#i'm better suited for humanities but you know what i hate even MORE than tests? essays

[pumpkinfreak]

Watching Hannibal for the first time S2E9-E10

Let's take a moment to assess what in the Kentucky fried hell is going on in this story. So Far.

Hannibal knows that Will knows he's the Ripper. Will is trying to play the player by allowing Hannibal to manipulate him. Under the guise of Will accepting the fact that he and Hannibal are the same kind of monster. Everything Hannibal does to Will at this point in the story is to test him and get him to accept his true nature, so they can be friends. In reality, Will and Jack are working togother to catch Hannibal, so everything Will is doing is just an act. Hopefully.

I need a nice no-think palate cleanser after this. I better now have to use any brain cells when I watch Yellowjackets, or I'm coming after everyone who voted in the poll and backing them into a pie, I will then feed to their families. Just one giant people pie. I'll break hearts and world records.

Back on track episode 9

Long story short, someone takes their Freddie Fazbear cosplay too far. Makes a suit out of prehistoric cave bear bones, and goes postal on some random people. Hannibal then directs this person, who was a former patient of his to attack Will. Will beats the holy hell out of this guy and brings his dead body to Hannibal. Stating that now they're even after having both sent people to kill the other.

This episode opens with Jack and Hannibal having dinner togother. I feel like we need to acknowledge that Jack and Will are knowingly eating Human meat and organs. I would be so pissed if I was Jack's wife. I'm laying in a bed dying of cancer, and my man is out eating gourmet human meals with a serial killer. You are out of Will I'm leaving everything to my cat.

Margot and Will also meet in this episode. Margot is quick on the uptake and is just like "Wow our therapist is a psycho!" and Will is like, "Sister you do not know the half of it."

One of Will's dogs escapes in this episode and his little sausage body barely clears the snow he had to run through. It was much much-needed moment of levity.

Ep10

Pookie is going a little bit off the rails. He is devolving, and Hanni is super into it. I'm not, I want my sweet baby boy back, but I don't think he can hear me over the sound of his own psychotic breakdown. Will admits that he felt more alive than ever when he killed the bear suit guy, and Hannibal says that he should honor the bear suit guy. So Will mutilates the body and merges it with a cave bear skeleton in a museum. It...it's something...

Then Will is of course called in by Jack to analyze the crime scene Will Made. Will has a hallucination that the bear suit guy thanks him and that this event is a part of their becoming.

Also, I hate that there's more, Margot's bother, Mason, shows her his pig pit. Where he attends to feed living people to pigs, and he fully attends to feed her to said pigs, if she doesn't get in line.

Hannibal's right. Mason needs to die. Like yesterday. Unfortunately, Magot cannot just kill Mason, because all their family's wealth would go to the Southern Baptist Convention. So Hannibal tells her to go get pregnant then. Who does she pick to be the daddy, Will of Course?

What proceeds is the weirdest sex scene. David Lynch would be proud. Will knows this is Hannibal's doing because Margot already told him she's gay. This scene is intercut with Hannibal and Alana having sex and Will imagining Alana and Hannibal having sex. Except Will sees Hannibal as the goopy deer man. I'm really glad this show was produced for NBC and not HBO.

Some poor bastard had to put on a mask of Mads Mikkelsen's face. Plus other makeup and had to simulate sex on some other poor bastard. Imagine having to lay in a flesh-toned body suit, or worse be actually nude, and staring up at this lifeless replica of your coworker's face. Now add like twenty other people on set watching it happen. People left work that day changed forever and for the worse.

One more thing, one more. Freddie is getting suspicious of Hannibal. So she goes to Will's house. Goes to his shed, because she has more hair than brain, and finds a bunch of body parts in a freezer. Will shows up, and this encounter does not go well. We cut to Jack telling Will that Freddie is missing, and then Will and Hannibal go home and eat Long Pig.

I'll probably post again later. Stay safe, and don't sleep with goopy dear men. Do not investigate sheds, ever. You have a fifty/fifty shot of it being lawn care equipment or something from the pits of Hell.

[soshaaaa]

ObeyMe DEMON BROTHERS, but as Will Wood's songs!

i just love will wood, ok?

LUCIFER

♪She said, "It just feels inhumane to lose this much" / 'Cause when you leave, you know you take more than your love / Just one week of cicada days, we're losing touch / And I know it just feels inhumane to lose this much♪

Jeez, finding a song for him was tough, but i guess i did my best.

Apparently, "Cicada days" is about "that even the most painful losses can teach us something, as long as we persevere" according to some website. And i think it's pretty accurate.

I guess this song works well with all that Lilith death and Celestial Realm situation. Bro literally lost everything but still standing.

MAMMON

♪Please, policeman, no heel-to-toe / Oh please, let me go / Please, policeman, is it a test? / I won't know 'til I'm under arrest / Am I being detained / Am I under arrest? (Yes, you are!) / Read me my rights, please (No!) / I want my phone call!♪

So this song is about "dealing with life difficulties and feeling like you are trapped in a cage by circumstances". I thought that it, again, works well with Celestia drama and with fact that Lucifer was the one who chose everything for them. That would also work for Levi, but pppffft.

Also his brothers are often bullying him, so "feeling like in cage" might suit this well. No one takes him seriously and think that he is stupid, sad.

And oooobviosly Mammon might be in cage because he stole something expensive and hanging out in jail!)

other ones under the cut~

LEVIATHAN

♪One night one flung light through this place / So I run for cover, over, under, left the rind out on the plate / Little heart racing and praying, "Something, keep me safe" / I think it saw my face / Okay, one hungry day / Is nothing come what may♪

Okay, i have absolutely no idea what this thing is about, but according to some people this thing is about "Wanting to have someone near you and struggling with loneliness, but then accepting everything". Which gives some Levi vibes, since he is all "lonely worthless otaku".

But it's actually about a mouse, that's trying hard to live, wishes for cheese, hated just because of it's existence and naively hope that it will get to the cheese moon. It wanted to be friends with everyone, but eventually it gets trapped and killed. That's so hella sad and I've almost cried when i saw the clip, but, also it works well with Levi i guess. Poor dude wanted to be helpful for everyone, but everyone just left him(

All those hunger and cheese themes making me think of Beel, but no, it's not his song for sure.

SATAN

♪...Is there room for me in your cage?/.../ Animals are people too, but these people are animals/.../You might seem behind bars, but friend, this cage is inside out / It's awful out here, Socrates♪

AND

♪I wanna make my murder look like a suicide / But they'll all know, they'll all know / They'll all know that the body's mine / I wanna go anonymous to identify / But they'll all know, they'll all know♪

Ok so "Willard!" is pretty obvious. The singer loves animals a lot more than humans and wishes to be animal too. And Satan is definitely that one type of people who prefer Cats over people.

And "Cotard's Solution" is kinda more complicated. Its about struggling with your identity. Actually Will Wood's "Self-Ish" album has a few other songs like that, but i felt like this one was the one. Satan's identity struggle is a big part of his character as we all know. Since he is a part of Lucifer and all that stuff. And Satan's love for knowledge is also working well, since singer is trying to understand what life is and what it even means.

I was thinking about "Hand me my shovel im going in" or "2012", but i thought this one is better.

ASMODEUS

♪Where do you get off being so God damn beautiful? / Oh lord. Don't ask me what I mean /.../ I'll never know. I'll never know. I'll never know. I'll never know what it's like / What it's like to love you♪

In this song singer talks about extremely pretty woman, who he is in love with. He is ready to sacrifice himself for her, even if he knows that it's dangerous.

Part from UNOFFICIAL meaning interpretation that i saw:

"Overall, "White Knuckle Jerk (Where Do You Get Off?)" seems to be a portrayal of the intense emotions and confusion that can come with infatuation, particularly when it is unreciprocated. The woman in the song represents a sort of unattainable ideal, something that the narrator desires but cannot fully understand or possess."

I think this song works reaaaally good with Asmo. We all know how much Asmo wants to be the prettiest so everyone would love him. He is taking dietes to keep his form, uses a lot of skincare routine and overall trying to be perfect. Lets take that the "woman" is the ideal that Asmo is trying to reach, and he is ready to go on any sacrifices to be perfect the way how he wants it. So everyone will love him!

and i really like this song.

BEELZEBUB

♪Just like my parents in due time / Imagine me, just like my parents, yeah, right / 'Cause I've made more mistakes than simple empty moments /Each one as out of character as you know I tend to be♪

AND

♪Of the two things we do on our knees / Watch me fold my hands just to crack my knuckles / Well, here is the church, here is the steeple / Open the doors, see all the people / Alright, that's enough, let's get you home♪

I could find something that would suit him more so... uhhh.. "Becoming the Lastnames". Its just some cute song about how singer wants to create family, live happy and accepting responsibility for one's life. And hoping for the best, and working to create a lasting legacy for his family.

I mean, Beel is family guy. I just couldn't find anything better, sorry.

And about Kitchen floor... Well, that song is more about childhood dreams and adult reality, but its also about accepting your past mistakes and trying to work harder in future, so i guess it's not that bad????

Sorry Beel fans, i couldn't find anything better(

BELPHEGOR

♪Hold my hands, we'll dance the twelve step on my grave / I'd kill the man I am for one more chance to be yours, babe / No, I ain't begging, I'm just saying, it's an option / Don't let the latest be the last nail in my coffin / If you need me, I'll be in my coffin♪

AND

♪I am not the sunshine, I am not the moon at night / Well, who else could I be when I can hardly see? / I am not the sunshine, I am not the moon at night / I'm no one if I'm nowhere in between /.../ And if dreams can come true, what does that say about nightmares?♪

These two are just perfect match with Belfie!

The "Vampire reference in minor key" is about feeling dead inside and wanting for someone to save you. And we all know how dead inside own Belfie is.

And "Dr. Sunshine is dead" is about world not being black and white. And the whole Moon/Sun theme along with Dreams stuff is just perfect!

And both of them suit well with attic part! There is nothing much to say about these, they are just perfect.

I also thought about "Red moon", but i couldn't properly understand what it was about sooo...

Idk, tell if you want side characters version idk?

i enjoyed making this though~

[zooophagous]

Every living thing, and even a few unliving ones, have this much in common. Their bodies rely on a rythm, a cycle, a pattern of behavior that forms the blueprint of their entire existence. For one Herr Luther Strauss, the routine of daily existence had been painfully, dramatically upended, but the new normal foisted upon him was orderly and quiet and easy for the vampire to slip into without much fuss.

8:30 p.m. sunset. Arise. Bathe and dress. 8:45 p.m. Feed. The same thing every time. Then an hour or so of whatever research Van Helsing had in store. Then at about 10:00 p.m. came a free hour to spend as he pleased (typically, reading, though Troy had a new 'Switch' he had been teaching the luddite vampire to play) 11:00 p.m. had him in the gymnasium, 12:30 a.m. in the showers once more (vampires did not sweat much, but what he did sweat was foul) and then at 12:45 it was time for classes, chores or whatever was left to tend to.

It was a simple life. Methodical. Predictable. It suited him just fine. Much of his former life was spent worrying about where his next meal would come from, to have them handed to him cut out much of the quiet desperation from existence. As much as he hated to admit it, being institutionalized had been... comfortable.

Tonight was another such night. His daily feed had been delivered to him in the cafeteria, by an orderly, as per usual. The small vial of human blood that made up his ration was warm to the touch and fresh. Good. It was always better fresh. He raised it to his mouth and took a small sip.

He wrinkled his nose. Something was off about it today. He ventured another taste to help him put his finger on it. It made his throught hitch, and he coughed once and sat it aside, scooting it across the table with his claw. The label on the vial as always  was marked for who the contents came from. Ursula tonight. He frowned. Ursula didn't much like him. Surely she wouldn't dare slip anything into...

As if on cue, a somewhat mocking voice came from behind him.

"Not hungry, Strauss?"

He grunted and turned to face her with a stoic expression.

"Frau Harker. Your usual offering is more foul than usual this evening."

"Yes, I was curious if it would work. Had to see you taste it."

"What did you do to my food?"

"Nothing. It was more of what I did to my OWN food. There's always been some heresay in the vampire hunting world, if eating copious amounts of garlic would make you less palateable to a vampire. Nobody ever had means to really test it, so I thought I'd put it to the test. You've furthered the interest of science, congratulations." She grinned.

Strauss curled his lip in annoyance and showed the barest tips of his fangs. "Garlic. Ah. That would explain the unpleasant smell that surrounds you. I thought it was bad, even for you." He snipped. "I eat but once a day, perhaps warn me before you tamper with it. You do not want to see a vampire when he is peckish."

"Ha!" Ursula chirped and tossed her hands up playfully. "Oh, as if you'll try anything. I know damn well you're too afraid of me to step out of line. Not that that's unusual dear, vampires are naturally quite cowardly." She smiled, bemused.

"Afraid of you." He said flatly and rose to his feet. At over six foot six, he towered over the much shorter hunter. "That is funny. I'm feeding off of you for breakfast. Does a human fear a piece of toast with jam? If I wanted to, I could crumble you just as easily." He growled.

"Now Strauss. I know you haven't forgotten who it is you're talking to. You're alive because I allow it. Not only can I bring you down, I can make it hurt the entire time. You best show some damn respect or-"

"Or what?" He took an aggressive step forward that made her stumble back in surprise.

"Or you'll finally stop playing cat-and-mouse and kill me, hmm? You've wanted to since the moment you saw me, harmlessly sleeping in my grave. I know it burns you up, seeing me with your friends, with your colleagues, with your neice-"

"DON'T you talk about them. You think you mean anything to anyone here? You're a glorified lab rat. And you can be tested on at my will and desposed of as soon as you outlive your usefulness. Try me again, Strauss."

"Oh trust me, Ursula Harker, I am quite aware that despite my strength, I have no chance at fighting my way out of the institute successfully. If I tried, I would most surely perish. However, you might want to think about who I could take with me before you push me to that point. Take stock of who you can't afford to lose before you threaten me."

He took another step forward, but before Ursula could even reach for her stun gun he rudely shoulder checked her on his way out of the cafeteria and down the hall. Outwardly stoic, inside he was fuming. And, unfortunately, still quite hungry.

What a waste of good blood.

The one bad thing about his comfortable, clean existence now- there were very few outlets for rage. In nature, perhaps a vampire would take this out on a victim. It would certainly make him less hungry. On the rare occasion his temper flared before, he had worn himself out with the destruction of trees, and on one occasion- an SUV. Here, he had one outlet, and that was the gymnasium. It was a far cry from 11:00, now his routine had been upended, only serving to deepen his frustration.

In the gymnasium, there was equipment one might expect to be used as enrichment by a grizzly bear in a well funded zoo. Strauss made his way to a "sparring dummy" that would have to be the target for his misplaced aggression. He wasn't wearing his gym clothes. Oh well, no time to spare.

He marched over to the placid beige foam dummy, curled his hand into a claw and in one clean swipe knocked its 'head' off its metal skeleton. He continued with his other hand, gouging deep lines into the poor substitute for flesh over and over till he could feel the metal braces on the other side. Pity the dummy didn't bleed. It would be more fun if it could bleed. He began to maul it further by biting it. The lack of heat and fluid only seemed to frustrate him, as he bit it again and again looking for catharsis. An uncharacteristically uncouth snarl seemed to have formed in the back of his throat.

"Herr Strauss?"

He froze. Slowly he turned to meet the eyes of the speaker. He brushed himself off and spit out the bits of foam stuck in his teeth.

"Frau Van Helsing. Excuse me. I was in the middle of an episode."

Artemis tilted her head to look behind him at the shredded and now slightly bent dummy.

"I can see that. You seem to have some things you need to get off your chest."

He winced slightly, and involuntarily curled one arm defensively over his heart at the word 'chest.'

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Excuse me?"

"I threatened the lives of the head of security and everyone in the building. I don't suppose that's something that will go unpunished."

"Oh, that. Well, I know you and Ursula don't really see eye to eye, but I'm not actually mad at you Strauss. Luther." She was being a little overly familiar with his first name. It made him look up and face her again.

"I'm not angry. I'm worried. I thought we were settling in to... if not friendship then at least a sort of professional partnership. I just need to ask. Is that really how you feel? Do you want to hurt anyone here?"

He sighed heavily and turned his face away from her. It was always so oddly difficult to look at Artemis when he was talking. "No. I said it because I was angry. I felt... like a circus tiger, like a dangerous animal that was now caged for amusement. I wanted to frighten her. I wanted to remind her that I still had fangs." He looked down at his clawed hand, and quietly curled it back up.

"There is no one here I wish to harm. Not Ursula, not the security team. Especially not Troy. And despite you being the catalyst for my imprisonment here, for lack of a better word, not even you, Frau Van Helsing, could convince me to kill you. Despite a kaleidescope of flaws, not one of you deserves death, and I am not eager to give it to you."

Artemis smiled a genuine smile. It was the sort of smile that made him feel better and worse at the same time.

"Good. I had to be sure. Now, about your outburst. We will have to do something about it. I've put in an order for a fresh ration, but it seems like you have a lot of pent up hunting instinct that isn't being adequately addressed. I'm going to order more physical activity."

He grinned slightly. "Physical activity? You may need a new dummy."

She tilted her head. "What do you feel about something that requires a friend to play? Like, I don't know... tennis? I'm good at that."

He nodded. "Yes. Tennis will do."

[99lostsouls]

To my pen pal:

Hello again! I guess both of us need to start writing more then. But yes, I guess it is pretty exciting. Seeing everyone getting their letters definitely helps contribute to that.

And yeah, people were getting a bit too comfortable in their own dormitories. Which isn’t a bad thing! I’d be pretty annoyed being downgraded as well (and I was, but not anymore!), but for someone to have to deal with all this on their own? For what little time they’ve had, they’ve made progress. And I’m sure having someone like you helping them out is bound to make them feel better too. Although I am curious… why do you not attend classes? If that’s a question that can be answered. It might be a silly one, but I’ve always been quite curious about stuff.

As long as you have something to want for, it is never too hard to gift someone. Getting something is better than getting nothing at all, right? But drawing is a nice thing to pursue! I’ll keep this in mind. But for myself… I’m not really a good artist. My doodles in my workbooks will prove that much. I like music, but not actually playing the instruments myself. I probably have the skills for it, but I don’t know what instrument to play…

This place looks like it would suit a piano. Maybe I could sneak one in and play some tunes for practice. This place could use some. Or maybe we could convince everyone to just sit and listen to some music? If they don’t yell and claw at each other first. Tensions feel high with certain people here…~

Another question for you before I stop writing. Probably should’ve asked it earlier but I kinda forgot. What kind of stuff do, or would, you like to draw? There’s a lot of stuff here you could take inspiration from if you don’t quite know yet… if you’re interested in the older style, that is.

I think that’s everything now! And hey, we’re writing to each other. I pretty much consider you my friend now. :) Can’t wait for your reply! Write to you soon!

From your pen pal (friend?)

TO MY PEN PAL ( Friend! )

my apologies for the late reply! had to take care of an accident up at campus...

oh but I'm glad to hear you've gotten properly accustomed to the change! some people have a harder time with shifts from their normal. I know of that reaction all too well. do you have any favorite thing about ramshackle so far?

as for why I don't attend classes, the answer is simple silly. I don't have any classes to attend! you may wrack your brain as to why all you wish.

oh I'm sure you're a lovely artist my friend! art is somewhat of a difficult pursuit because of one fact alone. we're always our own biggest critic. It's a human flaw I've seen displayed in so many people over and over again. I find it fascinating. though, I'm not even sure if I'll fall pray to that myself. self-criticism is kinda built into me.

y'know I've always admired instruments myself! especially brass instruments like a trombone, french horn, tuba. they're so shiny you can see you reflection in them and their sound is big and LOUD! never fails to make me smile! I hope you're able to find your instrument of choice. life is easily told through music, once you find your instrument you'll be able to tell your own story.

Playing music here...you might want to ease everyone into that~ our student body is unfortunately well known for it's viciousness. I'd hate for someone to complain and get upset just by some piano. It's always better to test the waters first!

With drawing...is it odd to say i want to try a bit of everything? realism, cartoon, still-life, I want to dabble in it all. Your mention of an old style does remind me, a cartoon rubberhose style is one I'd like to try as well.

I know you said you aren't confident in your doodles just yet but maybe we can draw together, or just hang out. I'm just thrilled to have another new friend to talk to. I do love my dorm, but things are a little samey~ new possibilities are right up my alley.

I'll sign off for now, it's late while I'm writing this anyway. see you in the next letter my friend!

Sincerely,

YOUR PEN PAL

[witchersgoldenbard]

Ooh, I'm very intrigued by "witcher jask whump" if you haven't talked about it already? <3

oh you coming right for the whump, huh? but don't yell at me later, darling (jk, pls do).

"Mister Pankratz. Our esteemed lab rat, though that is a bit too low for your title, I'm afraid. Pardon me while I look for a better analogy, then. In the meantime, let me introduce you to your plan. You will be pleased to find out that the body of an adult human is much more suited to survive the Trials than that of a child, so there should really be nothing for you to fear hre. That is, if you turn a blind eye to the emotional, psychological and physical trauma that will come with the torture-like treatments. But, personally, my coins are on your survival, what with being the Witcher's bard and all. Do not disappoint me, Julian."

jaskier becomes a witcher because some Bad People (maybe a cult, maybe stregobor) decide to fuck around and replicate the serum. maybe after the mountain or sometime before when he isn't travelling with geralt, jaskier gets captured by them. he is the only one of the first batch to survive. but at what cost?

He wakes with a start, and immediately everything is wrong again His heart should be racing, but it's too slow, unable to catch up with all the panic and distress he can't feel anymore. No, that's wrong, too. He does feel it. He shouldn't. But he does. Because he is wrong. He takes a breath, then another, takes stock of his mind, What he remembers. What he doesn't. He doesn't know where he is. But there is a name, a shadow of a memory. The sound if it coming from chapped lips pulled into a grimace that will forever haunt him. A name. His name. It's right there, just out of reach, impossible to grasp when there are too many sensations cagin ghim, assailing him, petrifying body and mind. He takes a deep breath, quiet enough not to disturb the silence of the room, and tries to remain calm. There is nothing to ground him, though, and suddenly he is floating, trying to remember the name. Grasses. No. Dreams. No! Not a dream, not a dream, not-- Mountain. His hands are shaking where they are resting on the bed, and the panic spreads through him like a wildfire. No more. Not again, no more memories, no more feelings, no more, please! Flower. The world turnes dark once more, pulling him under and away from the heavy dread that has made it hard to breathe. The last sign of life before the darkness pulls him under feels important. It feels old. Familiar. It feels like... Like a name. Jaskier. Then, only darkness.

he loses his mind because his brain is not used to his sentences being so sharp, the only thing he knows is pain and overstimulation because every single sensation is more intense than it was before. he gets headaches all the time, sensory overload, wants to hide and cry and curl into a ball and just wants it all gone, wants to rest and adjust but he can't because they're sending monsters his way -- maybe even new breeds of monsters, a la s2 -- so he can practice his slaying and so they can run tests and see how good their New Witcher is.

jaskier also keeps secret journals during his torture.

Grasses. Dreams. Mountain. Things I used to love. Things I used to feel, things that were proof of being alive. I don#t love them anymore. Now, I'm alive and wish I weren't don't understand.

Grasses. Dreams. Mountain. No choice. No smiles, no point. Only pain.

They say there's more. Another Trial. Don't know how many are left. They say it's time. For the Trial of Bards. Am scared.

this goes on for a few months until geralt finds him, kills those people, takes jaskier somewhere safe and sits with him in absolute silence. jaskier cries then, beraks down and sobs, "it's all a lie" "what is?" "you said they don't feel." "hm?" "you said witchers don't feel. you said witchers don't fucking feel but it's a stinkin' lie because i sure as hell feel, geralt. pain, anger, hate, confusion, i'm--. you lied. you lied geralt. and i wish you hadn't because i dont want to feel!"

"or... or maybe they tried to take that, too. maybe they weren't done with me, maybe i could have not ended up feeling everything with more intensity than before, which is a fucking rich thing for a bard who's in love with a witcher to say, but... i don't... i want, i--i need..." "i'm here, jask." "that. yeah, that. i need that."

[lanshappycorner]

Deuce Spade facts and fun facts🥳🥳

This is a list of facts and fun facts about Deuce! This list is based on true facts only and any observations I've made, however observations can be subjective, so those will be labeled properly! Let's start off with some facts already in the wiki :)

First Yr, class 1-A, student no.24

Birthday: June 3

Age: at the beginning of the game, Deuce is 16, but currently, he is 17 [his profile in game has not been updated, but as time is proven to flow in game, it is unclear but can be interpreted that the characters do canonly age]

Gemini

173 cm / 5'8" ft

Homeland: Rose kingdom

Family: Mother, Grandmother, it is implied that his father is out of the picture as Deuce states that he is the only man in the family so his father has either left or is dead

Club: Track and Field [alongside Jack]

Best subject: PE

Dominant hand: Right

Fav food: Egg dishes / omurice

Least fav food: Bell peppers

Dislikes: Limited time sales

Hobby: Magical wheel (twst motorcycle I guess but it looks kinda funky)

Talents: Machinery Maintainance [good with fixing gadgets and etc]

Used to be a delinquent before he heard his mother crying on the phone to his grandmother about his behavior. Afterwards he decided to change

Owns a pink leopard printed suit

Cannot do middle school math, he will take a lot of time to solve simple Algebra problems

Gets nervous and stops functioning entirely when talking to women

Onto some fun facts outside of the wiki! These facts have been gathered from various sources (ppl who can read japanese, ppl who have told me abt info in the twst guidebook, twitter, and ofc the main translated story), but I cannot prove 100% authenticity of this, so take it with a gain of salt

Canonly a pretty boy. Deuce is described as the "cool pretty type" in the twst guidebook

Smells like flowers [applies to all students from Rose kingdom]

A romantic, he admired the king and queen of heart's relationship and trey teased him about it

Thought that baby chicks hatch from store bought eggs until the MC and Grim told him the truth

Can cook eggs (he likes them over easy)

Wanted to make a magical wheel club but was rejected so he joined track and field

Bought magical wheel magazines when he was younger and studied it

Wanted to ride his magical wheel in the heartslabyul maze (mentioned he forgets bad things when he rides it so like...it makes him feel better)

Hates limited times sales/shopping but is extremely good at it. He can remember the price of an item, when exactly it sells out, the percentage/probability of when it can sell out, discount prices and pretty much any math that has to do with it [he's extremely good at shopping because his mother brought him out a lot with her to limited time sales]

In addition to the point above, it is implied he can memorize and calculate that for pretty much every item he intends on buying (everything I listed above is in relation to the time he bought 20 limited time puddings which greatly impressed Sebek who wasn't able to grab even 1, but it was later revealed that he also bought 8 bag full of items requested by Trey for baking, as well as the others probably from heartslabyul) so basically Deuce big brain and very good memorization abilities

Hilariously in the instance above, Sebek, who is like...a real fae, has said that what Deuce did was not something a human can do

Flirted with a plant because vil was fucking around with him and told him to

Was ready to fist fight Riddle

Was about to go find Leona to beat him up but Vil was like do u have no fear and Deuce pretty much said that he can get thru to Leona with his muscles

Was about to fight Malleus (jesus christ) but ended up fixing his tamagotchi and came out completely loaded and rich (good for deuce, get that cha ching babey)

Won a Track and Field competition (noted to be rare for a first year)

He is literally a pretty boy, it's been pointed out that he looks good in the ceremonial clothes (but we already know that)

Admires Riddle and sees him as a role model, has called him boss (like...yakuza boss terminology) once

[Observation] Has a pretty good relationship with Jamil as he has asked Jamil to help him practice his Stargazer dance, and mentioned him once again when talking about how Jamil fixed his hat and said that he was a reliable upperclassman

Has said fuck and would not hesitate to say it again 🥺

Has been called honest and cute, was fawned over by kalim and trey. Kalim said Deuce was similar to his younger brothers

During his delinquent phase, he was blamed for many things he didn't do as well, Deuce said that he realized no one believed in him despite what he says, but because a policeman stood up for him, he wanted to become a cop when he grew up

Used intimidation tactics [the equivalent of "u wanna fucking go let's go I'll beat ur ass" to scare off ppl and silver was like hm I will have to try that sometime, to which deuce was pretty much like ahahah no dont

Deuce refers to Yuu as his "mabu", basically calling Yuu his best friend

He can change a lightbulb, and he talks abt hand washing materials and just domestic house stuff in general as if it's common knowledge. In other words it's implied Deuce is really good at housework due to doing a lot for his mother

When he was a kid, he used to cry because he thought there were monsters outside, but it was just hanging laundry

Is more scared of Riddle than ghosts

It's implied that one time (or several times...) he stayed after school with Crewel, and the poor guy had to attempt to explain the same concept over and over again to Deuce for hours until he understood

Ace always cheats in card games with Deuce, so Deuce claims that it's not very fun playing with him

Bad at astrology bc apparently all stars look the same to him

Likes cafe latte

Does tease ppl, he once messed with Yuu and in the process called Ace "Ace-kun" (Ace called him "Deuce-kun" as well). There has been an instance where he's teased Jack about his Niceness TM

Used to have over 30 gang members following him at age 14-15. (You'd think that him being so young would make him like a lackey but no he was the boss)

Has a thing for summoning cauldrons since he was young, but apparently you need to have a large amount of magic capabilities to summon objects, so [observation] deuce may actually be extremely powerful bc he was able to summon things at a young age, but he hasn't refined his powers yet so he still seems weak compared to a lot of the cast

During his delinquent phase, apparently he had a really wild hairstyle and he used his magic on people weaker than him

[Observation] Deuce is actually pretty good at lying. In his Halloween card he was able to put up a good act and deceive some of his ex gang members into following him into the forest before mildly roughing them up (keep in mind that he has not had contact with these ppl for at least a year, yet somehow he was able to assert enough authority to tell them to follow him. Also, he thought of this plan on the spot, and acted malicious enough so that the gang members would believe in him—which proves that he's not only quick witted but a convincing actor, as Jamil actually believed his act for a while)

It's implied that he and Ace are often in leadership positions, as they helped to lead heartslabyul in designing their Halloween booth, but they also mentioned that it was much easier compared to organizing unbirthday parties

[Observation] despite wanting to be an honor student, Deuce is still able to take unjustly means to achieve his goals (EX. Making a deal with Azul to pass his test), in general, deuce doesn't care too much about the method, be it through cheating or violence to get to his goal, but he does value a fair battle

[Observation] a lot of Deuce's strengths are subtle as we are frequently told abt how much of a bad student he is, but if u rly think abt it, deuce is put in leadership positions a lot, he's good a memorization and small technical details, he can be at times quick witted and deceiving, and he has the potential to be extremely powerful in magic. In conclusion Deuce is a menace and once we find out what his unique magic is I'm 100.01% sure he will become a greater menace and I think he should fight a lot of people and win

That will be all for this post! There may be more fun facts/observations that I may have missed, but feel free to add on to this! Anyways thank u for reading and please stan Deuce Spade♠️💙

[creylune]

keep feeling like i’m not cut out for this college thing

[spongebob-connoisseur]

Spongebob's overhated, not talking about the show, I'm talking about the character. idk man, whenever someone talking about him, they first thing that people comes to mind is in modern one, (the flanderized one), but bro, he's more than just that and relatable as Squidward is, and I kinda blame the mordern season for it

Sorry about the late reply!!

Tbh I never seen much hate for Spongebob as a character. I mean when people talk of spongebob now, they'd usually regard Squidward and Sandy more as their favorites since ya kno, they're really likable, who wouldn't adore them? But spongebob is still well liked.

Unless this is specific to those who don't like the modern seasons. Idk much about that since I don't keep up with that stuff. But I do agree that Spongebob is relatable! Very much so. He has a hard time preforming on his drivers test because of all the pressure on him. He has a hard time saying no to people and sometimes others take advantage of that. He still remains positive through it but there are times when enough is enough, even for him.

He's really likable and remains my favorite even despite the nonsense and trouble he puts others *cough*squidward*cough* through. He's endearing and silly and just wants to have a good time and make everyone smile. The world definitely makes you feel miserable at times but I really enjoy watching him just enjoy little things and make the most of his circumstances. Actually now when I think about it, that song Living in the Sunlight that played in the very first episode suits his personality too well. Pretty much sums up what to expect from this show and what it's all about. It still leaves a positive and warm impression everytime you hear it or rewatch the pilot.

Now as for the modern spongebob. I don't think he's bad either. I still really like him. Though I consider him as his own thing. Each era feels like his personality change and I've grown to accept it. He's just a different genre of spongebob if that makes sense. Anyways usually when people talk about modern spongebob, they usually mean seasons 4-8 because when this discussion about flanderized spongebob and modern spongebob all started with people talking about that era specifically and I used to watch people's videos talking about that a lot and ehh I don't really agree with much of it anymore.

That middle era spongebob did cause a few problems and really degraded his character over time. That's generally what comes to people's minds when they talk about modern spongebob bad and generally unlikable version of sponge. Him stalking people and doing weird shit wasn't funny at all. Squidward was more humanized and seen as some dude who wanted some peace and quiet. The star of the show is constantly making him miserable and ruining his life. It's hard to enjoy. Its not like the current modern era isn't like that too.

The middle seasons annoy me a bit more but even when this happens in the modern seasons, they are really what I hate the most. It's biggest flaw of the modern seasons for me.

I feel like they're fixing it now but gosh idk who thought that was funny. The appeal of spongebob is that you saw it from a child's point of view often. You saw spongebob as just a sweet kid who wanted to play and Squidward as the grouchy adult/older sibling who doesn't notice you or pay attention but you still really want to spend time with them because you think they're a good person deep down. And you know squidward cares back too. There might be times where spongebob messes up but there are still consequences for him and generally there's a balance. You never feel like he's ever being malicious to squidward and nothing super bad happens where it feels like the universe is punishing squidward for being alive.

This was mostly season 1 and 2. Season 3 had a push for Spongebob being more of an adult. He behaved more adultish and the scenarios they were in are a little more mature. Hence why season 3 is often the most remembered season for its adult humor. But the scenarios are simplified enough for a kid to understand the general plot and adults can understand all the true implications and circumstances. There was a balance. Same as having a more adultish spongebob, his relationship with squidward balanced out too. They were closer to equals at this point and Squidward was more annoyed with him being an optimist in their bleak working environment. They were a ying and yang and you could identify with both. They both complimented each other and clashed. It worked.

Past that. They've never found such a good dynamic like that again in post movie episodes. Its been a bit wobbly. Squidward is the most easy character to identify with. While they made him more relatable. Tired, stuffy adult who just wants peace and is wasting his life working at a minimum wage job. They also wanted to keep elements of the classic era without understanding why they were funny and worked so well. Such as squidward's karma. He gets punished for just existing. Its not funny. Squidward often did get the short end of the stick bur usually you'd understand why. He became more of a depressed individual getting punished for being alive. It's not funny.

At the same time spongebob's personality regressed into being too naive to function at times and too babyish than childish. Often times I don't feel like the writers know what to do with him besides bugging squidward. But there used to be a reason why he bugged Squidward. He genuinely liked him. He looked up to him. He really believed deep down there's a part of squidward that cares and just needs a little push. It's stated in the art book. And a lot of things and rules from the art book feel so lost in the show over the years.

You can tell the writers thought of him as how adults think of small children. Loud and noisy, and only want to bug you. They sympathized with squid more but had to keep with the general formula of the show. But forget what made this show so fun was how spongebob was written from a child's point of view. Often times as a kid, you would feel ignored and over looked. Adults talk down to you. You have no free will. Spongebob essentially was a kid but without the restraints and rules a child had to live by. It was freeing and it was nice seeing someone who thinks and feels like you is on screen.

It really feels like they missed the mark with how they interpret spongebob when writing him. They degraded him into a stalker who's obsessed with squidward and torments him. He's often too naive and dumb to function or even interact with other characters. The interesting relationships he used to have feel wiped away. It's hard to enjoy it.

I mean a good example is the reason why he failed his drivings test (though this flanderization already started in the classics era anyways) he fails because he gets nervous and often needs some kind of distraction while driving to keep him calm. He does well on the exams but when it comes to demonstrating what he knows is where he messes up. Its become at this point that he's just an insane person behind the wheel and just magically screws up for no reason. His insanity causes harm to the people around him and we get some of the worst episodes Demolition Doofus. We can't even argue that Mrs. Puff is wrong for the anger she feels since she's endlessly harmed by sponge to the point of basically becoming disabled. Its not funny. It just sours what was supposed to be the golden boy of the show.

Spongebob will never be how he used to be but I appreciate how as of recent there had been some repair to his character. He's really wildly different from the classics era but I appreciate every so often when they remember an aspect of his personality that's been long gone. Even in the middle seasons. There's better episodes that remember why Spongebob fails his driving test and episodes that remember that remember squidward isn't just a tormented sufferer and spongebob is a deranged stalker.

He's kind of his own thing now but I find the modern seasons one cute and more amusing. He's still very flawed but I can at least enjoy him ya kno? I'd like to hear your thoughts on him too!

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 16

First time reader click here

Summary/TWs: Trouble is brewing. Canon-typical violence, graphic descriptions of wounds and Clint whump. Bad, terrible, no-good medical accuracy. Aliens. Reader is an anxious genius with low self-esteem and PTSD. ✨spicy sadness✨

From now on, chapters will be posted un-beta-ed. She's taking a lil break. 💖💝✨

I liked to think I had made peace with the fact that my boys and girls had one hell of a dangerous job. Natasha, Clint, Steve and Bucky frequently left for missions and while I missed their usual bickering in the background, it wasn't like the tower's common room became absolutely quiet. The fact that they mostly did recon-only missions helped, too, as they would come home unharmed and in one piece. The worry was there but subtle - like setting the table and including silverware for the people who were gone on a mission.

Peter's patrols went less smoothly, usually. He was small and even in his spider-suit, the boy was frequently underestimated by common thugs. Apparently, they didn't know how to read the news - it was blatantly obvious the hero was enhanced. And yet somehow, Pete more often than not sported all sorts of bruises, scratches and tears.

Tony and I routinely tore out our hair over the spiderboy's carelessness. The engineer had a funny way of showing he cared for Peter. Once I got to know him better, my brain dubbed them as Irondad and Spiderson. And it wasn't weird at all, somehow, that I was basically fucking my best friend's dad. Tony never made me uncomfortable, if anything, he went to great lengths to accommodate my whims. Tony continuously found time for me, answered my dumb questions and soldiered through the shenanigans I got up to after having too much caffeine and too little sleep.

Sitting in the quiet, empty common room was unnerving. It was shortly after dinner time - the evening news skipped their usual political debate in favour of the battle that was raging downtown, the reason for my headache and wrung hands.

I missed Tony's running mouth. The aliens the team was fighting looked quite hilarious, murderous intentions aside, and I could only imagine the way Tony and Clint would mock them. Hentai rejects. Tentacle porn knock-offs. The aliens were squid-like, about half the size of a human and very, very slippery, from what I spied on the TV.

An irritated-looking Stephen had me equal parts apprehensive and drooling - one after another, he conjured up a series of small portals, teleporting the aggressive octopods only god knew where. It would have looked incredibly badass if not for the exhausted sheen of sweat I could see on his brow, even despite the camera footage being shaky and grainy.

The news footage showed Tony - Iron Man, soaring contentedly through the darkening skies and taking out the squirmy mass of tentacles with his plasma beam repulsors. Steve and Bucky and Loki appeared too, sporadically, being well-oiled murder machines. Nothing new.

Yet, I worried. The little worm of doubt was squirming full-force. I tried to ignore it, yet pacing, sitting and playing Candy Crush got me nowhere. I pestered Friday to order pizza, the team's usual post-mission order plus a large one for me - stress-eating was better than stress-popping-molly in a tower full of superheroes. It took some courage to admit to myself I'd gotten attached enough to be this much from running away from all that in a blind panic.

And it would be the best option for them, really, because they had much sensible things to worry about than me. Yet every time, my selfishness won against even the most logical arguments I presented. I hated fighting myself but it was all I did - not only I was in love with Tony, I loved him.

Even when he forgot about my existence for five days, to emerge from his workshop with a new piece of tech that revolutionised one or another or something else. I loved him when he annoyed the ever living fuck out of everybody, me included, because I knew that it was hilarious to see people getting riled up over totally trivial shit. I loved Tony Stark when he ran away from his feelings, and everybody else's, because he never managed to run far enough. Or he didn't want to. I loved him, because he was like a multilayered puzzle, complex and captivating and beautiful.

I thought a lot about it, more than people would have noticed. For someone as selfish and goal-oriented as me, Tony lived in my head rent-free most of the time. And nobody would find out if I had the choice because let's face it, I'm a short cameo in his life. I'm a fuckin' catch and even then, I can't expect to hold his attention forever. His genius is too brilliant to settle for one when he could easily have the whole damn world.

Another hour consisted of me pacing and accompanying the pizza delivery boys to the common floor. It was hilarious - they were obviously star-struck about walking the same carpet as their heroes. I could see the faint hope of meeting one of the Avengers in their eyes, their posture. All they got was me - in my sweatpants, Tony's tee and no bra. My tits got the attention they deserved, at least.

My lounging was interrupted by a golden circle noisily appearing in the middle of the room, followed by Clint abruptly falling through it with a pained moan. I froze, the pizza in my mouth turning to ash - Strange poked his head through the hole in space, finding my eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Help him, I don't have much time," He breathed and disappeared, closing the portal behind himself.

The pizza piece flew back in the box as I stumbled, jumped over the headrest, kneeling beside Clint in no time. "Bird, tell me what hurts," I demanded. Not that I had a clue what to do. I mean, I knew basic first aid and...

"My leg," He gritted out, curling in on himself. Fear flooded me, limbs turning to lead. Hawk had a good pain tolerance, I knew he could break an arm and not utter a single syllable until he thought it safe to showcase his vulnerability. "That squid motherfucker stung me, I don't know. My whole body is on fire," His speech was slurred.

I nodded, deciding to limit the touching to only the necessary actions. The leg of his pants was torn and the wound itself was shaped like a whip mark, thin and red and angry. It oozed a yellowish pus-like substance, it smelled bitter, almost like stale water and seaweed salad. I didn't know much about aliens but jellyfish stings, I could work with. A short Google check later, I had an approximate plan.

"Friday, run diagnostics." I ordered, taking a deep breath and filing away the fear, the panic and anxiety for later.

"Mr. Barton has a wound that appears to be contaminated with an unknown chemical that is causing an adverse reaction. The elevated body temperature suggests that his immune system is fighting it. I would suggest a blood test to examine the offending specimens."

A blood draw? I could do that. I definitely, absolutely, could do that.

"Bird, Clint, did you hear that?" I gently touched his shoulder only for him to recoil from my hand, muttering unintelligibly. "Pretty bird, I'm going to help you. Let me." My bedside manner needed improvement - with brain running a mile a minute, I babbled utter nonsense as Friday directed me to the needed supplies. Getting the blood was a feat on it's own - I had to physically sit on top of Clint to get but a tiny vial of the red liquid.

A few tears escaped the emotional fortress I had to build within myself. Clint was in so, so much pain - pain I was inadvertently making worse by touching him. I sprinted to Bruce's lab, feeding the sample to be analysed by Friday, tearing through the room in a hurricane. First aid kit, IV, saline, antibiotics. Restraints, too, just in case.

"Analysis complete. The contaminant appears to be acting similarly to a parasitic infection with a short life-span. Primarily feeds on copper, iron and various metals contained in the human body. Does not appear to reproduce or multiply, my algorithms cannot determine the cause of said behaviour. Calculating..." Friday's mechanical voice paused. "I have calculated the approximate duration of Mr. Barton's symptoms. Onset of critical stage in one to three hours. Complete extinction of parasitic organisms in approximately sixty hours."

"Fri, do you think I have a chance of saving Clint before he goes crazy from pain? And have you figured out what's causing it?" My brain was all over the place.

"I have the best faith in you, miss." The AI sounded almost... Comforting? "I am still running multiple diagnostics. My algorithms suggest the organisms may be attacking the nerve endings - reason unclear."

An idea struck me. A crazy, brash, absurd idea. The pathogen was alien and we didn't have antibiotics to kill it. Even if I gave Clint some sort of medicine, it could go awry really really quickly. Besides, wasn't there a medical team for this..?

"Friday, alert the medical suite."

"Request denied. Per Mr. Stark's protocols, only Sir himself and Dr. Banner are authorized to request medical assistance in case of alien pathogen contamination."

"Fuck. Fuck, that makes no fuckin' sense!" I yelled helplessly. "Okay, do you have blood matching Clint's type laying around?" I asked sarcastically. This protocol pissed me off. What was Tony scared of? That someone would steal alien germs? Too late for that, there were plenty of samples all over the sidewalks downtown.

"A-positive, blue refrigerator, top shelf." Friday's answer was curt.

My hands shook. My whole body shook. Clint was laying in fetal position right where I'd left him and the man wasn't looking better - he became paler, dark circles under his eyes, clammy sweat breaking on every exposed part of his skin. Moving him was out of the question - Clint violently recoiled from me once I tried to touch him.

Reluctantly, I dragged the dining room chairs and piled up whatever heavy things I could on top of them, praying to every god that they would hold a trained man trash around in pain. Then, came the restraints. Belts with clips unlike one could see in a movie with a psych ward. I fumbled with them, then with Clint - very slowly, but I got both of his arms fastened and the man rolled onto his back.

"Wwhat... S'appening..?" Hawk finally slurred, cracking his eyes to see my (probably) disheveled and panicked face.

"This is going to hurt, I won't lie. A lot," I rambled, setting up the tools needed for both a blood draw and a blood transfusion. "I'm not a doctor. I'm not a scientist. You have alien parasites in your blood. I'm going to get rid of em," I announced, not mentioning the fact that I had to Google all the things I was going to do to him.

"S'okay, I trust you," Clint slurred again, moving about much more weakly than before. The tips of his fingers began to turn blue and the blood vessels on his face stood out in a pink-purple web. Not good.

My finest thinking moment: laying out some tarp around the archer and putting on gloves and a mask to minimize the possibility of getting infected. I started with the wound first, carefully wiping away the yellowish goop and immediately sealing it into a biohazard container. Some alcohol around the edges, the wound began emanating a faint wisp of smoke as Clint yelled hoarsely. I didn't even react - man, aliens and their germs were fuckin' weird.

Another biohazard container traveled next to Clint's arm. I had a disposable scalpel in one hand and my courage in another - it was now or never. The vein I was cutting was a minor one, but with Clint's body in total disarray, it was an ugly fountain of pinkish-purple liquid that spurted from it. I was no doctor but blood shouldn't have looked like that.

I stared at the timer on my phone. Twenty seconds, thirty, fifty. Eighty seconds, the blood was beginning to have more of a red hue. Clint's breathing slowed, tremors subsiding by a smidgen. One hundred and eighty seconds, the stream was a healthy deep red colour. With a swift motion, I wrapped up the wound, folded his arm, tied off the blood flow higher up his arm with a spare restraint. Clint wasn't moving much anymore; my hand that periodically checked his pulse shook but dutifully did it's job. His heart was working steady.

Compared to having to drain a friend of his blood, setting up the IV with a transfusion was a walk in the park. My mind was empty of any thoughts but for the actions needed to complete the process.

The container with contaminated blood, closed, sealed and put in a plastic bag, along with the gloves and the tarp. My own exposed flesh, meticulously scrubbed with alcohol until the skin became red and raw. All the instruments, Clint's pants, my clothes - in the bag.

The archer himself was laying still, his breathing steady and calm, face no longer looking like he was one step away from the grave. After undoing the restraints, I wiped down every surface we touched with Tony's vodka - rubbing alcohol had run out and I was too emotionally drained to go downstairs and leave Clint for too long. Whenever the booze collided with a stray drop of blood, a wispy smoke emerged. Such an interesting reaction. Part of me couldn't wait to examine the phenomena together with Bruce. The other part was considering the possibility of having a panic attack in a seafood restaurant.

"Fri, keep an eye- a sensor on Clint for me, will ya? I need a shower and some pants," I denounced tiredly, padding to the communal shower. I found respite, however brief, under the steam for a few minutes. Then I found Tony's old tee and a pair of someone's sweats - I didn't care whose. Post-stress adrenaline shivers had me feeling stark naked in the middle of Alaska despite the room being a toasty, comfortable temperature according to the digital thermostat.

Now I just had to think about what to tell the team.

Propping Clint's head on a decorative pillow and covering him with a soft fleece blanket was the least I could have done for the long suffering archer. The floor was hard but I sat next to him, running a hand through his matted hair, my brain an incomprehensible mess.

✨ TAGLIST OF MY LOVELIES (OPEN) ✨

@another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby

[firewoodfigs]

Hey Friend, I know I'm a bit late with this but how about - "an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’" Thanks. :)

here you go, friend!! this one’s for you and @brucestephenbucky, who both requested an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’ :) 

[also, this turned out to be longer than expected (~3k words), so it’s on ao3 as well! for easier reading, all that stuff xD]

Summary: In which Riza is down with a cold, and Roy is both anxious and painfully oblivious. Also, Roy has to conquer his greatest nemesis yet: carrots. (young Royai) 

~x~

Riza Hawkeye always woke up by sunrise. This was an immutable fact of life; as unchanging as the fact that the sun would rise every morning from the east. Not once had Roy seen her sleep in — not even on the weekends.

But today was different.

The sun had already risen long ago, and the roosters were back with their awful crowing. And even the morning dew that embraced the paltry patches of yellowing grass outside with timeless regularity was starting to evaporate by now.

Still, Riza was nowhere to be found.

Roy’s first thought was that she’d gone on one of her routine grocery trips. But Riza Hawkeye was the human incarnation of efficiency, if nothing else. Unlike his sisters, who had an uncanny tendency to get distracted by other things along the way (because apparently every girl loved shopping on a biological level, or so they claimed), grocery shopping was something she could easily complete in about a half an hour or less.

And it had been nearly two hours since he’d waited idly by the fireplace for Riza to come in through the front porch with that shy, contented smile that she always wore in the morning.

Believing that this might’ve been a rare, life-changing occasion where Riza wanted to experience the wonders of sleeping in, Roy therefore took it upon himself to prepare breakfast for the both of them. Typically, this wasn’t preferable, as he was only capable of making two things that were remotely edible: toasts, and eggs. (Not even fried eggs. Boiled eggs, because those were impossible to screw up.) To make up for the slightly burnt toast, Roy brewed a sweet, soothing mixture of chamomile tea with cinnamon.

Then he laid everything out on the dining table and hoped for the best.

Fifteen minutes passed. Breakfast was beginning to cool down. The mugs were no longer steaming; in them only a lukewarm stillness that reflected his lonely, worried expression.  

Roy bit into the burnt edge of a piece of toast, consulting the grandfather clock down by the inordinately large hallway.

The empty hallway.

Ten-hundred hours.

Roy sighed into his tea. Ten more minutes, he decided. Ten more minutes. If Riza wasn’t down by then, he’d go upstairs and check on her instead.

In the end, Roy found himself dragging his feet up the old, creaky stairs. He balanced the tray delicately on one hand, and knocked at her door gently with the other.

“Miss Riza?” Roy called softly, deciding against dropping the honorific. (Riza might’ve given him permission to call her by her first name, but she still was not taking the liberty of addressing him as such.)

Silence.

Roy knocked again.

The tray wobbled precariously.

“Miss Riza?”

A groan resounded from the other end, before he heard footsteps padding softly towards him. Then the door opened to reveal Riza in all her pale, half-awake glory.

To say that she was a mess was a bit of an understatement. Her hair was uncombed and completely disheveled (very much unlike her usual self); cheeks flushed a deep scarlet — a stark contrast against the sickly pallor of her countenance.

“Mister Mustang,” Riza rasped weakly. But her demeanour was quick to shift once she caught sight of the tray in his hands. Instantly she straightened like a soldier standing at attention, back straight and shoulders tense. “I’m so sorry — what time is it?”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Roy reassured hastily. “It’s about ten —“ Riza’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened like she was about to admonish herself for not getting started on her endless list of chores earlier, “— but don’t worry about it. Are you sick?”

A shiver wracked through her petite frame, one that she tried miserably to conceal by wrapping her thin arms around herself. “I’m not,” Riza lied unconvincingly. “I —“

“Have a lot to do, I know,” Roy interjected, biting back a sigh at her stubbornness. God, the girl really needed to get her priorities straight. “But you’re obviously unwell. And besides, I already made you breakfast. I didn’t do such a bad job, see? I even managed to make you your tea just the way you like it...”

“I — thank you,” she muttered, turning away to sneeze daintily into the crook of her elbow. “But really, it’s just a minor cold. You didn’t have to...” Riza trailed off as another shudder assaulted her.

Roy pursed his lips, somewhat bemused by her insistence (and poor attempts at deceit). He cleared his throat and straightened, imitating the tone that his indomitable sisters used whenever he was trying to wriggle his way out of drinking some weird, medicinal concoction. “It clearly doesn’t sound like a minor cold. You should rest before it gets worse.”

“But...”

“No buts, Miss Riza.”

Roy set the tray down on her bedside table, then strode back to where she was. Gingerly, Roy put a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch from the contact, he gently guided her back towards her bed. Riza didn’t protest. Instead, she was quick to settle back down, clutching onto her blankets for dear life — as if the short walk to her door had sapped her of all her energy.

“Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of everything else.”

Evidently too weak to argue further, Riza nodded and coughed into a fist. “I’m really sorry for the trouble —“

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he nearly exclaimed, a little frustrated by her self-deprecating logic. In what universe was it someone’s fault for falling sick — something that was not even within one’s realm of control? “Just let me know if you need anything, okay? A doctor, medicine, whatever. It’s what friends do for each other.”

“Friends...” she mumbled, eyes averted — in embarrassment? He couldn’t tell. Despite the remarkable progression in their relationship, Riza Hawkeye was still very much an enigma.

“Friends,” Roy affirmed, fluffing the coverlet a little before leaving hastily, his own heart pounding in his throat.

~x~

Roy spent the rest of the day dusting the window panes, sweeping the carpeted floors and drying the laundry in between studying for his upcoming test. More than once he’d spotted Riza coming down the stairs, meandering around the hallways aimlessly like she was inspecting for non-existent dust under the guise that she was just about to pour herself another glass of water.

Roy was quick to see through her excuses, however, and had ushered her back into her room with a full jug of water instead. Every hour or so, he’d go up to check on Riza, a warm cup of freshly-made ginger tea in his hands (a remedy that his aunt swore by, despite its repulsive taste) and constant reassurances that he was doing just fine with the chores.

When evening-time came around, Riza appeared in the kitchen, eyes bleary and nose pink. Roy withheld the urge to roll his eyes.

How stubborn could one person get? And was there — no, would there ever be a point where she’d come to spare a thought for herself? To put herself ahead of others?

Probably not, he thought wryly.

“I’m a lot better, really,” she sniffed, huddling an old, tattered shawl around her for warmth. (Roy made a mental note to get a new cardigan for her — one that was thicker; more suited for unfortunate days like these. Maybe a pink, fluffy one that matched her secret femininity.) “I should start making dinner.”

Right. He’d completely forgotten about that.

“I can take care of that,” he said. Riza quirked a brow at him, unconvinced. Roy shoved his wounded ego back down his throat and tried again. “Really. I’ll just make up a simple stew for us.”

What could possibly be so hard about throwing a few ingredients into boiling water, right? He’d just have to wait for the ingredients to work their magic. And if they didn’t, then he’d have to trust in the mythical powers of sesame oil and salt to save the day. Or so he’d gleaned from his sisters’ numerous mishaps in the kitchen and Riza’s incredible cooking.

“... Please don’t trouble yourself, Mister Mustang.”

“Nonsense. You’re always troubling yourself for my — for our sakes,” he insisted, guiding her towards the living room. Riza opened her mouth like she was about to protest. And Roy scrambled for a better argument. Something that might work on her desire to avoid causing trouble to others at all costs, perhaps? “Think of it this way. You’ll be - um, it’ll be worse if you pass out in the middle of the kitchen while cooking.”  

After a long, contemplative moment, Riza relented and stepped back hesitantly. “Try not to burn anything down.”

This was a remarkable challenge, but Roy Mustang was not one to back down from challenges. Instead he nodded, solemn. “I won’t.”

Riza nodded, settling herself on the old rocking chair by the fireplace for warmth. The evening was remarkably chilly tonight, however, and so Roy tucked his coat securely around her, ever thankful that his reclusive hermit of a teacher did not choose to grace them with his presence at that moment.

Then he scurried back into the kitchen like a mouse and began rifling through the lower compartments of the fridge.

To his dismay, Roy found the following items: corn, cabbage, and carrots. Naturally he despised them all, since they belonged to that vile, disgusting category of food known as vegetables.  

But carrots. God, carrots were the worst of them all. Those malicious sticks of bright orange clearly hated him with a deep-seeded passion, and so did he. Things never turned out well whenever he was forced to work with them in the kitchen.

Unless one considered multiple cuts and band-aids ‘well’.

Still, he was determined to make Riza a decent, hearty meal tonight. (Or maybe not ‘hearty’ -- that implied that he was a good cook, which was a little ambitious. More like edible, perhaps.)

Inhaling deeply, Roy rolled up his sleeves and set about to work once he found Riza’s little recipe book. But determination soon melted into frustration after he’d chopped up cobs of corn and sliced potatoes and had to face his greatest adversary in the world: carrots.

And after a lot of groaning and grunting and wheezing, Roy somehow ended up peeling more of his own skin than the carrot’s; a feat he hadn’t even thought possible until now.

… Like he said, they really hated him.

“Damn it,” Roy cursed softly under his breath, not wanting to wake the sleeping blonde. He quickly rinsed them under running water, then rummaged through the cabinets for a box of band-aids.

Torn between mild amusement and self-pity, Roy stuck them over the numerous cuts decorating his poor fingers and sighed.

Well.

Nothing like a few lacerations to prove his gallantry, right?

Still, Riza’s fitful, shuddering frame was all the motivation he needed to conquer the menacing abomination. At least most of them were chopped up by now, even if they looked nothing like the neat wedges that Riza usually managed to cut them into.

But it was all the same in one’s stomach, he reasoned.

Mindful to not set the kitchen ablaze, Roy got back to work and began dumping everything into the pot.

~x~

By some miraculous stroke of luck, the kitchen was still intact about an hour later. Roy popped back into the living room with a wooden tray holding two bowls of vegetable soup, billowing clouds of steam curling around his face.

“Hey,” he called gently. Riza cracked an eyelid open, still semi-conscious. “I made us some soup for dinner. Think you can get up for some?”

“I - oh,” Riza mumbled. Her face fell slightly as she adjusted herself on the seat.

Roy got the nagging feeling that she was about to apologise once more for not helping.

“I mean, it’s not the best, but it tasted… edible,” he cajoled. Barely edible, actually. It’d tasted bland, sort of watery; but Roy had been too afraid to add in more salt or seasoning for fear of screwing the whole thing up entirely.

One could only hope that the cold had muffled her taste buds.

“Thank you,” she said softly. They ate together in companionable silence; metal clinking gently against ceramic as the fire crackled.

Roy resisted the urge to scrunch his face up at the blandness of it all.

Riza, on the other hand, did not appear to have any qualms about the simple fare; she made no comment on his ostensible lack of talent in the kitchen. Instead she flashed him a small, grateful smile that warmed his heart immensely.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little better, I think.” Almost inaudibly, Riza added, “Thank you. For all of this, I mean. I really appreciate it.”

Roy beamed. “It’s no problem. Like I said, you’re always doing so much for our benefit. It’s the least I can do.”

Roy got up to clear the dishes before she could, once they were done with dinner. By this point, however, Riza was clearly too tired to argue. She waited by the fireplace as he rinsed the bowls; a shivering cocoon of blankets and soft sneezes.

And like a panicked mother hen, Roy started fussing. Without warning he helped Riza up, bringing her close so that she could lean on him for support. She was dangerously warm to the touch, he realised. It seemed her fever hadn’t broken yet, and he could feel the goosebumps trailing up her skin as they walked.

“Mister Mustang,” she called feebly, flushing scarlet.

“Hm?” he asked, oblivious to the heat crawling up his own neck.

Gently, he led Riza up the stairs and guided Riza back into her room.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can go get a doctor or something, if you need…”

It’d be hard to get one at this hour, especially out in the isolated countryside, but the boy was willing to do anything to help his friend feel better.

“N-no. I’ll be better once I get some rest, really,” she said, almost pleadingly as she nestled underneath the inviting coverlets.

Catching sight of her wide and frightened eyes, Roy instantly swallowed his earlier words. “A-alright,” he said worriedly, caught in a bit of a dilemma himself. “I’ll stay with you, then. Just rest, okay?”

Feverish and utterly enervated, Riza offered him a tiny, hesitant nod and drifted back to sleep.

~x~

For the rest of the night, Roy stayed by Riza’s side like he was holding some sort of sad, long vigil, changing the damp towel on her forehead every hour or so. But her fever did not subside. If anything, it only got worse. Delirium was starting to kick in. At some point she’d started muttering imploringly for her — mother?

Roy’s heart shattered.

How many ill, lonely nights had she endured aloneafter her mother’s passing, all because she wanted to avoid inconveniencing her negligent father? Riza was strong, yes, maybe even almost to the point of being invincible. But she was still very much a child. She was only thirteen, for heavens’ sake! Yet the girl always carried herself with an independence and maturity that far exceeded their peers’ — the sort that could only have been derived from hardship and misfortune. And Roy found himself feeling something akin to guilt and sympathy and admiration, for a girl who’d been forced to grow up far too soon because of her predicament.

Overcome by some profound, unknown emotion, Roy leaned forward and brushed her damp, matted fringe aside to press a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Get well soon,” he murmured.

Riza fidgeted slightly. For a moment, Roy thought she was about to regain consciousness. And all of a sudden he became acutely aware of what he had done: he’d trespassed some unspoken boundary and kissedher.

Roy recoiled sharply like he’d been struck. He leaned back into his seat, running a hand over his scruffy hair and crossed his arms decisively over his chest; an exercise of self-restraint. What was he doing, anyway? Taking advantage of his friend in her sleep? 

God forbid he do so! Roy had grown up learning that women were to be treated with utmost respect. The importance of chivalry had been indoctrinated in him from the time he’d learnt how to walk, and he was not about to engage in any sort of funny business. Nope. Definitely not.

(He would be lying, however, if he said Riza wasn’t adorable while she was asleep like that.)

Fortunately for him, Riza was sound asleep. She was still shivering, though, so Roy drew the blankets up and readjusted the towel on her forehead. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rolled over on her side.

Content that he was able to bring his friend some comfort, Roy lolled back into the seat to take a short nap, not seeming to mind in the least the inevitable stiff neck that awaited him.

Beside him, Riza let out a small smile as she tugged his coat closer around herself.

[dilapidatedmooneel]

Sorry it took me sooo long I am back to school and hating it, hope you enjoy

Rated: Teens up

Word Count: 1439

Ao3, Prologue, 1st Chapter, 2nd Chapter

Since the End/Begining of Time

Chapter 3 - A Predicament

The Gamma Forest

They all turned to the sound of the voice to once again to be shocked, though as they recognized who had spoken all their faces, bar Missy’s who face only showed a slight irritation, hardened, there standing in all his holographic glory, with suit shoes, checked trousers, navy shirt, checked waistcoat, purple suit jacket and a manic grin was, The Master. The trees around them seemed to stop rustling, if you asked Graham he would say they were softly shaking in fear, at the presence of two equally insane and cruel regenerations of the Master.

“Awww…. What's this not happy to see me” The Master sneered out grinning down at The Doctor, her companions and Missy. It was obvious the hologram was propelled upwards from the embedded crystals in the Missy’s axe from its place on the tree stump, so it would give the Master an air of superiority “Not even you lady version?”

“Well I don’t particularly like gifts with holographic crystals embedded in them” Missy quickly snipped “I knew they were there all along by the way”

“Sure you did” the Master sarcastically drawled “That's why you left then in the axe, even though I gave you more than enough time to remove them”

“I wasn't bothered!”

“You cut down a tree!”

“From frustration of having to see you again, it was my coping mechanism” Missy dramatically threw the back of her hand unto her forehead

The Doctor seemed to finally snapped out of the shock induced daze, by the two regeneration of the Master bickering, her face went murderous then back to perfectly calm, like a storm behind

“Where is my wife” her voice tense and full of anger, her whole posture was rigid. The whole display was full of anger and utterly fighting but was cut off by

“Wait a second, did I hear you right, wife??” questioned Graham looking at Yaz and Ryan trying to see if they knew what was going on Yaz's jaw just kept opening and closing like a goldfish, while Ryan looked like he was about to say something but kept thinking better of it.

“Yes yes, the Doctor has a mongrel wife” The holographic Master quickly said interrupting any questions from the Doctor's companions were going to ask, effectively moving the process much faster, “On the topic of the half-breed, do I need to get tested for rabies or something, she made me bleed!” lifting up his left hand to reveal a human, mouth shaped bite mark that even with the hologram you could see it was bleeding.

Then a chair leg appeared in the hologram smashed off the Master's head before the Master fell forward towards the doctor and Co. then disappeared from their view. Then what the Doctor will always call the voice of a goddess spoke saying two words she really wanted to hear

“Hello Sweetie” with a certain amount of flair only River Song could pull off “Sorry but he likes the sound of his own voice way too much and he would have started on done sort of long dramatic speech I did us all a favour by stopping him and may I just say he was being too dramatic it was only a tiny nip he was annoying me”

“None of your bites are tiny” The Doctor muttered under her breath, softly rubbing her neck

“What was that sweetie” the woman who now stood exactly where the Master previously had been not 2 minutes ago and she seemed to radiate so much power it rivaled if not more then him, now smirking down at the Doctor “I didn't quite catch that”

“It was nothing dear” the Doctor full on squeaked and flustered about, before looking her straight in the eye “I just missed you”

The Doctor and River seemed to be in a world of their own cataloguing each others every features savouring each curve, freckle, remembering the exact colour of each others eye and-

“Yes, yes, your happy to see your curly haired half-breed, can you stop now I think I'm going to puke” Missy said breaking the spell over the wives “Also how did you escape whatever other me used to trap you, did I keep all the brains when I regenerated?”

Both they both silently decided to just completely ignore Missy and turned to the Doctor’s fam when Graham finally decided to speak up

“Um doc, what's going on? And who's that?”

“Aww you're still going around not telling people about me? Do I embarrass dear?” the space hair woman put on a pout and looked over at her wife. The Doctor blushed and looked away before muttering

“It's too hard to explain our timelines on its own that's without adding all the other stuff, plus, it never came up”

River looked as if she was about to answer, but instead her eyes just widened she tensed up and collapsed

“River!” the Doctor cried, her voice breaking and on her face was pure terror for her wife, this shocked her fam as they were used to seeing her with bright smiles and a cheery attitude even if it seemed a bit fake at times.

“Oh don't be so dramatic! She's only unconscious” the Master said as he kicked River out of the projection and reclaimed his spot once more, rubbing his left hand, that was now covered in blood from the bite off the back of his head, where he had been hit “You really thought I would keep you pet assassin without precautions did you? “

“What have you done to her?!”

The Master’s infamous manic grin formed on his face as he held up a remote “I have put a little incentive in the shape of about 50 eltronic shock emitters…… meaning your trained psychopath has multiple tiny devices, that I can use these little beauties to just knock her out but they can also send out a powerful enough shock to fry all three brain stems and stop her hearts from pathetically beating, she would be completely stone dead never to live again”

“Do you understand the time ripples that will send, the timelines will be destroyed, would you really do that just to get at me?”

“Oh you don't know? Oh this is amazing!” the manic grin seemed to grow even bigger on his face as he watched the Doctor's confusion “Oh come on Doctor why haven't you got it yet, do I need to spell it out for you?” the Master questioned teasingly “You get it lady version don't you or did I take all the brains with me when I became my own being?”

“Of course I know, I figured it out when she first teleported into my beautiful Tardis” Missy snapped back

The Doctor looked between the two masters, looking truly lost, before looking straight at the Master

“what do you mean?” she was confused, angry and was on the verge of snapping and she needed answers quickly

“It means that this River Song is from after the Library, it means that this is your supposed lover after you failed to save her, it means that your wife could die all over again and you would be failing her, letting her die all over again just after she was saved”

The Doctor’s face was pure joy at the thought of her wife being once again alive, after such a long time, then her face hardened at one fact the Master lied they always did trying to find the best way to destroy her, having hope again only to lose it again would be the final step in the her destruction.

“Did you really think I would fall for that, getting my hopes up so that even when I save River from you, I will once again have to send her along to her death like every other time”

“Do you really believe I'm that cruel?” Missy asked annoyed “I did see you after Darillium after all”

The Doctor winced at the name of her home for 24 years, the last place she had ever seen River before this

“Yes yes I do” the Doctor snapped at Missy who then had the audacity to look upset. She then turned back to the Master and asked

“What do you want?”

“Finally the question I have been wanting to hear” the Master sneered down at her “Let's meet up and discuss, how about the ruins of Galifrey at our favorite spot, bring lady version won't you don't want to have her getting in the way somehow” and his hologram disappeared leaving once again silence.

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Oh I didn't realize you'd seen Suits! I'm curious about what you thought of the final season if you're caught up? I couldn't get into it. They caved to Faye Richardson way too easily

It's been a while since I last watched it, but yes I have!

In general, I like the show and I like the concept of all the characters being arguably terrible people who carry out the will of the mega-corporations and make ungodly amounts of money in the process, all just to "kick some ass." But like...they're still so human. I adore Louis, he's easily my favorite. Especially his character growth in Season 8. Jessica is a boss, and she went out like a boss. Harvey is compelling, and I like the whole storyline between him and his mother. "The Painting" is probably my favorite episode for that reason. Mike is...annoying sometimes, but still someone I grew to care about. He wants to do the right thing, but he loves to say that he's a good person more than he actually is one. Rachel's importance seemed to decline after a while, but I am glad they kept the relationship drama to a minimum. She had neat storylines. Donna...oh god. Donna is likeable to me...at first. But the show keeps trying to portray her as this flawless superwoman that she just isn't, and never holds her accountable. Don't get me started on Donna, I have a whole rant about her.

Season 9 is...an interesting beast. I'll fully admit that I am not well versed in New York law, but I agree with you - I have my doubts about the realism of everything that happened. Can the New York Bar really just assume total control of an independent firm whenever they want? Do they have that much power? I can't find anything in my research that suggests they do, but if there are any lawyers out there in real life who are reading this, by all means correct me. I just find it hard to believe that they can order a firm to change who's name is on the wall, and if the firm refuses, they can appoint a new managing partner? They can threaten to fire every single employee of the firm if Louis doesn't sign over absolute control? How does that work, why don't the other named partners have to sign? Why can't all of them outvote her, when that's how the firms have always worked? Here's my question. If the Bar can do all of this, why haven't they yet? Why did it take nine seasons?

Faye Richardson is frustrating because I believe she's meant to be a case of reality ensues, the real world catching up to the shady lead characters. Trouble is, she's not a straight shooter herself. In the very first episode, she uses Mike's fraud cause as one of the examples, and flat out ignores the point that there's no proof Harvey or Louis knew. (Alex and Samantha weren't even there when this happened.) She just says "Where there's smoke, there's fire." Okay, great line. But it's not proof. Later on in the season, they find leverage on her, and opt to not use it because "it would destroy her image of her father" to which I say...really? The daughter is an adult, and it's not like her father killed someone. She'll get over it. Meanwhile Faye tries to keep the moral high ground by saying "I crossed one line in my career, for my family. That's not the same thing as what you do." Like...that doesn't matter, Faye. You can't have your cake and eat it too. If you want to argue that what you did is justifiable, then you are admitting that crossing lines can be justifiable in the right circumstances, which kills your entire premise for being at the firm. Everyone could argue that their case is "different."

Why is this a problem? Because they make her so unlikeable, such a frustrating antagonist, that whatever lesson she's supposed to be teaching? I don't want the characters to learn. Watching this season, I want them to defeat her using the same shady tactics they always have. Am I supposed to root for the idea that they'll learn better, and stop crossing lines? Because if so, they created a pretty terrible representative of that argument. And if I'm supposed to root for Faye being defeated so the firm can carry on being shady...then what's the point of any of this? Faye even demands that Harvey and Louis represent her and if they get her acquitted for wrongfully terminating Samantha (which she did) then she'll "consider her job done" and tell the Bar that the firm has passed the test. Like, oh my god. You are every bit as corrupt as Harvey. Just admit it. And in the end, Harvey has to leave the firm to make her go away, even though they've got her dead to rights and she just wont' accept it? Why does she have to accept it? They already won! I know it's what he wants, to go work with Mike...but still. Faye is an annoying character.

Other than the main storyline, Season 9 was pretty solid. I'm glad Mike came back, and I am so glad that it lasted more than just the one episode, that he was there for the finale. They managed to wrap it up rather decently. I am so glad Louis got to be a father, and bonus points for his daughter not being named for an existing character (I hate that trope and I was so expecting it from someone like Louis.) Harvey is at his most mature this season and I'm glad he gets to be happy with Donna, I'm glad they gave us a full season of the two of them without the drama, even though I stopped shipping them at around like, Season 5. (Donna going back to work for Harvey was just one reset button too many.) Louis leading the firm when all is said and done makes me happy, as does Katrina getting her name on the wall. I also appreciate the lampshading that holy shit, they need to stop changing the name of this place. The death of Lily was something I didn't see coming but damn did it hit me hard. That probably remains the greatest story this show ever told, that of Harvey and his mother.

[lucarioisinthevoid]

I hate to be That Guy but I feel like the interaction with Dave {or whatever the thing in Hell is} was leading up to something. It's likely too early to ask for elaboration but I have no impulse control and not enough dopamine so I'm going to not so vaguely indicate that I want to see more if there is more to see. If there has to be a cast perhaps Mangle, Toy Chica, Ballora and of course Springtrap. If it isn't that deep, I'm sorry I wasted your time! Have a good whatever time you read this at.

(Absolutely be That Guy™, I LOVE That Guy™! Though frankly, I feel like you’re overhyping this, while I do have a bit of story around, it’s no good. Ah, whatever, there’s only like- 35 more days of this stuff, so it doesn’t matter if I write myself into corners. All these drabbles are EXCLUSIVELY written with zero brain, but still, thank you very much for that request. While I would LOVE to make a drabble with that cast, because it’s a fun one that crawls into your office directly, it wouldn’t be that lore heavy. So instead these people are just going to be cameos. Also, jumping forward in time by a fair bit Warning for a fair bit of torture!)

Time didn’t work right here. Time passed, but it didn’t. Not at all. He was allowed to drink and occasionally eat in the saferoom, but… Everything that would be an temporal indicator was gone. No natural light, no physical change coming from this body- At least he was still breathing and bleeding, but that didn’t make it much easier to define the timeframe he was in. Over and over and over. The night started over and over and over. He was growing more and more sick of it. The only interesting thing left… … was dying. It gave him the chance to talk to the animatronics- and to get to know the someone who was behind this place. The one he shouldn’t have killed. It was such a peculiar title. So pompous, it must have been made up by a child. But who the hell could that be?! There had been too many kids. The only really noteworthy ones being Lucas and Charlie. Yet it didn’t see like they were here- A meeting with the Marionette had been enough to prove as much. The day the words “I don’t hate you” came from the dangly creature’s mouth was the day he would simply vanish from the universe. And Lucas? Lucas was too kind, too hesitant- he had preserved his gentle nature, fighting only when absolutely necessary. There was no way he would create an entire torture location. Hell, he had even tried to ask Scott, but he refused to talk about it. All he guaranteed was that it wasn’t him. No, no, it had to be a kid- everything about this place told him that. He knew how kids worked and what they liked. A baddie that attacked you killed you within a second just because you didn’t watch his show? Ludicrous. And no, he wouldn’t talk about Toy Freddy. Some of the animatronics had nothing of interest to say- But many did. The real bothersome point that had been standing out to him was how… actually friendly the machines were. Yes, they HURT him, but they called him a friend, cracked jokes and their attacks oftentimes seemed like mere petty retaliation… as if they didn’t really meant for any permanent harm. In a world where nothing left permanent harm, their retaliations became rather vicious. An exception were the nightmares, but it seemed to be in their nature. Henry made notes where he could, as well as getting used to their method of attack and torture. It was a double win- … … yet he hated it. It frustrated him to have to invite some of them in. It felt filthy. Death was something intimate. If someone killed you, there should be some sort of purpose, some sort of connection there. It was another mark you could leave on a person. There was something appalling about offering your body, regardless in what way. At least to him. Alas, his blood was the only currency still existing in this world and at least he got to pick and choose when he would be torn to pieces, most of the time. By now he had become good enough. Good enough. Barely. Impatiently he clicked his nails on the table, quickly putting on the mask as the room started flickering. Toy Chica peeked through his eyeholes, grinning. “… and? Who has the honor today, Henryyyy?” “Not you.” “Aw! How unfair!” She pouted, looking out of the doors, trying to spot Ballora, who both of them could hear moving in the back. “We had sooooo much fun last time! What? You want Ballora to-“ “You testing out your cannibalistic fantasies is not my definition of fun, dear. And no. I need to talk to someone else.” “Pft.” Pouting she moved away, slinking back into the vent on the ground. “Fine! Have fun I guess. Better not let me catch you without the mask! Because if I get to win, I get to win, no exceptions.” “There will be no problems with that.” Henry quietly sighed, taking off the old mask. It wasn’t even a Fredbear mask. For some reason it was one of the most disappointing things about this place. Ballora drew close and he carefully closed the door on her, trying not to interrupt her routine too much. Nothing ruined a good melody like the sound of stomping doors. Today he wasn’t worried about the power running out. It all stopped once one of them entered. Everything stopped once one of them entered. A rule. Many rules. And none of them made much sense. Again his nails tapped on the table, anxious and almost angry. Mangle was probably already caught in a vent-snare… … but William took far too long to get here. William. Dave. Davetrap. Never mind that. Finally, the bemused mask of the rotten bunny appeared in the vents, staring down at him. “… having fun?” “… Dave. Good to see you.” Henry stared up to him. “We need to talk.” “Eh… I dunno…” Playfully Dave began crawling back inside. “I’m not in the m-“ “You can come in.” Instantly he had ALL of Dave’s attention, even though he wished he didn’t. It was always a little uncomfortable to see William overly excited, and usually he knew what exactly it was about at least- he wasn’t sure about this one. He wouldn’t put it past William to be elated over the chance to hurt him. Without repercussions. “Really?” His one ear twitched as he stared down, transfixed. Predatory animals, with two of their eyes in front. Human always have been predator and prey at once and Henry had known it from the very beginning, he had seen it in himself and others. It was merely more apparent in William specifically, him and his unstrained behavior controlled by nothing but instinct. “Really.” And yet still- this place was a hellish mess and his mind was just as much of one- it reminded him of back then, when William was utterly excited about an event. ‘Is it actually happening? Really?!’ Really. Pleased Dave laughed, loudly. An ugly laugh when you were on the receiving end. “I told ya, Henry. I told ya you’d do it.” “… you know me well.” Quietly he watched Dave move out, swiftly and nimbly- “… and you seem to know this place too.” “Is that why ya let me in?” “… not only. But I might as well ask you while you are here, correct?” “Hm.” His eyes wandered over Henry’s body. Probably wondering which limb he should separate from his body first. Henry shuddered. Dave got comfortable in front of the office table, smiling. Everything else had gone quiet, the power not even being visible anymore- But the timer was. Midnight. Putting his feet on the table and leaning back on the little chair that he had gotten from who-knows-where, the cyborg grinned.”… alright then! I was worried you’d might be disappointed, since I don’t know anythin’ about this place!” “You do not?” “Nah.” “… then how did you get here?” “Uhhhhh, probably for the same reason you’re here?” “… but you did not DIE.” “I didn’t?” Frustrated the Pink Guy leaned back too, taking a deep breath. This wasn’t going anywhere. “… what is the last thing you remember?” Cheerfully Dave giggled. “I don’t remember anything! Never had any memory! Head empty!” Henry wasn’t stupid enough to believe that. Dave liked messing with others- play-pretend stupidity that was aided by his genuine habit of being rather emotional- but they had spent far too much time together to have that work. “… I know you are lying.” Instantly the mood changed, even if Davetrap didn’t change the slightest bit about his pose. “Ah! Ya do? Or do ya just think ya do?!” Again he snickered. “Either way. I don’t know anythin’ that could be useful for you.” “Maybe I am not out for anything useful? Maybe I am simply worried about you and how you have gotten yourself into a suit?” Dave laughed, loudly, but Henry continued. “… do you need my help to get out of it?” “No.” It was cold. And Henry responded in kind. “… see that is how I know you are not down here for the same reason as me. So why are you here? Why would the one I should not have killed brought you here…? After all- you and me, we most likely killed him together.” Tilting his head slightly, the other guy inspected him and for a moment Henry tensed up, expecting to be attacked- but Dave simply relaxed, changing his pose, allowing his legs dangling over the side of the chair. “Hey, Henry! Did ya miss me?” All smiles and ice cream. “… it seems pretty lonely and borin’ in this office. And it feels like we haven’t talked in a long time…” For a moment the Pink Guy stayed quiet, watching the other one, who continued. “We’ve done so much fun stuff together! This place might not be all that bad if we stick together, right?” He paused. “That of course only means anythin’ if ya WANT to spend time with me. If ya miss me when I’m gone. So. Did you?” Slowly Henry stretched his fingers. “… of course I missed you, Dave.” Both of them watched each other, the air prickling. Then, once more, Dave was laughing again. “That’s why I like you, Henry. You can do such pretty things with your mouth and mind. Sayin’ JUST the right things. I always love when you talk to me. Or about me. Everything you say is like a charm, making things so much better than they actually are. The thing is- Henry- with a gift like that, I can’t ever know if ya MEAN it.” Leaning in, Davetrap inspected him, his big, white eyes almost all-consuming. “… if ya missed me, how come you’ve spent time with anybody but me recently? Ya invited plenty of people into the office. Despite knowing I was the one asking POLITELY for it.” Ridiculous. … yet Henry had to play along. “Please, remain calm my friend. I was talking to them first, because I was gathering intel. Last time I was not informed enough, and you seemed… displeased. Was I incorrect?” It was amazing how much emotion this mask could still show. Just below the rotting maw, the little shine, a grin and not a fun one, judging by how it didn’t reach his eyes. “You have an excuse for everything, don’t you Henry?” “Or perhaps I am simply being genuine and elaborate on my feelings and decisions as you ask me. You on the other hand seem rather hostile today. Would you like to explain why you are so aggressive towards me?” Both of them looked at the other, and while they couldn’t walk in that perfect circle that pacing and threatening humans always seem to fall into, their bodies still conveyed the same. Then, once again, Dave tilted into the other direction, his large ear following suit, smiling. “Aggressive? I ain’t aggressive, Henry! I’m just curious! Quit bein’ so tense all the time!” Slowly losing his patience, Henry rubbed his temples. “Okay, then. I do believe you are at least partially real. But logically you must have arrived from a different timeline than me, one where you died and got put into a suit. Why would you be so mad at me however?” Standing up from his chair, Dave slowly moved over, as Henry turned as far to the side as he could to keep an eye on him. “Ya need a massage, Henry.” “You know I dislike to be touched.” “Welp, is it MY fault you’ve made yourself so tense that you now need a massage?!” Offended the animatronic stopped, leaning down to him. Smelling like oil and peppermint. “Ya really should let me do what’s best for ya.” That WAS a threat. … at least if this thing snapped his neck, it would be quick, painless and unpersonal. Slowly and quietly Henry breathed out. “… alright then, Dave. Please continue.” Yet, even if he had made the agreement, didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous about it. When the fuzzy fingers touched his shoulders he almost jumped, drawing another, somewhat sadistic chuckle out of his former friend. “It’s funny to see ya like this.” “I live to entertain.” Yet another chuckle. “… ya sure do.” The fingers starting massaging, digging themselves into and against the muscles causing Henry barely anything else but pain. Sure- him tensing up his shoulders didn’t help at all, but he couldn’t react any other way, the impulse to tense up was simply bypassing his brain. The other man behind him was simply humming his favorite melody. In the hall of the mountain king. “… remember when I taught you how to play it?” Trying to relax Henry began reminiscing. “Hmmm… yeah! That was fun! I dunno why people didn’t try to teach me an instrument before that, I think I would have really loved learnin’ it. Good that I met you!” “Indeed. Good that you met me.” … there was discomfort, a genuine feeling of worry. Fear? Was this fear? A fear not caused by the direct expectation of physical harm, but instead by- By what? He was probably just- not really comfortable with the thought of not having William in his grasp anymore. William was like him- and that was why he liked and why he despised him. Whatever came into William’s head, he would do and there was nothing Henry could do to prevent it. Part of him would be somewhat relieved if Dave just- murdered him right here and fast. … giving up so early wasn’t really his thing however. “Will- Dave.” “Yeah?” The guy was still squishing and mushing away at Henry’s shoulders, seemingly not caring THAT much about actually relaxing his friend. “What’cha want?” “… I only wanted to ask… do you like it here?” For a minute or so Dave paused, really thinking about it. “It ain’t the worst. I get to play with ya, no fuzz, no more havin’ to try and shut down Freddy’s or kill kiddens.” Slowly his focused back on Henry, his next words deliberate. “… don’t ya think so? Immortality and animatronics, what’s not to love? Sure, the torture is a lil’ sucky, but hey, ya said you’d do ANYTHING to become immortal.” Something scraped over the back of Henry’s mind. Was Dave being manipulated to comply? Sold a false image of perfection? … or was he simply trying to torment him, trying to fool him into thinking that he ever asked for this? Either way. Leaning back, Henry tried to look at him, choosing his next words carefully. “… while I appreciate my robotic works being with me and having no reason to fear death- I do dislike the repetitive loop at the unending threat of pain. I feel… bored. Do you not sometimes wish for variety?” “Everythin’ is a loop, Henry. Ya gotta be happy with the loop you get stuck in.” “… you need more ambition, Dave. Accepting and endless repetitive cycle is almost as low as accepting death. There is no perfection to be found in remaining with the same variables.” Dave sighed and retracted his hands, causing Henry to sit up straight. “It’s fine. It’s fine. You’ll never be happy.” “Excuse me?” “… what would ya still want, Henry? What is it that you’re lookin’ for right now?” “I-“ Shortly Dave leaned over to check the clock. “Whoops! Five AM.” Pleased he turned his head to Henry, who had stood up as well, trying to get some distance between them. “Ya know the rules! I’m inside, I gotta… keep ya busy. Give you a bit of a slap around.” “You will hurt me.” Henry’s voice was blank. He wasn’t really surprised. But the Springbonnie just shrugged. “Oh, well- I never said I wouldn’t. I said I’d help ya. Which I will!” Taking out his array of tools, from within the damaged parts of the suit. Of course Henry was familiar with them. Acid spray, a tool with sharp edges to scoop anything out, knives, a tool to part the tissue when needed- Cleaning. Disinfecting. Getting out an infestation. The psychopath was giggling to himself, as he sat the things down, Henry suppressing his desire to run away with all his strength. No point to it. It only would serve to make him look pathetic. More pathetic than he already was, in this senseless situation. “Ya know, I’m really happy I get the chance! Ya said ya were the Lord of the Flies… but you gave me the tools to get all the crawlers out. What will happen to ya? Will you be purified? Or simply emptied completely? Do ya think hell is there to make people into better versions of themselves?” No answer. He sighed, signing towards the chair. “Sit down again, Henry. I’ll make sure ya won’t die! Not even for a moment. You will see this procedure through to the end…” No escape. He knew the procedure. The body needed to be cut open, like an autopsy. This would lead to plenty blood going everywhere- William had never been a surgeon. Too impatient, too jumpy, too- careless. But after all, he didn’t try to put it back together- he wanted to clean it, fast and efficient. The stomach and intestines were first, cut open and then the lining was being scooped off. The stomach had nerves. Some of the rest of the organs thankfully didn’t. Eyes too, eyes had to go. The tongue as well- and then acid would be pushed up the nose, letting it sit there, Dave believing it would clean out the brain before he would have to drill into it. You would have to deal with less of a swarm exiting the brain like that. But before that? Heart and lungs. William was obsessively exact and radically reliable in how he did this section. He believed he had to be. There were no bugs crawling, no insects nesting in pockets of rotting flesh. But Henry doubted William cared. Nor did he himself care, as the all-consuming pain purged thoughts first- And mercifully, eventually, the life itself too.

[tonystarktogo]

Hey so I can't reblog your drabble about Morgan and Tony because I'm keeping my blog spoiler free for a while longer, but can I just say it's AMAZING!!! I really love your writing voice as Morgan! I hope you extend that story because I'd love to read more of it :)

No problem, I totally get that (and I’m sure your followers appreciate it! I just didn’t have the patience, I needed to get me feelings on this movie out there lol) Anyways, I’m glad you like it cause I really enjoy writing Morgan. So here are a few more snippets from that ‘verse: 

[still contains spoilers for Avengers: Endgame, character death and suicide in a fashion]

Morgan Stark is nine years old the first time she visits her dad on purpose.

(It’s not actually that hard because humans are soft, squishy things, just like Mr Hulk told her once before Mom hastily ushered her away to have a chat with him. She takes care not to make a mess – Mom always panics when Morgan wakes up covered in blood, even if it isn’t her fault. And she really doesn’t want to worry Mom. So she swallows lots of sleeping pills instead. Morgan doesn’t like that at all. Makes her brain go all fuzzy and real slow and her body feel heavy until she’s almost sinking, even though there isn’t any water anywhere near her and Morgan hates it.

She wakes up with cotton in her mouth and a pounding behind her temples and covered in throw-up. So not doing that again, even if Dad hadn’t made her promise to never come visit him again on purpose.

Can dead people suffer a heart attack?)

*

Morgan Stark is nine and three-quarters years old the first time she spends Christmas with her dad again.

(She doesn’t do it on purpose, not really. Because Dad made her promise and Morgan takes her promises very seriously – and she’s never seen her Dad, who isn’t afraid of anything, not even Thanos, so panicked.

But it’s a bad day and Christmas isn’t supposed to be bad. Christmas is supposed to be a family holiday. Morgan wakes up in a terrible mood because it’s Christmas and her dad isn’t gonna be there and it’s not his fault but that doesn’t make it fair. It doesn’t help that she hasn’t seen him in forever because of that stupid promise.

She gets into an argument with Mom who’s trying, trying, trying, but Morgan can’t talk about this with her and it’s so much easier to start yelling about which dress to wear for the big party Morgan doesn’t want to attend. Then she’s running out of the door, doesn’t look back, world blurry and unfocused, and Morgan doesn’t hear the blaring car horn until it’s too late.)

[Dad is that weird mixture of happy and sad when he sees her. Morgan swears that it was an accident, that she’s keeping her promise, but he just hugs her until she stops trembling, then asks her which car she’d like to take apart.

The workshop is bigger than Morgan remembers it being, bathed in a humming, pulsing blue light that soothes her and makes Dad tip his head back and forth rhythmically. They spend Christmas Eve like that, taking an old engine apart, her Dad walking her through the different steps and adding little stories of what he did with the various cars around them while they’re working. They’re covered in oil and dirt by the end of it, and Morgan feels light enough to float away.]

Morgan races back home as quickly as she can and pulls her Mom into a big hug, mumbling “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” until Mom presses a kiss to her forehead and tells her all is forgiven. It’s a good thing there wasn’t much blood this time or Morgan would’ve completely ruined her dress. And if Mom notices the engine oil under her finger nails, she doesn’t say a word.

The party isn’t as bad as Morgan thought it would be either.

(That night, she falls asleep with her Dad’s old arc reactor on her pillow, bathing her room in blue light.)

*

Morgan Stark is ten years old the first time her dad isn’t alone when she stops by.

(Supervillains have become a thing again in the last two years, once the world recovered from the shock of having the lost ones returned, or so Mom tells her. Morgan hadn’t really cared beyond watching the occasional fight on TV. That gets a whole lot harder when some stupid guy in a bloated, black and yellow suit that makes him look like an oddly-deformed bumblebee almost blows up her school.

One moment, Morgan is racing through equations that are way too obvious, the next she’s sent flying. It’s not instant, this time. And not painless either. That’s what happens when you get a wall dropped onto you, crushing your arms and legs but somehow missing your head.

From afar, Morgan hears shouts and yells and sirens, but she’s too happy to finally trip to care.)

[There’s a woman sitting in a chair in Dad’s workshop. She’s sipping on some fancy drink with a lot of fruits on top of it that Morgan eyes curiously, her feet resting on the table. Her hair is an odd red-and-white-blonde color and Morgan gets the brief impression of a couple of strangers showing up at their home, of chatting with Dad until he’s angry, of Dad leaving and not coming back.

Abstractly, Morgan knows Natasha Romanoff. She knows everyone who didn’t survive that last fight against Thanos – mostly because the list is a whole lot shorter than the one after the first battle.

For some reason, even though she knows Miss Natasha used to be a friend of Mom and Dad, Morgan hadn’t expected to run into her here. Miss Natasha watches her through narrowed eyes, not unfriendly exactly, but thoughtful. Dad sweeps her into a hug, then introduces them and if it wasn’t for the meaningful way in which Miss Natasha says, “Tony,” it would have been like any other time Mom drags her along to meet her friends.

Dad shrugs and shakes his hand – there’s a lot exchanged there that Morgan doesn’t really understand – and then Morgan starts rambling about her grades and Mom’s date and the stupid attack on her school while Dad shows her how to fix her arc reactor nightlight and Miss Natasha sips on her drink and watches.

“Do you know Clint Barton?” Miss Natasha suddenly asks, interrupting Dad in a list of acceptable responses to stupid teachers who can’t admit when they’re wrong.

Morgan frowns. Runs through the many people she’s met at some point or another, some at Dad’s funeral, some in front of his grave, some outside of all that. Nods.

Miss Natasha smiles. It’s an evil expression Morgan can’t wait to learn.]

Spiderman is the one to frantically push the rubble aside until he finds Morgan coughing up a storm from all the dust. She can hear his heavy sigh of relief and squeezes his hand in wordless comfort.

“Thank god!” he says emphatically. “It’s a freaking miracle you didn’t get squashed, kiddo!”

Morgan’s too busy coughing to respond.

*

Morgan Stark is fifteen years old the first time she builds herself a suit.

It makes Mom cry and Dad make her promise to be safe and be smart and leave the hero-stuff to the old smartasses like Captain America – Dad calls him Cap 2.0 – before he sits her down and talks programming and welding with her. Really, it’s not like she wants to fight anyways. Morgan just wants to fly.

It falls apart before she even gets to the testing stage. Not that it stops her. She’ll just have to make the next one better.

[shi-daisy]

Honeymoon

Hello everyone! We're on day two of Ulquihime Week, and I'm super excited! Why you ask? Well because I absolutely love the prompts for this day in particular 😏 (a.k.a and excuse to write fluffy smut of my OTP) Nah, but joking aside, I've been wanting to write a Honeymoon scene with these two for a while and now I get to, which is neat. I hope you all like!

@ulquihimeweek

Ulquihime Week - Day 2: First Glance/ Desire

Honeymoon

"You don't have to do this, you know." Orihime chuckled as her husband carried her through the door of the suite.

"It is a human tradition for husbands to carry their brides this way." Ulquiorra protested. "I intend for this vacation to be perfect and that includes following the aforementioned traditions. Now, I want you to relax and unwind. You must be tired from greeting everyone."

That was partially true. While the wedding and reception had been close to perfect, Orihime was still a little sore from walking in heels all day.

"I'll take a rest on the bed then. You should take a bath, after all, I wasn't the only one who had to run around greeting everyone."

Ulquiorra nodded and obeyed. Leaving her with the room to herself.

Orihime quickly put her plan into motion, setting up candles, rose petals and carefully taking off her wedding dress. Underneath it she was wearing a white skin tight lingerie set, it had a simple pattern and transparent socks, still, she felt self-conscious wearing it.

'Maybe I shouldn't have let the girls talk me into doing this. What if Ulquiorra doesn't like It? What if I get stuck in this? Maybe I ate too much cake...! What if-?!'

Orihime was so distracted she didn't notice Ulquiorra had come out of the bath. He was blushing profusely, his eyes were glued to her, and he was still slightly wet from the bath.

"This is certainly a surprise." His voice was deep and laced with lust. "I didn't know you had such tastes, Mrs. Schiffer."

She shivered at the mention of her new last name. Ulquiorra walked towards her, crashing their lips together in a heated kiss. Orihime let him lay her softly down on the pillows.

The silk sheets were soft against her bare back, still, she was getting goosebumps wherever her husband touched her.

Ulquiorra's hands wandered through her legs, then her sides, her chest, and even her neck, eventually his fingers stopped at her lips. "Are you nervous?"

"A little. I know this isn't the first time we've done this but...it is our first night as husband and wife. I want it to be perfect. Is that silly?"

"Not at all. I understand how you feel. It's been stressful having to deal with the wedding and all the planning. But we are together now, and every moment with you it's perfect. Just relax my dear, let us enjoy this night."

Orihime smiled and answered with a kiss.

Soon all the lace garments were on the floor, the only light in the room came from the candles, and their heavy breathing was the only sound heard in the room.

Ulquiorra's eyes looked as if they were glowing, she was always mesmerized by that gaze.

"Did you always look at me this way?"

Ulquiorra chuckled. "From the first glance, I've kept my eyes solely on you."

"Good. I want both your eyes and your hands solely on me."

"Getting impatient, aren't we? Then I suppose I must satisfy you."

Ulquiorra was always gentle, which was something she loved, but tonight Orihime wanted more intensely.

"Ulquiorra, is it okay if I take over?"

He was surprised by the request but immediately agreed. "Very well. You're in charge now Mrs. Schiffer," he whispered.

Orihime's heartbeat was racing as she positioned herself on top of Ulquiorra. He was still staring at her with the same piercing gaze.

"Do whatever you like with me," Ulquiorra told her. It was enough to stir her lustful instincts.

She started with his neck, making sure to leave marks wherever her lips touched. Orihime could hear her husband gasping softly whenever she touched him.

'That's why he likes it when I'm loud.' she thought.

Feeling more devious than usual she took and of his hands and guided it towards her entrance.

"Can you feel how drenched I am? This is your fault, my dear. I crave you badly."

"Then you shall have me."

Ulquiorra kissed her deeply as his fingers prepared her. Orihime didn't worry about being loud, not for the time being.

"I'm ready. Take me now."

Ulquiorra placed his hands on her waist, slowly pushing her down on his length. Orihime moaned, grasping the sheets tightly.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Just a little overwhelmed. Keep going."

They both settled on a fast pace, which grew more frantic over time. Ulquiorra let his lips wander all through his wife's body, taking pleasure in all of her reactions.

"Ulquiorra, please. I'm close."

"Me too." Ulquiorra pulled her close, their foreheads were touching and their breaths were mixing. "Let out your voice for me Orihime. I want to hear it."

She obeyed, not holding back any moans or gasps, Ulquiorra didn't remain quiet either, as they both succumbed to pleasure.

Orihime let herself fall on the fluffy pillows, her tired body finding comfort in the soft material. Ulquiorra was still holding onto her, resting his head on her chest.

"You seem to have a special fascination with my chest." Orihime joked. "Whenever we do this, you place your head there."

"Not just your chest, but rather your heart. You were the first person to ever offer me such a thing."

"You know my heart is yours, all of me is. I love you Ulquiorra."

"I love you too."

Another deep kiss followed, along with sweet touches and flirty words. Hours passed before both of them were fully satisfied.

Exhaustion began to take over until Orihime felt her husband carrying her.

"Ulqui? What are you doing?"

"I've prepared us a bath. So we can sleep better."

Orihime smiled, the bath was filled with warm water, bubbles, and some flower petals. She was fully soothed just by laying there.

Ulquiorra took care of washing her, careful not to disrupt her relaxation. Orihime returned the favor, running her hands through his hair and shampooing it.

"You always look cute in the bath." She giggled.

"I think that's just your drowsiness talking."

"No, I'm sure it's not." she playfully kissed his forehead. "Thanks for such a wonderful night. I'm so happy to be here with you."

"Likewise, my dear."

***

Their 5 weeks of Honeymoon had passed and the couple would soon return to Karakura.

Ulquiorra hated to admit it, but he would miss the beach and the pastel sky. This alone time he had with Orihime had been pure bliss, and a part of him didn't want it to end.

"Ulqui, I need to tell you something before we go back home."

He turned to look at his wife. She was smiling but he could see the worry in her eyes.

"What is it, dear?"

"Um, how do I put it...I think that I might be pregnant."

He was surprised for a moment, but that turned to joy very quickly. "You mean to tell me we'll have a new addition to the Schiffer family?"

"Yes. I'm going to take more tests when we get back home, but I'm almost certain we'll be having a baby."

It didn't happen often, but Ulquiorra felt some tears streaming down his face.

"Oh honey, you're going to make me cry too." Orihime's silver eyes were watering as well.

Ulquiorra pulled her into a soft kiss, and then bent down to kiss her tummy.

"We'll be waiting for you, little one. I can't wait to see you."

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

killer queen

(in which the author is self-indulgent, aziraphale presents as female, and crowley is torn between holding on and letting go)

note: i definitely wrote this while blasting killer queen, but that was probably obvious

this fic was loosely based off this request by @olivianeesan! i really went wild with it but it was fun so hopefully all's well that ends well

i'd like to apologize in advance because my 1920s nerd had a field day writing this lmao

~*~

Go to America, they said. It's the perfect place to plant the seeds of evil, they said.

Well, they'd been right. But that didn't mean Crowley had to like it.

Of course, his dislike wasn't inherent to America, at least not necessarily. Though he'd never admit it, he'd been in a seemingly perpetual bad mood following his falling out with Aziraphale in 1862.

They hadn't spoken since. And 60 years had already passed.

What was worse was that they didn't usually leave off on such a bad note. And even if they did, they would reconcile within a week or two. But this time, they hadn't.

Maybe that was what irked Crowley so much. The lack of reconciliation. Not to mention he wasn't particularly interested in digging through his emotions to figure out what else might be sparking his frustration.

(It was possible, even, that a part of him was afraid to find out.)

That being said, Crowley ended up being pretty successful in America. He was successful everywhere, of course, but Jazz Age America truly was the perfect feeding ground for evil. Americans were always looking for a little sin. Speakeasies, bootlegging, the stock market - corruption flowed through the veins of this country.

Currently, it was the middle of the night, but the speakeasy Crowley resided in was thriving. Men were drinking, flappers were dancing, music echoed around the room - in about a hundred years, he was sure this scene would be quite picturesque.

"Hey," a drunken man slurred, sliding into the seat across from Crowley. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" Crowley muttered, taking a sip of his wine and moving his chair slightly away from the stranger.

"That Killer Queen is coming here tonight."

Crowley paused, processing the news. Interesting. Then he shrugged, not bothering to answer directly. The man appeared to take the hint and left, which was surprising, seeing as he'd smelled like he'd bathed in whiskey.

However, despite the lack of care that he presented, Crowley had to admit his interest was piqued by the man's question. The so-called Killer Queen was an infamous flapper that women hired to "test" their husbands' loyalty. She presumably seduced them to see if they were willing to cheat. It was only a thing among the elite, really.

(No one knew what Killer Queen's day job was, either, but a few rumors were floating around that she worked as a psychiatrist who focused on the trauma of abused women.)

Killer Queen was loved by half of the male population and hated by the rest. Despite this, no one could deny their attraction to her, including or perhaps especially other women.

If she did show up, Crowley had to admit that he'd be interested in meeting her.

"Oh my God!" a flapper with short black hair shrieked as she rush into the speakeasy, her feather boa slipping off her shoulders. "She's coming! She's really coming!"

Huh. Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

Crowley took another sip of his wine, then nearly choked on it as the Killer Queen entered the room.

He'd recognize those blue eyes anywhere.

"Angel?!" he sputtered. He cursed, almost biting his tongue as he realized it might have been better to keep his mouth shut.

Aziraphale glanced across the speakeasy, her eyes widening as she saw Crowley. Crowley tried to look away and pretend he hadn't seen her, but it was too late. As Aziraphale passed by his table, she sent him a look that said:

Meet me in a private room in ten minutes.

In reality, it wasn't her look that spoke, but rather her words were spoken telepathically into Crowley's mind. Sometimes being a supernatural being was convenient, even if telepathy did feel rather invasive. Tended to leave a person with an itch on the back of the neck.

Crowley found himself unable to take his eyes off Aziraphale as she walked away. The angel rarely presented as female, but he found her to be as beautiful as ever. The glittery silver flapper dress she wore hugged her curves in a way reminiscent of Bessie Smith.

Wait.

He was supposed to be angry at the angel. Not ogling her.

(Fortunately, Crowley had always been very good at multitasking.)

~*~

Crowley pulled the door shut after entering the private room, tossing his hat down on the table. "Fancy running into you here, angel. And as a flapper, of all the fashion trends to choose from."

Aziraphale's face turned a pretty shade of pink, and she fidgeted with the strings of pearls hanging around her neck. "I needed to, well, it was necessary to assimilate myself as a bit of a party girl, my dear."

"So I've heard, Killer Queen." Crowley sat down across from the angel, not particularly regretting the acidity of his tone. "You know, you could just admit that you came to fraternize with the American elite. Wouldn't hurt my feelings."

Aziraphale stared at him, her face revealing no emotion whatsoever. Then she sighed, tucking an escaped strand of her wavy blonde hair behind her ear. (The angled cut looked good on her, much to Crowley's irritation and attraction.) "I take it you're still... angry about 1862."

Angry? No, he wasn't angry. Betrayed, perhaps. Frustrated. Tired of the 60 years of resentment that still boiled inside of him. But not angry.

(How could he ever be angry at her?)

Crowley didn't bother to grace the angel with an answer to her question.

Aziraphale bit her lip, which Crowley noticed was an action cuter than it had any right to be. "Will you at least tell me why you're here? In America?"

Crowley shrugged. "Corrupting souls. Committing evil deeds. The like."

"Such as...?"

The silver ribbon that was tied around Aziraphale's forehead and threaded through her blonde hair was distracting, though not as distracting as the lower-than-usual cut of her silver dress.

Damn, he was whipped.

"Urging Prohibition along, for one. Inciting a bit of gang violence. I've already gotten two commendations for encouraging bootlegging and for my help in facilitating the development of increased organized crime."

Aziraphale chuckled, resting her elbows on the table and placing her chin on her hands. "I should have known your lot was behind Prohibition. The intention of the movement seemed too good to be true."

"Without Prohibition, there'd be no speakeasies, no bootlegging, no Al Capone. As humans say, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. And while that's not literally accurate, it is what happened here." Crowley noticed that the angel's nails were perfectly manicured. The relaxed manner in which she sat was ridiculously poised. "Anyways. Care to tell me what you're doing in America, Miss Killer Queen? Besides the whole 'seducing humans to test their loyalty to their partners' affair."

Huh. That came out more bitter than he intended.

Aziraphale frowned. "Who told you that?" She rolled her eyes. "Trust me, my dear. I have not 'seduced' anyone. Besides, I only agree to help the women whose husbands I know are unfaithful."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "And how are you able to tell, exactly?"

Aziraphale pursed her lips (which were painted a rich crimson, and Crowley couldn't stop staring at them), then sighed. "My dear... Trust me when I tell you that there is nothing more painful than being in a room with two people, one of whom is in love with every fibre of their being, while the other feels nothing. Worst is when they never have, and they never will."

For a moment, Crowley did not respond, simply staring at the angel.

He wanted nothing more than to hold Aziraphale close to him and kiss her senseless, to kiss her with the passion of someone who'd been in love for almost 6000 years.

But he couldn't. He'd never be able to.

An angel could never love a demon. Not like that.

And thus, therein lay the problem. He did understand. Or at the very least, he was deathly afraid that he did.

Crowley laughed. It was harsh. Bitter. "No, angel. I understand plenty." He stood abruptly, unable to be in her company any longer. "I've got to be going." If he stayed even another minute, he might say something he'd regret. "I know you have holy business to attend to. All that jazz."

Aziraphale stood, too, her brow furrowed in confusion. "But you've only just got here!" Her face reddened, and she broke eye contact with the demon. "Not to mention that it's been... It's been a while since we last saw each other, and - and had a chance to... Talk."

"I have to go," Crowley repeated. He grabbed his hat off the table. "I'm sorry, angel."

"No," Aziraphale murmured. "I'm the one who's sorry." She glanced at Crowley, her expression determined and her blue eyes steely. "But as I said 60 years ago, I refuse to be a part of your self-destruction."

Her stubbornness was as endearing as it was frustrating. "I know," Crowley said simply. He placed his hat on his head before moving around the table to get to Aziraphale, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles, just above the silver ring on her middle finger. "I forgot to mention that you look beautiful," he said as he let go of her hand. "Maybe hold onto that dress for a rainy day. It suits you."

Aziraphale's face turned a deep shade of pink. "O-Oh," she stammered. "Thank you, my dear. That's - That's very kind of you to say."

Crowley turned around to leave, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait." Aziraphale's voice was hushed. Her grip on his shoulder tightened, though not enough to cause any pain. "Will - Will I see you again? Soon?"

Crowley gently shrugged her hand off of him. He didn't turn to face her. "Goodbye, angel."

He was already halfway out the door before she responded.

"My dear boy... Be careful."

And then he was gone.

~*~