear Doctor. Eating your cunt, grovelling like the disgusting old Time Lord he is. He’s quite good, I’ll give him that.”

You winced, and she laughed.

“He’s never even fucked anyone in this body, and he has dreams about you. Your TARDIS must get sick of replacing sticky sheets, Doctor. Is that why you keep her onboard? So you can smell her? Be near her when she’s vulnerable? Sleeping?”

“Enough.” You choked out.

You were sure she could see the flush on your face, feel the second-hand embarrassment you had for him. It was like the relationship between you was crumbling before your eyes, and you couldn’t move your hands to hold it together, to cling to him.

“Not for him, it’s not.” The Master cackled.

“I wonder if you’ve heard him, shouting your name while he gets off. There’s some quite creative fantasies he’s got, you know. Pleasure planets. Sneaking into your room. Tying you up…”

You tuned her out, and the field shocked you. You cried out.

“… fucking you from behind, fucking you on picnics, under the stars, on that hideous console room floor.”

You couldn’t help the arousal you felt when she described it, almost smiling at the idea of a picnic. So very him. Even in a fantasy, he was caring for you.

“Open your eyes,” she growled.

You shook your head, and she grabbed the back of your neck until you opened your eyes in shock. You felt disoriented, dizzy, as you took the room in again.

“Look at him. Feel disgusted.”

You couldn’t. You couldn’t look at that gorgeous face, knowing the suffering he was going through. The man never even swore in front of you, and now The Master was baring his soul. You wanted to bite back, tell her she was lying, but you knew it was the truth. Arguing, you would only hurt him more. She would force his fantasies into your mind.

“Look!”

The second you caught sight of him, she released your stasis fields simultaneously, and you crumpled to the floor while The Doctor wound falling onto his stomach. He clambered to his feet almost instantly, rushing to pick you up before hesitating. He didn’t touch you. You struggled to stand without his usual help.

“Oh, dear. He’s gone all shy!” The Master laughed, high and tuneful, and for a moment you thought The Doctor might lunge at her.

Instead, he took slow, deliberate steps, leaning up to speak into her ear. Her shoes made her taller than him, and you could see him trying to stand up to compensate. You hated that it made him insecure.

“I will never forgive you for this.”

With that he turned on his heel, and you ran to keep up, refusing to give The Master the satisfaction of one last glance.

You heard her calling behind you:

“’Bye-e!”

*

The Doctor didn’t stop on the whole journey back through labyrinthine corridors, streets, then the marketplace. You were out of breath once the blue TARDIS doors finally filled your vision, you grabbed his arm to stop him from storming inside.

As he turned to face you, your heart broke. His eyes were red-rimmed, swimming with tears, wet tracks making their way down his face.

“I’ll drop you home, I’m sorry.”

His voice cracked as he pushed his way into the TARDIS, and you quickly closed the doors behind you, rushing to stop him before he started to pilot the ship.

“I don’t want to go.”

He didn’t meet your eyes, hunched over. Another tear traced his cheek, dripping from his jawline, and you wished you could wipe it away without him recoiling from your touch.

“You should. You must feel so betrayed, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not–”

“I’m disgusting,” he sobbed.

You’d never seen him cry like this. Openly heaving for air, face crumpling, out of control. He wouldn’t register a word you said, he was too broken, trapped in his own mind.

You wanted to cry with him.

If he wouldn’t hear you, he’d have to feel you. Your stomach dropped as you took the dive, pulling him close, feeling the wetness of his tears on your lips. His stubble was rough against your hands while you pulled him in, and you knew it would break your heart if he pulled away.

With a shudder you felt him kiss you back, his sobs dying in this throat. You pulled back, eyes opening to see him in shock. You stroked his face.

“Please, don’t be embarrassed.  She’d have seen a lot worse in my head.”

Part 2 Part 3

[ao3snowbutterfly]

Hi! I just wanted to make suggestions to add to your Heaton marathon, in case you wanted to expand beyond his most well known movies. First off, I’d recommend watching Urban & the Shed Crew (it’s on dailymotion). I’ve heard good things abt it, and it’s pretty cool to hear him use his real Yorkshire accent in a film. Also has Richard Armitage (played Thorin in the Hobbit movies) and Anna Friel (Pushing Daisies + is pretty tight with Charlie). Also I’d recommend Charlie’s episode of Soulmates. His acting is incredible, as is everyone’s, and his character’s relationship with Martha (Malin Akerman) is really sweet. My only complaint would be that it’s too short. Also no Heaton marathon would be complete without New Mutants. You need to watch that if only to see him act with Anya again. The movie isn’t great imo, but he’s really good in it, although I could do without the accent.

If you really want to dive into his past work, I’d also suggest watching all the 2015 British tv shows he did (DCI Banks, Casualty, and Vera). His characters obviously aren’t as fleshed out as we’re used to, but it’s always fun to watch fetus Charlie. And if you REALLY REALLY want to dive in, you need to watch Life Needs Courage. It’s a short film/tv advertisement he did in 2014, which actually won the Grand Prix prize and Best Director at the Cannes Lions that year (tv advertisement section of the Cannes film festival). It’s actually really good, especially when you consider the fact that it was his first ever real acting job and he had absolutely no training. This kid was pretty much just born with talent.

First off, thank you so much for the ask! My goal is to pretty much absorb any Heaton content there is, so thank you for letting me know about some of his smaller roles. My next movie is probably gonna be New Mutants and after that his Soulmates episode, which I am stupidly excited for, and I don't know fully why. I'll also for sure check our Life Needs Courage, I have heard great things. I'm excited! Doesn't matter the reviews, if he's in it, I'm excited!

[holisticalecsecareanu]

This interview by ERA News Beta speaks to Alec about a varied number of subjects to do with his film casting and debut in GOC, but farther than that, Alec speaks in great detail about his journey in Romanian theatre,  his views on the state of Romanian theatre today,  his acting philosophy.

I found this an incredibly revelatory article about Alec because you don’t fully realize, until an interview like this,  the depth and breadth, not only of his intelligence, but of his strong beliefs and views regarding his chosen profession. It’s very different going from little snippets in interviews where Alec discusses mostly just one project, to this really comprehensive presentation of who he is as a person and an actor. Also, obviously being able to discuss such complex subjects in his native language, I believe, really allows him to open up more comfortably.

He has a -LOT- of strong feelings and responses to the questions the interviewer asks and he expresses them eloquently, intelligently, and also pretty bluntly, sometimes. It shifted, a little, and not in a bad way, who he is in my head, or rather, it fleshed out who he is in a way that all the quick sound bites and magazine interviews don’t.

I know, from this, that he will never strop striving to push himself and his abilities, to discover new and different ways to learn in his craft. This interview also goes a long way towards explaining how Josh, Francis, and he,  formed such a bond, because I believe they also hold these beliefs and commitments to the roles they take on and the projects invest in. It’s almost like kismet because what are the odds that these three individuals would have the same kind of approach to the story they were telling? I think that is why God’s Own Country is such a superlative and luminous film.

Also, the Fight Club production sounds KICK ASS and I wish I had seen it and I can’t believe someone didn’t tape it!

And, yes, that photo, because it never, never ceases to rock every aspect of my world.

This interview is in Romanian but, at least on Google, there is a Google translate button that appears. I have also provided the Google translated version below; am not able to vouch for it’s accuracy, but at least it is something!

Thank you if you’ve read this far. :-D

Google Translation of Interview Below. : 

The first British film brings a London agent to Alec Secăreanu

There is also news that one of the young aspirants managed a movie in Hollywood, and for a second people hold their breath, dismayed, wondering "what the hell is this?", Before the engines start again. and to see life beyond its course - Radu Iacoban once said to me, referring to an entire generation, actors who are making their way to a glory that neither they nor we know much about yet . It could have the American endorsement or the greatness of the European trophies, in any case it will no longer be possible to rely on the applause of those who built their illusions in the theaters where they were taken by force or on the admiration of those who dreamed of the two hours of the program. television of yesteryear.

Alec Secăreanu is not one of the 10-15 actors who appear constantly in the distribution of each of the films of the new wave, fueling the impression that only a few people have managed to finish the theater institute in Romania lately. But it has the merit of entering Tyler Durden's mind. And to enter Tyler Durden's mind is courage, especially since it is a dark mind, split into two completely separate universes, and in each of them reigns revolt in all its forms, revolt against the system, against consumer society, against to an absent father and, therefore, against God himself. It's an even greater courage to do this after a perfect director has already passed by, who explored his corners, in tandem with an iconic actor.

The first six rounds of Fight Club demonstrations were, at the end of last year, an absolute success in Bucharest, so the complete version follows, with sophisticated projections made by Les Ateliers Nomades - the company that made the famous mapping on the Parliament Palace - and imagined stunt figures under the guidance of experts from the Gladiator Association, which works in the good tradition of its illustrious founder, Szobi Csech. It's like we lost sleep. Anyway, Tyler Durden doesn't sleep either… Alec Secăreanu certainly sleeps quite a bit himself, since in the meantime he finished filming the first feature film in which he took the lead role, a kind of Brokeback Mountain with a farmer from Romania, the debut film of the British director Francis Lee.

There were nine weeks of filming in Yorkshire, enduring the "bipolar weather" of England, during which time he learned, among other things, to cut the hooves of cattle, to make cheese, to witness the birth of lambs. Oleacă already knew from the Fight Club. And in few percussions I surpass him, after Alexandrul Dabija's Requiem, from the National Theater in Bucharest. In addition to stories about the British system, a show business performance machine, news about new theatrical productions in Bucharest or evaluations of Romanian theater in general, from Alec Secăreanu I found out that there is an online radio that takes you far, Nice Cream FM , and something even more interesting, that there is Radiooooo, with five "o's", which allows you to choose from the map of the world what kind of music you want, in decades, from the beginning of the twentieth century to the present. «You can understand your decade and your country and listen to, say, Mongolian music from the '60s. It's something like Wikipedia, users are still uploading music, so they've already reached an impressive database, "says Alec.

Rep: Actors of your generation make most of the film and most make film outside. Ana Ularu, Iacoban, Bucur… a long series in which you have just been included, in the most honorable way, with a British production, a kind of Brokeback Montain as far as I understand, a love story that happens on a farm and involves a character born in Romania

Alec Secăreanu: The first feature film in which I had the main role, "God's Own Country" is Francis Lee's debut film. I really wanted a Romanian for the role, because the character in this story is Romanian, and the director wanted everything to be as authentic and organic as possible. Of course, the character has only a line or two in Romanian, not at all significant, by the way, for the story, so they could take absolutely any other actor who speaks English with an accent. But he wanted everything to be organic. The casting director from Romania gave more than 40 rehearsals and, a few weeks later, the director came to Bucharest and wanted to meet about 13 of us, a group from which he chose three actors. The three were in London for a final test, a so-called chemistry test with the other actor, the one who had already taken the role.

YOU HAVE TO HAVE EXTREMELY STRONG NERVES THOUGH, ESPECIALLY WHEN THE STAKES ARE HIGH. PROBABLY THE FIRST THING YOU NEED TO GET USED TO AS AN ACTOR IS TO BE REJECTED. YOU GO TO DOZENS OF CASTINGS, TO HUNDREDS OF CASTINGS, YOU GET FIVE OR TEN PERCENT OF THEM, TO THE OTHERS YOU ARE REJECTED AND, MOST OF THE TIME, IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT.

 They are simply looking for something else, the sooner you understand this system, the better. To keep your lucidity and show signs of mental health. And you have every reason to protect your health, since, in the end, the tool you work with is yourself and, if you break this tool or if it is defective, it no longer serves you properly. My character's name is Gheorghe Ionescu, he is a young Romanian farmer who went to work in England, who ends up working somewhere, in an isolated complex in Yorkshire, and there he meets a guy, the boy of the farm owners. An unexpected meeting for both of them, surprising, a friendship and a fascination are linked and the two end up living a love story, although neither of them identifies as a gay person. In fact, the film does not want to be a gay movie, but, rather, a story about people, a plea that some encounters are love. A very interesting creative connection was created between me, my colleague, Josh O'Connor, the director Francis Lee and Joshua, our operator.

We had two weeks of rehearsals, in which we discussed very well each stage of the script, each sequence, what happens to the characters, the history of each of them. When I started working, everyone in the frame knew what to do. I filmed a lot of exteriors, on which occasion I got to know very well the weather in England, which is dementia, you

have four seasons in one day, it starts with snow, followed by a storm, then hail, then the sun rises, then again it snows a little and so on. In fact, the weather was a real problem at the connections, because I was starting a frame in the sun and when I resumed it, it was snowing outside, so things didn't fit.

THE TWO WEEKS OF REHEARSALS HELPED ME BUILD THE CHARACTER, BECAUSE I HAD TO WORK ON THE FARM, I LEARNED TO WORK WITH COWS, SHEEP, TO WITNESS THE BIRTH OF LAMBS, TO CUT THE HOOVES OF CATTLE, TO MAKE CHEESE , LOTS OF THINGS. IF THIS THING WITH ACTING DOESN'T WORK… I LEARNED SOME EXTREMELY USEFUL THINGS, WHAT CAN I SAY.

Rep: I understand that the benefits were even greater, you chose an invitation to the British actors' union and a London agent…

Alec Secăreanu: I had the opportunity, for nine weeks, to work in a healthy system from the ground up, starting from the way the union works, to the fact that the actors from the British schools learn notions of personal discipline from college, in a broader framework for the management of the profession. I was treated as a member of their union. A month and a half after I finished filming, my agent received an email from the union asking if I had been paid for the work done, so that the warranty that had been withheld from the producers at the time could be released. in which they announced the film. What can I say… welcome to Romania!

I told them that I am not part of this union, they told me that such a contract in the UK guarantees me these rights and allows me to become a member. I'll be back on the 20th for a series of meetings, and we'll probably finish the talks on this occasion. In the meantime, I also have an agent in London, in addition to those who represent me in Romania. I started the relationship with my agent from Romania, Alexandru Harsany, from RAA (Romanian Artists Agency), two years ago, when I was just returning from Venice, where I stayed for about three months, at the Art Biennale, where I was a performer in an installation built by Alexandra Pirici. Alexandra…, a perfect artist… two days ago completed a performance that will be presented at the Tate, in London…

Returning to my professional path, my stake, I once told my agent, is to work abroad, because in the country, unfortunately, you have nothing to do. You just have nothing to do. Seven to eight films are made a year, which usually have the same cast. In fact, if you look at Romanian films from the last ten years, you might get the impression that only 15 actors have graduated from the University of Romania lately. Beyond this shortcoming, there is no market, the options are few, I do not understand how many of my colleagues manage. Well, I'm in this situation too. Outside, once you have a major project, some doors open, everything goes on.

HERE, I HAVE COLLEAGUES THAT PEOPLE RECOGNIZE ON THE STREET, BY SUBWAY AND BY BUS, WHERE THEY ARE MAINLY BECAUSE THEY DON'T HAVE TAXI MONEY. IT'S FRUSTRATING.

I worked with my agent in Romania, I updated my casting photos every six months, which means to make available to potential producers a picture of the state, in which you must be relaxed, not to frown and to highlights your features as best you can. We have updated, to the necessary standards, the video materials or CV presentations, ie that series of things without which you have nothing to look for at the door of a casting director or an agent. While filming in England, the producers there issued a press release announcing that they were filming and that they had a certain distribution. At time number two, Alexandru's mail exploded, hundreds of requests, questions and offers came, sent by casting directors, agents, an entire machine was set in motion.

During the filming in London, I had five days off at one point, and the producers arranged for me to meet with some other directors, agencies, to see how things worked. They are somehow looking for unpolished stones, hoping to find the next great talent. We don't have this culture. I know only one casting agent who goes to shows or to UNATC, to see new faces, and that is Domnica Cârciumaru. The others always work with the same people, and that's especially because they don't know other people, they don't look to see what actors there are on the market, they don't care. Romanian agencies do not have casting databases, for example.

There are real platforms out there for that. Our casting directors work from project to project. 'What I need, a 40-year-old woman. Where else have I had a 40-year-old woman? Aha, in the gum commercial. Well, let's call that one too - that's how things work. In London I had meetings with three agencies and I opted for a rather large one, The Independent, which deals not only with actors, but also with directors, screenwriters, a total of about a thousand people. I liked that it works as a boutique agency, they have 40 agents, every week they meet and discuss the projects that are on the market and to which they have access and then they try to promote the people they represent. In addition, this agency is open to the States. We will see…

Rep: Returning closer to home, you have a few shows in Bucharest, including Fight Club, one of the revelations of last season. The first six rounds of Fight Club demonstrations were an absolute success, so the full version follows… 

Alec Secăreanu: In addition to the most recent premiere, Fight Club, we have an extraordinary show at Godot, «Flowers, Girls, Movies or Boys», which we have been playing for ten years with great success. It is one of the first texts written by Mimi Brănescu, he being a basic actor, but lately he has reshaped himself on dramaturgy and screenwriting. A show about relationships, which follows the evolution of two couples, from the moment when future lovers know each other, until a little later, when they may lose love. It's a good, funny text, it catches the audience very well. I'm one of those lovers, a filthy neighborhood wannabe, the kind who feels like he knows them all, and obviously he's not.

His evolution is very interesting, he hits a person he underestimates, in any case he did not expect to have such an impact on him. The girl is from another social class and this very conflict between social classes arouses him and makes him get closer. In time, however, the two realize that they do not have much in common.

I KNOW, I KNOW, THERE'S A THEORY THAT OPPOSITES WOULD BE DRAWN, BUT THEY'RE MOST LIKELY DRAWN TO THE POINT WHERE THEY REALLY HAVE NOTHING IN COMMON. THEY MAY NOT EVEN MEET AT ALL, AND THAT'S THE STRANGENESS OF THE COUPLE WE'RE TALKING ABOUT.

I have another show at the National Theater, Requiem, directed by Alexandru Dabija, entered the seasons last year, things are going well. We expected him to be selected in the National Theater Festival, but it seems that was not the case. It is a text Vişniec, first placed in Romania, with references to an area that seems to be of great interest to Dabija now, more precisely the area of ​​war, the world of soldiers. Vişniec was also interested in this form in one form or another, if we think of "The Woman as a Battlefield in the Bosnian War".

most spectacular staging of this text. There was another show, once in France, he told me that he had seen it, but that it is much more extravagant. Dabija thought of an image show, there are costumes, there is scenery, there are quite a few actors on stage, about 20, some of them employees of TNB, most of them - collaborators. It is sung, it is sung beautifully, the music is by Ada Milea, some songs are really very nice, it is a kind of music specific to the instruments with which it is played: an accordion, a big drum - where I play… We have some marches and various others pieces that lead to the military music area.

I play the role of a soldier who still believes in victory. The story takes place in a cafe Chez Vişniec, a place where soldiers meet who are preparing to return home, who dream of the triumphant march and the glory of reception in their cities. All sorts of people gather at this cafe, some who have never believed in victory, others who have believed, there are some who still believe that victory is possible - all sorts of psychologists synthesized from this theater of war.

What did not delight me about this text is the fact that the characters do not have an evolution from one end of the show to the other. A logic does not have to exist, it is an area of ​​the theater that Vişniec has accustomed us to, but the characters, although very vehement, with a very strong speech, were suitable for a well-deserved development.

Rep: Do you believe in victory? Or have you not fought your big battles so far?

Alec Secăreanu: No, the great battles did not take place. But we started with a few fights, some of which we lost, others we won, others are still contested. I lost, for example, the struggle with the idealism I had at the end of college. I was very disappointed when I finished college, very disappointed… I had high expectations from the Romanian theater market, I hoped to have a vision, a coherence, a general enthusiasm. Of course, everyone wants to be part, at some point, of a movement that means something. I'm still part of the independent theater area, so I never relied on the state theater to do anything for me.

BY THE WAY, I THINK THAT THE STATE THEATER HAS ENTERED A KIND OF SHADOW CONE, IN THE SENSE THAT, AT LEAST THAT IS MY IMPRESSION, IT HAS BECOME MANNERIST, IT HAS NO IMAGINATION, IT HAS STUCK IN SOME RECIPES THAT SEEM TO WORK AND, WITH FEW EXCEPTIONS, NO ONE SEEMS WILLING TO DEVELOP NEW THEATRICAL EXPRESSIONS.

And in the latter case, the high hopes and high expectations were primarily for them, because they manage the funds needed to do that. Every year they have to put on a number of shows and I look in amazement that they are not trying to discover anything, they are systematically going to areas where they have been before, they only walk on dirt paths. It's not the commercial that has to bring the world to the theater. There may be a commercial area, but I think it is our duty, of artists, actors, directors, to push the boundaries a little, to invent new ways.

But the independent theater is currently identifying itself as an area of ​​precarious means. You do shows that catch the audience - logically, otherwise you can't finance yourself, the setting is, most often, modest, consisting of two chairs and a table - since there is no money for something more sophisticated, the costumes are also as they are - most often the actors come with their clothes from home. It's a poor theater, let's face it. If you try to look for what is happening in the independent theater, the first time you notice the lack of funds, and you notice it as a spectator and it would not be your job as a spectator to see things like that. It can be seen that the director made a kind of compromise with the money to make this show. While in the state theater a lot of funds are lost.

There are exceptions, of course, but my huge frustration is that you see shows with extraordinary budgets and you don't understand why the money went for such a show, which doesn't bring anything new. While in the independent theater there are so many ideas and so much desire to work, but there is no funding for their realization. I was really talking to someone the other day, because we're looking for funding for Fight Club, and I was asked, okay, beyond funding, what's the business? Let's get along, we're talking about an art form, and monetizing art in this brutal way is harder to imagine, because our stake is to try to develop new theatrical languages, we need grants, state aid, maybe even the private area, the effort is not made for a show to be sold like this, to fill the halls.

If you want that, you have a party, you call the world, you play a few more instruments, you say three more poems and that was it. Either way you want to go, the discussion inevitably reaches the area of ​​the diseased system, which you have little to do, except to try to build it from scratch.

I have a cultural association with some colleagues. We realized in 2007, when we finished the University, that there is no point in hoping, that we will not receive any kind of help from the theaters, where even now the places are blocked.

I WOULDN'T SAY THEY AVOID YOUNG PEOPLE, BUT RATHER THAT THEY ARE WARMER WITHOUT US. THERE ARE A LOT OF EMPLOYEES IN THEATERS WHO DO NOTHING, BUT KEEP THE SEATS BLOCKED, TWO OR THREE SEATS APPEAR ONCE EVERY THREE YEARS.

IT'S A KIND OF SLAVERY, PEOPLE WORK IN A WELL-GROUNDED SYSTEM, WHICH NO ONE REALLY WANTS TO CHANGE.

In fact, the same situation is in every state institution, many people who receive a meaningless salary. And these are not theater companies, to say that they are families, but they are state institutions, financed from the budget. One is an independent, self-financing theater company and theoretically is allowed to do whatever it wants with its money, and another is a budget-funded theater, obliged to function for the public and to educate it, to arouse it, to motivate it. . If you put the same pieces of Caragiale and Chekhov every year, and only that, and only that…

Rep: There are all kinds of public calls lately for the elimination from the scene - from various scenes - of the generation we call, coded, "golden", as we saw calls of some intermediate generations, I would not know how to define them , to finance somewhat less intellectual productions, which have at least some connection with the public. Where is the truth? And with the golden generation, what should be done, ideally, from the point of view of the new wave you represent?

Alex Secăreanu: Who else is today a consumer of magazine theater, for example? They are nostalgic, and they know where to find their shows, and they somehow look for them by virtue of inertia. I have no problem taking care of established actors. I appreciate them as history and there are some from which I had a lot to learn, because they are better than me. Victor Rebengiuc, for example, with whom I worked for a short film called Casting Call, written and directed by Conrad Mericoffer, is a man from whom I learned a lot. The story follows an elderly actor, who is called to a casting, but it is not necessarily about the elderly actor, but a generic meditation on the condition of the actor, because we are all, in fact, in the same situation. I played, Paul Ipate, Victor Rebengiuc and Sergiu Costache.

I learned a lot in the short time I spent with Rebengiuc, how to behave in a team, how to approach a role…

IT'S LIKE CHESS. IF YOU PLAY WITH SOMEONE WHO IS BETTER THAN YOU, YOU LEARN FROM HIM. IT'S NICE TO HAVE SOMEONE BETTER BEAT YOU, BECAUSE YOU LEARN FROM HIM.

There are cases, however, in which it would be in the best interest of the actors in question to give up, as is the case of Radu Beligan, for whom I have a huge respect, but who has advanced a lot in age, goes through natural stages of life, to simply remember the lines, it is simply no longer possible. What we want from this story is already doing him a disservice. It's just an example. With reconfigurations and reinventions it is harder… but actors like Victor Rebengiuc and Marcel Iureș believe that they went in different ways from the very beginning, they wanted more than they were offered and they looked for more.

In this profession you never stop searching, because as soon as you get the impression that you know them all, you enter a very dangerous area, an area where you don't come up with anything new, and the viewer feels that. You have to surprise him, he has to see you doing something new, otherwise there is no stake.

Rep: Fight Club… You were able to get into Tyler Durden's mind, a courage, probably, after his twisted imagination was once explored by David Fincher, with the iconic film released in 1999. What you found there ?

Alex Secăreanu: Fight Club… is a story that, for me, started many years ago. I read Chuck Palahniuk's book in 2006 and I thought that this book must be a theater show. The idea bothered me for many years, until last year, when the stars lined up, I said it would be time to do it, especially since I found an exceptional team. We developed ideas, we had a lot of meetings in which we kept challenging the imagination, to see where the story can take us, and finally we were ready to put everything into practice. Sure, we hit the funding. Arcubul financed us for the show, which is a complex one, with multimedia elements, videomapping, fight scenes, music,

It was a test for us first of all, to see if our ideas work, if the team works. After the first six rounds, we realized that we are on a very good road, which must be continued. We can bring new elements to the theater, we can develop new languages ​​in the theater, we wanted from the beginning to make an experience for the spectator, a one hundred percent experience made for him. We wanted the spectator, when he left the theater, to feel that he had received a punch in the stomach. We got pretty close to the goal, all the people said, after the show, that they lived that thing that we felt when we were little and we watched a karate movie, and after the movie you wanted to jump around the house, to give more and you a fist, try another scheme.

He left absolutely no one regardless of this show, which is very important. We need some more money to set it up the way we thought it would. The amount is not large for a state theater, but huge for an independent theater. About 60,000 euros. Usually, in the independent theater you say, come on, how much do we have, 5,000 euros? Let's do it, we come home with more clothes, we cut another set, we give up that one, the other one and we did the show. When you have thought of an artistic approach in a coherent way, you cannot make concessions like this. You can not. There are elements, means that you absolutely need to build your convention fluently, to say what you wanted to say.

THERE ARE ALSO PRODUCTIONS AT TNB OF ONE MILLION EUROS, APUS DE SOARE, THIS ONE FROM TEN YEARS AGO OR WHEN IT WAS MADE, TWO SEASONS WERE ALSO PLAYED AT REVEDERE.

There is also a record amount for a show that has never been played before. I don't know how much the funding was, but let's remember that in the year of Caragiale, a theater wanted to do D'ale Carnavalului somewhere, at the Metrorex Halls. They equipped a hall with bombers, cars, an entire fair built from scratch, and the show was never done again

[letterboxd]

Pride: 25 Queer Films To Love.

Dating Amber writer and director David Freyne introduces our London correspondent Ella Kemp to 25 of his favorite LGBTQIA films.

A coming-out, coming-of-age film, David Freyne’s Dating Amber follows “baby gays” Eddie (Fionn O’Shea) and Amber (Lola Petticrew), who act as each other’s beards in order to stop speculation about their sexualities. Released on Amazon Prime Video in the UK for Pride month, it’s winning praise from Letterboxd members as a “charming” and “gentle” comedy-drama “full of loveliness that extends beyond the Irish accents”.

Lola Petticrew and Fionn O’Shea as Amber and Eddie in ‘Dating Amber’.

As the number of films by and about the gay and trans community expands, we asked Freyne if he could narrow down a list of ten favorites for us. The answer was no—instead, we got 25!

“There are so many extraordinary queer films beyond this list, but all of these films just really affected me when I saw them. Some were the first time I saw queerness on screen, while I deeply identified with others. And, as a filmmaker, each of them makes me braver to fight to tell stories that aren't always easy to get made.

“They are in no particular order because I don’t want to bump into Barry Jenkins (which is obviously going to happen) and have to explain that he is number five on that list (that he will definitely read) for no specific reason. It’s just a technicality.”

David Freyne’s 25 Favorite LGBTQIA+ Films

My Summer of Love (2004) Directed by Paweł Pawlikowski

Paweł Pawlikowski’s film feels like a dream that sweeps you up along with it, helped along by incredible early performances from Natalie Press and Emily Blunt. The hypnotic use of Goldfrapp's ‘Lovely Head’ is probably my favorite use of a song in any film ever. Their drug-fuelled dancing was a massive inspiration for Eddie and Amber’s baby steps into Dublin’s gay scene in Dating Amber.

Weekend (2011) Directed by Andrew Haigh

I never fail to cry buckets at the end of this heartbreaking gem. It’s small in the best sense of the word. Two people fall in love over one intimate weekend. Their gayness is both incidental and totally fundamental. It’s so delicate and moving. Andrew Haigh is a master.

But I’m a Cheerleader (1999) Directed by Jamie Babbit

Jamie Babbit’s debut is a brilliant, campy comedy about a cheerleader sent to a conversion therapy camp. I love it for all the reasons many critics (at the time) disliked it. It is subversive, quirky and defiantly upbeat. And it stars Natasha Lyonne and Clea Duvall. Enough said.

Paris is Burning (1990) Directed by Jennie Livingston

I’m not saying anything new when I say that Paris is Burning is necessary viewing. It’s a hilarious, moving and eye-opening look at the (mostly) Black trans women in New York’s ball scene. It is a glimpse into the lives of these extraordinary people who risked everything to live authentically, for themselves and each other. And at a time when our trans family is so under attack, it is vital to see such iconic figures from our community. You’ve probably seen it. Re-watch it. Also those end notes will make you cry.

Happy Together (1997) Directed by Wong Kar-wai

As with all Wong Kar-wai’s work, it is jaw-droppingly gorgeous. It’s a tough watch, a portrait of a toxic, failing relationship. But it looks beautiful. They’re miserable and co-dependent. It’s abusive and awful. But it’s great. It really is a great film. I’m not selling this one well. Just watch it.

Moonlight (2016) Directed by Barry Jenkins

Definitely worth watching after Happy Together. Not just because it will make you feel better, but because Barry Jenkins has noted it as a big influence. Also, Moonlight is a masterpiece. You know that, of course. Side note: I realize I’ll never be able to create a hand-job scene as powerful and tender as Jenkins did here, but, in Dating Amber, I made three comedy hand-jobs. Take that Jenkins!

God’s Own Country (2017) Directed by Francis Lee

You can feel Francis Lee in every frame of this film. It’s personal filmmaking at its very best, with wonderful performances from Josh O’Connor and Alec Secăreanu. And it has the most beautifully romantic ending that you only realize we lack for LGBTQ characters when you see it laid out so wonderfully. When we were trying to finance Dating Amber and people suggested it was too Irish, I’d just reference God’s Own Country, which is so defiantly Yorkshire, and they’d shut up. Also, Secăreanu’s jumper with a thumb hole is my style icon. Bring on Ammonite!

Can You Ever Forgive Me? (2018) Directed by Marielle Heller

Marielle Heller is such a brilliant filmmaker. This film is based on the memoir by Lee Israel who forged letters by famous people to sell. It’s a genre piece that feels like it could have been made in the 70s. But what I love about it the most is that it is a rare example of a film that centers the friendship between a lesbian and a gay man. Why do films usually treat us like we exist in totally separate worlds? Anyway, it’s a joyous watch.

Tangerine (2015) Directed by Sean Baker

I’m obsessed with tightly plotted films and Tangerine doesn’t waste a frame. It’s 88 minutes of pure wit, charm and entertainment in line with the best of old-school Hollywood. You instantly forget that Baker’s film is shot on an iPhone and just get swept up in the extraordinary performances of Mya Taylor and Kitana Kiki Rodriguez. It’s such a mystery they don’t work more. (Reader: it’s not a mystery. It’s because they are Black trans women, and the industry is shit.)

Portrait of a Lady On Fire (2019) Directed by Céline Sciamma

We all bow at the alter of Céline Sciamma. This film is perfection. The sparse-but-powerful use of music, exquisite photography and extraordinary performances that burn beneath the stillness. The final shots of Adèle Haenel will feed your soul for a year. (Side note: face masks have never looked so stylish.)

Sunday Bloody Sunday (1971) Directed by John Schlesinger

This was John Schlesinger’s follow up to his best-known film, Midnight Cowboy. A middle-aged gay doctor (Peter Finch), and a divorced woman (Glenda Jackson), are both in an open love triangle with a younger, bisexual sculptor (Murray Head). It’s quite low-key and far tamer now than when it was released, but it’s a beautiful film and Schlesinger’s most personal. He was one of the few openly gay directors of his time. And Jackson’s performance steals it.

Far From Heaven (2002) Directed by Todd Haynes

Todd Haynes’ stunning film will make you immediately go out and discover all of Douglas Sirk’s glorious technicolor melodramas. Julianne Moore’s performance as a wife who discovers her husband is gay will break you. Dennis Quaid is also terrific as her closeted husband.

The Watermelon Woman (1996) Directed by Cheryl Dunye

Cheryl Dunye’s low-budget debut is a seminal queer film. A video store worker and documentarian (played by Dunye) starts a new relationship while becoming obsessed with ‘the watermelon woman’, a Black actress forgotten by history. It’s lo-fi, funny and a, far too rare, film about race and sexuality.

My Beautiful Laundrette (1985) Directed by Stephen Frears

It may have been the first time I saw gay characters on screen and, at the time, it petrified me. But what an amazing film about love, acceptance and the power to change. Fun fact: Daniel Day-Lewis spent a year as a tumble dryer in preparation for his role.

Beautiful Thing (1996) Directed by Hettie MacDonald

Hettie MacDonald’s coming-of-age film is so lovely, honest and tender. James Harvey adapted it from his own play of the same name. The soundtrack is almost entirely The Mamas and the Papas. I am surprised some cigar-smoking West-End mogul hasn’t attempted a musical adaptation. Or maybe they have, I don’t know.

Pride (2014) Directed by Matthew Warchus

Such a purely entertaining film while being urgent, political and deeply moving. Beresford’s script is a masterclass in plotting and if you don’t cry at the end then you are dead inside. Sorry but that’s just science. Also it has the most emotional postscript coda since, well, Paris is Burning.

Love is Strange (2014) Directed by Ira Sachs

Ira Sachs is one of my favorite current filmmakers and criminally underrated. I mean, he’s appreciated, but he needs to be lauded. Love is Strange is such a charming and quietly devastating love story about an older gay couple who lose their apartment and have to couch surf with relatives. It’s one of the most effective films in dealing with the rental crisis in big cities, something he does equally brilliantly in the follow-up, Little Men.

A Fantastic Woman (2017) Directed by Sebastián Lelio

Sebastián Lelio’s film is a beautiful story about one trans woman’s grief after the unexpected death of her older partner. But what makes this film so spectacular is the captivating performance by Daniela Vega. We need to see more of her on screen.

BPM (Beats per Minute) (2017) Directed by Robin Campillo

It’s a film about the AIDS activism of Act Up in 1990s Paris. What makes this so incredible is how joyous it is. Strobe-doused dance scenes punctuate this film that will make you want to take to the streets and fight for your rights.

The Queen of Ireland (2015) Directed by Conor Horgan

This documentary by Conor Horgan follows Ireland’s most famous drag queen, Panti Bliss (aka Rory O’Neill). It’s about his life, a legal battle (a bunch of homophobes sued Rory for calling them homophobes on national TV) and the staging of a show in his hometown. Central to all this is Ireland’s historic vote on marriage equality, something that Panti was a powerful figure in. If you want to laugh and have your heart soar in seeing confirmation of how a once painfully conservative country moved to love and equality, watch this.

The Kids Are All Right (2010) Directed by Lisa Cholodenko

Lisa Cholodenko’s feature is a warm, witty and realistic look at a lesbian couple and their children. Every performance is pitch perfect. I can’t believe it’s a decade old and that we have had so few similar films since.

Booksmart (2019) Directed by Olivia Wilde

We need more joyous films with queer leads and Olivia Wilde’s debut is just that. Set over one night of belated partying, we follow best friends Molly and Amy (Beanie Feldstein and Kaitlyn Dever), one of whom happens to be a lesbian. It is just so much fun to watch.

All About My Mother (1999) Directed by Pedro Almodóvar

I mean this list could just be an Almodóvar filmography, but All About My Mother just happened to be the first of his I saw and it blew my little gay mind. It’s simply about love in its truest sense. Almodóvar said it best with his dedication, “To all actresses who have played actresses. To all women who act. To men who act and become women. To all the people who want to be mothers. To my mother.”

Female Trouble (1974) Directed by John Waters

You can’t have a queer film list without John Waters, and this 1974 classic is my favorite of his. It follows Dawn Davenport (played by the legendary Divine) from teen delinquent to the electric chair. It’s hilarious, irreverent and distasteful in the ways only Waters can be.

Saint Maud (2019) Directed by Rose Glass

Rose Glass’s debut film isn’t out yet and so technically shouldn’t be on the list. But I saw at a festival last year and loved it, so there. It’s a horror film about a private nurse (rising star Morfydd Clark) who tries to save the soul of her deviant and lesbian patient (the always-brilliant Jennifer Ehle). It’s eerie, stylish and the sort of debut all us filmmakers wish we had. Shut up, you’re jealous!

Related content

MundoF’s Opening the Vault: a chronological history of queer interest and LGBTQ+ cinema.

Leonora’s list of Films by Transgender Writers and Directors.

Out of the Closets and Into the Cinemas!: meeting queer folks in dark rooms.

New Queer Cinema

Queer Films Everyone Must See

Queer, Black, 21st Century: A Pride 2020 List

Autostraddle’s Top 200 Lesbian, Bisexual & Queer Movies of All Time

Brianna’s list of LGBT+ Animation

[missnxthingg]

Can you do cocky college Tom? Y/N hates him cuz he is such a player and so arrogant, but of course he is also extremely hot. One night, there's a costume party and Tom shows up in something ridiculous that shows off his body -- all his muscles and his bulge. Throughout the night, he keeps flirting and flexing until he finally wins her over. And then he's super dominant, making her go to her knees for a BJ. He makes her gag while he dirty talks and boasts and smirks :)

A/N: I’m so sorry I took too long to get to it. I have to be on the mood of writing smut to do it properly. I’ve been working on it for the past week and it’s going to have two parts, okay? If you, anon, want to be tagged on part two, send me a message! Also, I needed to give it a name and I fucking hated it, might change it later.

Pairing: College!Fuckboy!Tom x Reader

Words: 3.8K

Warnings: Smut, oral (f and m receiver), swearing, I don’t know how many more, but it’s pretty dirty.

PART TWO

masterlist - main blog 

Cinnamon Coffee - Part One

College is supposed to be an amazing experience for everyone. Going out of your comfort zone, finally knowing what is like to be a grown up, meeting a lot of new people, make new friends and mess around with all sorts of people. (Y/N) (Y/L/N) couldn’t deny, she was very excited to pack her things and start her new life.

The dorm she got in was huge, with a beautiful front garden where a lot of girls could hang out whenever they want to. Her roommate was cute and very funny, easily to become friends with. She got the right side of the room, letting (Y/N) with no choice but to get the left one. But it was a big room though, with enough space for the both of them.

The first week was good, mostly getting to know the campus and the freshmans. A lot of parties and activities to make people bound before the classes even started. (Y/N) also took a time to chill out and get to know around the campus, and that’s how she discovered that they had a coffee shop right between her dorm and the boys dorm, and that their coffee was really great. One chilly day, she decided to go get some breakfast and just stay at her room and watch TV with her roommate.

“Morning Lizzie.” She greeted the barista. It became a common thing since she’s been going there for everyday during a week.

“Morning (Y/N). What it will be today?” She asked and (Y/N) glanced around the counter, thinking about what to order.

“I want a cinnamon latte, banana bread and croissant.”

“Done in a minute.”

(Y/N) smiled and turned around to watch for somewhere to sit and wait for her order to get ready, but something got in her way, or someone.

“Oi, watch it, gorgeous.” The person said and (Y/N) glanced up to find a beautiful boy, curly brown locks, strong arms and a bright smile.

“Sorry, I’m just sleepy.”

“Don’t worry about it, pretty one.” He touched her chin and winked.

“Uhm, personal space?” She said, thinking that he didn’t even knew her to be touching her chin.

“I’m Tom, by the way. Tom Holland.” He smiled, running his fingers through his hair. “Do you have a name, pretty angel?”

“Not really any of your-”

“(Y/N), your order is ready.” The barista called and she shut her eyes in anger.

“(Y/N), what a pretty name. Fits the pretty owner.” He smiled and she turned around to pay for her order. Tom stopped her, paying for her order. “Keep the change.”

“Why did you do that? You don’t even know me. And I don’t know you either.”

“Oh, but you will, baby girl.” He waved and turned around to get out of there. “See ya’ around, (Y/N).”

She just simply stood there, trying to digest what just happened, when a voice called her back to Earth.

“Oh, he’s such a player.” Lizzie said, cleaning the counter. “He’s been coming here for a whole week and I’ve already seen him paying for three girls.”

“Good to know.” (Y/N) said, before she thanked the barista and got back to her dorm.

After that day, the boy kept popping up everywhere she was. Tom was at every party, every game and soon he was in the psychology class. The day she saw him coming into the door, she almost dropped that one class immediately, specially when he sat behind her with a playful smile on his face.

“Hello gorgeous, I didn’t know you took psychology for major.” He caressed her cheek, smiling tenderly.

“And I’m considering dropping out right now.” She removed his hand out of her face, turning to her notebook resting on the table.

“Why so angry, baby girl? I’m just trying to be nice.”

“As you do to every girl.”

It was true. Tom did everything to impress every girl around. He didn’t need much, having a totally flawless body and being a super hot guy. But he winked, he picked on their waist, smiled, looked right into their eyes. So it didn’t take long until he got every girl on the campus to fall in love with him. That way, he started to ruin her Saturday mornings reading in the front garden.

The day she found it ruined was the worst. She accidentally got up early and she changed her clothes and got out to find something to do. She bought coffee and lied a blanket in the grass under a tree to drink it, eat small fruits and read a book. It was a normal Saturday morning for her, until she noticed a couple of girls almost passing out next to her, looking at something behind her back. And there he was, a tight shirt on, drinking his water slowly so the girls would enjoy the view. She rolled her eyes and he noticed.

“Morning (Y/N)!”

“Fuck off!” She shouted back, not getting her attention out of the book.

“Come on beautiful, I’m trying to be nice.”

“Maybe you should try and be less of a show off.”

“Can’t do that darling.” He smiled and continued his walk.

“Fucking pathetic.”

It was a pretty common thing to see him around girls. In the halls, in parties. God, she even caught him making out with one small ginger in the library. It was nonstop and it annoyed her so much, specially because he would be always going after her.

“Morning pretty angel, got your usual, you can thank me with a kiss.” He said to her once, giving her a coffee. She shook her head no and continued her walk.

“If that’s the payment, I’m not accepting it.” She said and he sighed.

“Come on, what am I supposed to do with a cinnamon latte? I don’t even like cinnamon.”

“Give it to another poor girl, I don’t fucking care.”

“But I bought it for you. Please accept it, as a friendly move.” (Y/N) stopped at the door and accepted the coffee.

“Thank you.” She directed herself into her class, thanking every god there is it wasn’t psychology class. This way she wasn’t going to spend two full hours with Tom.

She really started to think he was starting to change with that nice move, that until she saw him doing the same thing with another girl on her dorm. (Y/N)’s heart broke, but again, she wasn’t expecting much out of him.

They both continued their lives, him teasing her a lot, and trying to flirt too, while she tried to ignore him everytime he approached. The more time passed by, the more he wanted to make her his, at least for one night.

She was driving him insane. Maybe it was the fact that she’s the only girl who doesn’t want to be with him, and also adding the fact that she was completely gorgeous. He would watch her from far and be completely amused by her beauty. The littlest things got into his head. The way she sits at her desk, he way her hair falls softly on her shoulders, her rosy cheeks and cherry lips. She was perfect, and even looked cuter when she was angry at him.

“Hey baby girl, this one’s for you.” He was playing football with some of his friends while she was hanging around with some others in the corner. He scored a goal and blowed her a kiss.

“Is there going to be a day that you won’t remember my existence?”

“Probably not, considering we are getting married.”

“Oh, fuck you.” She rolled her eyes and drank another sip of her beer.

“You wish you could, darling.” He winked and went back to the game.

“He’s so into you.” One of her friends poked her with their elbow and she pretended to not even listen.

“He’s into everyone.” One of her friends told her and (Y/N) nodded.

“Tom Holland is a complete idiot, and I hate him. He literally does everything to get me to his bed.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“It is when he does it with every girl on campus.”

When summer came, everyone was wearing shorter clothes, showing much more skin, and that included (Y/N). One day she appeared for class in a white tank top and denim skirt. Tom watched her walking through the longs halls, observing the way her legs moved and how perfect she was. It sparked something on him, and he followed her all the day to class biting his lips. He kissed her cheek and sat down behind her.

“Good morning pretty angel. You look stunning today.”

“Morning Tom. Don’t you have anything else to do today?” She asked and he started to play with her hair.

“No, I have all day to admire your beauty.”

“You’re pathetic.” She said with her strong North Yorkshire accent. He leaned into her ear and pulled a strand of hair away from that.

“I love you accent.” He whispered so only she could hear it. “I wonder what it will sound like when you cum.”

Her whole body shivered, and as much as she hated to admit it, he turned her own. Oftenly actually. If there’s one thing she can’t deny is that he is extremely hot. And sometimes the things he does to her gets her to shiver from the top of her head to her tiptoes. Like those times he rest one hand on her waist and presses his finger in there. They usually make (Y/N)’s heart beat faster. But she always thought it was pure anger.

“Only in your dreams Holland.”

“Oh, I dream about it everyday baby girl. Having you in my bed, screaming my name. And today, your clothes aren’t really helping me.”

“So I guess you’ll have to find another girl to fuck it off.”

“Maybe I’ll do tomorrow. Also, are you coming tomorrow to the costume party? I’m not a frat kid, but I heard it’s going to be awesome.”

“I might stop by, yeah.” She said, focusing on what she’s been writing on her notebook for a while now.

“So look for me, I’ll be the guy in the sexy costume. It shouldn’t be hard to find me.”

(Y/N) didn’t want to go at first, but her roommate literally dragged her to the party. She wore a pretty bunny costume, a really sexy one, completely showing her thighs and popping her tits up. The party was full, and probably everyone on campus was there. She stood in a corner with her friends, drinking a beer and glancing at everyone to see their costumes. And she was really happy and impressed with everyone, smiling a lot, but her smiled died when she crossed her eyes with one know guy.

He was drinking with his friends in his stupid costume. For her surprise, they were matching up. Tom also was wearing a bunny costume, with the black ears, bow tie and shorts, completely shirtless. He knew everyone had their eyes on him, but he only had eyes for one person tonight, and she was looking stunning. He winked and got back to his conversation.

“You gotta be shitting me.” She whispered, rolling her eyes. He dropped his friends and directed himself to her, with a big smile on his face. “Oh God.”

“Hey baby girl, I’m glad you came.”

“Hey Tom.” She said, not sounding much excited to see him.

“I see we matched up. Even the universe is telling us to be together.”

“Or maybe you’re a psycho stalker that saw me buying bunny ears the other day.” She said and he nodded.

“Anyway, you look so fucking beautiful.” He caressed her chin and smiled. “Do you wanna dance?“

“Maybe later, I’m with my friends.”

“Pinky promise?” He showed his pinkie and she nodded. “You need to do the thing.”

“Shut up or you’re not even getting that." 

”(Y/N)…“ His finger was still standing, and she entwined their fingers. "I’ll be waiting.”

And he really meant it, but (Y/N) didn’t give a damn about it and had fun with her friends. They did shots, they had fun, laughed a lot and ended up on the dancefloor. He couldn’t take his eyes off her the whole night. She looked so fucking sexy, it was getting to him in a way he could never imagine it. Tom bit his lips while watching her dance alone on the dancefloor and he approached her from behind, his hands on each side of her hips, rocking her against his own hips. She leaned her head to the side and he got some strands of hair out of the way. He kissed her neck slowly and her whole body shivered, at that point she didn’t even know what she was doing. She turned around and glued their foreheads and they kept dancing together, breaths mixing and all handsy.

“You know, my room is empty tonight, if you wanna get out of here.” She let her fingers entwine behind his neck and he swayed her side to side.

“Won’t you get me a drink first?” She asked and leaned to his ear. “You’re not gonna get me this easily, Holland.”

“So, do you want a beer?”

“Oh, I’d love a beer.” She smiled and he pulled her to the bar to get two drinks. 

“You know, I really meant when I said you look so fucking beautiful tonight.” He caressed her right arm and sat on a high stool and pulled her to sit on his lap. “Actually, you always look so beautiful.”

“I bet that you say it to every girl.” She sipped her beer and he chuckled.

“Yeah, but I never really mean it. I say it to you everyday, and you still don’t believe me.”

“Because you have the fame of a womanizer.” She glanced somewhere else, finding her friends almost dying for seeing her on Tom’s lap.

“Well, but you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And the sexiest too.” He pressed his fingers on her waist and sniffed her perfume, gluing his nose to her neck. He left a small peck right there. “Also you’re not helping with this short dress at all.“

"Well you aren’t helping me either.” She glanced down to his body and he smirked, leaning in to reach her lips on a brief and warm kiss.

“I want to fuck you until the only name you know is mine.” He said against her lips and it turned her on so badly, that she could feel the wet spot on her panty.

“Let’s go.” She whispered against his lips and she got up to let him stand up.

She was ahead of him, guided by a hand on her lower back. Tom was so close that (Y/N) could feel his breath against her neck. They left the party and hushed to his dorm, which wasn’t so far away. The halls were practically empty, and they easily got to his room without being seen. He let her go to open the door, getting inside before her. She followed him inside, anxious about what was about to happen. Tom pressed her against the door, provoking her while brushing his lips on hers, hands searching to lock the door. 

Once the door was locked, he started the kiss, ending the gap between them. His hands grabbed her ass and he gave a lot of squeezes right there. She removed his bunny ear, pulled his hair and scratched the back of his head, deepening the kiss. It was full of lust and desire, a long one coming from months wanting to do that. He pulled her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her fingers traced down to his length, massaging it over his trousers, making him moan during the kiss. He used his hands to hold hers above her head, while he stopped the kiss to suck her neck. She moaned when his hot mouth crashed her skin.

“Shit…” She whispered, feeling even more turned on.

“You want me to fuck you baby girl?” He said against her neck. “Do you want me to make you feel good?” She nodded and he sucked on her neck. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes! I want you to fuck the shit out of me.” She moaned and he sucked her jaw, letting her slowly get down from his lap.

“Go on your fucking knees.” He said, pushing her down. She stepped on her knees and he unbuttoned his trousers, along with his boxers. His cock smacked his belly and (Y/N)’s mouth watered. She tried to get her hands on his cock, and he stopped her. “Open your mouth”. She did as he said and he slapped her cheek. “Wider for daddy.”

She opened her mouth wider and he removed her bunny ears, held her hair back with one hand and the other one guided his cock to her mouth. He fucked her mouth with no pity, going deep down her throat, making her gag with his big cock, saliva dripping down her chin.

“You like to have my cock on your mouth, pretty angel? Fuck, you look so pretty when you’re taking my big cock.” He moaned looking for her eyes. “Look at me while you do it.” She glanced up and he smirked, going harder than before.

She wasn’t going to take up anymore, and he noticed it, stopping his movements and letting her go. She dropped her weight on the floor and he helped her getting up. She cleaned her mouth before he took her in a kiss again. Tom searched for the zip in her dress, sliding it down slowly when he found it opened. Quickly, he opened her bra and it joined her dress on the floor. He pulled her and dropped her in bed, going on top to give some proper attention to her breasts.

“You have the most amazing tits in the world.” He sucked on her left nipple while his hand massaged the left one. “So fucking good. I wanna suck it like a little baby.”

“Holy shit Thomas.” She moaned, throwing her head back. 

“You drive me insane baby.” He said between kisses on her bare chest, leaving dark circles where he passed. He trailed his kisses to her belly and her hips, where he sucked a little more before the tearing her panty, making it easier to removed it.

“You just ruined my favourite panty.” She said and he chuckled.

“You look so much beautiful without it.” He kissed her core and moaned with how wet she was. “You shouldn’t even wear it anymore.”

“Uhmmm… really?” She pressed her lips and let some small moans out.

“Yeah.” He licked it first, and pulled her legs over his shoulders, entwining their fingers right after. “It tastes amazing too.”

“Fuck Tom! You take me so fucking good.”

He didn’t reply, fully focusing on her dripping pussy, all wet for him. His tongue explored every corner of her, going faster whenever he found her clit. She rocked her hips against his mouth, throwing her head back, not being able to contain her moans in anymore. She was practically screaming, while pulling his hair. He let go one of her hands to slide two fingers in, pumping it hard inside her. He felt her clenching around his fingers, and he stopped sucking her, his fingers still working inside her.

“Are you close baby girl? I know you are. Cum for me pretty angel, I bet it will taste like heaven.”

“FUCK! I’m gonna cum Tommy, harder!” He obeyed her, going harder than before. She had her first orgasm of the night right there in his mouth. He got up to kiss her, making her savour her taste on his mouth.

“Can you see how good you taste? That’s my dirty girl.” He bit her ear and she moaned. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

“What are you waiting for?” He smiled and pulled her up.

“On your fours, pretty angel.” She did what he said while he got a condom out of his night stand. He pushed her against the mattress, rolling her hair around his hand to pull it. He brushed his cock on her core, making them moan loudly. He slide it in without pity, finding it hard to do it since she was so tight.

Tom’s cock was the biggest (Y/N)’s ever taken, so it took a while to adjust his size. But once he felt it was okay to keep going, he started to push hard inside her, bed bouncing along with their bodies. She moaned loudly against the mattress and he pulled her hair.

“Tom you’re so big, holy shit!”

“And you’re so tight, I love it.” He moaned, taking her harder. He slapped her ass and pounded even more inside her. “You like it when daddy fucks you from behind? I bet you do, you look so fucking good doing this.”

“Fuck my pussy d-daddy.” She could barely say anything, only feeling him.

“I know I make you feel good baby girl.” He said, smirking at the sight of her moaning against the mattress. “You wanna cum for me?”

“Uhm… Not yet baby.” She said and he got up, pulling her up to his lap. He pushed his core inside her again, pushing it inside. She was riding him like her life depended on it. He pounded inside her pussy so hard that she was concerned she wasn’t going to be able to walk tomorrow.

He lied her in bed again and pumped hard inside her, making her almost fall from bed, and she didn’t even bothered with how much pleasure she was getting.

“I’m so close!” She moaned, making him bite his lips.

“Uhm… You’re so good, I love to see you taking my cock. Are you gonna cum on my cock? Are you gonna let that heaven sent honey drip down your pussy right into my cock?”

“Yes daddy! Make me cum, please?”

“If you insist.” He pumped harder, as if it was possible and stimulated her clit with his thumb.

“HOLY FUCK TOM! I’M CUMMING.” She screamed letting her juice drip down his cock while he reached his high at the same time.

One both of them cummed, he fell on her side and they tried to rest and control their breathing in silence. He lied on her belly and kissed around there.

“Finally.” He said with a big smile on his face. “It was so good baby girl.”

He got up to get rid off his condom and clean himself and bring something for her to clean herself, but by the time he got there, she was gone, along with all of her stuff. Where the fuck did she go?

……………………….

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[sleepyxcoffee]

@thewitchersecretsanta gift for @youkaineko !

Ultimately, this was all Master Varin’s fault.

It hadn’t, Vesemir explained, been mandatory for young witchers to hold a degree until 1990, when Master Varin had returned after spending six years obtaining a Bachelor’s in Chemistry whilst still doing all his… witchering. He had proclaimed the experience “eye opening” and “a good way to get to know humans” and some other bullshit Geralt didn’t fully understand.

Geralt had succeeded in evading the Trial of Uni, as he and Eskel had taken to calling it, for a grand total of two months after his Grasses, until Vesemir had all but scruffed him and dragged him to a computer with UCAS opened up. His only solace in the whole situation was that he and Eskel were applying to all the same universities.

Except then Eskel got a full scholarship to the University of St Andrews, which the trainers weren’t letting him pass up on, and Geralt… didn’t get a place at St Andrews.

Which was how Geralt had ended up at Edinburgh instead. It was still Scotland, at least, so it wasn’t that far from Kaer Morhen over on the Shetland Isles, or Eskel in St Andrews. It was a city, which was… less than desirable, but Geralt could work with that.

He could.

What he wasn’t so sure he could work with was the fucking disaster of a man he had ended up flatmates with. The others seemed alright - Shani and Priscilla gave Geralt his space, and didn’t bother him too much. They didn’t seem to mind that he was a witcher either.

Jaskier, on the other hand…

The best part was, Geralt hadn’t even met Jaskier in the flat. For the first half of his first semester, Room 4 in Flat 12 of College Wynd had remained blissfully unoccupied. Shani and Priscilla did their own thing - Shani was rarely in the flat anyway, being a medicine student with a ridiculously full schedule - and Priscilla spent most of her time doing her theatre society things. The girls were at least kind enough to not throw any parties in the flat, after the time Geralt had nearly murdered Priscilla with a glare for doing so.

No, Geralt met Jaskier outside the dean’s office, of all the possible places.

It was November, and Geralt had heard of some strange, possibly vampiric, activity occurring on the outskirts of Edinburgh, thanks to a contract for a witcher put up by the Metropolitan Police. Unfortunately, he was also the only fully trained Wolf witcher situated anywhere near Edinburgh, and he’d be damned if he let a passing Cat or Griffin or anyone hop in and take the kill. Remus had passed through last week, but he was all the way down in Yorkshire by the time the reports came in. The UK was large, and the Wolf School was only a hundred or so members strong. They didn’t have enough witchers to permanently station anyone in cities, their witchers instead roaming up and down the country.

Also unfortunately, Geralt had about five different assignments due the next week, but the police were getting antsy, nobody could find the stupid vampire, and nobody could even identify it. Geralt had wanted to just get up and leave to take the contract, but Vesemir insisted he had to go ask the dean for permission to miss his classes first, and also for an extension on his assignments, because Melitele knew Geralt might take a while.

So, much to his annoyance, Geralt had ended up sitting outside the dean’s office during one of his free periods, fidgeting and playing with his medallion and his hood pulled over his distinctly white hair, shadowing his cat-slitted eyes. Just because everyone knew he was a witcher didn’t mean he wanted to put himself on show.

Then a tall, slim man wearing a frankly ridiculous red raincoat over an even more ridiculous yellow crop top and absolutely horrifying high waisted jeans and incredibly impractical Ugg boots (it was Scotland, how were his boots not soaked through?) sat down next to Geralt.

“Hi,” he said cheerfully, in an obnoxiously posh accent. “I’m Jaskier.”

“Hmm.” Who named themselves Buttercup in another language?

Jaskier laughed. “Hmm. What an excellent name. I love how you just sit there and… brood.”

Geralt turned pointedly away from him.

“Come on, you can’t keep a man with…” Jaskier waved his hands wildly, “...a screwdriver in his pants waiting.”

That caught Geralt’s attention. “What?”

Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, yeah. Say, what are you here for?”

“Absence request,” Geralt said shortly.

“Right, those, yeah,” Jaskier laughed again and sank down in his seat. “I’m uh - well, I may or may not have stabbed my flatmate with a screwdriver while I was putting together this thing from IKEA?”

Geralt stared at him.

Jaskier’s arms flailed again, and he made an odd sound. “He’s okay - unfortunately - he just ended up bleeding a little and started screaming and our RA walked in, and, yeah, I’m here now.”

There was a moment of silence. Geralt… didn’t know what to say to that. He settled for sinking further into his chair.

“...so, uh. What do you need leave permission for?”

“Job.”

Jaskier made an interested sound. “Ooh, cool! I should get myself one of those. What’s your job?”

“Killing monsters.”

“Huh?”

Geralt was saved from having to answer further when the dean opened his door. “Geralt Rivia!” he called. Geralt stood and pulled back his hood.

“Here,” he said gruffly.

Jaskier gasped and leapt to his feet. “Oh my god, I know you! White hair, yellow eyes - you’re that witcher! Jerald Rivia!” Geralt speed walked into the dean’s office. He gave Geralt a confused look, but stepped aside to let Geralt in anyway. “Jerald - hey, wait, that’s how you say your name, right - wait, don’t leave! Hang on! I’m sure you have a treasure trove of stories -”

The dean shut the door, and Geralt sighed in relief. “What was that all about?” the dean asked. Geralt shrugged. “Right. Well then, Geralt, what did you need to see me for?”

Once the dean had granted Geralt his leave with minimal fussing (scary witcher eyes worked wonders), Geralt brushed straight past Jaskier to return to his dorm room, despite Jaskier’s attempts to reach out to him. He had a vampire to track.

***

The vampire, as Geralt now knew two days later, was a katakan. And not just any katakan - an old, experienced katakan who had left Geralt sore, out of Black Blood, and highly toxic. The smarting in his leg told him Swallow or even White Raffard’s was probably called for, but the white hot throbbing of his veins told him White Honey was a much better idea.

Geralt groaned as he stumbled into the flat. Shani and Priscilla were, predictably, asleep - it was four in the morning, after all, but there was a third heartbeat coming from the kitchen. Instantly on high alert, Geralt kept one hand on his steel sword as he opened the kitchen door.

Dancing in front of the countertop was… Jaskier? What was the strange man from the dean’s office doing here? He was dressed in shorts and a loose T-shirt, and, humming, put a metal bowl in the microwave.

“Stop!” Geralt exclaimed. Jaskier yelped and dropped a fork - which had, God help him, been going into the bowl. “What are you doing?”

“Geralt! Is that any way to greet your new flatmate - sorry for getting your name wrong, by the way - hey, what are you doing -” Geralt shoved past Jaskier to yank the bowl out of the microwave and slam it onto the counter. It contained… what might have been mac and cheese. “What are you doing - you’re getting monster guts everywhere!”

“You can’t microwave metal,” Geralt snarled. “It’ll blow up.”

Jaskier blinked once. Twice. “Well. Ah. Thank you for letting me know - you’ve just saved our flat. A true hero. Say, what are you covered in?”

“Katakan.” Geralt stepped away from Jaskier and shrugged off his swords. Jaskier’s eyes trailed them curiously.

“Katakan. So, that’s, what, a type of necrophage?”

“Vampire. Their true form looks like a giant mutated bat but they can disguise themselves as humans, and their healing is slowest when the sun is highest. Violent. Nasty.”

“You don’t say,” Jaskier mumbled, eyeing Geralt thoughtfully. “And what about you? Why are your eyes all… black? Is that your witcher true form or something?”

Geralt… had nearly forgotten about that. He pulled out a White Honey from his belt pouch and chugged it. Immediately, the warmth spread through his veins, and he felt the toxins clear. “Witcher potions. Too much is toxic for even us.”

“Oh wow, your eyes are going back to gold.” Jaskier peered at him curiously, then made a face and leaned away. “You reek. You need a long hot shower. I refuse to live with that stench.”

Geralt’s thoughts came to a grinding halt. “You live here? Since when?”

Jaskier scratched his head awkwardly. “Since, well, yesterday. Because I stabbed Valdo Marx, who completely deserved it by the way. Unfortunately, he’s fine.”

...Geralt suddenly felt unreasonably worried for his safety.

He was pleased to learn, however, that the screwdriver stabbing asides, Jaskier proved to be a surprisingly good flatmate. Sure, he seemed to be completely nocturnal, but he was quiet enough at night and didn’t make a mess. He talked a lot, but after the first five times he tried to engage Geralt in conversation, he left Geralt pretty much alone. Having lived at Kaer Morhen, that was all Geralt could ask for. Jaskier even tried to arrange flat bonding sessions, which turned out surprisingly well and meant Geralt actually spoke to Priscilla and Shani, even though one session had resulted in Geralt needing to Aard the oven.

The story had Lambert and Eskel cackling when Geralt told it to them over the winter break. It was supper time, and the three were sitting together sawing at hard meat which was probably at least a year out of date with their dinner knives. Things never did go well when it was Gweld’s turn to cook. At least this time there were no magic mushrooms.

“How do you fuck up cookies that badly?” Lambert wheezed.

“You made bread explode once,” Eskel reminded him.

Lambert waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, but that was on purpose.”

Just thinking of the incident made Geralt groan. That had been interesting to explain to Vesemir, and Rennes had been distinctly displeased. Poor Lambert had spent the rest of the week waking up an hour before dawn to run laps in the frigid Shetland air.

“Compared to you, my university’s been fine,” Eskel said. “I haven’t had to take any contracts. Monsters don’t seem to like St Andrews.”

“The Trial of Uni is really fucking stupid,” Lambert grumbled. “The world already knows we’re freaks. Why rub it in our faces?”

“I don’t think that’s the point,” Eskel replied evenly. “Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

Eskel sighed. “Talkative as always. But really, Lambert, it’s not as bad as some people -” at this, Eskel threw a pointed look halfway across the Great Hall at Clovis, who even more pointedly ignored him - “make it seem.”

“It’s no worse than Kaer Morhen,” Geralt agreed. “Up for a round of Gwent?”

Naturally, Geralt won his round against Lambert, and then his round against Eskel, and Clovis, and Gweld, and Aubry, and Remus. He then promptly lost fifty pounds to Vesemir, but he at least had a few new cards, which was enough to please him. Unfortunately, Gwent had fallen out of fashion with humans sometime in the last century (the joys of having ancient instructors), so Geralt would have to wait until he met another witcher to play another round.

He returned to Edinburgh in high spirits. Aubry had offered to drive him and Eskel back to university, seeing as he planned on working his way down to Wales anyway. The car ride was long, but Geralt entertained himself with even more Gwent and bugging Eskel. Eskel returned what he got, and more than once Aubry had to remind them to not start sparring in the backseat of his car.

“I’ve had her for twenty years,” Aubry complained. “I refuse to lose her to a pair of rowdy green witchers.”

Unsurprisingly, Geralt was the first to return to his flat. The term didn’t start for another week, but witchers could hardly afford to lounge around all winter, what with the amount of monsters in Great Britain. Geralt didn’t have his own car, and so he was dependent on older witchers driving him back to university, seeing as he didn’t want to walk nearly four hundred miles.

The benefit of returning to university early, however, was that he had time to take on a contract. Someone had called Kaer Morhen just before he arrived to report “strange supernatural activity” in an abandoned flat. Geralt allowed himself a night’s rest, then set out to the apartment with his two swords.

It turned out to be a noonwraith, and that on its own would have been simple enough; noonwraiths were annoying little buggers, but they were manageable. No, the problem was when Geralt belatedly realised there was an alp in the basement.

The ensuing fight was hard and bloody. In the end, Geralt came out on top, but not without a wide range of injuries which left him on the ground wheezing. Eventually, he mustered the strength to take some potions and stagger back home, but not before texting Vesemir to let him know the contract was done. The contract giver would transfer money to Kaer Morhen, and Vesemir would send him his share. All in all, it was a clean system.

Geralt managed to stagger back to his flat. It was nighttime, and not many students had returned, meaning the streets were still relatively quiet. Those who did see him gave him a wide berth, murmuring and pointing, but Geralt ignored it. He just wanted to get home. A hot bath sounded excellent - then he could treat his wounds.

Unfortunately, Geralt discovered upon his return that someone else had arrived. He cursed his luck as he closed the door behind him. There was a suitcase in the front hall, and the kitchen door was propped open by a chair. Geralt could hear a man humming. Jaskier. Great.

Perhaps he could sneak past without Jaskier noticing - 

“Hello? Who’s there?” Jaskier called, and Geralt winced.

“Just me,” he called back.

“Ah! Geralt! How was your - Melitele’s tits, what the fuck happened to you?” Jaskier exclaimed. He dropped the piece of toast he had been holding and rushed to Geralt, hovering next to him. “Do you need the hospital? Should I call 999? I’m calling 999 -”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said forcefully. “I’m a witcher. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Jaskier said fretfully. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call 999?” His hand hovered over the phone in his pocket.

“I’m sure. They don’t know shit about witchers.” Geralt started limping to the bath.

“Wait. Let me help stitch you back up, at least. I’ve got a first aid certificate.”

“Dunno what good that is,” Geralt grumbled, but he grabbed the first aid kit off the wall and threw it at Jaskier anyway. He stepped into the bathroom and stripped off his clothes and armour - he could deal with that later. Geralt stood under the spray of hot water, wincing as it ran over his wounds.

He decided to forego the soap and shampoo, instead gently scrubbing himself down to get rid of the blood and dirt. The noonwraith had been in that house for a long time, and with folks too afraid to go inside, it had become unbearably dusty. When Geralt came out of the bathroom, dry and dressed, he found Jaskier had set up the first aid materials on the dining table with a chair pulled up next to it.

“Sit down, Geralt,” Jaskier said, and Geralt did just that.

***

Jaskier was a quick study, and Geralt soon became grateful for his help, even though he refused to admit it. Sometimes, Shani, who was a med student, had to help with treating Geralt’s wounds, although she often complained he was better off going to A&E. Geralt reiterated that there wasn’t much A&E could do for him - his potions were enough.

Every week or so, Geralt would sit in the kitchen reading through his course work while Jaskier helped stitch him back up. He was chatty as ever, but at least he got things done.

“Come with me to open mic night, Geralt, Essi and I are performing,” Jaskier would say (and Geralt did attend open mic night, lurking in the corner), or “have you seen Professor Rejk’s new tie? It’s hideous!” (and no, Geralt had not, but he made a special point of paying attention to Professor Rejk the next time he saw him).

It was an easy relationship, one akin to the bond Geralt shared with Eskel, and yet completely different. Jaskier chattered nonstop, but he didn’t make Geralt talk, and he knew when to leave a question alone. It was companionable and comfortable, and for Geralt that was enough.

***

In March, a bug started spreading across campus. Geralt’s classes shrank in size as students and professors alike ended up bedridden with a horrible cold. He thought nothing of it - he was a witcher, after all, and witchers were functionally immune to human diseases.

Poor Jaskier, unfortunately, was only human, and he did manage to get sick. It all started when Priscilla caught the bug from Essi (who had caught the bug from Valdo, who had caught the bug from a music professor). Jaskier spent his free time caring for his friend, and by the time the week was up, Priscilla was good as new, and Jaskier was sneezing nonstop.

“You look terrible,” Geralt told him one morning when he walked into the kitchen for breakfast. Jaskier lifted his head to sneeze at Geralt, then set it down back against his arms. Geralt wrinkled his nose. “Disgusting,” he said as he pulled the egg carton out of the fridge. “Want breakfast?”

“Yes please,” Jaskier said, sounding very congested. “I don’t want to go to class.”

“Then don’t,” Geralt said simply. He took the frying pan out of a cupboard and set it on the hob, switching it on.

“You know what, maybe that’s not a bad idea.” Jaskier eyed the eggs wistfully. “Can I have scrambled eggs?”

“Hmm.” Geralt retrieved a bowl from the drying rack and cracked in several eggs, then whisked them. He added milk and salt to the bowl, and oil to the frying pan. Jaskier watched with hungry eyes as he cooked the eggs.

“Best roommate ever,” Jaskier declared as Geralt placed a plate in front of him. Geralt hummed and served up his own eggs.

“Where are Shani and Priscilla?”

“Morning run,” Jaskier said between mouthfuls of egg. The two ate in companionable silence, broken only by Jaskier’s coughs and sniffles.

“Go back to bed,” Geralt said when they finished eating. He gathered their plates and filled the sink up.

“Will you bring me tea?” Jaskier asked teasingly.

“Hmm.” Geralt put on the kettle, and Jaskier laughed in delight.

“You will! I knew you were a big softie all along!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Geralt said, hiding his smile. “Go back to bed.”

“I’ll be waiting for my tea,” Jaskier said in a sing-song voice. “Best flatmate in the world, bringing his invalid friend tea.”

“You’ve got a cold, not the plague,” Geralt grumbled, scrubbing their plates clean.

“You never know! Anyway, are you heading to class?”

“Hmm. I’ve got a contract after.” Putting the frying pan in the sink to soak, Geralt dumped a teabag and an unholy amount of sugar into a mug. He poured in hot water and passed the mug to Jaskier, who took it gratefully.

“I’ll be here to stitch you up after,” Jaskier said lightly. “Anyway, off with you, or you’ll be late. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah. See you later.” And as Geralt walked out the front door, he couldn’t help but feel as though he had found a second home.

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: The Fall of the Eleventh Chapter 35

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The Fall of the Eleventh Chapter 35 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 35/? SUMMARY: Elise Smith is now a teenaged Timelord. In addition to losing the Ponds, the fields of Trenzalore are calling. But first they have to figure out exactly who Clara Oswald is.

It’d been a few weeks since the Doctor had dropped Elise off with Madame Vastra.

Of course, she’d teased him saying he only wanted alone time with Clara. He’d blushed and stuttered and then sent her on her way.

She wasn’t worried however. He’d come back for her eventually. He always did.

“Elise, come to the conservatory dear. We have a visitor,” Madame Vastra told the young redhead.

“I fail to see how this concerns me.”

Vastra had to keep reminding herself that this Elise wasn’t the shy and timid girl she had first met. This one was flippant to anything that didn’t have to do with her father, Clara, or herself.

“I believe it may have to do with what drew your father here in the first place.”

Elise relented and followed Madame Vastra to the conservatory.

A man, Mr. Thursday, was waiting for them.

Jenny stood on one side of Madame Vastra, while Elise stood on the other.

“Thank you for agreeing to this meeting. I'm told you are the investigator to see if there are strange goings-on.”

“I read of your brother's death. Another victim of the Crimson Horror, I believe?”

“So it is claimed. He was a newspaper man. He and a young woman were working undercover. Tell me, Madame, do you know what an Octogram is?”

Elise had no idea what that even was.

“It is a silly superstition, sir. The belief that the eye can retain an image of the last thing it sees.”

Thursday pulled out a picture and handed it to Jenny.

Jenny handed it to Vastra who removed her veil to see better. “Good grief.”

“Oh, god,” Mr. Thursday gasped and fainted. Once Mr. Thursday had been removed from the home, the three women went down to a darkroom where Jenny and Vastra enlarged the picture.

“Well, I'll be blowed. I think, Madame, that we'd better make plans to head north,” Jenny said.

Staring back at them from the picture of the dead man’s eyes was the Doctor.

Elise sighed. What had he gotten himself into this time?

They quickly assembled what they would need for their rescue mission and started their carriage ride to the North.

“According to my research, Sweetville's proprietor holds recruitment drives for her little community. She is only interested in the fittest and the most beautiful,” Madame Vastra explained.

“You may rely on me, ma'am,” Strax said, causing Elise to roll her eyes.

“I was, in fact, speaking to Jenny.”

“Jenny. If this weak and fleshy boy is to represent us, I strongly recommend the issuing of scissor grenades, limbo vapor and triple blast brain splitters.”

“What for?”

“Just generally. Remember, we are going to the North.”

“I think I should go with Jenny,” Elise said.

“Absolutely not,” Vastra told her.

“Why not?” Vastra sighed.

“Because your father put you under my protection and frankly dear, your temper would get you in trouble.”

“My temper? I don’t have a temper!” Elise settled back into her seat and crossed her arms over her chest and sulked like a small child.

Vastra smiled to herself. It didn’t matter how old the Timelord got, she still acted like a spoiled child when she didn’t get her way.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A day or so later, Mr. Thursday came around and had to be dragged into the drawing room.

“He faints an awful lot. I’m not human and I know that’s not normal,” Elise said.

“It asked for permission to enter and then it fell over. What are we to make of it?” Strax asked.

“I imagine Mister Thursday wants to know what progress we are making. The question is, how did the Doctor's image come to be preserved on a dead man's eye? It's a scientific impossibility. I wonder how Jenny is getting on.”

“If she hasn't make contact by nightfall, I suggest a massive frontal assault on the factory, Madame. Casualties can be kept to perhaps as little as eighty percent.”

“I think there may be subtler ways of proceeding, Strax.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Why do you keep him around?” Elise asked.

Vastra sighed. “Because he’s a surprisingly good butler.”

Vastra and Elise headed to the morgue to find out more about this “Crimson Horror”.

“Them new manufacturers can do horrible things to a person. Horrible. I've pickled things in here that'd fair turn your hair snowy as top of Buckden Pike,” the morgue owner said.

“You know what I'm looking for.”

“Oh, aye. All them bits found in t'canal. The Crimson Horror.” He handed Vastra a large bottle about half full of red liquid.

Vastra turned around and threw off her veil, examining it. “It hardly seems possible.”

“What is it?” Elise asked her

. “I think…I think I've seen these symptoms before.”

“You have? When?”

“A long time ago.”

Elise narrowed her eyes at the lizard woman. “How long ago?”

“About sixty five million years.”

Elise took the bottle from Vastra. “How the hell is something from that long ago surviving today?”

“That’s precisely what we need to find out.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After getting lost and picking up a small boy for directions, they finally made it to Sweetville.

They infiltrated and found the Doctor.

Elise strode in with Vastra, brandishing a sword. Instead of wearing a leather outfit like Jenny, she wore her signature leather jacket, black skinny jeans, blank tank top, and black combat boots.

The Doctor had to admit, the previous Elise had looked odd with any weapon in her hand but this Elise looked born to handle a sword or a gun.

“Let's go,” Vastra told them.

“No, ma'am. We're not escaping. We've got to help the Doctor with Clara,” Jenny said.

Vastra looked at the two Timelords.

“You didn’t tell her?” Elise asked her father.

“I thought you were gonna tell her!” The Doctor looked at Vastra. “Long story.”

“What now, Madame?” Strax asked, “We could lay mimetic cluster binds!”

“Strax,” Vastra said.

“Or dig trenches and fill them with acid.”

“Strax! You're overexcited. Have you been eating Miss Jenny's sherbet fancies again?”

“…no.”

“Go outside and wait for me until I call for you.”

“But Madame, I…”

“Go!”

“I'm going to go play with my grenades.” Strax left.

The Doctor soniced the cubicle in front of him. “Okay, I think she's about done.” He opened the door and there stood Clara. “I know who you think she is, but she isn't. She can't be.”

“I was right, then. You and Clara have unfinished business,” Vastra said.

Clara fell forward into the Doctor’s arms.

“There, there. Hello, stranger.”

“Doctor,” Clara said, poking the Doctor on the cheek. She finally realized they weren’t alone and turned to look at Jenny, Vastra, and Elise. “Hi. What's going on?”

The Doctor put on an accent. “Oh, haven't you heard, love? There's trouble at mill.” He dropped the accent and pointed at Vastra. “She's a lizard.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As they walked around the factory, the Doctor turned to Elise. “You didn’t…use that on anyone did you?” He couldn’t bear the thought of her killing someone.

Elise laughed. “Of course not. Speak softly and carry a big stick.”

“Theodore Roosevelt.”

“Yep.”

“You know we should visit him some time. My good ole pal Teddy.”

“Of course you’ve met Roosevelt.”

“Course I have. Who doesn’t want to meet Roosevelt?”

“My people once ruled this world, as well you know, but we did not rule it alone. Just as humanity fights a daily battle against nature, so did we. And our greatest plague, the most virulent enemy, was the repulsive red leech,” Vastra said, interrupting the duo’s conversation.

“Ooo, the Repulsive Red Leech. Nah. On balance I think I prefer the Crimson Horror. What was it, exactly?” the Doctor asked.

“A tiny parasite. It infected our drinking water. And once in our systems, it secreted a fatal poison.”

“If it's been hanging around, lurking in the shadows, maybe it's evolved. Or maybe it's had help.”

“Doctor, I've been thinking. The chimney…” Clara started.

The Doctor waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Way past that now. Yucky red parasite from the time of the dinosaurs pitches up in Victorian Yorkshire. Didn't see that one coming.”

“Yeah, but the chimney…”

“But what's the connection to Mrs. Gillyflower? Judgement will rain down on us all. An empty mill.”

Clara put her hands on his shoulders and for a second, Elise thought she was going to kiss him like Victorian Clara had.

“A chimney that doesn't blow smoke.”

The conclusion finally made it’s way to the Doctor’s brain. “Clever clogs.”

“Missed me?”

He grabbed her face and kissed her forehead. “Yeah, lots.” He let go and looked at Elise.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

He pushed past her mental barriers for just a split second.

Shut-up.

[veryveryverytemporarily]

Perfect

Sort of a match for robron week 2020 day 1.  And chapter 1 of 2 chapters.

Ao3 link here.

There must have been a reason why Robert arrived at the age of twenty-one still a virgin; some half-formed idea that your first time was meant to mean something and then it had gone on longer than he ever intended.

Of course, the press had loved it; hanging onto the railings outside the TV set where the teen drama that made him famous was filmed. Cameras flashing with one single purpose; to catch a shot of the purity ring that he wore on the fourth finger of his left hand.

He slowed from a run to a walk and reached for the ring where it still hung on a chain around his neck, leaned against the sea wall that looked out over the bay.

There were seagulls. He watched them soar over waves whipped up by the east coast winds. They looked happy enough – happy and carefree.

There was a frantic whispering behind him. Automatically he pulled his hood up and hunched his shoulders, waiting until the sound of footsteps receded. A glimpse of ankle socks and black school shoes on the newly tarmacked promenade, followed by a shrill voice screaming, ‘It is him; I told you!’

Alone again he clasped his hands together. His palms were sweaty, and not from the run; it was a big day ahead.

‘It’s too much pressure. If anything, it encourages more focus on the physical side of things; not less,’ his mum, Sarah, had said once upon a time. She hadn’t known he was listening outside the door. She’d held up a tabloid which had his picture on the corner of the front page, caught in the garden messing about with a hose pipe, the water gushing over him. He could see the headline still: How long can teen heart-thRob keep himself cool as temperatures rise around him?

He was fifteen at the time.

‘He should be able to live like a normal kid!’

But what was normal? How was he supposed to know even?

His dad thought the ring protected him. And his agent had loved it, pointing out the positives of a wholesome public image.

And then anyway everything had changed. His Mum had died. He’d painted on a smile for the cameras while the blackest times played out behind the scenes. Then there were the fights, and well, he’d been suspended from the show age seventeen, and he’d never gone back.

For a while there’d been Katie, and even though he wasn’t sure why anymore, they’d both agreed to wait until the wedding, and he’d thought he’d been redeemed. Even got a role with the Shakespeare Youth Company, a chance to relaunch his career.

But the paparazzi had got a picture of him leaving a hotel with the older woman in the fur coat, and she’d lied, and said they’d gone the whole way. Andy was waiting to take Katie away, the distance with his Dad became a chasm. He stopped showing up for rehearsals.

And now, a couple of years on, here he was.

He followed the smooth inner circle of the ring with his finger tip, elbows still resting on the wall. The tide was in. Maybe today was the day, he thought: How easy it would be to just unfasten the chain and let it fall into the cold grey waves, and after, to just turn around and walk away.

 ***

 ‘Where did you say you were staying?’

‘Filey.’

’At this time of year? And you’re staying in a youth hostel, did you say? Is there even one in Filey?’

‘A hotel.’

‘Well, who’s paying for that, love?’

‘It’s a job, like you’ve been banging on about? A photoshoot; all expenses paid.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe Paddy should join you.’

‘Mum, I’m seventeen, not seven. I’m fine. A couple of days and I’ll be back.’

Ever since she’d seen the dating App on his phone, she’d been on his case, doing his head in. So, what if he wasn’t old enough; he’d downloaded it more out of curiosity than anything. And anyway, he’d only used it once or twice and then deactivated, not because she was right, but because he’d got tired of turning down weirdos and pervy older blokes.

He walked into the dining-room, cutlery and linen laid out for breakfast service, sat down at an empty table. He flinched at the rare sighting of morning sunshine streaming in through the windows from outside, where seagulls divebombed hapless walkers hoping for scraps.

‘…a flawless family hotel with a reputation for fine cuisine…’ Adam had read out loud on his phone as they waited to say goodbye at the coach station the afternoon before. He’d sucked his teeth. ‘Does that mean they have like really small portions?’

Aaron frowned over the breakfast menu, then asked for toast.

 The photographer, Marc, had already sent scouts over a week before on a location search; the remote outdoors he wanted, sand dunes and haram grass, most of all privacy. And yes, he did know this was Costa del Yorkshire, but the natural light and the ambience were perfect for what he had in mind.

Aaron had caught up with him yesterday when he arrived, but he hadn’t met the model yet.

He was examining his plate with something approaching alarm, when the blond came in through the garden door; freckles, long hair, long limbs in a blue tracksuit.

He turned back to his breakfast, prodded cautiously with his fork at something on his plate that looked suspiciously like black pudding.

‘Need to put a name to perfection? Allow me to introduce myself.’

His eyebrows shot up; the blond was attempting to chat up the waitress.

He turned his chin discreetly so he could listen in.

From the corner of his eyes he could see that he’d raised both arms, curling his wrists to show off his biceps which as far as Aaron could tell were nonexistent.

‘See those guns? Those are for the ladies,’ the blond said, leaning way back in his chair. And then he puckered his lips and planted a kiss on his sleeve. ‘So, if you’re a lady, you could be in luck.’

Aaron either coughed or choked.

When the blond looked round, he banged a fist against his chest, indicating his plate.

Good for the waitress that she seemed quite savvy. She spoke with an Eastern European accent, gesturing with her pen.

‘So, what’s under the table, then?’

‘Oh, that’s for a special occasion. But play your cards right, and your name might just get added to the guest list.’

‘Let me know the date of the occasion, and I’ll pack my magnifying glass,’ she answered.

Aaron snorted again, this time he didn’t try to disguise it.

Their eyes locked, the blond with steely accusation as Aaron turned down the corners of his mouth.

What a dick!

Arrogant - but not just that, the whole conversation had been a complete car crash.

But it was none of his business, he had more important things to think about. He inhaled a mouthful of tea, decided on one more piece of toast, and then checked his phone to see if Marc had sent a message about when they were due to start.

 ***

Back in his room, Aaron put on some black eye liner, picked up his key card and put it in his pocket, then pulled up the handle on his makeup case and wheeled it into the hall.

What he really wanted to do was work in the film industry; a chance to use his skills in silicone prosthetics.  

‘First, I’ll take a cast, and then make a replica, and then paint it,’ he’d explained to Adam that time he’d asked him to be a guinea pig.

‘A cast of what?’ Adam had asked nervously.

‘Well not that, obviously! Your arm will do, you numpty! It’s a project, right, for my portfolio? And even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t….’

He’d kind of blushed. It was a long couple of years ago now since there’d been that confusing time which had eventually led to him coming out. The time he’d tried to kiss Adam, which still made him cringe inside when he thought about it.

‘It’s alright, you idiot. I still love you, okay,’ Adam had said. ‘I think deep down I always knew even if you were in denial about it. And now you’ll be able to find a nice bloke, yeah?’

Which was easy enough to say; he’d waited while all the kids at school moved on from one crush to the next, and then started to date. Until he felt like he was the only one still wondering what it was all about.

Then when he’d started college, all at once a load of blokes started to hit on him, and he’d agreed to see the ones he liked, and started exploring and enjoying the physical side of things.

But he still hadn’t had an actual relationship.

‘Honestly bro! You’re so picky! No one’s perfect, you just need to give someone a chance, yeah?’ Adam had said.

But what if there was someone perfect? It was just a feeling; but what if somewhere there was someone meant just for him? Wasn’t that worth holding out for?

 He took the elevator up a couple of floors.

It had been his tutor’s gig, but then he’d got ill at the last minute and asked Aaron to go in his place. Male model, glamour, he’d said, then added hastily, not boudoir or anything like that, while Aaron felt his throat flush threatening to spread up to his face. ‘And it’ll be good to have something else to put in your portfolio with that…’ he’d hesitated as if he was searching for the right word; ‘…prosthetic. So, make the most of it.’

‘Bro! Is he gonna be ripped?’ Inevitably Adam had teased him about it. ‘What if it’s love at first sight?’

He’d ignored him, of course, but he couldn’t deny the slight fluttering in his stomach right now. He knocked on Marc’s door, waited until it was opened, then stepped inside.

A big double bed dominated the small room. There were prints scattered over it of local bays and coastal paths supplied by the scouts, and Marc’s laptop open with the fan blowing hard. Above the headboard there was a glowering seascape of a fishing boat in trouble over turbulent waters.  

There was an old-fashioned dressing table with a folding mirror opposite the bed, and on the upholstered stool in front of it, sitting the wrong way round with his elbows balanced behind him, was the blond from breakfast.

Aaron turned back to Marc.

Even before he’d got the question out, he knew the answer; but it was too late, and anyway, by then he’d decided to enjoy it.

‘Where’s your model, then?’ he asked, looking searchingly about the room.

He saw the blond half close his eyes.

  ***

‘You know that meme…the one that goes …oh hello it’s you… it’s going to be you…’ he said later, on the phone to Adam.

‘Yeah?’

‘Well, basically, it was that... only this was…goodbye, it’s not you…it’s not going to be you…’

‘Oh man! I suppose you could just come back.’

‘Nah, I’d better see it through.’

The thing was there was something he hadn’t told Adam, something he felt he shouldn’t tell because it wasn’t about him, and it wasn’t really his place. And a model and a makeup artist, well, before anything else there had to be trust.

  ***

Trust? – His very first job and he’d blown it.

Of course, Marc had introduced them and Aaron found out who the blond was; Robert Sugden - he remembered something about a teen on a daytime TV show when he was in primary school.

‘Are you sure he’s qualified? How old is he? Looks like a twelve-year old.’ Robert asked.

‘Basically, your fan base, then.’

‘Why, are you planning on joining? Succumb to the inevitable?’

Their eyes locked again, just like at breakfast, until Robert looked down at Aaron’s makeup case.

‘What products are you using? Dior? Guerlain? M.A.C?’

‘Erm, Wet n Wild, and just Boots own brand, really. It’s alright.’

He thought back to the weekend, trying to slip disposable lip wands in his pocket while Adam turned on the charm with the girl at the chemists.

It was Marc who broke the impasse.

‘We’ve got an hour until the transports here. Just get it done. And remember Aaron, raw and natural, alright?’

And then he’d gone, leaving them to it.

  Aaron sighed.

So the model wasn’t what he’d hoped for. The best most generous description he could come up with for this one was your boy next door type - and he wasn’t feeling particularly generous.

But he needed to put that behind him now. He needed to stop thinking of Robert as a person, and focus on him as an art project; nothing more, just something to put in his portfolio.

He checked the lighting around the mirror and unzipped the makeup case. Robert sat forward, eyeing his reflection, a finger smoothing down an eyebrow.

He chose a nude primer for the blond’s eyes to start with.

‘Swivel.’

‘You what?’

‘Just move round to face me,’ he snapped.

He squeezed out some of the primer onto his finger tip, took a breath and started at last, dabbing the make up on under his eye.

Finally, they were both quiet.

He gently worked the primer into the corner of his eye, then blended down just onto the cheek bone, while the blonde looked up at the ceiling with green eyes that changed every so often like turns of a kaleidoscope.

Now he was actually this close, the thing that struck him was how good he smelt. He must have showered, sat there now in faded jeans and a grey T-shirt, smelling like a field of flowers, or  like strawberries and melon, like those cups of chopped fresh fruit that you got with a plastic spoon from the chiller in the coffee shop at college, when you had a hangover.

‘Close your eyes a mo...’

He put some primer on his eyelids, picked up a brush and started to work it softly into his deep sockets.

The other thing was his skin. However reluctant he was to admit it, it was impressive. Fine, and poreless, just few hormone pimples on the T-line, he guessed his age around twenty. And then the glorious 3D effect that only freckles can bring, so you feel you’re looking into a sea of gold.

He sat back. He wouldn’t use primer on that, just some sheer foundation with uv protection and bronzer. Nude lips, he swallowed, shimmer on his eyes and eyeliner gel. Looked back at his jawline again.

He would need to blend down his throat.

He grimaced, he should have already thought of this. Rookie error.

‘Can you take your T-shirt off?’

‘And careful!’ he warned as the blond reached back pulling it up over his shoulder and off over his head.

It wasn’t a hot day, maybe it was where they were sitting with the sun coming in through the window pane, but the temperature in the room seemed to suddenly soar. And that fruit cup smell, now there was something sharp and tangy about it, making his mouth water when it was still hours to lunch.

He noticed he was wearing a chain, it seemed the safest thing to look at. There was a ring on it; and then he saw the writing. ‘True Love Waits.’

He blinked. He’d never seen one before, but he knew what it was instantly.

It was so unexpected.

And then the things about Robert that had jarred all at once seemed to make more sense; the awkward chat up lines.

His mind flashed back to breakfast; so when the blond had said, ‘That’s for a special occasion,’ he wasn’t joking; he’d actually meant it!

Robert had raised his hand around the ring,  his eyes watching Aaron’s face.

He thought about saying something -  something along the lines of... Look, I don’t judge, alright? Whatever people choose to do, or not to do, as long as it feels right for you and doesn’t hurt anyone else. But somehow he couldn’t quite say them aloud.

‘You’ll need to take it off.’ He gestured vaguely in the direction of the chain. ‘Maybe keep it in your pocket?’ he added gently.

He watched his long fingers move to the catch of the chain, then open it.

Of course he was still a dick. It wasn’t as if the ring made him a better person, or a worse person.

But it did make him a more complicated person.

And then Robert had turned again towards him, holding the ring out.

‘Will you take it for me? I won’t be able to wear it on the shoot, and I need someone to trust with it,’ he said. ‘Can I trust you with it?’

Aaron swallowed.

‘Course you can, course!’