#hard to explain like YES it's ridiculous YES it's over the top

[wolfandrain]

Me, starting Marry My Dead Body: This movie looks like it will be ridiculous and over the top and just like, a good lighthearted comedy. I am ready for a fun and silly time! :D

Me, finishing Marry My Dead Body:

[snuggleboots]

₊˚♡˚₊ The Akatsuki, communicating their love ₊˚♡˚₊

₊˚♡˚₊ feat. Itachi, Kisame, Kakuzu, and Hidan ₊˚♡˚₊

Tags: Fluff, mishmash of random headcanons, general cutesy relationship stuff.

♡ Kisame communicates his love in various ways, but it's always most sincere in the little things he does. If you're both walking up a flight of stairs, he'll always walk behind, just so he can steal a kiss without having to lean down a bit to reach you. Usually, he'll follow that up with a stupid little, 'How's it feel to be the tall one for once?'

♡ He's a man who likes to sleep in, but when you're sleeping with him, it's his god-given duty to wake you up with some combination of stupid, sleepy shenanigans. It typically starts with some needlessly aggressive cuddling while he's waking up, which becomes a smattering of kisses and little nips dealt wherever he can reach, and eventually develops into... either cackling over your groggy irritation or moving into a little extra lovin', if you feel up to it.

♡ Cuteness aggression is a real thing, and it's his curse. If your tongue pokes out just a little bit when you're thinking hard or focused on something, if you flex your toes like a little cat when you stretch, or purse your lips when you're frustrated - he's gonna bite you. Always does. He can't help it, he gets the impulse to squish you, bite you, pinch, or bully you a little bit when you're minding your business, doing things that he finds objectively precious. You make his teeth itch when he catches you off guard, and you flash him those big eyes, and- UGH.

♡ Now, he isn't the perfect listener by any means, but Kisame is very attentive when tiffs happen in the relationship. He listens with the full intention to learn and solve the problem, and if things get a bit heated he'll calm himself down and ask you to back up and explain why you're upset. He doesn't make a habit of taking himself too seriously, which really helps him navigate rough patches well.

♡ Your personal space is his preferred space. You're stretched out, reading a book or resting your eyes? It doesn't matter where you're hanging out, that's still just as good as an invitation in his books. When he saunters on over and nonchalantly plonks his entire body weight on top of you, he doesn't even have the courtesy to say sorry for the disturbance. Nope, he's on a mission, hooking his arms around your waist and just burying his face in your belly. You're warm, you smell so nice, and he's livin' large on cloud nine, which means you're stuck there until he's decided he's had his fill for a bit.

♡ Itachi's a man with simple wants and simple displays of love. If your days are busy and he's tucking into bed before you are, he'll cosy up on your side to keep it warm until you're ready to join him for the night. It's a little silly, a little cute, watching a man like him streeeetch right out when you meander into the bedroom, and unceremoniously shimmy back over to his side before settling in and promptly passing out. That is, however, a quiet little token of his affection.

♡ He's perceptive about things you don't enjoy doing, and especially things you tend to stress about. Without so much as mentioning it, he'll tend to the little things like that just to take them off your plate. If you're sick or in pain, Itachi is more than content to take care of you. Sorry, it's a small facet of who he is, to tend to the very few people he cares about. The man also cooks, and pretty damned well at that. His breakfasts are a cure-all when you're feeling like absolute garbage.

♡ There is such a thing as an 'Uchiha pout', and he weaponizes it for petty reasons and to ridiculous extents. He isn't always just some stone-faced caricature of a stoic, and it's brilliantly displayed when you deny his simple requests, such as relaxing after a long day, curled up on the couch with him when he's having a low-energy, no spoons left kind of day.

♡ Yes, he wants to settle his weight into your side and just be - or better yet, rest his head on your shoulder and soak up some easy, effortless affection until he's feeling a bit better. (Please card your fingers through his hair, he won't nod off again, really-) If you really have the audacity to say no - and he will call it that - you're going to see him purse his lips, pinch his brows and angle his face away from you like some kind of disappointed housecat. 'You make me lonely', he'll halfheartedly mumble, because it's a guilt trip that works and he's fully aware of that fact. No, he does not feel bad about it, either.

♡ Kakuzu's 'love language' exists in subtle acts of service and physical touch, generally shared in private. No, he's not going to say he loves you, but he can show you that your presence doesn't irritate the part of his brain that makes him want to shove his fist through someone's skull.

♡ When the seasons turn and you inevitably wind up freezing cold every goddamn night, he's content to settle beside you on the couch and tuck your chilly feet under his leg while he unwinds with a good book. There's no need to fill the silence, just let it be and enjoy the moment. You're cosy, he's relatively happy, and for all intents and purposes, you two are set to have a wonderful, quiet night.

♡ And since Kakuzu's a habitual early riser, you're typically still snoring long after he's up and ready for the day. When it's time for him to get up and get dressed, he'll flop his blanket - because he sure as hell doesn't share one - over your head before he turns on the light to get dressed. When he's done and the light's out he'll pull it down and be on his way without having disturbed your sleep.

♡ On the odd time that you're waking up with him, he'll slip by while you're getting dressed and steal a kiss to your shoulder.

♡ When his nail polish is chipped and it's time to reapply, he'll let you do it. For one, it's less for him to do, but! It's also a little token of trust on his part to toss you the polish, plop his hand in your lap, and grumble something like, 'Don't paint my damn fingers this time'. You probably still manage to flood his cuticles, which he will grumble about, but it's the thought that counts.

♡ Hidan's love can sometimes be compared to that of a fat, obnoxious housecat. If he's off-duty when you're trying to enjoy some free time, he is firmly wedged up your ass because he likes attention and you actually listen to him when he talks about... whatever's bouncing around in his head.

♡ Lounging on the couch when he's just coming in from a month on the road? Haha, sucks to be you actually, because he's instantly ripping through the living room at terminal velocity, with full intentions of divebombing your sorry ass before you have the chance to scramble up and evade him. You're still wheezing from impact, and this guy's already launching into a tirade about every little gripe he's had about his mission. 'Kakuzu was a dick, the ration bars taste like shit, the coil broke on my scythe and, and, and...'

♡ Hidan loves a good late-night hangout, so he's usually around to burn time with you when you can't sleep. Even when you don't feel like talking, he always fills the silence himself by chatting your ear off about whatever comes to mind. Sometimes it's just life stuff, other times it's his interests - and often, he'll animorph into a used cars salesman for Jashinism. You expect it, he loves that you actually listen and engage with him.

♡ 'You only get to die if you lived, no matter how great or shitty your life was, get it? Seeing the end is a privilege', he'll mutter into the lip of a half-full mug. When you're tired at the table, jolting upright after accidentally dozing off for the fifth time during his proselytizing, Hidan will slide you a cup of something that'll keep you fucking wired for the night. It's not to be a dick, obviously, but you're listening! And this is important shit! 'Diseased, crippled, or fuckin'... broke; at the end of the day, you're alive, and your pain's recognised by Lord Jashin. Suffering is a gift imparted, that only the living receive, and...' something something Jashin is great, and you should probably definitely convert.

♡ He's claimed half of your bed, and sleeping with him fucking sucks. He sleeps like a starfish and steals the blankets, and you're not waking him up unless you feel like investing some serious effort into doing so. He snores, and on the nights that he winds up sleeping half on top of you, you have to deal with the fact that he drools like a dog and sleeps with his mouth hanging open. You don't wanna deal with that? Tough shit, you're comfy, and somehow your bed is just waaaaay better than his. Okay? Okay.

[lotusunique]

The Engagement pt.3

Armando Aretas x Black Fem! Reader

Hey guys I know this took a little while to come out but like I said, nothing but the best for my readers!

With that being said, this has strong themes of toxic relationships and major smut! Enjoy 🌺💋

I also wanna give credit to @zari-0115 she helped me write the smut scene so W to her! She’s the best

You knew he’d be here. You were told he’d be here. You just didn’t realize how much it would actually hurt. You didn’t realize the air would start thinning around you when you saw his new girlfriend wrapped around him looking like they were the happiest couple on earth.

You feel a tight squeeze on your hand before realizing Armando was standing beside you.

“C’mon”,he says,taking your hand in his. You sift through the crowded party, hand in hand, before finally making it through the balconys sliding doors. You put your hands on your knees , and attempt to steady your breathing.

“Look up and count to ten”,Armando lifts your chin up before turning your head to look at the view in front of you. You stare out at the beautiful picture. The sunset and the ocean colliding in a way that’s so gorgeous with the pool infront of you glistening. It makes you wonder what you did to deserve to see this.

“One.Two.Three. Four. Five”, you start to count,feeling the tension and anxiety fade away. “There you go, inhala exhala”,he says rubbing your arms softly. “Thank you”,you smile up at him.

“What’s with the panic attack?”,Armando asks. “I don’t know. I saw my ex and my chest just started like caving in”, you explain trying not to let the tears hiding behind your eyes, out. You take a seat on the cool pavement

“That blonde tonto wit the bad hair cut?”, he asks with a disgusted look as he sits next to you.

“Unfortunately yes. I don’t even know why I dated him. But when someone manipulates your heart, it’s hard not to fall for the fake version of them”, you sigh.

“Oh look at me sounding like a Pinterest quote and shit”,you laugh. “What happened?”,he looks over to you. “Well he didn’t physically do anything to me. But i just realized it was like he was jealous of what I was doing with work and when I finally had my own place it was like he hated me for it.”,you start to explain.

Armando’s blood starts to boil the more you talk. “I don’t wanna talk your head off about old shit tho”,you shrug. “Im here to listen”,he says geniunely.

You give a slight nod,“It got to the point where he would ridicule me for everything and belittle me. And at some point I started believing he was right. And I got in this really low place..I wasn’t eating, couldn’t sleep, didn’t even show up to work for a week.”, you sigh getting war flashbacks from arguably the worst time of your life.

“Why did Kelly and Dorn invite him if he did all that to you?”,he asks. “They don’t know about anything that actually went down. They just know we didn’t work out. After everything I still wanted to protect his image.”,you say fidgeting with your finger tips .

Armando grabs your hand, “promise me something”. You raise an eyebrow. “Promise you’ll never let anyone give you anything less than what you deserve”. He looks into your eyes, waiting for you to promise.

“I promise”,you nod. “And don’t let that dickhead fuck this party up for you okay.”,he says rubbing the palm of your hand with his thumb.

“Thank you again Armando. Like for coming and helping me with all this.”,You look over at him. The world is calm for a moment and it seems like it’s only you and Armando.

“I don’t know if this is dumb to tell you or not. But Armando I think I -“

You’re cut off by Armando smashing his lips into yours. You lean into the kiss as he cups your face. You two get so deep into the kiss that at some point your back is on the pavement and he’s on top of you. Without coming up for air the two of you deepen the kiss. Within an instant Armando falls over into the pool, the splash getting you wet.

“Oh shit”,you let out a loud laugh. He resurfaces,wiping the water out of his eyes. “Oh this is funny to you?”,he smiles up at you. “Oh no of course not. It’s hillarious”, you cackle. “Yea yea now help me out”,he sticks his hand out for you. He grabs on hold of your hand before he smirks and pulls you in next to him.

You resurface in the water, “no the fuck you didnt”,you laugh. Everyone walks outside hearing the commotion. “What is going on here”,Kelly laughs.

“Um nothing”,you giggle. “Who cares just jump in”,Marcus says pushing past Mike to jump in the pool. “Man you better watch my suit,”, He says, dead serious by the look on his face.

The two of you climb out of the pool as everyone files back into the living room. You make your way to you guys’s room as your wet clothes cling to your bodies. “You wanna shower first?”, you ask turning to him. “Nah ladies first”, he smirks over at you . You head into the bathroom,starting up the shower, getting the temperature just right. You loved the build of the bathroom. There was a huge see through shower with beautiful deep brown brick walls and a huge granite sink.

You peek your head out the bathroom seeing Armando snatch off the wet t-shirt. It’s not like he didn’t look amazing with the shirt on but got damn if he didn’t look just as good with it off.

You get into the shower feeling the warm water and bubbles up your skin. A wide smirk spreads across your face as a bright idea pops into your head. “Hey Armando can you hand me my towel I left it on the bed”,You call out.

“Yea sure”,he says putting the towel over his shoulder and walking into the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. He walks in with his hand over his eyes. “Why don’t you move your hand and put them somewhere else”,you smile. He slowly removes his hand before looking upon your body and stepping into the shower with you.

He places soft kisses on your neck, tracing his hands up and down your skin. You let out soft moans as he scoops you up, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

In this moment you two were the only things that matter. He looks up at you, “Are you sure you wanna do this”,he looks into your deep brown eyes.

“Yes, I want you”,you say as a wide smile appears across your face. He smiles before kissing you so passionately.

He immediately starts fast, pounding into you with your back against the tile wall. He slides in you going deeper, until he hits your cervix causing you to yell out in pleasure.

Armando carries you to the bed, your legs still wrapped around his waist, before laying you down, towering over you he places soft kisses on your boobs, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. He enters two fingers into you causing you to arch yourself upwards with every touch. Your toes curl as he massages your clit. Just when you’re close to finishing Armando removes his fingers. You look down at him, your eyes meeting his, you all but beg for him to give you your release. He smiles up at you mischievously while taking his fingers and putting it up to his mouth to taste you.

He then lifts you up and turns you over like you weigh nothing. He slips himself inside of you and pounds in and out repeatedly. You grab hold of the pillows to keep yourself up right, squirming at each jolt you can hardly keep your ass up. “Hold on Mi Amor” he says instructing you not to finish just yet. Right when he feels you pulsing under him he slips himself out… yet again. “Why are you teasing me?” You whine. Armando doesn’t answer he just flips you over and begins to go down on you, alternating between his tongue and fingers devouring you while he pleasures your nipples with his other hand. He finally lets you release not soon after he enters you again for him to then be finished.

The two of you plop down onto the soft satin sheets, heavy breathing and giggling in between. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that”,You smile over at him. “I’ve been waiting for that since the day I met you”,He says cupping the side of your face.

“You getting soft on me Aretas?”,you laugh. “You know ain’t shit bout me soft Mama”,He looks over at you with a sarcastic smirk. “Call me mama again and we gon have to may have to go run it back ”,You say before climbing on top of him, a mischievous smile across your face. “Let’s do it then mama”,he smirks up at you.

[krahk]

Blood for Ruin

Part One

Masterlist

Thank you all so much for the love and support for Part One, it is always so scary sharing brain children. You are all amazing.

Part Two

(Or, Alastor Proves he Makes a Shit Hotel Host by Bullying a Murder Victim)

By the time you opened your eyes, you had been moved to a bed, a comfy bed, in a warm lit room that was modestly decorated. And you were alone, thank god. Sitting up on the edge of the bed and kicking the sheets off as you straightened up. You stretched in a vain attempt to bring yourself some comfort, at least in body if not the mind. Doing this however, resulted in an immediate eye opening panic, because the sides of your arms brushing against either side of your head caught onto nothing.

Y’no, nothing. Nothing where ears should be. Looking around frantically, there was a cracked door heading into what was possibly a bathroom- please god, please be a bathroom. You body checked the frame as you ran in, muttering a whiny ‘ow’ before flicking a switch that turned on the overhead lights by the sink. Door open, lights on aaaand yep. Yep, yep yep. Ears missing. Hyperventilating now, you stumbled to the vanity and braced yourself on the ledge, staring into your own reflection as the panic began to set in.

Hell took your ears!? This was fucking ridiculous. Could one bitch to the devil? But also…how…how were you hearing? Because you definitely could hear. In fact you could hear better than before, like the wind outside rattling against something and a creak from the walls possibly 2 rooms over. Your brain might have been empty of explanation but your ears more than made up for it in what you heard. You leaned towards the mirror, turning your head back and forth trying to figure out what had happened to you. Then you felt it, a twitch, a little itch, at the very top of your head. Eyes drifted upwards to the pair of soft brown ears (?) That didn't quite point straight up, instead pointing more in a 45 degree angle. The left one was flicking of its own accord. The scream that left your mouth was instinctual, and loud.

Almost immediately you heard a knocking at the door and Charlie waltzed in, breathing hard, indicating the speed in which she came to your need. You spun around to meet her eyes, hands whipping to the very soft - so soft - ears utop your crown, breath shaking as you tried to get control over yourself.

“Ooohhh, yes, yes you’ve discovered your adorable new features! Thank goodness, I was so worried!” Charlie said, hands waving in front of her before clasping them together on her chest. “Everyone who comes to hell as a sinner takes on a delightful new appearance that reflects the way they lived and died! It’s a great way for you to meet new people and uh…learn to live a better life in spite of them! Many people take on animal appearances, my dad thinks it’s because every soul transcends the image of a human body.”

Still taking large breaths to keep yourself from screaming, your stuttering proof of your inability to form basic words, Charlie continued.

“Angel Dust is a spider, we think because he was involved in a ‘web of crime’ with his exciting mafia family - Husk…well okay Husk is interesting because I’m pretty sure cats in the overworld don’t have wings but he was a gambler before death so maybe he was just lucky to get wings too! You know, cards fell in his favour ha-haaa…” She trailed off awkwardly, face scrunching in a manner that you understood as her realising maybe she wasn’t explaining any part of this new discovery very well. She rubbed the back of her head with one hand, the other one placing itself on her hip. “Alastor is a deer demon, and it looks like you could be one too! I mean, you’ve got similar ears, although yours are much cuter because they are kind of floppy. And your nose is so cute! Like a baby doe! You’re pretty adorable honestly.”

You glanced at the mirror again, hands finally falling to your face to rest on your chin with your fingers covering your mouth lightly, spaced apart to allow your haggard breathing to come in and out. She was right, you did have a cute nose, it was similar to Charlie’s in appearance, and your ears did closely resemble the ears of a hooved forest animal. They reminded you of a mule deer's ears, the only deers you ever saw in Oregon (where your home was). Looking closer at yourself without the same level of panic your eyes moved back and forth rapidly taking in the new details of your person. Your skin all around was a sort of fawn colour, if fawn the colour could look dead. It was as if Bambi had died and his fur turned an ashier colour devoid of the warmth of active blood. That was you! Your ears were a dark blonde peppered with black, complimenting the soft blondish brown of your hair. Fingertips and nails were black, the black creeping up your arms before ending below the sleeve of your short sleeved pyjama top. You looked down and poked your foot out a bit to see if your lower limbs matched and hooray…they did.

In another world, maybe one where this was a costume, you would admit that you were cute out loud. However denial was still the leading emotion so you just slightly nodded at yourself before slowly turning around to face your gracious host once more.

“So. I’m a deer, so that’s a fun new fact…will I stay this way while I’m…here?” You winced at your admission of hell being your new place of residency.

“Yup!” Charlie replied in a chipper voice.

”And if I manage to get to heaven…will I change into something new?”

Charlie paused, the hand that was on her head had shifted to her chin, finger now tapping in pensive thought. “Hmm, I’m not sure? But from what my dad has said, humans who go up to heaven also take on forms that reflect their earthly life. Soooo you would probably stay a deer.”

”How would your dad know? Can we talk to the people in heaven?” This casual conversation was helping hasten the subsiding panic.

“Uh no. Heaven and Hell are pretty much separated all the time, except for the extermination BUT we’re working on that…My dad is Lucifer. Like the archangel!”

Your face was in obvious shock. Jaw dropped lightly and your hands came to your sternum, and you gaped at Charlie with wide eyes. “Lucifer? Like…the Devil? Satan himself?” What the actual fuck, why was your luck so cursed?

Charlie rocked back and forth on her heels, slightly grimacing from your comments before answering. “Yes, my dad is the Devil - but Satan is his own person, lots of people get them confused, much to dad’s chagrin. Lucifer Morningstar is my dad, the Devil, the King of Hell, fallen angel, and Satan is just the Lord of Wrath. It’s all very simple once you’ve been here a while.” Charlie had come to your side and wrapped her arm around your shoulders to walk you out of the bathroom. ”You should really join us downstairs for a proper tour, breakfast was over a while ago but we might be able to find some lunch in case you’re hungry.”

Your stomach rumbled at the thought of food. Was Hell just like Earth, but scarier? And redder? Would you need to get a job? Pay taxes? Oh good god, was Hell was just the worst part of living on monotonous repeat? Brutal. And certainly great punishment.

“We can work on getting you some more personal clothing later, but you are Vaggie look to be around the same size so she’s dropped off a few pieces just to get you in gear for redemption! I should probably go tell the others that you’re fine. I can’t wait for you to join us!” Charlie was so sickly sweet it was crazy to think she was the daughter of the Devil. She was too cheerful for a normal person, never mind a demon. She waved to you and said bye before closing the door as she exited.

Picking up the first couple of pieces in the donated pile, you dressed yourself in a shorter dress with a billowing skirt oh my god you have a tail ignore it ignore it ignore it and thicker grey socks that went all the way up to the middle of your thighs, covering up your black skin meeting up with the length of the dress. The dress was a softer white colour, not as bright as a crisp, new piece, this was a well loved item. No complaints, it was broken in and you were grateful for the gift. The only questionable features were the X’s that were placed directly over the nipples of the top. That was…quite the fashion statement. No time to be picky, something would be better than the pyjamas you died in. No shoes were provided so you simply walked out of the room into the hallway without.

The hallway appeared neverending from both sides, the detailed wallpaper and carpet going for visual miles. Which way was the right way? Good thing you were unconscious when you were brought up here, makes it much easier to retrace your steps. You were grateful for your giant new ears because it seemed like you could follow the sound of chatter down a hall.

Frowning, you let instinct take over and you went to the right. You were passing a door on your left and you felt the hair on your body begin to rise, a staticky sensation passing over your skin. It was a similar feeling to when you would take a giant fleece blanket out of the dryer when it was still warm. You shuddered and made an audible noise of discomfort. Thankfully it appeared that you chose the right path however, since you found yourself at a set of stairs that appeared to curve to the lower floor. You could hear the chatter clearer- “She screamed at the mirror? She’s adorable! She coulda been a worm or a giant slug or-” You shook your head, attempting to ignore the conversation you were accidentally eavesdropping on. A click was heard behind you and you whipped around to face the creature that resulted in your uncomfortable welcome to the hotel in the first place.

Alastor.

Now that he wasn’t talking and simply staring at you, analysing your being, you could really take in his face. Large, red eyes with a frightening depth to them were framed by darker red skin on his lids, his nose somehow sharp but similar to your own, his was more nose-like however. His smile was the worst part though. You were unsure of what could possibly make him smile so wide. His teeth were very large, and clean despite their colour. Strange for a person framed after a prey animal to have such sharp teeth, and you instinctively ran your tongue over your own behind your lips to discover sharper canines only, nothing comparable to the man in front of you.

In the silence his eyes narrowed and focused on you, making his face far more intimidating. Again, an unintentional shiver ran down your back and you shuddered under his gaze. You were a startled deer, caught in his frightening gaze. You were so unsure and uncomfortable with the situation that you had completely missed that he said something to you. You closed your eyes and shook your head to get out of your thoughts.

”Pardon? I’m sorry, I missed what you said there.” You admitted with crossed fingers that he would accept the apology.

”Yes, clearly. I merely asked you if you slept well! You took quite a nasty fall to the floor! Generally people know my history before I can make them faint from fear so I will accept the compliment. It appears as if my sabbatical has had very little effect on my presence.” He bowed slightly in a polite manner, arm crossing over his stomach as he did so, the other arm holding a microphone that was promptly used as a cane once he came up from his polite gesture. You had done a small curtsy in return, awkwardly grabbing the side of the small skirt to fulfil the action. He appeared to nod in acknowledgment, hopefully appreciating the polite return.

Your arms dropped back to your side as you processed what the man had said. Things were only going to continue to confuse you. This was all a nightmare, honestly.

“Now, on to a more serious matter,” He snapped his fingers, and the both of you were in a different room. Two chairs to your left were angled around a small table, the little radio featured on top of it. God damn it that fucking thing again. Farther behind one of the chairs however, the room opened into a bayou swamp environment - dark, marshy and foggy, the eerie sounds coming from it promised danger of an unknown kind. What kind of place was this? You could feel your ears flick from the ambient sounds coming from the strange forest as Alastor continued his interrogation. Walking to the antique, he asked “What were you doing with my radio, my dear?” Gesturing with his free hand to the little machine.

You essentially vomited out the story behind it, where you found it, why you were there, the reason you took it home with you. He listened intently, glancing at it once you finished your very brief history with the item. It truly wasn't a scandalous thing that you pilfered from some ritzy location, you salvaged it from a hoarder's house after it was put there by a woman with an obsession with Antiques Roadshow.

“If it is yours, why did it come here with me? Charlie said that possessions don’t follow souls into hell, but this did?” You inquired, hoping perhaps he held the answer.

Alastor became pensive “Hmmm. It is quite peculiar that it came with you. What were you doing with it? Please do not miss a single detail my dear, I am curious about our situation.

You frowned. What else other than grabbing the cord as you fell back? You listed out your actions on your fingers, reciting out loud the steps you took before your death. When you landed on the finger you paired with ‘took the back panel off-‘ he shouted a sharp ha-Hah! Confused and with a frown you continued, ending with cutting your hand on it before putting everything back together and heading to bed. Well, then dying. The actual ending.

“Are you sure that was all you did? Do not leave a single detail out, or you might regret it.” A sound attune with a record scratch sound from nowhere as you stared at the demon. Took radio home, took radio apart, bled on the radio, cleaned blood off the radio - your eyes went wide. And you silently checked off a step you missed in your story. You had cleaned blood off the symbols in the radio, the ones that looked like they themselves had been written in blood. Alastors gaze sharpened at your realisation.

“On the panel, inside the radio…” You started, “There were these symbols inside of it, I didn’t really get a good look at them before cutting my hand open,” You absentmindedly looked at your palm only to see a bright white scar where the long cut once was. Already? A Scar in hell? Alastor had stalked towards you and grabbed your hand to look at it. The air around the two of you was suffocating. It was difficult to think straight with him in front of you. And you were suddenly hyper aware of yourself, and him. Holding your hand was almost too much to handle and you tried to pull it back only for him to grip harder, nails pressing into your hand painfully. He raised his other hand palm up and held it beside yours. A matching scar was present. He frowned, though his smile was still prominent.

Dropping your hand he returned to the radio and black shadow tendrils rose from the floor and grabbed it, taking pieces off and placing the back panel of it in his hands. In silence he looked at the mess before entering into a low laugh, one that increased with each breath before he was near hysteria. His figure increased in size, antlers growing in size from his head, limbs lengthening - he swung his head to face yours as his figure started to loom over yours.

“Well my dear, we seem to have a problem” he said in a strange, distorted voice, his figure still looming. “You have compromised some old runes within my radio…it could possibly explain how you ended up here, with us, looking as you do.” Halfway through his terrifying statement he had returned to his ‘normal’ form and fluffed out the lapel of his coat as he did so. Eyes returning to yours the room became darker, and green symbols similar to the ones in the radio appeared on the floor, some appearing to raise up and float around the two of you.

“You will not mention any part of this radio or what you know of it, including where it was found or how you came into possession with it. You will not let others know of how your scar came on your person, and you certainly will not mention any of the runes you saw.” He wasn’t making a request, he was clearly demanding it. It felt as if wind was billowing his hair and coat as his eyes took on a much brighter look. ”If you do, I promise you will regret having ever come here and I will devour your soul only after a long and painful torture, am I clear?” You nodded in acknowledgement, knowing that the only reason you had not thrown up yet was the complete lack of food in your system, though the bile was resting at the back of your throat from fear.

He raised his hand to yours in a handshake motion, beckoning you with the outreached hand to join yours with his. You grabbed his hand with your own, both scars meeting in the middle, and they began to glow before he said only one word - “Deal?”

Well really, was there any other option? You nodded before he tsk-tsked your action, “I need vocal consent my dear, it is required.” The last word turning dark with static.

“Deal.” You barked out, and as soon as you responded, the room reverted back to its original state immediately. Alastor took his hand back and wiped it on the opposite sleeve. ”Excellent. You may leave now, the stairs will direct you right into the lobby. Please tell Ms. Morningstar that my afternoon has changed and I am unable to join her.” The door swung open on its own accord and black tangible tendrils of shadow had all but shoved you across the room and out the door before slamming the door shut so hard you swore the wood splintered slightly.

You paused to catch your breath, staring at the door, which you now knew led to Alastors Room. On the other side you could tell he must have been pacing back and forth, his heels clacking on the hard floors as he did so. Soon after however, it sounded as if a wild animal was throwing furniture and ripping fabric, loud screaming as it did so. Not about to stick around, you sprinted to the stairs and nearly slipped from the lack of shoes trying to place distance between you and the Demon upstairs. You kept up the pace on the main floor until you ran past an open door and caught sight of Charlie sitting on a sofa. You entered the room, out of breath and slightly sweaty from the encounter upstairs. She waved excitedly before patting the open seat beside her for you to sit as she held up an apple in her other hand. You sat, accepted the apple and took a bite before looking at the Television and promptly choking as you watched a news anchor discuss something called an ‘Extermination’, didn’t Charlie mention that upstairs?

Thankfully, once things had settled down in your head, you found yourself swept up in trust exercises, oh goody. Thankfully this spiralled into chaos and you were glad everyone had simply accepted your presence without hesitation, there were far more exciting things happening. It was especially comforting that Alastor would be keeping his promise and leaving on an outing for the day.

****

I will add here, this will be a semi-slow burn. Alastor is aroace pre-reader, but with time things change. Time, magic, and forced proximity.

[sugahbunnies]

BUCKET LIST ☆ 14

Saiki slightly wishes he left the fight between you two dragged out a little bit as he watches you point at the build your own buddy store. The excitement is basically radiating off your body as you jump and down, reaching for Saiki’s hand but he pulls away the second your hand wraps around his pinky.

“Just because we made up doesn’t mean we get to hold hands like a couple” Saiki says, his tone drilling into your brain. You frown, tugging at his sleeve and pulling towards the other side of the mall.

“You promise we’d do anything I want to make up for what you did, let’s do something that symbolizes our friendship” You smile, your tired eyes crinkling at the corners. Saiki looks away as you smile, not wanting to show that he notices your dark eye circles. Did you really lose that much sleep over the fight? He honestly feels bad, and this is his way to apologize.

To bringing you to this childish store and let’s say he’s not a big fan.. maybe.

“Friendship” He repeats, and you nod.

“Yes?” You raise an eyebrow and Saiki slightly scoffs.

“Alright” He replies, gesturing towards the store.

“Go ahead”.

You squint at him, suspicious that he might walk off and hide from you.

“I won’t leave, if that is what you are thinking” He explains, making a fist and hitting the top of your head softly.

“Okay, cool!” You exclaim, attempting to grab his hand away and yes, he avoids it completely. As you both walk into the store, Saiki can’t help seeing the burn marks on your knuckles. You’re scanning the available toys with excitement and all Saiki can think about how is..

Why did you go out of your way to make him dinner?

He feels pretty bad, two days ago you had called him. Asking him if he wants to come over, and sadly he couldn’t he had .. some business to do. That business having to do going to this coffee jelly sale that he couldn’t turn away. Even if he wanted to. You sighed loudly into the phone as he said no, you had prepared this dinner for hours because you suck at cooking. Plus, burning yourself with boiling water wasn’t exactly ideal, and having to eat this whole dinner by yourself was just upright depressing. You wanted to have this dinner as a way to apologize to him, but he did tell you that you guys can reschedule.

Saiki shakes his head, picking up the ridiculously mini clothes meant for the stuffed toys. He turns to you and realizes you are right up to his face. He leans back a bit, as you lift a yellow dog with a brown hat.

“How cute is this? Give me your brutal opinion” You say, swaying the dog side to side. Saiki reaches out and pulls on the hat, when it doesn’t come off he pulls harder.

You smack his hand lightly, going “Bad Saiki!”. He blankly looks at you, reaching for a brown cardigan and grabbing the plush from your hands.

“Go for a brown palette, eccentric clothing hurt my eyes” He comments, putting the cardigan on the dog.

You stifle a laugh, tugging at Saiki’s sleeve.

“What is it now? Saiki asks, and you press your lips together in an attempt to not make fun of him.

“You’re wearing a neon green and bright blue vest, I wouldn’t say eccentric clothing hurts you in any way” You cross your arms with a grin, which Saiki doesn’t return.

Although, he really does. It’s really hard not to smile about you in general, and he finds it odd when he feels fuzzy when you do something endearing.

“I like the white dog with black ears” Saiki comments, trying not to admit he will like a toy of his own.

He holds your golden dog in his hands as you gently grab the one he pointed out.

“Let’s give him a silly hat” You suggest, and once again, Saiki gets that fuzzy feeling in his chest.

“I guess” He blurts out in such a plain voice, he wishes he said it in a more nicer way. Although, it doesn’t seem to bother you in any shape or form.

“I like the way you talk”.

Okay, that definitely made Saiki feel something. he is not used to compliments and this one hit hard. He always thought he talked too bluntly and his tone was always off.

“What about it” Is the only words that he can choke out, and he avoids eye contact as you place odd yet unique looking clothes on his choice of toy.

“You get straight to the point, you don’t sugarcoat” You start counting on your fingers and Saiki shakes his head.

“Let’s not get into it” Saiki interrupts once you’re about to say the third reason.

“Let’s pay and go” He suggests, still avoiding eye contact and walking past you. You nod, following him like a lost puppy.

Once you both get out of the store, Saiki decides to invite you over to his place. You gladly accept and you suggest a splurge of food again. Saiki sighs, knowing you both are about to have sugar high once again.

Yet he agrees.

Saiki doesn’t particularly like this gas station since he knows your classmates come here often and he doesn’t want to run into them. Especially with you.

You never admitted it but you are quite popular within the third years, obviously because you’re a transfer student and that you are so lively.

Saiki also never admits it but he likes that you are lively, it’s just your socialness can be a bit draining at times. So once you both enter the gas station, he scans the entire store to search for anyone he knows. You slip out of Saiki’s sight to get a tub of ice cream, while Saiki is having a crisis in choosing what chips he should get.

“Fuck it, I’ll get all of Y/n’s favorites” He reaches for three bags and pauses.’

Did he just curse? He never does so, and it’s out of character for him to do so. Maybe your intense cursing that only his ears hear is rubbing off on him. He cocks his head to the side quickly and grabs about four bags of sour candy. He stands there in the aisle and begins to think, “What if it isn’t good for your condition to eat all this?”. He starts getting deep in thought, a shriek breaking his train of thought and he shoots his head up.

“Y/n?” He says outloud, turning the corner and seeing you with a tub of ice cream and two liters of soda. Saiki’s eyes linger to the person you are facing and see..

Ugh, Toritsuka.

“Toritsuka! I didn’t expect to see you here” You exclaim, your eyes lighting up and Saiki feels a bang to his chest.

“Me neither, I expected to see you on our date next week” Toritsuka says, patting your head and ruffling your hair.

Saiki senses his body tense up and freeze. There’s no way he heard Toritsuka right, a date? With Y/n?

He feels his heart drop to his stomach and looks at you for an answer, but all you do is nod. He hears the conversation going on and it’s obvious the purple haired scumbag is flirting. Saiki rolls his eyes in annoyance, though he is not sure why.

Maybe he feels slightly off because you’re his best friend? Wait, best friend is too much of an intense label, Saiki thinks.

Friend, he corrects himself in his head. He impatiently waits on your side, stealing glances at you. He doesn’t like how your face seems to be radiating happiness, and your smile is so big he can see ninety percent of your teeth.

“Well, I’ll see you later cutie, uhm Saiki” Toritsuka awkwardly waves at Saiki before tapping your cheek twice. Once he leaves, you turn to Saiki who is absolutely deadpan in the face.

“What’s wrong?” You question, obviously oblivious to Saiki’s feelings. “Nothing, let’s get to my house, alright?” He walks past you and his shoulder bumps into yours. You frown, oh how much you hate when he does that!

When you arrive at his house, you feel he is a bit off. Like.. his whole vibe is off and he seems more stoic than usual.

Ten minutes into splurging once again, you chug down a cup of soda and burp loudly. This would typically make Saiki smile maybe a little bit, but now nothing.

“Hey what’s wro-”

“You're actually going on a date with Toritsuka?” Saiki asks, it’s crystal clear he’s ticked off but you are not sure why?

“Yes!” You answer, wanting to push Saiki off the edge to see if he blows up on you.

He doesn’t.

“Well, good luck with that” Saiki sucks his teeth and chews on a rainbow strip, his eyes on his cup of soda.

“Aren’t you happy?” You question, and Saiki shrugs.

“You have awful taste in men” Saiki points out, a smug smile threatening to break out on his face but he succeeds to hold it in.

You scowl, grabbing a handful of lime lays and sticking your tongue out at him.

“Atleast I have a love life” You comment, waiting for Saiki to reply as he chews up more sour candy.

“Not interested”.

“Whatever you say Kusuo Saiki”.

Saiki feels a tingly sensation in his stomach as you say his name, and he slightly punches his stomach. You don’t notice as you are too invested in your brownie fudge ice cream. Saiki grimaces at the chocolate piling up at the corners of your mouth. You never learned how to properly eat, did you?

“You’ll be the first to know what happens after that date, okay? You are my best friend after all” You say with an upbeat tone and honestly? That hurts Saiki a bit more.

Saiki simply nods, not knowing why he is so upset at that label, it is true you both are friends.

He leans back into his chair and thinks to himself, “Always a best friend to you huh”.

[lamardeuse]

This is not a Wendy's, and my story is not your burger.

A note up front: the following does not refer to the serious issues of racism, anti-Blackness and white supremacy in fandom spaces, which deserves a much more nuanced discussion than a ridiculous food metaphor could ever hope to express. This is a general discussion of fandom standards around tagging and warnings.

Over the three – now nearly four – decades that I've been in fandom, I've seen a lot. I've seen a lot of foolishness, and a metric fuckton of toxicity, and even some good faith, honest debates about how we should conduct ourselves as we move through fannish spaces and interact with one another. So from the start, let me explain that this is not the old lady crabbing at the kids. None of this is particularly new, and fandom culture ebbs and flows. Heigh-ho, nonny nonny, the wheels roll on.

That said, we need to have a talk. Because some people may not be as experienced as the rest of us, and need to understand some fundamental truths about fandom that they may not have picked up, because no one reads Fanlore from top to bottom for fun. That's not inherently a concern. We all learn from one another – I've learned so much from younger people in fandom, particularly here on tumblr – but there are occasions when younger fans could also benefit from some knowledge flowing the other way.

First, fandom is vast. It was huge when I started in the Dark Ages, and it's increased exponentially in the last fifteen to twenty years, since “geek culture” has gone mainstream. That widening of the circle – and more importantly, the naked commercialization of it by media giants who smell our money like vampires in a blood bank – is both a blessing and a curse, because on the one hand, more people who love a thing means more love for everyone! On the other hand, though, I think it's unmoored us in some senses from the fundamental truth that fandom is unhinged, joyful obsession, the fulfilment of a need for communication, creative expression and connection, and most importantly – community.

Yes, fandom is – or should be, at its best – a community first and foremost. And just like any community, it's filled with individuals who form groups, subgroups and cliques. And none of those groups have ever, in the over half a century since the first Star Trek fan made Kirk and Spock fuck, agreed upon one single, overarching view of what 'community' means. Which means the minute you as a fan come striding up to another fan's little electronic nest on the AO3 or Youtube or tumblr demanding that standard X be applied to their fannish creation in the name of 'fandom courtesy' or 'fandom etiquette'? All the old ladies (gn) in fandom realize that you are desperately, painfully new*.

Does that mean that we shouldn't strive to be a community? Of course not. But I would argue that the single and only “rule” of that community is that we make an effort to treat each other, first and foremost, with kindness and grace, and the understanding that the person you are interacting with is not you. They're not even one of the fifty-two people you interact with on Discord who all agree to the same “rules of fandom” (newsflash: they probably don't). And if you come into their fannish space as a stranger demanding they cater to you, you are probably going to be in for a shock.

Commercialization complicates this issue, because I think one element that's new is that some of us have lost sight of the fact – or never learned – that fans do not place their creations in front of you like a server handing you a bag at a fast food drive thru window. They are not producing a commodity to be consumed for which you paid hard earned money that entitles you to certain rights, such as the right to complain if you ordered a burger with mayo and received mustard instead. You would certainly have a right to demand compensation if you're allergic to mustard and had to go to the hospital as a result.

Fandom is more like a potluck, a gigantic potluck with literally millions of dishes. At some tables, there are agreed upon warnings for certain allergens, but others are not required to be mentioned and if you have an allergy, you will need to ask directly. At some tables, you are told that there may be allergens in any of the dishes and you proceed to eat them at your own risk. That risk and your assessment of it is, for better or worse, entirely your responsibility to manage. And your preferences – level of spice, aversion to certain textures and flavours – those are not allergies and there is no prior agreed upon standard to break down every possible element of a dish so that you will always be able to avoid any contact with the foods you personally don't like. There never has been, and there never will be.

The only thing you can be certain of is that on every single table, there are dishes that people have created for you for free with love, effort, experience and care. If you walk up to that table and take a bite and then politely turn down any more, that's fine. If you take a bite, spit it out and loudly tell that person that is not what you were expecting, you wouldn't have tried it if you'd known what it tasted like, and you are appalled that this person did not inform you of every single ingredient before you tried it? You, my friend, are not going to be welcome at the potluck.

Fandom is not a Wendy's. The stories, songs, costumes, artwork, edits that we put out into the world are not mass produced burgers made in a giant factory and shipped to restaurants where you can rest assured that the burger you eat in London will taste the same as the one in Dubuque. And no, the time you invested in reading a fic, watching a vid or contemplating a piece of artwork posted freely on the internet is not something you have the right to demand a refund on either, because again, fandom is not a fast food restaurant, and our interactions with one another in fannish spaces are not transactions. Every creation you choose to put in front of your eyeballs took that person time and energy, and they are putting that out in the world to make a connection with other human beings.

The next time you leave a comment, choose connection. It's easier than you think.

(*I'm going on good faith here and presuming most people who do this are relatively new to fandom. I'm not counting the people who think it's fine and dandy to hurl abuse at strangers for not obeying their standards – those people should be blocked and excluded on sight. I sincerely hope that they get help for the demons that are chasing them and telling them this is an acceptable way to live.)

[doverstar]

A paltry 3 people have asked me to expand on my opinion that Clara (who I like) is bad for the Doctor, so here I go below.

Strap in, this will be long. I disliked Clara back when her tenure was happening live, but upon rewatching the show now, with my husband, I completely changed my mind and grew to really appreciate her and cried when she died. I like Clara. But I came to this conclusion you’re about to read during that rewatch. In a nutshell, Clara and the Doctor’s relationship is unhealthy. Stop wait let me explain-

*hands you the nutshell* First. The show itself acknowledges that this Doctor/companion relationship is something unprecedented and ugly and bad for both of them towards the end. Why? Is it Clara? YES AND NO children. Clara as a companion, personality-wise, is not any different or special than many Classic Who companions, and Jenna Coleman is ridiculously likeable as Clara. I know Clara is The Impossible Girl (because Moffat can’t write 100% ordinary people), and I know she has met all of the Doctors up to Twelve at least once, but take away her decision to throw herself into his timeline – take away the fact that the Master literally orchestrated events so that Clara and the Doctor would travel together because their personalities would create something dangerous and unhealthy in the end – and Clara herself really is just a twenty-something who wants to travel and acts like she’s the coolest person in the room. So Clara herself on the surface wasn’t the catalyst for the relationship becoming unhealthy. At least not the way she was written in the beginning. At first, it’s the Doctor making big Red Flag decisions. And I say that with so much love towards Matt Smith’s Doctor, who is dearly missed in these trying times. The Doctor meets the first version of Clara (from his perspective) as a barmaid/nanny in 20th century London. She’s exceptional (and unnecessarily flirty because Moffat can’t write women who don’t lust after the protagonist) and the Doctor invites her to travel with him. This is huge because the Doctor has just spent who-knows-how-long mourning the Ponds, who he was not ready to lose and who he had grown increasingly afraid of losing before he lost them. He sits on a cloud and has sworn off of travelling or helping anyone because he is that sick of losing people. He’s hurting and he doesn’t want to go through something like that again. The Ponds were just the latest in a very long line of lost people—remember, directly before Amy and Rory, the Doctor had to say goodbye to Donna, Martha, Wilf, Mickey, Jackie, Jack Harkness, Sarah Jane Smith oh my goodness, and Rose Tyler. And then he loses the Ponds. It’s agony. And it just keeps happening to him over and over again, and the Eleventh Doctor is especially vulnerable because he’s so tender-hearted and raw from Tennant’s losses, and this is the first time he’s lost companions with this face. The Eleventh Doctor is literally described by Moffat as the incarnation of the Doctor who chooses to forget. He’s consistently not addressing things like Gallifrey, the Time War, Rose, Donna, Martha, etc. When he’s reminded of them, the only thing he really reacts with is a strained admission of guilt (Let’s Kill Hitler and The Doctor’s Wife, anyone?). Eleven does not focus on what he has lost and worked really, really, selfishly-at-times hard to preserve the safety of the Ponds in particular. And then he loses them and throws a Doctor pity party on a cloud in a top hat.

Enter Nanny Clara, and she reminds him of what he’s missing and how things should be and helps him get his mojo back. Great, good. But she also reminds him of this one chick in the Dalek Asylum who begged the Doctor for help and was already dead. And the Doctor not only loves a mystery, but hates losing (losing people in particular). So he invites this Clara to come away with him and begin his never-ending adventure all over again, because she seems perfect for the job. And then she dies. Just like Oswin the crazy Dalek. Just like Amy and Rory, and the DoctorDonna, and Rose Tyler on the list of fatalities during the incident at Canary Wharf. Like Adric. But the Doctor doesn’t give up and pout in the 20th century this time. Instead, he gets determined to figure out what is connecting Nanny Clara and Dalek Clara, and determined to find a version of this mystery girl who can travel with him and not die this time. Third time’s the charm.

He finds Clara Oswald in the present, saves her life, freaks her out with his desperation to befriend her, and then she finally comes away with him. It’s played incredibly sweet specifically because it’s the Doctor trying to entice a companion and working for it, because he’s already seen she’s the one—twice—and is determined to keep her. This is an inversion of what usually happens, which is that the companion has to prove themselves worthy of the position to the Doctor during a meet-cute adventure. Classy. Fun. But we see from that point forward that the Doctor is kind of…weirdly obsessed with Clara. And not just because she’s appeared as three different-but-the-same people in his life lately, but because he’s the man who forgets and he lost people and never deals with that, and now he has this girl who he’s been unable to save twice before and he wants to make sure that doesn’t happen again. What’s worse, Clara becomes “the ultimate companion”, saving the Doctor throughout all his lifetimes by jumping into his timeline so she’s technically companion to all of him at one point. This is bad because not only is it not fair (as the gamers call it, it’s OP, yes I’m hip with the kids) it solidifies to the Doctor that she is the culmination of all his past failures in companion tenures.

She’s not the ultimate companion; she’s the ultimate do-over.

He’s obsessed with keeping Clara safe. He’s obsessed with keeping her with him. It’s not because Clara is this gorgeous, super-special, Not Like Other Girl(s). It’s not because he’s madly in love with her (though Moffat wants repeatedly to be able to imply that without properly saying it because he can’t write a female who is not in lust with the protagonist, hey let go of my soapbox I’m using that-). It’s not even because he lost two Claras previously and he feels really bad about that. It's because he’s projecting every single failure to keep a companion onto this one girl. The Doctor is trying so hard not to be controlled by the circumstances around him. He is trying so hard to keep this one, just this one, with him this time that he kind of turns into a withdrawal maniac when she’s in danger or choosing to do anything other than travel with him. The Master (Missy) orchestrated events so that Clara and the Doctor would be able to travel together because it was obvious the two of them would destroy each other in the end. The Doctor was such a person (Eleven) at such a time in his long life that could not stand the idea of losing one more friend and would do anything to keep history from repeating itself. He has to have Clara. He can’t quit Clara. She’s all of them. She’s everyone. And poor Clara—Clara is great, but being with the Doctor brings out only the worst in her. The woman is obsessed with herself. She was better off before he came around! Keeping pace with the Doctor, traveling the universe with him, feeling like she had something with him no one else could touch—all of that inflated her sense of importance; she has to be special. She has to be in control. She’s bossy and confident and as long as the Doctor is around, she’s the most incredible human being in her species and he is lucky to have her. That’s how he makes her feel—because it’s obvious he can’t let her go. (“Traveling with you made me feel really special.”) And worse, Clara can’t let him go—but not even specifically the Doctor. The Doctor, to Clara, is only as valuable as he makes her feel. It’s very sad because the two of them are kind of convinced they’re best friends and that’s why they’re together, but that’s not it. They’re not best friends. They’re toxic.

(Best friends do not trick other best friends, lie to them, threaten their way of life and only home to get their boyfriends back and then say “I’m sorry but I’d do it again”. Best friends do not notice that their best friend is there for them in spite of that line of action and then still disregard their best friend’s safety and needs in order to get what they themselves want above all else. Death in Heaven, I hate you.) And! Clara was so rattled by Eleven changing into Twelve. The sweet young man who flirted with her and made her feel so romantically important was gone, now there’s this grisly old fella who is rude to her and makes disparaging personal remarks about her physical appearance, and who doesn’t like hugs. But they’re not done. Because now the relationship has changed even further—we went from “he likes me and he should because I am Important” and “she’s staying with me and she should because I am gonna keep her safe and it won’t be like last time(s) and that’s why she’s special, that’s why she’s Impossible” to “I’m with him because he needs me and because I am Important like he is” and “she’s staying with me and she should because I am gonna keep her safe and she’s still special and she’s still Impossible and I can’t lose her no matter what”.

Clara is controlling and the Doctor is controlling. Missy would have you believe the Doctor won’t be controlled, but that’s just another form of control. The Doctor can’t stop travelling with Clara. Twelve will not let her rest, Twelve will not let her die. Clara will not stay home, Clara will not put anyone or anything else before herself, before traveling and saving the day and feeling special. In fact, it’s gotten to the point where the Doctor treats Clara with such reverence, she actually believes she’s 100% his equal and should be him. That was not a typo. I did not say she should be like him. I said she thinks she should be him. It gets worse and worse as time goes on. Clara thinks she can be the Doctor. She can travel anywhere, she can do whatever she wants, and she will always win. Because she’s important. Because she’s special. She doesn’t realize that she can’t, and that that’s not who the Doctor is anyway. And the Doctor watches Clara get eaten up by this addiction to travel, addiction to heroics. Clara loses Danny and that’s her last tether to normal life. It’s sad because Danny was twice the man anybody expected him to be and he was almost there, almost good enough for Clara to stay and be safe with. But the Doctor and time and space are a tough act to follow, and when Danny died, Clara felt she was owed better. She wasn’t angry because Danny was young and she loved him and she wanted better for him. She was angry because as a time traveling hero, she deserved to have her boyfriend alive and not hit by an ordinary car in the middle of an ordinary day on Earth. (But she wouldn’t have stayed with him anyway, and she wasted so much time with him treating him like he wasn’t special enough and then it was too late. If the Doctor had not been part of the equation, treating her like she hung the stars and making her believe it, they could have been happy. She could have been okay.)

More adventures, more close calls. At this point everything likeable about Clara in the past has faded away because she is just not the same person anymore. She’s ruined. And it’s her fault, and it’s the Doctor’s fault. Clara isn’t addicted to travel or heroics. Now she’s addicted to feeling important. She’s addicted to being special. And she needs to feel that so badly that she decides she is the Doctor and can do what he does and ignores the danger and ignores the rules and the risks and what it might do to the Doctor to lose her, and she faces the stupid raven. This girl legit dies a painful, scary death because she thought she could do whatever she wanted, control every situation, and it couldn’t possibly turn out badly because she’s Clara Oswald, the Impossible Girl. Did the Doctor ever give her any idea that that wasn’t true? Didn’t he worship the ground she marched on? She dies for it. And the Doctor, bless his poisoned hearts, cannot handle it. No way, it is not happening again. Not Clara! He’s avoided her death every other time. It’s not even about Clara anymore—Clara is actually a pretty rotten friend to the Doctor at this point; he’s nothing to her, not really, just a means to an end (and you can tell because when push comes to shove, she will choose herself and time and space over him, and over any sense at all, but if anyone asks, that’s her best friend and do you know why? because it’s very special to be the Doctor’s best friend). It’s not about her, it’s about them. About Adric, and River, and Rose, and Donna, and Tegan and Susan and Ace and Vicki. It’s about Ian and Barbara and Wilfred Mott. Not this time, universe! Not this time, Clara! "I have a duty of care." "Which you take very seriously, I know." Twelve goes through the most contrived, horrendous, comically-lengthened torture Moffat can think of (Heaven Sent) and comes out on the other side only to bring Clara back from the dead. Think of that. The woman is actually very long dead at this point and the Doctor braves literal Gallifrey to pull her out of the moment before the end. He breaks every single rule he has ever, ever had. And he does it violently, are you telling me for real that Clara is the best companion for him? She drives him to do right, to be the greatest he can be? She helps, she brings him back to who he’s always tried to be? No she doesn’t. She drives him to total depraved madman status because they can’t quit each other, and no, not the cutesy quippy Madman With A Box type of madman.

What makes Clara so different from all the other people the Doctor had to lose and who remained lost? Nothing at all. Nothing except that the Doctor decided this one isn’t going anywhere. Because she is every companion to him. This poor woman has a sack full of the Doctor’s past-companion baggage tied to her back but to her it feels light, because he treats it outwardly like a pedestal. So he “brings her back” and she figures out what he’s done and what he went through to do it, and they both learn that their relationship is actually so toxic that together, they would destroy the universe just to have what they want. Because that’s what they bring out in each other. The Doctor has to keep Clara safe, and Clara has to be special. They’re so unhealthy it affects everything around them, to the point where the Time Lords literally have a name for their destructive dynamic in their prophecies called the Hybrid (go lie down, Moffat). And the Master knew that because Time Lord…stuff…and deliberately ensured that Clara and the Doctor get together.

Luckily the Doctor is still, somewhere, miraculously, himself—so he recognizes at last that this is going too far and it’s bad, it’s all bad. The only solution, because he still can’t just return Clara to her fate, is to wipe her memory (hello Donna) of him so that they aren’t together but she also doesn’t have to die. So that he still doesn’t have to deal with losing people. And then the very worst part, writing-wise, happens. Clara complains and decides she must be allowed her memories, she’s entitled to them (too special to lose her memories!) but goodie for her, she doesn’t lose them. The Doctor, instead, loses his memories of her. Now, this is ultimately a good thing for him because of the horse I beat to death over there, don’t make eye contact, but—how sad is it that he still has to lose? That he still can’t keep someone, even after all that carnage? The healing process is beginning and he’ll be a better man than ever after this, but take a moment to mourn because that really sucks for him.

Okay here’s the worst part—Clara lives. And not only does Clara live, Clara lives forever. Clara is immortal. Clara gets her own Tardis. Clara gets her own immortal companion! (Ashildr.) Who learned something? Anyone? Not Clara! Who grew as a person around here? No one? Not Clara! Poor Clara Oswald, who started out nicely enough and likeable enough, at least on level with Classic Who companions, is ruined in the end. She gets exactly what she wants. She’s the Ultimate Companion! She’s met all the Doctors. He even fancied her at one point, well, how could he not? She didn’t die, she didn’t learn anything, she didn’t even really grow, she just got worse. Danny died and the Doctor lost, but Clara got to keep her memories, lose her mortality, and gain her own infinite time travelling machine. She became the Doctor. Yippee. Neither of them were made better by the other’s company. Rose Tyler said more than once, at least in three different ways, that the Doctor’s influence, that the opportunity to travel in time and space and help, brings out the extraordinary qualities ordinary people already have. He taps into their potential to be better, even better than him sometimes. The human factor, I call it. And they inspire him to be better, which is important for someone who is essentially immortal and can essentially go anywhere and do anything he likes. Wilfred said it, too, that Donna was better with the Doctor. But the codependency, the noxious way the Doctor and Clara interacted with each other—their whole relationship—it’s devoid of that improving quality. It wasn’t at first, at least not on Clara’s side, but that’s what it turned out to be. At least Moffat acknowledges that in Hell Bent, but he does it more in a way that is trying to communicate to you that that’s how deep and special the Doctor and Clara’s relationship is, isn’t it so important, isn’t it the best companion/Doctor relationship ever? Isn’t she hot, isn’t he whipped? Have you ever seen such devotion? Gag me. He doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing. He’s just trying to win the 60-year-long companion race. And Clara and the Doctor both suffer for it.

I still like Clara. I blame the writing entirely for how things turned out, because I genuinely, really enjoyed her this last rewatch, and I wish that she’d met a better end. I wish she’d stayed with Danny and figured out what Danny was trying to tell her all along—that normal life is precious and worth it, and worth giving up the big sparkly universe for if you find someone else to live for besides yourself. I wish she’d sacrificed herself to save the Doctor in the present, not just throughout his past, because she proved that at one point she was capable of that. I wish she’d come to terms with the fact that she couldn’t control everything, couldn’t have what she wanted every time, and then chose to learn from that and use what she could control for the benefit of others (including the Doctor). I wish she’d gotten out the way Martha had gotten out. And I really, really wish the Doctor hadn’t had to prolong the pain he was always going to feel when someone else had to say goodbye. Anyway, that’s the essay a trifling three lovely people asked me for. Not really an essay, just word vomit. If you read it all, please let me know what you think! I could be wrong.

[intricatechaosofyou]

ENCHANTED

Pairing: Bob Floyd x f!reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Summary: the last thing you wanted was a night out, but a certain WSO might change your mind

Based on Taylor Swift’s “Enchanted”

Part II

Warnings: drinking, alcohol, language

Author’s Note: Happy Valentine’s Day!! Here’s a little Bob one shot for everyone wishing he was here today.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

The last thing you wanted to do tonight was go out. It had been a long week and you just wanted to curl up on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn and a sappy rom-com, but your friend had other plans for you.

“Emily, this is ridiculous,” you whined as your best friend coated your lips with a glittery gloss.

“Stop talking, you’ll mess me up. And stop complaining. It’ll be fun. We’re going to the Hard Deck.”

“That makes it worse,” you complained.

“That makes it better! A chance to hook up with a Naval officer.” Emily smiled wickedly and shot you a wink. “Why do you think I dolled you all up?”

You glanced at yourself in the mirror. At Emily’s request, you were wearing the sundress that only fell halfway down your thighs and pushed up your cleavage. She had even done your hair and makeup. She really had dolled you all up.

“I still don’t like this idea,” you admitted, toying with the end of your dress.

“You will,” Emily assured with a wink.

—————

It turns out, Emily was very wrong. You didn’t like this idea at all. The night had been horrible so far. Your best friend had disappeared five minutes after you arrived, charmed by a blonde aviator who introduced himself as Jake Seresin, callsign: Hangman.

You were about ready to go home. You had faked enough smiles and forced a few too many laughs for one night. Besides, it was still early enough for that movie you wanted to watch in the first place.

Still, you couldn��t leave without telling Emily. Even if she went home with Hangman, she’d still worry about where you were. So as you looked around the bar trying to spot your friend, you found yourself staring at a beautiful pair of cobalt eyes.

It was like you couldn’t look away once you saw him. You weren’t sure what it was but it seemed like time stopped, like everyone else in the room vanished. You weren’t one to believe in love at first sight, but this certainly seemed like it. With a blush you turned away from him and focused on the drink in front of you, suddenly enamored with swirling the liquid in your glass when you felt a presence to your left.

“The usual, Bob?” Penny asked the figure who was now seated two stools away from you. Turning to look at the customer you found the owner of the beautiful eyes. There he was, a few feet away from you. And he was even more attractive up close. The glasses that adorned his face fit him well and the khaki uniform he wore was oddly doing it for you.

After the man nodded to Penny, you decided to pipe up. It was now or never.

“Bob?” You asked, making the man in question turn to you. “Is that your callsign?”

The man looked bewildered to find you talking to him but nodded nonetheless. “Yes, ma’am. It’s not as interesting as some of the others.”

“I like it. Certainly much better than ‘Hangman,’” you scoffed.

“You know Hangman?” Bob asked, tilting his head.

“He charmed my friend about an hour ago. Haven’t seen her since,” you lamented. “I assume you’re familiar with the walking Ken doll as well.”

With a chuckle, Bob nodded.

“Does that mean you’re a pilot, too?”

“Weapons systems officer, actually. I don’t actually fly the plane. I manage all of our weapons and act like a second pair of eyes for the pilot,” Bob explained, waving his hands in front of him as he talked.

“Sounds important.”

Bob blushed, looking down at the bartop. “Yeah, you could say that.”

You smiled at the man. He seemed less cocky than the rest of the aviators in the Hard Deck. It was like a breath of fresh air. With a smile, you moved to sit in the stool right next to him.

He looked down at you, smiling shyly.

“Tell me more,” you prompted.

Over the next few hours, you and Bob talked about everything from your jobs to your favorite songs to why your friend had dragged you here in the first place. He was endearing, stuttering every once in a while when he stared at you for too long and gesturing with his hands whenever he got excited about a topic. Caught up in the playful banter, you lost track of time and when you checked your phone, you realized it was almost midnight.

“I should be getting home,” you muttered, playing with the hem of your dress.

“Oh, right.” Bob hesitated, running his tongue over his bottom lip before speaking again. “Do you need a ride home?”

“I’ll call an Uber. I don’t want to keep you if you need to get home to a girlfriend or something.”

“No, no girlfriend or anything,” Bob replied with a shake of his head. “It’d be no trouble to take you home.”

“Then, I’d appreciate it,” you admitted.

Bob closed the tab, insisting on paying for your drinks as well, as you texted Emily that you were leaving, having found a ride. When the two of you got to his car, he opened the passenger seat door for you and helped you in before getting into the driver’s seat.

As he drove, the only sounds were the radio playing some song from the 80s in the background and the occasional direction from you. It was comfortable. You felt oddly at ease in the passenger seat of Bob’s car even though you two had been strangers mere hours ago.

When you arrived in front of your house, you turned to the man. “Thanks for the ride, Robby.”

“Robby?” He questioned, small smile gracing his face.

You nodded. “Does that bother you?”

“Not at all,” Bob admitted. “Will…will you be at the Hard Deck next Friday?”

Humming, you shrugged, playful smile on your face. “Maybe. Got this weapons system officer I wanna see again.”

“I think he wants to see you again, too.”

You leaned over the center console and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, giggling as you watched a rosy color spread over his face. “See you next week, Robby.”

With that, you opened the car door and scurried to your front door. After you stepped inside and closed the door, you fell back against the wood, dreamy sigh escaping you.

God, you hoped you’d see Bob Floyd again.

I was enchanted to meet you

—————

The next weekend, when Emily suggested you go to the Hard Deck again, you immediately agreed.

“And here I thought you hated this place just last week,” Emily mused as the two of you walked up the path to the bar.

“I found a new appreciation for it is all,” you replied.

“Because of a certain pilot?” Emily wagged her brows at you, making you roll your eyes. After the previous night out, Emily made you spill everything about the man who drove you home.

“WSO,” you corrected.

Emily stifled a laugh at your response. “Oh, honey you are whipped.”

“Am not.”

“Whatever,” Emily replied, pushing the door to the bar open. Her eyes immediately fell on a tall blonde by the dartboard. “Hangman!”

The blonde’s eyes snapped up and a lazy smirk appeared on his face once he recognized your best friend. In a few short strides, he was in front of the two of you. “Hey, Emily. Good to see you again.”

Your best friend giggled out a reply to the man as your eyes searched the room for a glimpse of those glasses and cobalt eyes.

“Looking for Bob?”

At the mention of the man in question, you turned to face Hangman.

“W- what?” You croaked.

“Are you looking for Bob?” Hangman repeated. “Saw you two talking last time you were here. Figure you’re hoping to see him here tonight.”

Your cheeks heated up. Were you that obvious?

“Is he here?”

Hangman shook his head. “No, not tonight. Him and his pilot had to eject this morning. The hospital is keeping them overnight for observation.”

“What?” Your face paled, breathing becoming slightly labored. “Are they alright?”

Hangman nodded, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey, breathe for me, kid. He and Phoenix are fine. They’re only keeping them as a precaution.”

Nodding helplessly, you placed a hand on your chest, trying to stop the panic bubbling inside you.

“You want some water?” Emily questioned from your side.

You just nodded again and let her pull you towards the bar, leading you to sit down on a stool.

Penny placed a glass in front of you. Muttering a thanks, you brought the glass up to your lips and nearly chugged the liquid.

“Hey, little sips, little sips,” Emily reprimanded, pulling the glass away from you. “You okay, honey?”

“I don’t know, Em. Why am I so concerned about a guy I barely know?”

“I think you like him,” she replied.

You groaned, dropping your head down on the bartop. You knew she was right. But how could you have fallen for a guy you only met once?

—————

The next weekend, you and Emily were at the Hard Deck again. You were determined to see Bob.

As soon as you entered the building, you caught sight of the cobalt eyes you had been thinking about for the last two weeks. It was as if your legs acted of their own accord. You were weaving through the crowd, Emily shouting your name behind you. When you reached Bob, you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Woah, hey!” Bob grunted as you collided with his chest, staggering a few steps back at the sudden weight. His arms instinctually wrapped around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

“I was so worried!” You admitted, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

One of Bob’s hands came up to cradle the back of your head, gently threading his fingers in your hair.

“Hangman told me you ejected and you were in the hospital,” you ranted, pulling back from the man and cupping his cheeks in your hands. “Are you okay?”

Bob nodded, letting you tilt his face back and forth to inspect him for any injuries. “I’m okay, (y/n). I’m okay. Couple of bruises but I’m okay.”

You let out a shaky breath, wiping at some of the tears that had trailed down your cheeks. “Okay.”

Someone clearing their throat to your left caused both of your heads to snap in the direction of a few aviators, no doubt friends of Bob, staring at you.

“You gonna introduce us, Baby on Board?” Hangman asked with a smirk, one arm slung across Emily’s shoulders.

Bob blushed slightly and you stepped away from him, just keeping your hand on his elbow to remind yourself that he was there and he was alright.

“This is (y/n). We met a couple weeks ago,” Bob explained.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” you said with a small smile.

“Is this the one you wouldn’t shut up about?” The man with the mustache asked.

Bob’s blush darkened, free hand rubbing at the nape of his neck.

“Shut up, Rooster,” the only woman aviator of the group piped up, elbowing the man who had just talked. “It’s nice to meet you, (y/n). I’m Phoenix, Bob’s pilot.”

You smiled and shook her hand. Bob had talked about her when you had last seen him. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m glad to see you two safe after the ejection last week.”

“Me too. Million dollar plane taken down by a damn pigeon. Impressive, isn’t it?” Phoenix said with a sarcastic smirk.

The rest of Bob’s coworkers introduced themselves to you, happy to have you joining them for the night. You partnered with Phoenix to destroy Fanboy and Payback at pool, watched Hangman beat Coyote at darts, and sang along with everyone as Rooster played “Great Balls of Fire” on the piano. But throughout the night, you never strayed far from Bob. The two of you were always in reach of each other, sharing shy glances and smiles during the night.

When Rooster had started up his fifth Jerry Lee Lewis song, Bob tilted his head towards the door. You got the hint and followed him out of the bar.

The two of you leaned against the railing of the patio, staring out at the water before you decided to speak up.

“I was glad to see you here tonight.”

“I could tell. That hug caught me off guard,” Bob said with a chuckle.

You blushed, looking away from the man. “I’m sorry. I was just so worried when I heard what happened last week and I was so happy to see you safe. I don’t even know why I was so worried. We barely even know each other. I was just so enchanted by you when we first met–”

“(y/n),” Bob cut you off. “I get it. I felt the same way.”

Relief flooded you as you glanced back at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t get you off my mind the past two weeks. Your name just echoed in my head. I should’ve told you that night, but I didn’t.”

You stared at Bob, slightly overwhelmed by the eloquent admission.

“I’m sorry. That was really forward of me,” he began.

Without a second thought, you grabbed Bob’s collar and pulled his lips to yours before he could retreat in on himself.

It was slow and soft, everything you expected kissing him would be like. His hands moved to grab your waist as his tongue prodded at your bottom lip.

As you opened your mouth, letting his tongue in, you threaded your fingers through his hair, trying to pull him closer to you. It was instinctual, the way you needed him as close to you as possible.

When the two of you parted, you stared at each other, chests heaving as you both tried to catch your breaths.

“You free tomorrow?” Bob questioned, his country drawl a little thicker now.

“Yeah. What’d you have in mind, Robby?”

“Dinner?”

You smiled brightly, trailing your hands down his chest. “Sounds like a date. But for tonight, why don’t you take me home?”

Bob nodded and pressed a fleeting kiss to your lips before digging his keys out of his pocket. And as he drove the two of you to your place, hand grasping yours, you smiled.

Maybe going to the Hard Deck wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

TAGS

@cherrycola27

[satanic-fruitcake]

hello hello GUESS who just got to the ugly truth in his farscape rewatch again!! (me fave episode yippeee) i notice something new every time i watch it, so i thought i’d finally compile all my observations!

Aeryn’s Version Of Events

She views Zhaan as indecisive and a total pushover. “i’ll need to meditate on this”, “well i don’t know who to believe!”

Aside from Zhaan she has the most merciful view of Crais. it’s fairly obvious, and just as obvious why, we all know. but it felt like a disservice not to at least mention it. The whole thing is a real testament to how far she’s come.

Zhaan’s Version of Events

She’s the only one besides Stark who explicitly lies to their faces, and i find it so so compelling. you go girl. she’s such a shitty priest <3

Zhaan portrays John as an indecisive pushover, almost childlike in his inability to form his own opinion.

She characterises everyone as so ridiculously passive and it’s hilarious. even Crais, which is interesting. “the Plokavians are going to have great difficulty believing that was an accident!” LMAOO

She’s also SUCH an ass-kisser. “the Plokavians are strong believers in truth and justice 😇” okay girl.

Related to this she also has herself, instead of Stark, be the one who explains the Plokavians to the others, demonstrating her tendency to paint herself as smarter and wiser than she really is, and to not really listen to those around her.

She goes to the very unnecessary effort to describe the made up scene where she and Stark admire the Plokavian ship and hold hands. it’s really cute. and a really funny attempt at painting Stark as peaceful and non-threatening.

Stark’s Version of Events

Noticeably shorter than the others but i’m obsessed with him so of course i’ve noticed the tiny subtle little details. for example. he characterises not just Crais, but everyone as slightly colder than they really are, demonstrating how little he really knows the Moya crew in comparison to how well they know each other. He doesn’t even have a cute little moment of remembering Zhaan fondly.

He’s the only one who doesn’t paint himself as the leader. (yes, they all do it, or at least paint themself as the most rational, most just aren’t as obnoxious about it as D’argo.) he has a very black and white view of the situation. John is the hero whose opinions everyone has time for, and Crais is the villain. Stark paints himself as a mere observer on the sidelines. i think it’s a mix of the following: 1) a result of a lifetime of slavery, being unimportant and ignored, and 2) a manipulation tactic, a defence mechanism, much like his strategic mad outbursts.

His admiration of John is very obvious.

Even the camera work is telling. his memory includes a lot of close ups to character’s faces, and when it cuts to him, his eyes are darting around between them all. he’s studying their micro-expressions.

D’argo’s Version of Events

It’s hard to say anything about this beyond it’s just really really funny. his version of John is such a yes-man. he has the most explicit I Am The Leader vibe because of course he does.

Zhaan’s “violence would not solve the problem” is such a simplified portrayal of her character, her worldview, the advise she often gives. 3 possible reasons for this off the top of my head: 1) he doesn’t really listen when she talks. 2) he listens, but he doesn’t understand. 3) he just wants this to be simple. he wants this to be over so he can get out of here and find his son, so he’s glossing over things.

His characterisation of Stark is very funny. totally unhinged and pathetic. more on this at the end.

and finally:

Crichton’s Version of Events

The closest to the unbiased truth. maybe. who knows. you decide.

Right from the start, he places himself behind Crais. no one else puts him there.

Now that i’m rewatching it as i’m writing this, he doesn’t paint himself as much of a leader either. he paints the Moya crew as a united front, up until Stark approaches the console.

No one else but John remembers Zhaan being the one to say “you mean your control.” in response to Crais claiming Talyn would be even more aggressive without his guidance. she’s a bit passive aggressive about it as well. regardless of wether she really says it, it’s such an interesting little moment to me, how John sees this cold version of her, likely because he was only one who saw firsthand how she killed her lover in Rhapsody in Blue. he understands her capacity for pragmatism, even cruelty, better than anyone i think.

Whether his story contains bias and inconsistencies, his characterisation of Crais as surprisingly reasonable proves he’s making a clear effort to be as objective as he can.

“PLOKAVOIDS”

This really is my favourite farscape episode, i love it so much. and i think it’s because, although not obvious at first glance, it’s clearly the first Stark Episode, (like I,ET is the first John Episode and Rhapsody In Blue is the first Zhaan Episode) A defining trait of Stark’s is that he’s a character who is very at the mercy (scrutiny) of other’s (mis)conceptions of him. his line about outsiders thinking his people don’t feel, but it’s only that they don’t always show. his defence mechanism being acting crazy or more incompetent than he is. (his prey animal swag has enchanted me body and soul) everyone’s lack of trust in him. this episode lays the groundwork for all of that. i once saw a review shitting on this episode for bringing back a guy no one cares about and then sacrificing him expecting the audience to care about him despite not having given him time to become likeable. it’s a valid point, but i think this is the episode that makes you care about him, or at least form your opinion.

thanks for reading!!

[desidarling123]

Summary: Toph and Sokka become unexpected partners for a top-secret undercover mission. Their cover is that of a newlywed couple -- but as the mission drags on, the line between fact and fantasy start to blur for these longtime friends...

A/N: The premise just tickled me, so I wrote a small scene from the larger story I imagine. Could I write the full thing out? Yes, probably. Will I actually, given how busy I am recently? Not sure.

READ NOW ON AO3 or below the cut :)

They've been at this shitty little hole-in-the-wall bar for what feels like hours, now, hashing out all the details they need for their joint cover story: where this couple met, how they got together. Their dreams, their ambitions, and their plans: past, present, and future.

They keep the details similar enough to their own to remember, but with just enough changed that they won’t reveal their true identities on accident.

And it's just as they're close to winding up that Sokka finally works up the nerve to spring it on her.

“We should kiss,” he says, trying for casual and unaffected, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Toph smiles and finishes off the last of her drink, like he's just told her a joke. 

“Heh. Good one, Sokka.”

“No, I'm being serious,” he insists, and although he knows she can't see him, he fixes her with a serious stare, anyways, as if he can somehow convey the gravity of the matter to her that way. 

She must sense the genuine shift in his tone, because she looks flustered, then. Well, as flustered as he’s ever seen her, and she’s hard to rattle to begin with.

“Why ?” she says, voice pitched low.

“Well,” he explains, “I don't want to look surprised the first time it happens in public.”

“Who’s to say it ever will?” she counters, and there’s an unusual hardness in her voice, one he’s never heard from her before.

“Really, Toph?” he says. “You know far better than I do how unpredictable these things get.”

She sits back in her seat from across him, slumping ever-so-slightly as she mulls it over. In the low, warm light, which glints against her metal armor, he’s struck by how authoritative she looks, despite it.

“Fine,” she says at last. “But it should be you kissing me, not the other way around.”

Now it’s his turn to be confused.

“Why ?”

“Because,” she says tightly, “my assumed cover is a blind woman who doesn’t have seismic sense. If I initiate a kiss, it could tip someone off. I don’t have the benefit of a low profile, these days.”

“Besides,” she finishes, “I don’t want to have to pretend to feel for your face before I kiss you. That would look objectively ridiculous.”

Sokka finds he can’t argue with that. Though he’d kind of been hoping she’d be the one to take the lead, here.

But it’s fine. It’s not weird. It won’t be weird.

“Go ahead,” Toph says, and despite the brusque tone, he knows this is the best he could expect.

So he goes for it. Sokka stands up and leans over the table. Lets one feather-light hand push the dark hair out of her face before he puts his hand on her cheek and guides her mouth to his.

It’s somehow both unnatural and yet also the most natural thing in the world, to kiss his best friend of over a decade. 

She doesn’t kiss him back, per se, but that’s not really a surprise. He pushes past that and kisses her the way her ‘husband’ would: gently but firmly, a hint of familiarity beneath it all. Takes note of the little things, in the moment: the way her lips are slightly chapped against his, the fact that she tastes faintly of the lychee beer she’d just finished off.

He pulls away a beat later.

The moment is over just as it started -- abruptly. He sits back down in his chair.

She nods once, leans back again. He notices, absently, that her arms are still crossed on the table. 

“Okay, got it,” is all she says. He’s passed this little test of hers.

Sokka exhales, then. Takes a swig of his own bottle, briefly abandoned on the table’s far corner.

“Next time,” he murmurs, “do you think you can pretend to like that?”

Her tongue darts out, tracing out her lower lip briefly, and if he watches her a beat too long, well, she’s none the wiser.

“Yeah,” she says simply. “I think I can.”

[muffinlance]

Cheating at Pai Sho Outtake: Crew Interrogation

Opened up Cheating at Pai Sho and this alternate version was just chilling in my notes. I ended up using the “Sokka goes out drinking with the crew” version instead, but behold, the crew messing with Zhao’s men:

* * *

Sokka was entirely unclear on whether the crew didn't notice him under his newly replaced guard helmet, or just didn't care.

"Look sharp, Ensign Other One," a fellow creepily anonymous skull-mask-guard said, giving Sokka an elbow nudge to the chest plate, and firmly putting an end to the did they know or just not care question. "Hostiles incoming."

"What do we do?"

"Mess with them." The guard lifted his faceplate. Hawker Genji winked at him, then let it drop.  

Heavy boots stomped up the loading ramp, mere minutes after Zuko and the resupply party had left.  

"Attention on deck!" one of the newly arrived armored-but-not-wearing-helmets guys bellowed. None of the crew had any particular reaction to this bellowing, probably because it was a few decibels below what they were used to. The man's lips twisted down. "The port commander has ordered a mission debriefing. You will assemble all crew—"

"Yes," Genji said, and the same time a woman next to him was saying "Agni blight it," and handing over a handful of coins.

The port inspector snapped his head towards them. "What was that, crewmen?"

"Nothing, sir,” said Genji. “Just won a bet. Thanks, by the way."

"Nothing, sir,” said the woman. “Just lost a bet. Thanks, by the way."

A third crewmember snickered, and stifled it as soon as the dock officer whipped around to glare. And suddenly Sokka realized why everyone on the Wani had put on their own helmets: near-complete anonymity.

So began the messing with.

%%%

The crew was, basically, locked in the mess hall. Except for the people who the port officer had hauled off to speak with one-by-one; they, presumably, were being released into the Wani wilds elsewhere, to minimize the getting-their-stories-straight thing.

"Do it," Genji urged Sokka on. "I'll give you a silver if you do."

"He's low-balling you, kid," Assistant-to-the-Doctor-and-Occasional-Pikeswoman Satomi advised.

"What even is a silver worth?" Sokka asked, having grown up in a region largely decoupled from the greater world economy. "I need a baseline for how much this is worth to you."

"A silver is worth about five kilos of rice if they don't know you're from the Wani," Satomi said. "Half that if they do. Hold out for a gold from him, at least. That's ten silvers, or an hour with a really good hooker."

"Sssh," Helmsman Kyo shushed, in a manner most shushily. "I can't hear what they're saying." He had his ear pressed to a metal pipe that connected to another pipe that ran to the room the port officer was doing his interrogations in. "Wait no, I got it. Okay, so we're up to The Avatar appeared before Prince Zuko in a column of light which vanished into the sky, leaving behind the last living airbender. The airbender lives on our roof and helped us fight off the Southern Savages that attacked us from the sky on their snow-white beast. It sounds like they're—yeah, they're finished! Next up!"

The uninterrogated remainder of the crew all assumed their sullen stances, and waited for the the port officers to drag the next of them off. Satomi was picked, and went with some literal dragging of heels. "Oh no, not me."

The Wani crew, as it turned out, tried very hard to be consistent in their ridiculously over-the-top rewrites of the truth.

"We don't get battle stories to brag about," they'd explained to Sokka. "But we do get Avatar Hunt ones."

Kyo pressed his ear to the pipe again, and continued his narration. "Okay. Good, good—she laid out the basics again. And she's adding—oh wow, this is great—'Together with our new airbender, we brought the light of Agni to the frozen heathens, and converted them to our cause. Now they worship graven images of Fire Lord Ozai and leave offerings at the rusted ruins of our ships—'  

Sokka. Knew what he had to do.

%%%

"Sit," the port inspector ordered.

Sokka sat.

"Your fleet commander demands an explanation for this wasteful expenditure of resources to the south," the man snarled. "Tell me the truth of it. Start from when your ship departed this port the last time."

"Well, I'm not going to be able to help you with that," Sokka said. "You see, I was out minding my own business on my culturally inferior ice shelf when the light of Agni shown upon my world. Also, Avatar something-something? I forget what they told me to say. Anyway, long story short, I'm a converted Southern Savage. Hail Fire Lord Zuko's Dad!"

It might just be the sleep deprivation, but the guy's expression was hilarious.

%%%

"How did you all get written up for insubordination?" Zuko shouted. "I was gone for less than two hours! You're not even in the navy!"

"Yeah," the Water Tribe peasant said. "That officer guy got really angry when he thought I was giving him a fake name. Then he heard them calling me 'new guy' and just wrote up Pikesman Kazuto. Sorry, Kazuto."

"He… what?" Kazuto, who was carrying the last sack of rice aboard, paused long enough to look befuddled.

The teenager shrugged; his armor clattered and creaked even worse than Jee's. "What can I say? Just because I'm not part of the navy doesn't mean I'm not part of this crew."

There was. There was so much cheering and backslapping. Zuko had left for less than two hours, and now his crew liked a Water Tribe barbarian more than their prince.

[blessedtoaster666]

A HARD ROW TO HOE

Chapter 10 and 3/4

(A/N: This was originally part of chapter 11; but I axed it and went a different direction. Since it doesn’t change anything - this scene already happened from Draco’s POV - I thought it could be fun to have it live here.)

After the most unpleasant dinner with her neighbor, Matthew Pearsly, Hermione longed to be anywhere but near him, so instead of allowing him to walk them both home, she sent herself to the store. She insisted she didn’t need his assistance, though the entire walk from Nando’s (yes, Nando’s!) she kept looking over her shoulder expecting to see his pouty face trudging along behind her.

He was dull, and it colored every part of him into muddled nothingness.

Crookshanks really did need food, but she had already planned to go on a proper shopping trip the next morning. She loved food shopping on Sundays, she tried to hit a few markets a week depending on when they were open. Sometimes she made an entire day of it- trekking over to Camden Market or on to Spitalfields. But the markets did not carry Crookshank’s particular brand, only Sainsbury’s, as it was their generic version for geriatric felines.

She was distracted by a small man who, at the end of an aisle, had taken to using his rolling basket as a stool. Turned on its head, he was attempting to reach to the top of a stack of canned peas. With arms full of a ridiculously large bag of Crookshank’s kibble, she picked up her pace to offer him a steadying hand, when she smacked right into Malfoy, the kibble relegated to the floor and the pea man forgotten- nay, eclipsed, by a large (beautiful, oh, was he beautiful) blonde man looking posh-yet-disheveled in slacks and a button up shirt that was rolled to the elbows, two buttons undone. She closed her eyes and exhaled- she just wanted to forget the man. She hated that fate (or whatever) was dangling him in her midst… when theirs was a story that would never be told. He had a live-in girlfriend. They were probably engaged. The thought turned her stomach.

He seemed surprised, and pleased, to see her. She explained why she was buying the cat food, though he already knew she had a cat, so her monologue surrounding the ‘have a cat/must feed said cat’ was doing nothing but giving her an excuse to not look at him, she couldn’t look at him. She glanced around the shop, halfway hoping for Matthew to show up, keen to assist.

Since finding herself standing in his home earlier in the week, his strangely lovely home- by the way, and talking to his (also, regrettably lovely) partner, or something. Well. Since then, she’d felt rather deflated. She’d been told the race was over and she was still pinning that little number to her chest, lining up to go. What a let down.

He didn’t act like he had a girlfriend, which was one of the reasons why it was so shocking. In fact, since the Garden Party, Hermione had been operating under the assumption that he was actually interested in her. He ran a little hot and cold, sure, but she wasn’t an idiot. She felt it.

Except evidently she was some sort of idiot- which was a devastating realization on its own. She was wrong (she hated that). Her instincts had led her astray, which was actually part of the reason she said yes to a dinner with Matthew in the first place. In his particular instance she felt strongly, instinctually, that he was grotesque… but perhaps she needed to be recalibrated when a perfectly reasonable young man seemed like a horrific choice and Draco Malfoy seemed akin to a dream.

A dream deferred, now.

She was obviously going through something. Something pathological.

She blinked, centering herself in her reality- and something stuck out. Draco Malfoy at a Muggle grocers? He hated Muggles. He literally branded his hate on his skin.

“Hate is a strong word, Granger,” he said, walking away with her cat food. “I think it’s rather that for some time, I didn’t understand them.”

What a ridiculous statement. Muggles were people- as were wizards. The only thing he needed to understand was that he was an absolute prat. After arguing for a bit on the definition of the word ‘extra’, he started grilling her about her activities pre-Sainsbury’s.

She didn’t want to admit she was on a date, it was so thoroughly awful she wanted to never think of it again. Nando’s wasn’t necessarily the problem, though she did feel a chicken shop date was something 18-year-old Hermione would have been thrilled with… while nearly 29-year-old Hermione yearned for a bit of ambience, at the very least. Some nice lighting. Perhaps a menu with dinner, rather than ordering at the counter and bussing your own table.

Utensils, maybe?

And for the record, late twenties Hermione didn’t have a rule against anyone getting in her pants on the first date, but she didn’t want to be bored out of them. Small distinctions, but terribly important.

“It was nothing, and now, you’ve caught me running an errand on my way home,” she reached out for the cat food, but he pulled it back, turning himself so she couldn’t grab it without reaching around him. “If you would be so kind, so I can be on my way?”

“You live around here, then?”

The pea man ambled toward them, now wanting to get at the olives. Luckily, they were on a lower shelf, so his basket stayed wheels down, but he couldn’t get to the can he wanted with Malfoy in the way. Malfoy stepped toward Hermione, close enough that she had to angle her head to speak with him. She breathed through her mouth- not wanting another one of her senses overloaded with him. She might then do something regrettable- like launch herself in his general direction.

“Yes, just a short jaunt from that green monstrosity you call home,” she said, still trying for the cat food now that he was a little closer, but still unsuccessful.

“That’s right… that’s right. If I recall, not too long ago you bum-rushed my assistant at the door and invited yourself in.”

“I did no such thing! I merely-” She felt her insides ball up and drop through to the floor. Gemma was his assistant. His assistant? “Your assistant. Gemma?”

“Yes,” he narrowed his eyes at her, nearing a look of amusement.

“She’s your assistant?” Already the word ‘assistant’ had lost its meaning, she’d said it too many times in quick succession. Gemma was not his girlfriend.

He did not seem to have a girlfriend.

Rather than buoyed by such news, she set any elation aside as she dug in deeper to the idea that this insolent, rich, gorgeous prick had hired help for the exact nothing that he did. It was ludicrous. “Does she collate your party invitations and lay out your perfectly pressed dress robes, ones that will undoubtedly best accentuate your sparkling grey eyes?”

She knew it was an error as soon as she said it, and he latched on immediately. He lit up. “Sparkling. Grey. Eyes… Granger, get ahold of yourself.” She wanted to present annoyance- but it was difficult- delighted Draco was dangerously attractive.

He walked away from her and she couldn’t move. He already had an ego the size of Grawp and she’d just inflated a bit more. He nodded for her to join him… and she did. That was that, it seemed. She was powerless against him.

She was having a better time in these few minutes at the grocers than she’d had on her ‘date’, or really at any point in the past week.

“Are you quite well, Granger? We’re in the middle of a grocery, please keep it in your knickers,” he smiled at her and if she could melt straight into the floor she’d have done it. “Muggles abound!”

They made their way into the night, all too soon. She wanted to come up with something else- something obscure she needed that would take them hours to track down. “Yes, I know Malfoy, but I really do need the hair of a ginger lady werewolf, else my elixir will be all wrong. Dear, dear, dear, are you sure? The full moon isn’t until tomorrow? Then we best get a head start and begin looking right now- that doesn’t leave us much time.” Unfortunately she didn’t have the guts, or a plan much better than one that hinged on werewolves of a particular shade.

She at least tried to walk slowly so they could linger together, but his long strides seem to set the pace.

Malfoy did not have a girlfriend.

Whatever was she going to do?

[pepperonidk]

Beautiful || k.mg

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x gn!reader

Warnings: food mentions

Word count: 735

Summary: For Mingyu, loving you is what he's best at.

A/N: a purely self indulgent fic... i want a love like this.

“Why are you staring at me so hard?” The handsome boy beside you asked with a smile that spread across his rosy cheeks. “Is there something on my face?” His hand flew up to his face on instinct, but with a soft laugh you simply reached to pull it away, sandwiching it instead between your own hands.

“No,” you shook your head at the confused look that now came to rest on his features. In the warm glow of the kitchen light, with the smoke from the stove casting a soft hazy shadow over him, he looked beautiful. “I can’t stare at my beautiful boyfriend?”

The smile returned to his cheeks as he turned his attention back to the pot on the stove before pulling your entwined hands to his lips for a soft kiss brushed on your knuckles. “Beautiful, huh?” he questioned with a playful lilt in his voice. “Not handsome, charming, or even alluring?” He briefly looked at you with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, yes,” you ceded. “You are all of those things, but right now… I think you’re beautiful.” You leaned your elbow on the counter to rest your chin on as you continued to admire him with a dopey smile. He was still clad in the same pajamas he was in when you woke up this morning with an apron tied around his waist and his hair tied up into a tiny ponytail that stuck straight up on the top of his head to keep his now long hair out of his eyes while cooking. Yes, he was indeed beautiful. 

“Okay, beautiful,” he agreed. “Well they do say it takes one to know one.” He sent a wink in your direction before reaching to turn off the stove. He grabbed the handle of the pan before nodding his head to the living room. “Dinner’s ready,” he announced. “You can keep admiring me over there.” You followed behind him, grabbing two sets of utensils.

Once you were finally seated on the floor at the coffee table which was laid out with a plethora of side dishes, Mingyu lifted the lid to reveal a pot full of a fragrant soup. You took a deep breath before letting out a content sigh. “Gyu,” you began with a pout. “You didn’t have to make all this.”

He smiled softly before leaning in to press a kiss against your forehead. “I know,” he acknowledged, before resting his hand under your chin to focus your attention on him, as if it would be anywhere else. The way he smiled at you, with stars in his eyes and love in smile never failed to send the butterflies in your stomach into overdrive even after all this time. 

“I had a feeling you’d be tired today,” he explained, now cupping your cheeks with his hands. “You forgot your coffee this morning, and I remembered you had that big meeting. Plus, I was home all day so I didn’t really have anything better to do.” 

“You could have played video games or–” Mingyu cut you off with a kiss, leaving you with a pout.

“Let me clarify,” he said with a soft voice that made you want to melt right into his hands. “There is nothing better to me than to be able to love you in any way I can. And if that means cooking you a meal when you’re exhausted, or whatever it may be, then I want nothing more than to do those things for you.” As if to emphasize his point, he pulled you in for yet another kiss, softer than the last. 

After a fleeting moment, he pulled away. You looked at him again, his own eyes had bags under them and his hair was looking ridiculous after being tied up into a ponytail, but he was still beautiful and he would always be because of how his love just seemed to shine through him. With your face still held in his hands, you nodded, to Mingyu’s delight.

“Can we eat now?” you asked as Mingyu let out a chuckle before finally letting you go. 

Mingyu was right. Sometimes love looks like a grand gesture, stopping someone from getting on a plane, or a handwritten love letter taped to a bouquet of roses. Sometimes, it’s just a warm meal on a hard day, or the smell of coffee waking you up. But always, love is beautiful.

taglist: @spidersohn @yksthings @alonelystarfish @celestialchans @coveyland @xuimhao

want to join my taglist?

[acanth3]

追憶＊マリオネットの糸の先 / Reminiscence＊End of the Marionette's Strings

EPISODE 9

Shu: …..

Mm…I don't know, what is this shaking…an earthquake?

Kuro: Ah, did you wake up Shu? 

Shu: Gyou!? Ryu, Ryu~ku…Kiryu!

What, what kind of situation am I in? Explain right now! Why are you carrying me like a princess!?

Kuro: Nah, this is just the easiest way to carry you. You were taller than me as a kid and it was hard to hold you…

Now, your shorter than me ♪

Shu: Well, compared to you the rest of humanity is also minimal/tiny! Hey, let me down! It’s so embarrassing, we’re both not children anymore!

Kuro: That’s right, I thought you wouldn’t mind it. 

Because I saw you stumble in the hallway, no way can you just pass it off…I’ll carry you right to the infirmary. So, shut up.

Shu: Gh, gu? You thought I fell down?

Kuro: You don;t look too good, 

your body hasn’t been strong for a while now. Be careful, are you eating proper meals?

Even as a kid, there was low blood sugar and collapsing~ ♪

Shu: Ah, I’m sorry I just stay up all night. And I don’t enjoy eating very much, it’s painful to have foreign things into my body. 

Kuro: You're still very picky, aren’t you? That’s why my mum would get mad at me. 

Shu: …..

Kuro: …I know many things about the new Valkyrie, finally at the top of Yumenosaki.

But, trying to stay on a throne, you’re doing the best you can right? 

There’s no point in falling down a path like that if no one’s happy.

Shu: Stop trying to be bossy and preaching out to me. Your mother, who wont be present even at the end of your life…so with that mouth why do you choose to care about other people’s physician conditions/abilities?

Don’t pretend to be kind to me, you villain!

Kuro: I don’t have anything left to say, just don’t exhaust yourself again. You’ll faint. 

Because people who lose their conscience often are twice as heavy as normal people. Wake up properly and don’t cause so much trouble. 

Shu: I don’t remember asking. Kiryu?

Kuro: I know, that’s why I told you I’ll mind my own business. 

Shu: Hmph! And please correct yourself a little. I didn’t fall down.

I still have Valkyrie, the best, high quality unit which cannot be compared to the vulgarity of the other units. 

Just because of some system created for lives and festivals turning this into a game…

We don’t have live showdowns at all, we just can’t get results that quick.

While in the meantime, other people are displaying barbaric behaviours…

If there is a higher rank than us, know it’s because of ridiculous rules created to play this game.

We have not lost even once. We ‘Valkyrie’ are the best idol group, yes?

Only loser’s find such things regrettable.

Kuro: That’s right I guess. You’ve chosen the war route, I’ve changed the rules of this game myself from those smart guys. 

In that world, you’re officially no longer at the top of Yumenosaki. 

It’s no use complaining. Like in a soccer game, no matter how many home runs your able to hit, you won’t get a score. 

Shu: Damn!...I’m frustrated, these snobs who can’t understand art!

We’re showing the best stage, why aren’t we being appreciated? Not even awarded?

It’s wrong! All of this! Who made Yumenosaki like this!?

Kuro: I can’t tell you that…

I’m chewing more than I can take, it can’t be helped even if I complain now. I’ve been completely trapped in mold. 

Before it happened, the path those malicious people took was horrible. We lost because we couldn’t see through the conspiracy. Even if I regret it, it’s too late.

I’m sorry Shu. That I can’t do anything. A long time ago, I even swore to absolutely protect you. 

My mother is going to be angry with me.

Shu: It’s just a promise from childhood, Kiryu. You don’t have to worry so much about it. You still carry me and move around with me like this, and even talk to me…

It’s you that can’t be saved, right?

I’m not a child crying over the tyranny of bullies anymore. 

You can take care of me like you say over and over again, but please let me down. 

I don't want to be spoiled by you anymore, I want to get stronger too…

Kuro: I see, oh you’re still weak, just stubborn now huh.

Shu: Even if you give a crying child what they want, the bullying will still happen to the happy child. (?)

That’s fine by me. If the rules have changed, let’s just accept it. 

Let’s stand in the same ring and fight fairly. We’re supreme beings no matter what the world see’s.

To DreamFes…let’s have a live showdown.

So I’ll give the snobs at that blood festival what they want, and their corpses will be drowned within the mud. I’ll make them regret touching my wrath. 

Kuro: But isn’t it graded according to people's expectation/preference?

Shu: Just what are you talking about, Kiryu?

Kuro: No, well, this time…human’s and high schoolers…don’t think about bad thing’s…

There’s..nothing, it's just my worries.

But be careful Icchan, I can’t help you up on stage.

Shu: Thank you for your help, actually.

Those who are excellent will be given an award corresponding to their efforts.

If not, the world is between us all. 

so cute!

[capsensislagamoprh]

(Guess whose back, baby!)

CHA 7

“What story do you want to tell?” Christophe asked, adjusting his lenses.

Victor paused mid zip, the garment bag held loosely in the air. He looked blank. “I… hadn’t thought of that. Blin!” Stepping back, Victor looked over the collection. What was the running theme? What world did the story of his clothes belong in? He wasn’t expecting editorial. He was just building his portfolio back up. Victor hesitated. Was he? The portfolio he had got him into PCA, but should it stay stagnant? Would the professors build his education based on the work they saw, or would something new be expected? Yebat'!

“You’re spiraling,” Christophe whispered in his ear. Finishing zipping up the bag and depositing it on the rolling rack, Victor sighed.

“I think… Evolution.”

“Interesting. Explain.”

“This was the previous collection, da?”

“Oui.”

“So, now I am making it new. But from the old. Like the baby bird fire.”

“Phénix?”

“Eh? Oh! Da! Feniks! It will be a glorious rebirth! An evolution to something lively. Something that is fashionable, yes. But also something comforting, comfortable. Something you can be proud to be in and happy to wear. But not so ridiculous in minimalism that it lacks flair. This is the theme. Evolution of beauty and comfort.”

“Sounds like marriage to me.”

“Perhaps. But is for the new. The old are hard to change, da?”

“If you say so, min vän. I have aligned several models. I have arranged the place and time. The rest is up to you.”

“Oh? Blagoy! Erm… how to say…” Victor held his chin for a moment. “Bien?”

Christophe rose a brow. “Victor, how much sleep have you had?”

“Sleep is for tomorrow.”

“Sleep is for today.”

“I am fine, I tell you!”

“You forgot bein. Next you will forget homme attrayant, or draguer des.”

“Not in that order, I won't,” Victor grinned.

“Be that as it may, We will need to leave at four in the morning-” Victor whined, “- or we’ll miss the sunrise. We have a whole day booked.”

“Fine. Sunrise. How long, this shoot?”

“All day, Victor. I will not miss a chance to shoot your fashions in the most perfect light.”

Rubbing his face, Victor conceded. A long bath was what he wanted, but a quick shower and bed would have to do.

~

The ruched center line on the cord knitted top belied femininity, a masculin shoulder line and long sleeves ending in crocheted lace recalled a more refined time, and yet because of the material it used, the simplicity of the fit, it was decidedly modern. Christophe eyed it and its three colors, deciding which one he’d take in payment. Really, Victor’s old designs were good, but these were inspired. The models looked good, yes, but the clothes seemed to make the usual grumpy expressions and general malaise at early times and all day work for no pay easier. Victor needed to keep one of each design for samples, but otherwise was delighted to be able to clear his limited closet and not have to part with any francs.

He was just considering which set of cuffed side button shorts he was going to keep - probably the cream - when he spied a flash of golden hair about knee height. There, beside a mailbox, stood Yuri. He was watching, head tilted slightly to the right as his concentrated stare warped his childish features into one of cold intensity. It made Christophe shudder in his soul. What could make such a young boy so âme triste? Victor rested his chin on Christophe’s shoulder, using it to sight line. “Don’t we know him?” Christophe asked.

“Da. He should have someone with him.”

“Well, give it time. His père will be here soon, eh?” A smile accompanied the twinkle in his green eyes. “If you were to, say, speak to a lost little boy, keep him company until his strong, handsome père comes to gather his wayward boy…”

Victor’s eyes lit up. “Christophe, you are a wonder!”

“I know, I know.” Waving off his Russian friend, Christoph watched as Victor fairly bounced his way to the little blond.

“Privet Yuri!” Victor waved, smile bright and wide. Yuri froze, slowly looking up as he stepped back, hiding himself behind the mailbox. “Ah! But I have already seen you, Yuri! No use hiding now. Come out. It’s me, Victor. You recall, da?” Yuri nodded, eyes warry. “Ah good. I had thought perhaps you did not and I had scared you for no reason. You are watching the shoot?” Again a cautious nod answered Victor’s happy questions. “Good, good! You have good taste, yes? You can tell me something then?” Yuri blinked, his gaze becoming curious. “I must pick the best shots. You see the man there?” Victor pointed to Christophe folding the cream shorts into a bag.

“The one stealing your clothes?”

“Oh, he is not stealing. I give them to him for his work. It’s how you say… chestnyy obmen.” Yuri nodded sagely. “I’m so glad you understand,” Victor cooed, causing Yuri to puff his chest in pride. “As a young man of learning,” Victor watched Yuri fair swell to bursting with the words, “I am sure you will be able to help us choose, da?”

Yuri looked over his shoulder, then at Victor before tossing his gaze at the clothes and models, the props being accounted for and the tall man with the camera scrolling through the images in the tiny screen. For a moment Victor thinks he won’t agree, and he can’t blame him really. He barely knows the boy, but he’d like to know him - and his father - better. Yuri takes the hand offered, his own skin a few shades warmer than the winter blue of Victor’s. Squaring his shoulders, the small child stomped towards the gear, lips in a dangerous pout as he tried his very best to look as serious as possible.

CHA 8 “No. The other one!” Yuri insisted.

“Bien. Pourquoi?”

“Poutqui…” Yuri winced, then tried again. “Purquoi… Blin!” Slamming his fists into his thighs, Yuri huffed until his cheeks puffed out as he pressed his lips into nonresistance. Christophe chuckled.

“It’s okay Yuri. Sometimes the words, they come with effort. Sometimes they come with ease. It’s all a matter of when, not if, oui?”

Lips slowly reappearing, the little blond flared his nostrils, then huffed before standing straight, arms crossed and looking like he was trying hard to not care. “The other one is better because the flair covers the eye.”

Christophe leaned into his camera, then looked at the monitor. “Yes, but it haillos the hair.”

“Is this a fashion shot or a fantasy shoot?! The happy must show! People do not spend franks on glow. They spend it on pretend.”

“Yuri!” Trent called as he exited a nearby building. “There you are.” Christophe watched the man move closer. There was a je ne sais quoi to the man, but there was also an air of danger. Quickly he snapped a picture.

Yuri’s arms dropped to his side, then moved behind his back, one hand locking around the other wrist. His feet moved into position, expression falling from his face. Christophe snapped a picture. “Trent!” Victor cooed. “Oh, ma faute! Monsieur Dale,” blue eyes sparkled mischievously.

Trent paused, seeing the smiling visage of Victor pop up in front of him. “Oh. Hello again. I’m just here for Yuri.”

“Yuri? Ah yes, he’s been so good. Helping out!”  Victor turned to beam at the boy.

“Is he now?”

“Oui! He is helping with," Victor's lips bent, eyes sparkling as he voiced his thoughts about the clothes, noting how they mirrored those he had about the man, "je ne sais quoi. He’s a natural eye.”

Trent rose a brow. “That’s good to know.” His blue eyes sparked as he looked at the surroundings. “The shoot is done now?”

“Ah. Yes. Just something for we were working on.”

“Terribly sad that we couldn’t show sooner. Perhaps we could have helped.”

Victor felt something in him stur. “Yeah?” his smile growing. “That would have been nice. Ah!” a forlorn sigh escaped him, “but this was not for children’s wear.”

“No? How tragic. We could have spent more time together.”

Victor decided right then and there his next collection would have clothes for mini-peoples. “Well, if you’re offering to model clothes for us,” he said with a cheeky flair.

“Moi? Oh, non. Here.” From an inside pocket Trent slipped Victor a glossy business card. “This is Yuri’s agency. We must make sure he gets credit for his work. Builds his portfolio.” Seeing the Russian’s face fall, Trent lifted the corners of his lips. “I’ll make sure you get first choice,” he winked, holding his arm out. Yuri slipped off the stool, moving to the man’s side with a blank face. “After all, it would be a shame not to see you again.” Blue eyes locked together as his teeth flashed. Victor could feel himself sway as they turned away, heading for the nearby car.

They got into the car. It started. It pulled into traffic. They were gone. “Bold, isn’t he?” Christophe said softly into his ear. Victor’s lips twitched as he fought off several less-than-public comments about just how bold he wanted Trent to be. He stopped when he caught the twinkle in Christophe’s green eyes. Turning from the road, they got back to work.

~

The prints were prepared, printed, cataloged and portfolioed. Victor kissed Christophe’s cheeks in delight before they settled down to the very serious business of getting to classes on time, navigating the halls and buildings, and dealing with the difficult discoveries of which cafe` had the best - re: most palatable - caffeine. It seemed even France was not immune to the terrifying phenomenon that seemed to engulf all college campuses. A ‘good’ place for food that catered, one bar worth going too, and precisely no freedom from immense gossip as new students found themselves dealing with the wide-eyed confusion of first time freedom as the second years and up trugged from place to place with more espresso than blood in their veins. And yet, somehow, Victor wore it well.

Christophe was almost jealous. There was a vague aloofness that overcame his Russian friend, causing a chilling frost to cling to him as soon as his instant hanger-ons were out of his orbit. But it never touched Christophe. This, he mused, was the difference between admiratrice and amie.

Then it was ten-thirty and off they went. Victor to Couture craftsmanship (very exciting),while the Sweed took himself to composition & basic editing techniques. They met for a rushed twenty minute lunch before launching themselves across the quads to  Fashion Drawing by Hand, which Victor hated to admit he found a bit intimidating despite his years of practice. Christoph had practicals and applications that took him off to the field to get shots for his Digital and Modern Applications class. By the time Victor dragged himself from the edges of Introduction to Accessories Design at nine-thirty he could admit the twelve hours he spent in classes were not tough. They were brutal. He’d been able to keep up by dent of blinking twice. His head was spinning as Christophe tucked him into the couch with a cup of steaming vegetable soup.

“It gets easier,” he cooed in mock sympathy. Victor’s gaze was shell shocked.

“It was so much French.”

“This is France,” Christophe said, curling his feet under him before sipping on his own cup.

“It was so fast. I was sure I had a good grasp, but it was so fast!”

“Ah, mon ami. Most things are.”

cha 1&2, cha 3&4, cha 5&6 Bonus Picture for those who were patient: the boys on their first day at PCA.

[anitabighug]

❥ A Perfect Experiment : Wally x Reader (She/Her Pronouns, Named) ✿

Chapter Masterpost: [  ♡   ♡    ♡ ] [A/N: Welcome back to your regularly scheduled fluff :3] Chapter Eight; Chicken Soup for the Soul

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● Wally wakes at the crack of dawn. His eyes shoot open, and stare directly at the ceiling. “Good Morning, Home!” He proclaims loudly. He waits for a beat, and the shutter outside his bedroom window claps once, then twice, against the outside. “Yes, I did sleep well! Thank you for asking.” He sits up abruptly, and stretches, his back cracking once, then twice. He swings his feet out of bed, and stands, then swiftly turns back around to make his bed. Home gives a questioning squeak. “I feel fit as a fiddle! That tea must really work wonders!” He gave a quick nod. The scented parcel rolled out from his blankets as he shook them straight, and his head whipped to stare at it. Silence. He leaned down slowly, plucking it as delicately as he could, and rolled it around in his hands. He lifted it slowly up to his face, and took in a deep breath… and then released it as a sigh. Squeak squeak creak~♡ “Of course I do, she is my friend.” Wally explains, hiding the parcel quickly in his pocket. He takes in a deep, calming breath. Why was he even so worked up about this? Regardless, Home was quickly getting on his last nerve. He tucked the blanket around the edges of his mattress, and placed the pillow at the head of the bed… He then reached back over, and straightened it out. Perfect. Home continued to chatter at him as he headed down the stairs. He tried to drown it out by humming, wandering into his kitchen, and eyeballing an apple until it vanished. He hummed louder, pacing around his living room. HE HUMMED EVEN LOUDER. Home finally gave up it’s assault, and left Wally in the silence. It was obvious the structure was grumpy with him for ignoring it. He pinched the bridge of his not-nose, then took another slow, calming breath. “I’m sorry.” Silence. “I know, I’m the only one who understands you. That wasn’t fair. Can you ever forgive me?” He peers up at the ceiling. After a beat, he hears the pipes above him rattle. Phew. If nothing else, he couldn’t lure poor you into this absolute mess. He knew that once Home got something in its roof, no matter how ridiculous, it would be an agonisingly long time until it gave it up. It felt awfully rude to cancel on plans like this, especially since he’d asked you so nicely… ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● “Daisy…” Wally breathed out, long after the receiver had been placed back on it’s home. It felt refreshing not to be fighting that particular battle anymore, and he was glad that the confidence you’d shown him last night hadn’t resulted in less of your adorable outbursts. Now, to figure out what to do with his sudden free time. Well, he could try to salvage that painting from yesterday. Perhaps an abstract was in order. He hauled his supplies back out to the path, setting up right outside Barnaby’s house, and starting to block in whatever strange shapes and swirls came to his mind. It was intensely therapeutic, emptying the worries he held onto the canvas, things he dared not say aloud. Deep blue bubbles emerging from the bottom of the canvas, swallowing thoughts whole. A red box, painted harshly over the chaos, standing study in the middle of the canvas. Swirling purple hearts storming the tops and sides, threatening to swallow the stability whole. Somehow, some way, despite the box’s rigid walls not giving way, one lonesome heart makes its way inside. Wally stops dead in his tracks. His brush trembled above the painting. Did he dare continue? Was he ready for what he found out? He groaned under his breath, leaning forwards, his forehead mushing into the wet paint. He wanted desperately to be honest with himself, if no one else. It was hard enough keeping his current mess of secrets, he did not need to be wrestling with this as well. He lifted his head, gazing drearily past the canvas to peer at the neighbourhood around him, hoping that it might clear his head. Julie was pacing around behind Sally, seemingly dictating to the ball of sunshine, who was feverishly writing every word like it was gospel. Eddie was standing in front of Frank’s house with a box in his hands, shuffling his feet. What was he so nervous about, Wally wondered, before moving on to his next neighbour. Barnaby had finally finished the ‘punishment’ you had laid out for him, the pool drained and hanging over a fencepost to dry, and your lawn furniture wiped down. The effort had tuckered him out, and he’s long since been asleep under one of the nearby trees. Ah, and there was Poppy, anxious as ever. Usual for the bird, she was probably trying to find someone to help her work her oven. Wally straightens up, squinting, rubbing the paint off of his forehead with his sleeve. What was she carrying? It was awfully big to be baked goods. Why, with all that periwinkle fluff, it almost looked like… ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● Your living room is coming in to view. You blink the tired from your eyes. You’re in the middle of your conversation pit, blankets piled as far as the eye can see. You can see Poppy out of the corner of your eye. She's fast asleep, resting her head on your coffee table, with her feet tucked under the fluff of feathers. Its night time, and only a fluffy cloud shaped night light is keeping you from complete darkness. You shift a little, one of your blankets is holding you down tightly. In a panic, you wiggle to try to get yourself free. “Shhh. Go back to sleep.” A voice whispers. You stop. Slowly, you lay yourself back down. The arm returns to where it had been holding you around your shoulders, and you can feel a head rest atop yours. You open your mouth and try to say his name, but its so dry, and all that comes out is a tired croak. He traces his thumb across your shoulder. Your eyelids feel so… heavy… You wake with a start, sitting straight up. It was just as it was last night; You’re settled in your own home, with your own blankets. In the kitchen, you can hear cereal being poured. You crane your neck to see Poppy with two bowls sitting on your island counter. “Poppy?” You ask. It feels a little better this morning, but definitely still sore. She squawks, spilling cocoa puffs all over your counter. She turns to look at you, relief washing over her face, and makes record pace to dive at you, scooping you into a big hug. You laugh weakly, and rub your cheek into her soft feathers. “Where’s Wally?” You wonder, peering up at her. She cocks her head. You furrow your brow, and tap your lips… Weird, you could’ve sworn… “I mean, is it just you here?” The bird smiles warmly, “They said they’d all be coming back, didn’t want to stress you out after such a big number,” She brushed her wing across your forehead. She was so good. “You caused quite the fright! I know everyone gets nervous their first time, but… I’ve never seen anyone change the tune! Oh! Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone,” She promised, and you return to relaxing in her arms. She presses her beak against the top of your head in a quick, comforting kiss, before releasing you and standing back up to get the two of you breakfast. You smile as you watch her walk away, but… Your mind can’t help but drift. You look at the blanket nest you’ve been built. Just for you. She was right when she said you’d have company. The whole neighbourhood was going to take a shift, it seemed. Poppy left when Howdy arrived with lunch; an armful of jars of fresh soup, and a bag with a selection of sandwiches. He told you it was on the house, but you forced a few facts about chicken soup in as a tip. He ruffles your hair as he leaves, and is replaced with Sally. She hands you a script, stating that she’s decided to make you the star in her next play! You read it over, laughing with her as she sits behind you, braiding tiny lines in your hair. Julie and Frank arrive next with, to your absolute delight, a slice of cherry pie. She puts it in the fridge, and then lays across your lap as Frank gives the both of you a lecture on the migratory paths of monarch butterflies. You and Barnaby lazily play catch with a hackeysack across your living room, him telling you a series of jokes that Miss Beagle taught him. It hurts to laugh, but it still makes you feel better. “Oh! Howdy!” “No, Thats Eddie,” Barnaby snickers. “No, I meant– Ugh!” You laugh, and turn back to your next visitor, “Hi Eddie!” Eddie pulls you into a bear hug that only kind of crushes your windpipes. With a pat on the shoulder, Barnaby takes his leave. “I can’t believe I missed your first number! And only by a few minutes!!!” He releases you, holding you at arms length by your cheeks. You can’t help but giggle; he looks devastated by this revelation. “What happened??” “I… Uh, didn’t want to admit it, but… I lost my favourite book of notes?” You avoid his eyes. It kills you to lie outright to Eddie of all people, but thankfully he seems satisfied with your answer, and he releases you, heading into your kitchen to warm up more of the soup for your dinner. You try to protest, you’d been in your bed all day after all, you were more than capable– He holds up a hand to stop you, and then pushes it towards you, sitting you back down with a gentle force. You pout, wringing your softest blanket between your hands as you watch him cook. He ignores this, and starts to tell you the story of his own first number. He’d been so overwhelmed with the flurry of christmas packages, and he was so scared to ask for help! He didn’t even know what was happening at first, and by the end of it, he’d just ended up with an even bigger mess than before! The two of you break into soft laughter, and he sets a tray with your dinner in front of you, before giving you a pat on the head. He starts back towards the door, “I have a little more work to do, but I’ll be by to check on you later, okay? Leave the door unlocked!” He watches your expression, and after you give him a nod, he grins. Eddie tips his hat at you, and heads back out your front door. Huh. You guessed that was the last of them. After you finish your dinner, you try to take your first steps of the day. You’re a little wobbly, but you manage to make it into your kitchen, and with one hand keeping you steady by holding the counter, you put away the leftovers of the day. You’re just starting to scrub your dishes when you hear it behind you, “Uh-uh. You’re not supposed to be up.” You squeal, and jolt forwards, splashing dishwater in your face. You feel around with closed eyes, and a towel finds its way into your hands. Before you can even finish drying off your face, your legs are swept off the ground. By the time you take the towel off, you’re already back where you started; sitting in the pit, while Wally Darling starts to fluff out blankets to wrap you in. You definitely didn’t hear him enter, but you’re mostly just mad that you can’t finish your dishes. You open your mouth to protest, but his finger presses against it, and he shakes his head, smiling at you with his same, sweet smile. Ugh, fine. You’ll just finish your housework when he leaves. As if reading your mind, he stands, flashing you a smirk as he heads into your kitchen to finish the job. “N-no! Wait, Wally, you don’t have to do that– I’m all better!! Wally! Wally, I am an adult, gosh darn it!” The puppet completely ignores you, and you watch helplessly as he finishes your chores. You feel so useless… At least you have the script to take your mind off of it. You leaf through it, trying to ignore the sounds of shuffling by memorising every line you can. You get pretty engrossed, only looking up when you finally hear all the ruckus stop. At some point Wally had taken his sweater off, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, drying his forearms off with one of your kitchen towels. You manage out a guilty ‘thank you,’ and all he does is give you a nod. “... Wally?” You sit up properly. He finally looks at you, and tilts his head. “... Were you here last night?” “Ha Ha Ha… Were you dreaming about me?” He teased, and your cheeks practically glow. “No– I thought– UGH!” You groan, and bury your blushing face back into your reading. You didn’t even care that much ANYWAYS. You can feel him sit behind you, and slowly, his head rests on your shoulder, and his arms wrap around your waist. No, you can’t be won over that easily. You aggressively flip to the next page, trying to ignore him. He nuzzles his forehead into your neck. You’ve read the same line three times. You whimper, and hide your face between the pages, and you hear him laugh into your ear. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, just enjoying the warm hold he has on you… “Please don’t do that again,” He begs under his breath. Your heart aches. He squeezes you tighter, burying his face deep where you can’t see him. “... I won’t.” You promise. You close the book, and Wally lays back with you, holding you tightly against him. You close your eyes, and press your cheek against his chest. You know its not even that late, but… You find yourself drifting regardless, letting the scent of apples lull you into an easy sleep. ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● @elegantkidfansoul @itsyoboysparkel