#touchily

[youjustwaitsunshine]

—ฅ/ᐠ. ̫ .ᐟ\ฅ —

[vlindervin7]

"43 sonnet" by Caki Wilkinson and/or "Because Nāmakaokahaʻi killed her sister at Kaiwiopele" by No'u Revilla for the poetry asks?

hi!!! thank you so much for introducing these to me, they’re really great

for “43 sonnet” first of all i loved reading abt how it was written anagramically, that was really interesting. and my favourite part of it is

“22. tentatively we 23. somehow 24. the loud echo 25. the détente 26. touchily 27. a wholesome vow 28. the old way 29. cue the wolves 30. the emotion”

it’s the buildup and then the release of it that i really like.

and I LOVE “because Nāmakaokahaʻi killed her sister at Kaiwiopele.” reading abt the context of it was really fascinating and it hit me quite deeply. absolutely stunning. i’m picking the last two stanzas because wow… couldn’t choose

“I imagine grandma explaining

how to brace against my own sister’s

bones. I’d rather starve.

Who will believe in this red, moaning cinder

if I never learn how to hold you?

If I am written as water and you as blood,

who surrenders in the poem first?

Can we kill the poem? Kill it forever.”

[tonnerredebrest]

I NEED MORE MENTALLY STRUGGLING CARLOS POV tnx :)

You absolute menace. Ngl, I wrote this because The Author Went Through Some Harsh Stuff And Needs To Sort Things Out TM. 

HUGE THANKS TO @mish-tique FOR BETA READING! SHE’S AN ABSOLUTE PEARL IN THE CARLANDO MILIEU!

Again, this is NOT reality. Don’t share it outside fandom spaces. Don’t share it with the people involved.

tw: Internalized Homophobia

*****

Carlos can’t say his upbringing had been out of the ordinary. Yes, he had a World Rally Championship-winning dad, he got accustomed to fame pretty quick, and he learned English pretty early on, but that doesn’t mean his education changed. He still went to school, catholic school, and Sunday school, following what millions of Spanish pupils followed, and still follow. He still passed high school and set off in the world. Pretty normal for the majority of the kids born in rich countries. 

Yet, when he first sees Lando, he knows something is wrong with him. As a man, you don’t simply see another man and think “I wanna kiss him, cuddle him, fuck him, and call him love for the rest of my life”, no. You are supposed to have those thoughts towards women and women only. You cannot have them for a pretty British boy, with a smile who brightens your world and warms your heart. 

Before you go on about how he is simply ignorant, Carlos isn’t. He isn’t ignorant. He knows gay people exist, he’s not a boomer, thank you very much. He also knows bisexual people exist, he’s a millennial for Christ’s sake! Yet, while those concepts do wander in his brain, he cannot seem to be able to make them apply to himself. He’s not gay, bi, or something else. Other people are, not him! Carlos is a perfectly straight man, who dates pretty and hot girlfriends, and makes sweetly love to them, absolutely not thinking about a man while doing it. 

No. He loves women too much to be gay. He had too few times those disturbing thoughts towards men to be bi. He is simply normal, a boring heterosexual male. 

But then, why does he get so anxious and pissed off when someone doubts his sexuality? Why is he mad when someone asks him what genders he likes. Why can’t he bring himself to watch a cute gay love story his very own girlfriend recommended? Carlos doesn’t want to think about that, too dangerous territory. 

“Sometimes I don’t understand you,” Isa says, as he declines for the umpteenth time watching Love, Simon. “You act so touchily freely with Lando, giving him heart eyes, but you won’t watch this?”

Carlos doesn’t say a word, keeping looking down. He has nothing to say, mainly because he doesn’t know what to say. It’s not like someone could ever understand what’s going on in his head. It’s not like someone could understand why parts of himself are fighting each other to death. It’s not like his story is normal, he IS normal!

Isa mumbled something he doesn’t quite catch, and Carlos chooses not to reply. Why would he? He leaves her sulking in the living room, as he goes somewhere else, somewhere people won’t go about and ask difficult questions. 

Yet, it seems he can't escape them forever.

It's summer break, and he invited Lando on a weekend echapée at the beach. He doesn't know why he did it, he just feels this deep yearning for Lando every time they are apart for too long. Carlos puts it on the account of the deep friendship they have. It's one of the most intense, pure, and sweet he's ever been in. 

And he is sure it's only friendship feelings between them, even tho he carefully chooses to not think about how his heart skips a beat every time Lando smiles at him, or how the Brit is the last thing he thinks about before sleeping, and the first when he wakes up. 

They are lounging on the beach, lazily tanning under the hot Spanish sun. Lando seems to be reading, and Carlos is sleeping. He dreams of nothing, just letting himself be carried to another realm by the soothing sounds of the ocean, the gentle breeze in the air- wait, was that water?

Carlos feels a sudden coldness on his back, which brings him back to reality. He opens his eyes, to see Lando laughing his ass off, a little empty plastic bucket in his hands. 

“Oh, you motherfucker,” Carlos groans, getting up on his feet. “You are dead cabròn!”

And he launches himself at Lando. The latter, too busy laughing, doesn't have the time to dodge him and finishes on Carlos’s shoulder as if he were a sack of potatoes. 

“Carlos! Let me off!” He screams, to no avail. 

“Oh no, cabròn. To the sea with you!”

And without any ceremony, Carlos dumps Lando in the salt water. The Brit yelps, before getting back up. He devilishly smiles and tackles the Spaniard into the water. 

They are now both wet, and mock fighting in the sea. Water gets thrown in every direction, and their laughter echoes on the private beach they rented. 

After a while, the laughter dies down, they don't have the same energy anymore. Carlos and Lando are close, dangerously close. The Brit seems to notice it and chooses to get even closer. It makes Carlos slightly uncomfortable, but he is accustomed to Lando’s weirdness and desire for physical contact. The Brit gets even closer, up until they are in each other personal space. Gently, he puts his arms around the other driver, locking him into a hug. 

“Carlos, I love you,” Lando whispers in his ears.

The Spanish driver freezes. No, that can’t be possible. Lando, cute, sweet, innocent, funny, amazingly beautiful Lando cannot be in love with him, and less of all in love with a man. The Brit is literally everything a woman could ask for, being bite-sized and ready to be showered under a never-ending load of cuteness. He cannot possibly be in love with the Spaniard. 

“Is something wrong?” Lando asks, concerned as Carlos has gone mute. “Should I get home? I mean, I'm so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It wasn’t my plan, really. I really thought you and I would have been on the same page, but apparently, I was wrong,” the Brit gets off him and puts a couple of meters between themselves.

Carlos cannot begin to describe how much he wants to kiss Lando right there. Yet, he catches himself. No, he can't do that, remember? He is straight, straight as a pine tree. He has a girlfriend too, he can't do that to her!

The following week is the worst week he ever had. He shuts down his phone, not wanting to speak to anyone. He doesn’t even answer postcards his family sent. Carlos contemplated going with them for a while, but only a look at his phone made him remember what happened. 

He is disgusted by himself. 

He dared having thoughts, that kind of thoughts, towards someone else than his girlfriend, towards a man! How can he live in peace with himself knowing there was a part of him who wanted Lando more than anything? 

Carlos doesn’t know what to do anymore. Isa comes to visit, and he had to let her in. Yet, he doesn’t speak to her, just nods and groans. He almost thinks about locking himself up in the guest room, and sleeping all day, to forget and get away from whatever his feelings imply. 

One day, his girlfriend jas enough. She ambushed him while he was cooking something for himself. 

“You don't love me anymore,” Isa says, matter of fact. “There’s no denying it, Carlos.”

Even if the driver had prepared himself for that, it still hurts. 

“No, Isa, that’s false!” He tries to convince her, but how can he do that when he doesn't even believe his own words?

She only smiles at him sadly, taking his hands in her own. 

“You know it’s true, Carlito,” her tone is sweet and sad. “I care for you enough to let you go. I was blind for too long.”

He can see tears pooling in her eyes. He feels some wetness in his too. Slowly, he comes closer and hugs her tight. Isa sights, tears wetting his neck. There’s no point in denying he is crying too. 

They fall asleep on the couch, each other talking about how much they liked the time spent together. Isa always joked about how, as she was the one who asked Carlos out, she’ll be the one dumping him too. He feels it’s incredibly ironic, but also very iconic of her. 

The next day she leaves, going back to their apartment in Madrid. It was her’s in the first place, so Carlos just has to take his things out. A few days later, he feels more like himself. It’s still summer break, so he books a flight and goes there. 

As he lands in the capital city, he decides to open his phone. He leaves it on silence, just enough time for all the calls, messages, texts and other notifications to die off. His lock screen is absurdly cluttered. Carlos guesses he can deal with that later. 

“You look like shit,” Isa greets him, kissing his cheeks. 

Carlos chuckles. He can’t deny it, Lando still plagued his thoughts, restlessly. 

“I gathered them in some bags, but do check over again,” she leads him to the living room.

On the sofa, several grocery bags await him. The Spanish driver goes around the flat, looking for other of his things. He founds none and goes back to the living room. 

“It’s all clear,” he says, getting the stuff in his hands. 

“I’ll ship things if I found anything else,” Isa replies, showing him a compassionate smile. “Oh, and before you got out, just make sure you call this number. It’s a therapist’s, you’ll feel better after it. 

She hands him a business card. Carlos just put it in his pocket, not thinking much about it. 

Carlos did go to the therapist Isa recommended. The person had been very professional, as they had revealed they were actually non-binary. The driver was a little shocked, but he did go passed that, and opened himself to the therapist too. 

He had learned quite a few things and got helped a lot. Session after session, Carlos got more confident about himself and his feelings, up until he was quite comfortable with the idea that he was in love with Lando too. 

He had talked about getting in a gay relationship with his therapist, who encourage him to talk to Lando and mend things between them. Even if they don’t end up together, their separation had put Carlos in a very stressed and sad place. It’s true it had been a few weeks of little to no contact, and only very poor communication on track. 

Carlos is determined to turn that around now. He had invited Lando to his Italian apartment, for a little dinner. Lando said yes, and Carlos is preparing the food for them. He is truly surprised that Lando accepted seeing him, he just hopes the Brit will want him back, as a friend. Carlos doesn’t believe Lando will ever love him again, not after how Carlos behaved himself. 

The Brit arrives at 7 pm, right on time. Carlos is truly delighted to see him, his eyes lighting up as he opened the door. 

“Lando, good evening. Please, come in,” he says, getting out of the way for the guest to enter. 

“Good evening to you too.” 

Things are a little awkward between them, as they went neither for a hug nor handshake. 

“I, uh,” Lando says again, handing him a black bag. “I didn’t really know what we’ll be eating but I brought wine?”

It is red wine, a Bordeaux, perfect for what Carlos planned. It is an expensive one too, the kind which Carlos liked. His smile impossibly grows.

“Thank you, it is perfect.”

Lando slightly blushes, trying to downplay the gift. Carlos then takes his coat, hangs it on the coat rack, and shows him toward the living room. 

“Carlos, you didn’t have to,” if the Brit was pink before, he is now fully red. 

The Spanish driver had redecorated a bit. In the middle of the room stands a little table, perfect for two. On it, a little bouquet is arranged, completed with some candles. The lights are dimmed, definitely set for a cosy mood. 

“Please, sit down,” Carlos says, even going as far as pushing the chair under Lando when he sat. 

They are now facing each other. The Spanish driver opens the bottle, serving both of them a full glass. Lando doesn’t hesitate to drink, even if he doesn’t like alcohol in the first place. Carlos is surprised by that but doesn’t say anything, it wouldn’t be a good conversation. 

On their plates, some Spanish hors d’œuvre is present. The one Lando liked when they did that McLaren video. Carlos sees the Brit is hesitant at first, but the latter ends up remembering the dish and enjoying it. 

“It’s very good, Carlos,” Lando thanks him, almost moaning.

“I’m glad you like it, Landi- Lando.”

The Spanish driver catches himself before he uses a nickname. He isn’t sure if the Brit is comfortable with that after what happened between them. Lando just shoots him a bright smile, and they continue their meal. 

Carlos does have to get up, to search the actual food. It’s some simple pasta, with a sauce in them, but it’s also Lando’s favourite meal. When it is served, the Brit’s smile grows impossibly wider. 

“Is that…” He cannot even finish the question.

“Yes, it is,” Carlos nods, serving himself too. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no worries, Lando, I wanted to.”

And, as if the pasta is magical, they slowly fall back into their old routine. Tentative jokes are exchanged, but after a while, their usual banter comes back, in full force. They don’t see the time pass, and neither their food slowly diminishing, until they realise they’ve been laughing for a while over empty plates.

“Let me bring the desert, Landito.”

This time, Carlos forgot to suppress that nagging feeling of wanting to call Lando anything else than Lando, really. He cringes and looks back at the Brit, hoping he didn’t overstep any boundaries. On his side, Lando just grins, his cheeks a little flushed. Carlos smiles, before going into the kitchen. 

There, he opens the fridge and takes out Lando’s favourite cake. It had been a hassle to find in Italy, but he managed it. On top of it, there’s a big “sorry” written in white frosting. Carlos hopes it’s not too cliché.

“Here it is!” He says, coming back with the decent-sized desert. 

The Spanish driver is careful to put it so that the writing is facing Lando. He looks back at the Brit, who is now facing him, absolutely gobsmacked. 

“Carlos, why?“

“I’m really sorry for you I behaved towards you these pasts week,” he begins, thinking back to the speech he had prepared for such occasion. “It was really unfair to you to not say anything and ignore you. I fully realise I behaved like a massive idiot, and I would understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore.”

Carlos looks down, feeling his cheeks redden. He hates putting his feelings out like that, but I’d he wants to call a Lando “cabrón” again, he’ll do whatever it takes. 

“But… What if I don’t want to be friends?” Lando asks, voice not sounding very confident. 

Carlos looks back at him, visibly hurt. As he sees his expression, Lando is quick to add:

“I mean, more than friends- What if I want to be more than friends?“

The Brit seems uneasy, not daring to look him in the eyes. 

“You want that, with me?” The Spanish driver can’t believe it. “After all how I was to you?”

“It hurt, yes, but I realise it’s because you had stuff to figure out, and I’ve forgiven you about that.”

Lando gets up from the chair, going in front of Carlos, crouching in front of him. He gently takes the other’s hands in his, squeezing them tight. 

“I want a relationship with you, you muppet,” his voice is a little mocking, but also quivering. “I’ve had a crush on you since God knows when. I want you to be even more part of my life, Carlos. I-“

The Brit doesn’t get to finish his speech, as Carlos surges forward, locking their lips together. Lando is so surprised, that he lets out a little sound, before relishing at the contact. Soon enough, the Spanish driver withdraws from the kiss, he needs to talk before going further. 

“I am afraid, cariño,” Carlos confesses while their foreheads are pressed together. “But I’m working on it. I can’t promise it’s perfect, but one day it will.”

*****

[illusionlock]

CAN WE ERASE SPOTTEDLEAF’S HEART FROM EXISTENCE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I ACTUALLY LIKED THISTLECLAW A LOT BEFORE THAT BECAUSE THISTLECLAW WAS ARROGANT AND HEADSTRONG AND IT WAS INTERESTING WHAT MOTIVATED HIM AND WHAT HE BELIEVED WAS RIGHT AND WRONG BECAUSE HE WAS ESSENTIALLY ONE OF THE FIRST AMONG THE KNOWN “ESTABLISHED” CLANS WHO WAS VISUALLY DAMAGING TO CLAN LIFE AND HE WAS ALSO THE MENTOR OF TIGERSTAR AND ULTIMATELY MOTIVATED HIM TO BE THE TYRANT HE WAS SO TO SHOVE SOMETHING EXTREMELY UNCHARACTERISTIC ON HIM IN A VERY CONFRONTING YET EXTREMELY LAZILY DONE BOOK IS SO FUCKING FOUL ESPECIALLY BECAUSE THAT BOOK AS A WHOLE IS ABSOLUTE GARBAGE WITH HOW IT MANAGES ITS SUBJECT MATTER SO TOUCHILY THAT IT COMPLETELY GLOSSES OVER WHY THAT SHIT IS BAD TO BEGIN WITH

[comradeboyhalo]

🌹? :DDD

Bad eyed him. “I’m mentally stable,” he said touchily. “I’m so mentally stable. I established three new countries this week.”

[asknarashikari]

Minific of Fuyumi and Fuyuki?

“So. You and Eiji, huh?”

Fuyumi’s brow twitched as she looked up from her soldering to see her own twin mischievously grinning at her. “What about me and Tomari?” she asked touchily. 

“Don’t deny it, you’ve liked the guy ever since you and he became partners,” Fuyuki teased her. “How much longer do I have to wait until wedding bells toll?” he asked with a sneer.

The elder of the two sent the other a scathing glare. “The only bells that are gonna toll are the church bells at his funeral!” she hissed angrily, slamming her tool down on her worktable hard enough that the tip embedded itself into it. 

“Whoa there...” Fuyuki took a step back. “What the hell, Yumi? What’s gotten into you?”

Fuyumi sighed, rubbing her temples. “Sorry, it’s just... I didn’t mean to take  it out on you.” She unstuck her soldering iron from her bench. “It’s just...”

“...Just?” Fuyuki pushed, pulling up a chair and sitting on it backwards. When his sister refused to look at him he gently nudged her. “Hey, you can tell me anything, you know that right?”

“I know, I know,” Fuyumi sighed. “It’s just... I wish he hadn’t figured out like this.” She placed her tool back on its stand and set her newest experiment aside. “I never should’ve gone on that date, Yuki.”

Her twin brother’s mouth dropped in bafflement. “Wait, what? I thought it went well, or at least that’s what the scuttlebutt around here is saying.” 

Fuyumi groaned at the mention of the rumors flying. “It did, I guess, but... still, Papa conspiring with our boss to set us up on a blind date isn’t exactly how I envisioned it going, you know.”

Fuyuki winced. “Yeah... I thought it was a bit much when Papa told me the plan...” He trailed off, then his eyes widened when he realized what he just let slip. 

“Wait... what? You knew?” Fuyumi’s eyes narrowed at her twin. Fuyuki looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “Oh, for the love of- You knew, and you didn’t tell me?! Yuki, how could you?!”

“If it’s any consolation, I only found out like five minutes after you left the house,” Fuyuki told her with a ‘calm down’ gesture. 

“Five mi- Yuki, you could’ve texted me or something!” She yelled at him. “I didn’t have to go through that embarrassment if you did!”

“Papa told me not to!”

“You’re twenty-six Yuki, you don’t have to follow everything Papa says!” Fuyumi exclaimed, incensed. “Did the others know, too?”

“No! Just me, Papa and the captain,” Fuyuki replied hastily. “Wait... Nee-san, what are you gonna do with that soldering iron...?”

“Oh, nothing, dear brother... now hold still while I stick this up where the sun don’t shine!”

“AAAAAAAHHHHH!”

[itisintentional]

One nice thing about every Six queen (first names J-Z)

Jade Marvin- Powerful voice and I really wish her full cover of Toxic was online. Jarneia Richard-Noel- Her Aragon is so fun, I just love her! Jasmine Shen- Her voice has grown so much in just a few years, and she was great to start with. Jennifer Caldwell- It’s remarkable how much chemistry she had which a cast she was randomly switched into with little notice. Jessica Niles- The perfect representation of chaotic cute. Jodie Steele- Those standing backbends. How? Kala Gare- Deep sultry Boleyn is gay rights. Karis Oka- I found a two year old body positivity post on her ig that’s just amazing and made me tear up a bit. Kelly Sweeney- Her “OH MY GOSH GUYS SERIOUSLY HE ACTUALLY WANTS TO CHOP MY HEAD OFF!” killed me and I wasn’t expecting it. Kiana Daniele- She’s so butch as Cleves and it’s so good! Lauren Byrne- Her Heart of Stone has almost a folksy quality that’s so interesting and pretty. Lauren Drew- Her No Way riffs and ad-libs are amazing and I’m surprised more people in the queendom don’t talk about them. Liv Alexander- Her voice is so sweet yet so powerful at the same time. Loren Hunter- CONTRALTO RIGHTS! Lori McLare- I’m not going to analyze her entire Howard characterization based on one megasix, but I can say based on it that it’s a crime that she only went on once. Lucy Aiston- Based on her singing reel she has a very impressive range including a crazy high mix belt, and I can’t wait to hear her take on Boleyn. Maddison Bulleyment- Her subdued comedic delivery is so funny and so different from other Boleyn’s. Maiya Quansah-Breed- I love how she can sing with so much power then turn around and dance like the adorable chaotic goofball she is. Mallory Maedke- Her and Nicole singing "gay rights" was so perfect and a riff of her’s from that got suck in my head. Megan Gilbert- Her “you must think that I’m crazy” makes me laugh so hard and I didn’t even know that lyric could be funny. Megan Leung- I tried to not just complement looks in this but Megan is the first queen who I can’t find any footage of so I’ll just say she’s very cute and I can’t wait to see her in her first megasix. Millie O’Connell- An unstoppable ball of pure energy and charisma. Natalie Paris- For whatever reason watching her perform is so calming and comforting. Natalie Pilkington- Literally didn’t recognize her as Seymour after seeing megasixes of her as Parr, Cleves, and Aragon. She is VERSATILE. Nicole Kyoung-Mi Lambert- The way she plays around with dynamics and note values makes the material feel so fresh no matter how many times you’ve listened to it before. Rebecca Wickes- I’m a real sucker for anyone with a great high rock belt and boy does she got one. Reneé Lamb- How was she only 20 during her time with Six? Imagine the raw power of her voice in just a few more years. Samantha Pauly- Her megasix dab singlehandedly killed cringe culture. Scarlet Gabriel- We stan a multitalented queen who also teaches. Shannen Quan- Her Parr is both one of the softest and one of the most big dick energyed and I don’t entirely know how that’s possible. Shantel Cribbs- MANAGEMENT, GET HER ON AS AN ALTERNATE. WE NEED TO SEE HER GO ON EVENTUALLY. Shekinah Mcfarlane- I’m so glad she’s on the tour as Cleves, but she would’ve been killer in the roles she didn’t get to cover on the West End. Shimali de Silva- Her voice is so pure and wholesome. Idk how a voice a can be wholesome but her’s is. Sophie Golden- My sexuality is also the way Sophie drops in the megasix during “GET DOWN YOU DIRTY RASKA-A-ALS!” Sophie Isaacs- Rehearsing while being in another show is hard and I’m impressed with how easily she stepped into Six after doing that. Sophie-Rose Middleton- Literally so good at singing harmonies. Vicki Manser- Katherine Howard wasn’t even her first cover but she was so amazing and such a champ taking over the role. Vidya Makan- Her Parr has one of the most impressive transformations from touchily mournful to total hype man in I Don’t Need Your Love. Viquichele Cross- I love her Parr, she's so vibrant and wholesome. Zara MacIntosh- Aragon/Howard is such an interesting first cover combination and it shows what an amazingly unique performer she it.

One nice thing about every Six queen (first names A-I)

[chuuyasoup]

Touch for the wip meme!

so probably not the ‘touch’ u were thinking of but here’s a peek from the itafushi coffeeshop au!

“Yeah, so did we!” Itadori perks up for some reason. “Unit three’s the hardest. Sukuna and I both kinda tanked that exam.”

“I did a little better than you,” Sukuna mutters touchily, chin in palm as he leans his elbow against the table. Man, this guy really looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Do you really need to mention our scores?”

[dellaliz19]

Ant-Man and the Wasp review: spoilers

So, a little late to the party, but this weekend I saw Marvel’s newest entry to the MCU, Ant-Man and the Wasp...and I loved it! (Rambling ensues now, beware of spoilers).

The superhero genre has gotten, shall we say, very touchily self aware of the danger of superhero fatigue. Some of the latest entries to the genre have felt like they’ve needed to justify their existence, to ramp up the drama and the seriousness of storylines, but Ant-Man and the Wasp is never so phased, which is great. Ant-Man and the Wasp knows exactly what it is from the moment go; a fun, superhero action movie about family.

The family dynamics of the story are the absolute core, and they shine as such. Scott and his daughter are sweet and real, Hank and Hope and Janet are so hopeful and bittersweet and lovely (curse you Thanos!!) and Ava and Bill are touching and strong. I’ve said before that Guardians of the Galaxy was Marvel’s “Fast and Furious IN SPACE,” and Ant-Man and the Wasp makes a great arguement for being “Fast and Furious WITH ALL THE SHRINKING” which just, A+. Sure, there is a little dramatic angst thrown in there, for the momentum, but the movie never sinks into melodrama or action schlock, and rides that wave well.

The character depictions, especially Hope and Hank and Scott are also so amazingly refreshing. Hope Van Dyne as Wasp could have easily have been “Action Girl,” the “strong, badass woman who don’t need no man,” but instead she gets to show real vulnerability, with her father, her mother and Scott, while also kicking ass and taking names. The Wasp is undeniably my favourite female Marvel superhero right now, a crown I think will be hard to take from her.

More so, the way the movie just hardcore dismisses toxic masculinity is so, so important. Scott and Paxton (his ex-wife’s husband) have one of the best on screen ex-husband/new husband dynamics; no macho posturing or feeling threatened, but instead a combined goal to parent Cassie and a real respect for each other. Scott and his ex-wife’s relationship is also so well done; no overdone “shrill harpy of an ex-wife” here; rather we getMaggie passionately defending Scott’s right to privacy because she objects to his treatment and the way it portrays him in front of his daughter which is just so god damn refreshing. Hank, as well, gets softened; he’s still a cranky old man, but it’s touching to see how he was never threatened by his wife’s brilliance, and the sheer depth of that love he has for her. I’ve said it before, the snap in Infinity War didn’t really get me that emotional (because it’s so obviously how and that they’ll undo it) but seriously, after being so freaking invested in getting Janet back to Hank and Hope, to have it end like that, fuck that purple ballsack, for real.

The movie does sort of suffer from the “Marvel villain deficiency” in that it has two villains but also none. Ava Starr, the daughter of a previous work associate of Hank’s who is left with a phasing ability that is killing her, and that black market guy Walter Goggins played (I cannot remember his name) are both technically villains, but neither are truly either. That might bother some people, but it worked well for me; I didn’t need another “moustache twirling guy in version of the heroes super suit,” and Ava’s family driven arc worked well with the driving theme, with Goggins adding some needed momentum and comedic relief.

The movie isn’t without flaws of course; although I give the movie all the props for having characters pay the consequences for their actions (the house arrest thing was actually perfect, and I’d like Civil War to now be referred to as that movie where Ant-Man went to Germany with Captain America to draw on the walls please), the Hank/Ava/Bill tension was especially thin. Hank handwaves away Bill’s accusations that Ava’s condition is somehow his fault as “filling her head with lies” and we never get any deeper, or have any more fallout, than that. It very much feels like the screenwriter wrote NEED AVA TO HAVE PERSONAL VENDETTA AGAINST HANK BUT NOT ENOUGH TO MAKE HANK UNLIKABLE and then just kind of left the outline as the plot. It’s not a deal breaker or anything, but it is undeniably a weak spot that could have been used to add some interesting moral complexity to the story. Janet’s assertion that “I’m not the same woman you knew/this place changed me” was another cliche that was a little on the nose, especially since we, the audience, don’t know who Janet was before. It’s about as subtle as a truck for saving Ava, and I snorted a little out loud at the line, and the cheese inducingness of it.

Still, I truly enjoyed Ant-Man and the Wasp. The new cast, especially Michelle Pfieffer, Hannah John-Kamen and Jimmy Woo all killed it, and the retuning cast were also fantastic. I’d absolutely recommend the movie to anyone whose a Marvel/superhero fan, or even just someone who wants to watch a funny action movie about family (and giant ants) that will make them feel good (AS LONG AS YOU SKIP THE END CREDITS SCENE MARVEL YOU ABSOLUTE BASTARDS). But seriously, 8/10 for me, would definitely watch again!

Some highlights;

- The Micheal Pena “sped up narrated scene” was well down in a way that didn’t make it feel gimmicky

- the hot wheels case I’m dying

- Janet-as-Scott was the greatest and Paul Rudd is seriously an amazingly talented actor because he had Pfieffer’s body mannerisms down

- no but seriously your daddy went to Germany and drew on the walls with Captain America is the greatest thing ever

- Jimmy Woo and the school of close up magic

- the roller suitcase lab absolutely delivers

- Ant-tonio Banderas and “murderers”

- Janet and Hank in the subatomic my heart

- Hank and the would you please stop starring lovingly at each other so we can save my wife and escape from these nice policeman vibe was just absolutely hilarious

- “it is truth serum!”

- “Baba Yaga!!”

- Kid sized Scott and his juice box and string cheese

- Hope frantically trying to save giant Scott and then surfacing with tiny Scott in her palm like he’s the most precious thing ever 😍

[adhduck]

So let me get this straight. In two episodes (yeah that’s right I’m not even including 5x01) we got:

Bellamy realizing Clarke was alive feat “Clarke knew you would come” “Clarke’s alive” and Bellamy legit freezing

Bellamy running off to save Clarke with her child who he adopted in .0006 sexonds

^AND a coffee mug that says “best dad in the universe”

Bellarke seeing each other again and staring like the star crossed lovers they are

Bellamy willing to kill 300 people for her

“S h e I s” aka an out loud (and illogical! Like bitch!) declaration of how much she means to him and how much he’d do for her

Not one but TWO hugs

Bellamy lifting Clarke up way too touchily

“You’re really here”

FUCKING REUNION HEARTEYES

“And now you’re home”

Bellamy telling Clarke they’re all alive and she saved them all

Multiple romantically-designed shots (feat Bellamy’s hand on her skin and them pullling away at an angle that makes it look like they were kissing)

Not able to stop touching each other even when they stop hugging

“Kill the hostage taker and HIS GIRLFRIEND”

Both of them smiling and at each other

Like????? How the fuck???? I have never been more full in my whole life????? Not to mention they claim the season finale is Huge for us like?????? Wtf is this not huge????? Bury me gently y’all ok

[screachan]

🙄 Roll their eyes at my muse

nonverbal starters || @zloslwy​

“What’s the matter, princess?” Renfri asked, her tones honeyed-sweet, the appellation a somewhat ironic one. If anyone here was a princess, of course, it was Renfri herself… in actuality, and not only in elaborate endearment. “Unaccustomed to not being the only pretty blonde in the room?”

She recrossed her legs and leaned back in the chair at her ease; the plush, tightly-fitted velvet of her long skirts tightened over the smooth muscle of her thigh and fell open at the high slit to reveal the top of her doeskin boot and the hilt of the slender blade she kept in it. Unconcerned for the furious smolder of the golden sorceress at her side, Renfri lifted the glass of liqueur – something sweet and fruit-scented and no doubt quite dear – in a sort of salute to the bearded merchant who’d sent it over to her. His broad shoulders strained at the rich brocade of his coat and his nose had been broken at least once; she reckoned him for a self-made man of sorts, who’d built his own wealth and increased his own status through blood and sweat and was touchily proud of it now. He grinned back at her and she tipped the glass to her lips and let the fine stuff wet them, not dropping his gaze while she did so. She had no actual intention of sleeping with him, of course; but the gesture demanded a least a little semblance of hope in return, didn’t it?

Renfri turned back to Keira and licked the yellow savor of citrus from her lips. “Don’t take it too personally, my darling,” she purred, briefly laying a hand on one of Keira’s with possessive gentleness. “Some men like a woman who looks soft as milk and sweet as honey, ripe as summer. Others want one who looks to bite as sharp as starka, who looks to burn their hands to touch, like candle-flame.”

She lifted the glass of lemon liqueur again and sipped, tasting the brightness and the sweetness of it on her tongue. It was strong, very strong, but she could barely taste the alcohol behind the lemon and the honey. “Fools, of course, both sorts of men,�� she said. “Why should they limit themselves, and judge by shallow appearance, besides? I myself prefer a woman whom I know to be both. She is more dangerous that way, and interesting, and beautiful.”

[chouhatsumimi]

Helvetica (manga) chapter 3

A list of vocab words found in chapter 3 of the manga Helvetica, by Shizuka Tsukiba and Tsumugi Somei.

A note: If you’re planning to read this manga, it has a lot of violence, gore, and generally uncomfortable scenes.

禁句 [きんく (kinku)] - taboo word

漫研 [まんけん (manken)] - society for the study of manga; manga club Just look at this word! ‘Manga research’.

発破を掛ける, 発破をかける [はっぱをかける (happawokakeru)] 1) to set off an explosive 2) to start a fire under someone, to motivate someone with rough words Sweet imagery in this phrase.

ナンパ (nanpa) 1) seducer, smooth talker, ladies' man, playboy, playgirl 2) picking up women (on the street) This word comes up more frequently than you’d think.

学食 [がくしょく (gakushoku)] - school cafeteria Short for 学生食堂, ‘student eating hall’

数々, 数数 [かずかず (kazukazu)] - many, numerous, various, large number of

住人 [じゅうにん (juunin)] - dweller, inhabitant, resident Not ‘sumu hito’

身元, 身許, 身もと [みもと (mimoto)] - person's identity, ID, past, background 身元不明 [みもとふめい (mimotofumei)] - (a person or body being) unidentifiable (unidentified)

瀕死, ひん死, 頻死 [ひんし (hinshi)] - dying, (on the) verge of death

カリカリ (karikari) 1) crisp (e.g. potato chip, fried fish, etc.), crunchy 2) grumpily, touchily, edgily, irritably Meaning #1 is more common, but the manga featured #2. There are more meanings as well.

黒焦げ, 黒こげ [くろこげ (kurokoge)] - something burnt black

容態, 容体, 容體, 容躰 [ようだい (youdai), ようたい (youtai)] - condition, state (of health)

急変 [きゅうへん (kyuuhen)] 1) sudden turn, sudden change 2) (suddenly occurring) accident, emergency

誰何 [すいか (suika)] - challenging (an unknown person), asking a person's identity This might be my new favorite word. Literally, “WHO WHAT?” And it’s pronounced the same as ‘watermelon’. 

[hell-yeahfilm]

UP AND DOING

Harmon displayed a rebellious streak as a young man—as the result of persistent mischief, he was “asked not to return” for his senior year at Hotchkiss, a venerable academy. But that spirit of independence became one of the linchpins of an impressively successful career as an investment banker: “When an industry or domain becomes unpopular, opportunities abound. When everyone begins fleeing, I’ve always sought to enter, and when something seems extremely popular, I seek opportunity elsewhere.” The author was a broker of major deals in music publishing, movies, and real estate and was a principal player in the management of Starbuck’s IPO. Eventually, he made a transition to the public sector, joining the reelection campaigns of New York City Mayor David Dinkins and President Bill Clinton. Harmon was appointed the president and chair of the Export-Import Bank by Clinton. The author lucidly discusses his experiences navigating turbulent times, especially the Asian financial crisis of 1997. In addition, Harmon served as the chair of the Egyptian-American Enterprise Fund. He tried to infuse an ailing Egypt with investment dollars as well as some measure of economic stability, which he considers “the most daunting and important task of my career.” The author’s career, both public and private, was a remarkably eventful one that allowed him to consort with heads of state as well as captains of industry, giving readers access to an intriguing perch. He can be peculiarly idealistic—his contention that “smaller and lesser-known governmental agencies and departments are ideal places to forge change in the world” is breathtakingly quixotic. Furthermore, he can be touchily defensive about his record—his response to those more pessimistic about the present and future of Egypt is more emotionally acute than analytically thorough. Nevertheless, this is a frank and edifying peek into the intersection of commerce and foreign policy.

from Kirkus Reviews https://ift.tt/30TpmZm

[emmerrr]

how about pynch where adam constantly steals ronan's clothes for barely existent reasons and has the most transparent excuses for it and everyone can tell they're ronan's clothes because they're too big on adam and fit ronan's punk aesthetic. bonus points if people at uni ask adam about it. love your writing :)

thank you so much! 

first of all, I’m sorry this took a while but after finishing my last prompt I took a little break. second of all, for no reason that I can fathom I was a little flummoxed by this prompt. I had no idea how to write it to the point where I nearly posted this ask with an apology that I couldn’t do it. BUT I persevered and I’ve sort of picked at it to turn into something I felt I could write, so it’s not quite what you asked for but it does involve adam wearing ronan’s clothes and uni. I hope you like it! [read on ao3 if it’s easier]

(also to the other anons whose prompts are still in my askbox, I haven’t forgotten about you I swear, and I thank you for your patience!)

- 

After a couple of years of dating, a fair few items of Ronan’s clothing had found their way into Adam’s wardrobe.

Some of this was accidental; a t-shirt Ronan had forgotten in Adam’s dorm after a whirlwind visit, a pair of pyjama bottoms that had got mixed in with Adam’s own belongings when he packed his bags at the Barns, a beanie hat Adam had confused for his own after an early start when he wasn’t quite paying attention to what he was picking up.

Others had been taken or left with clear intent.

After the Christmas break of Adam’s freshman year, Adam wore one of Ronan’s hoodies whilst Ronan drove him to the airport, a quiet understanding passing between them that Ronan wasn’t going to be getting it back any time soon. Adam had also knowingly taken one of Ronan’s black sleeveless t-shirts, for no other reason than because it was just so quintessentially Ronan, and having it nearby offered Adam an indescribable level of comfort.

Something else now in Adam’s possession was a shamrock green t-shirt with Kiss Me, I’m Irish emblazoned on the front that Henry had given Ronan for his birthday. Ronan had seemed bemused by the gift but Adam got a real kick out of it, so much so that Ronan started actually wearing it, albeit only as a pyjama top. Never in the daytime, never in public. After one of Ronan’s visits, Adam had been lounging in his bed feeling mightily sorry for himself and missing Ronan so much he could barely stand it, when he had tucked his hand under his pillow and found a handful of material. He pulled out the green t-shirt and smiled. Ronan had left it there for him to find.

With the exception of the hoodie, most of these clothes that were now under Adam’s care never left his dorm room. They were pieces of home, of Ronan, and if Adam wore them it was for his own comfort only. They were clearly not his and he had his own clothes, anyway.

That wasn’t to say it had never happened. On one occasion Adam hadn’t planned ahead well enough and got caught out on laundry day, having to wear Ronan’s black sleeveless tee for an entire day of classes. It was a little big on him and it had been too hot for a jacket so he couldn’t really disguise it, and Adam’s classmates had definitely noticed the sudden change in style.

“You look very, uh, punk rock today,” one of them said.

“Laundry day,” Adam said with a sheepish shrug.

“It’s his boyfriend’s top,” Adam’s roommate supplied helpfully with a shit-eating grin on his face. He had, of course, met Ronan and correctly pegged it as Ronan’s aesthetic. (In other words, black.)

“Yes,” Adam said, a little touchily. “But it’s still laundry day.”

It wasn’t that Adam didn’t like wearing Ronan’s clothes, it was just that they drew attention in a way that his regular attire just didn’t, and he preferred to keep them just for himself. 

Just for bad days.

*

Finals week was a special kind of hell.

Adam was well prepared for his exams because he worked hard, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t stressful, particularly when everyone else was also feeling a heightened sense of last minute panic; it seeped its way into Adam, too. It all boiled down to the fact that Adam was on edge all week, and by the time the day of his final exam arrived he was running on fumes.

He got out of bed at his first alarm, not trusting himself to snooze it even once. There was a couple of hours before he had to make his way over to the room where his exam was taking place, so Adam reasoned he could go over his notes for forty-five minutes, hop in the shower, then grab something to eat. He’d be done in enough time to have a leisurely walk across campus, nice and refreshed and prepared.

Adam packed his little rucksack with everything he’d need for the exam and left it by the door for ease of grabbing when he was on his way out, then he sat down at his desk where his notes were still open.

The next thing he was aware of was his phone dinging with an incoming message, and with frightening clarity he realised he’d fallen asleep with his head on his desk. He scrabbled for his phone to see his message was from Ronan.

- you probably won’t see this till after, but good luck. you’ll ace it einstein. call me later

The time at the top of his phone’s display read 9:46am, which meant Adam only had a little over ten minutes to make it for his exam’s strict 10am start time. If he was late, they wouldn’t let him take it.

“Shitshitshitshit,” Adam muttered furiously under his breath as he hurriedly pulled on his sneakers, grabbed his keys, his (thankfully) already packed bag, then ran from his room.

He made it to the right place with just under five minutes to spare, his classmates and other students taking exams at the same time milling around outside and looking over their own notes. The atmosphere was so quiet that almost everyone’s eyes zoned in on Adam immediately as he made his entrance from outside, doubled over with his hands on his knees and panting for breath.

He finally pulled up straight and took his bottle of water out of his bag, taking little sips until he regained his composure. When he had, he noticed that everyone was still staring at him.

“What?” he dared to ask. Surely they’d all seen someone running to an exam before; it was a regular occurrence. There was always one.

“Um,” one classmate ventured with a little smile, “overslept, did you?”

Adam shrugged. “Sort of. But I made it in time, so it’s all good.”

“I didn’t know you were Irish,” piped up another.

Adam tilted his head to the side, bewildered. “What? I’m not.”

“Adam, look down,” said the first, barely restrained amusement evident in her voice although she was clearly valiantly trying not to laugh, sensing Adam’s confusion.

Adam dropped his gaze and froze.

In his panic, Adam had forgotten that he was still wearing his PJs. Or to be more specific, Ronan’s PJs. His pyjama pants were the ones he’d accidentally packed at the beginning of the year, The Nightmare Before Christmas ones covered in a pattern of bones, bats and Jack Skellington’s head. To Adam’s utter mortification, the t-shirt was the bright green Kiss Me, I’m Irish one. Because of course it was, it had to be one so bold and ostentatious at a time like this in order to fully cement Adam’s humiliation.

Adam was luckily saved any further questions and stares and muffled giggles by the exam invigilator calling everyone inside, and although he gave Adam’s get-up a stern once-over and looked mightily disapproving, it wasn’t like there was anything in the rules saying Adam couldn’t take the exam in his pyjamas. It undoubtedly wasn’t the first time it had happened.

As he took his seat and tried to forget about anything other than his imminent exam, Adam reasoned that there really hadn’t been time for him to change even if he had realised what he was wearing in time. He pointedly ignored that fact that at least changing his t-shirt would have only taken mere seconds.

There will come a point in time, he said to himself, when I will think back on this day and laugh about it.

*

That point actually came quicker than Adam was expecting it to.

Once his exam was over, Adam hurried back to his room almost as fast as he’d ran out of it earlier. He put his bag down, fired up his laptop, then picked up his phone to text Ronan.

- I’m finished. Get on skype, I’m gonna call you in a sec

Once his laptop was sufficiently loaded, Adam logged into Skype and saw that Ronan was already online. He hit video call, then stepped away from his desk to grab his water bottle before Ronan answered.

He hadn’t made it back to his desk when Ronan accepted the call.

“Parrish?” came Ronan’s voice, tinny through the speakers. “Have you been kidnapped?”

“No,” Adam called, taking a sip of his water. “No, I’m here, hang on.”

“How was the exam?”

“Oh, good I think. There was a couple of questions that were worded a little weird but I think I answered them okay. No sense worrying about it now, anyway.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ronan said. And then, frustrated, “Will you come and sit down already, I want to see you.”

Adam smiled. “Okay I will, but when you see what I had to wear to my exam I want you to really, really try not to enjoy it too much.”

There was quiet static on the other end for a moment before Ronan said, curiosity obviously piqued, “Alright, Parrish. I’ll really, really try.”

Adam braced himself, then stepped into the view of his web-cam.

Ronan said nothing for a moment, but his lips quirked in a smile that was betraying his need to laugh. “Why—” he cleared his throat, “—uh, why did you have to wear my PJs in public? To an exam?”

“Because,” Adam said, sitting down in his desk chair, “I fell asleep and then didn’t wake up until you sent me that text, and I didn’t have time to change.”

“Adam Parrish,” Ronan said, mock horrified. “I never thought I’d see the day where you’d nearly sleep through an exam.”

“Yeah, well. It didn’t happen, so it doesn’t matter. Instead I got to have one of my classmates saying he didn’t know I was Irish, then the exam invigilator shooting me death glares for the majority of the exam. It was just perfect.”

Ronan went quiet again, and looked like he was biting the inside of his cheek.

“You can laugh,” Adam said with a resigned sigh, and it broke the camel’s back.

Ronan burst into peals of wonderful, contagious laughter, the kind that had him struggling for breath, tears of utter mirth springing in the corners of his eyes that were visible even through the grainy picture on Adam’s laptop.

He couldn’t help but laugh, too.

Eventually, he got more words out. “Okay, okay, it’s not that funny,” he said.

“Ohhh, Parrish,” Ronan managed to say between helpless little laughs. “I love you, but it really, really is.”

(A/N: I know, I know, Adam would never let himself cut it so fine before an all-important exam. indulge me. also, when I was in my first year at uni I accidentally turned my alarm off instead of pressing snooze, slept through an exam and had to re-take it in the summer. don’t be like me, kids.)

[brightlycoloredteacups]

Dinner

One day, I may not write so fast, but today, is not that day. Some of you have expressed a desire to see this become a series, your wish is my command. I don’t know if it’ll be a long series, but it will be one! Promise! As usual, thank you for all the kind words! It means a lot, especially since these are my first few actual fics. Anyway, enjoy! Spelling and grammar mistakes are mine.

 As you eat your pizza, you watched Siggtrygg and Ivar play. They had chosen to eat at a cheap arcade, apparently Siggtrygg’s favorite. For the past thirty minutes, Siggtryg had been switching back and forth between you and his father to play the games. This was the most fun you’d had in a long while. Instead of tight lipped winces, Ivar had begun to give actual smiles. He looked relaxed, at ease. Siggtrygg seemed thrilled to be in the arcade. You’d even heard their full belly laughter. Suffice it to say, all three of you were having a wonderful time.

           Ivar ruffles his son as the game ends. Siggtrygg prances off to play a game by himself, while Ivar comes to sit next to you. You both are smiling, feeling serene. You push the platter of pizza towards him and he takes a slice. “I don’t think I thanked you for coming out.” Ivar says. “You don’t have to, I was happy to come.” Ivar gives you a small smile. You eat Pizza in silence, watching Siggtrygg. “you mean a lot to my boy.” You don’t bother keeping the gentle smile from breaking out. “Siggtrygg is a special boy.” You tell him. “Bright and delightful, I’ll miss having him in class.”

           “He’ll miss being in your class.” Ivar says. Your smile turns into a frown; you didn’t want to think about it. Not seeing Ivar again, you could deal with. But having your relationship with Siggtrygg deteriorate left you heartbroken. “Which is why I’d like to hire you as a private tutor.”

           Your mind struggles to comprehend what he’s asking you. “Pardon?”

“Private tutor?” Ivar repeated. “It would be on the weekends, of course. I know you have classes to teach. I’d pay you handsomely. Besides, you’ve proven yourself a capable teacher. Not like the rest of the morons at that damnable boarding school.”

“I don’t think they’re morons per se,” you mutter in defense of your colleagues. Ivar gives you a look, which has you red, avoiding his gaze. “Would you mind? I haven’t talked to Siggtrygg about it, so he won’t be disappointed if you don’t take the offer.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I don’t mind at all.” In reality, you were thrilled. You’d get to see Siggtrygg, every weekend, and continue your lessons. It was a much preferable solution to near unbearable heartbreak.

           Ivar gives you a gentle smile, he opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s interrupted. “Ivar?” You watch his body language tense immediately. “Miranda.” He says tersely. The woman he’s looking is model level beautiful. Blond hair, blue eyes, she looks like a Valkyrie you see in famous pictures. Suddenly, you feel very inadequate next to her. “What are you doing here?” She asks. “I’m spending time with my son.” The woman looks over to you. “It looks like you’re on a date.” She says. You blush very hard looking to your pizza. You want so much for the ground to swallow you up.

           It was the look in her eye that did it. Like you weren’t good enough to be seen in public with Ivar. Which ok, you came from humble beginnings, and you knew the Lothbroks were about pedigree, but damn, she didn’t have to make it so obvious. “It’s none of your business, is it?” Ivar snarls.

“Is your son around?” she asks, looking about. “He is, why don’t you call him by name? Hm?” you frown, Ivar’s tone is positively vehement. What had this woman done to him? She turns a pretty shade of red. She straightens and looks him in the eye. “There’s no need to be hostile.”

“You don’t even know his name, do you?” Ivar sneers. “Couldn’t leave the hospital fast enough to dump him on my door.”

“Ivar, that’s not-”

“Just leave woman. Stop feigning love for my boy.” Miranda holds his gaze for a few more moments. She gives a small sound in the back of her throat but turns to leave. Ivar glares at her as she goes. You notice the white knuckled grip he has on a napkin. “It’s ok Mr. Lothbrok.” You say, grabbing his hand gently. His furious blue eyes snap to yours. Immediately, he lets go of the napkin and grasps your hand gently in his. Like before, his hand is very cold. His gaze softens. “That was Miranda,” he explains. “Siggtrygg’s mother.”

“I gathered.” Ivar moves his thumb over the back of your hand. “She left us three days after Siggtrygg was born. Sleeping with her was a mistake, we never loved each other-” You squeeze his hand. “Ivar,” you whisper, the name feeling strange in your mouth. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” You give him a smile. He squeezes your hand, a broken look settles over his beautiful face. Your heart goes out to him. “She said she couldn’t be with a cripple, no matter how rich he was. She said that even giving birth to Siggtrygg was an embarrassment. She called my son an embarrassment.” Ivar scoffs. “Well, she’s an awful bitch.” You tell him honestly.

           Ivar is shocked at your indignity. “Pardon?” he repeats your word from earlier. “I said she’s an awful bitch.” You repeat. Ivar smiles, elation running through him that you’ve taken his side. “What?” You say touchily. “You don’t just walk out on your son because you can’t stand the father. It isn’t right. Besides, you’re a nice man, any woman would be lucky to have you.” Ivar stares at you.

           You let go of his hand, he immediately wants to take it back, but doesn’t move. He tries for a joke. “Lucky eh? Even you?” He watches as your face flushes completely, turning fire engine red. You mumble something he doesn’t quit catch. “What was that?” He asks, leaning forward. “I said especially me.” You avoid his gaze, but turn your head so your mouth is facing him. Ivar is going to respond, but Siggtrygg plops into the chair beside him. He his huffing and sweaty. He leans into his father’s arm and Ivar places a kiss to damp hair. “Father, playing Dance Dance Revolution in nice clothes is not a good idea.” You and Ivar chuckle.

           As Siggtrygg eats his pizza, Ivar tries to catch your eye. He desperately wants you to know how happy you’ve just made him. He allowed a little hope to enter his heart. He thought about what he could do to let you know he was interested. Women were not his area of expertise. Besides, for the past ten years, his son had been his only focus. Asking for some time alone with you seemed a daunting task. He was sure he could use Siggtrygg as an excuse to see you, but that would only last for so long. Besides, what if you wanted to kiss him goodnight? He couldn’t kiss his son’s teacher in front of him.

           He was pulled from his thoughts as Siggtrygg let out a large yawn. “Tired boy?” Siggtrygg nods. “We’ll get going then.” Ivar stands, his son and you follow suit.

           The walk back to the car is somber. Siggtrygg too tired to chat, you too nervous to say anything else, Ivar trying to come up with a way to ask you to dinner. You make it all the way to the limo in silence. “Have a good night’s sleep Siggtrygg,” you tell him, giving him a hug good bye. Siggtrygg mumbles the same sentiment to you and crawls into the vehicle. Ivar turns to you, before he can thank you for the night, having come up empty as to how to ask you on a date, you make a small sound in the back of your throat. “Siggtrygg’s picture! Come on, my car isn’t far from here.” He follows you.

           It’s two spaces over. A few years old, but he tells you take care of it as best you. You open the back door and take the picture out. It’s beautifully framed. “Someone actually tried to buy it,” you say chuckling. “I just managed to beat them off with a stick. I tell you, Siggtrygg is going places.” Ivar takes the picture from you, glowing from the praise of his son. “Have dinner with me,” he suddenly blurts, no longer able to contain the anxiety. He can see from the crappy halogen light above, you turn yet another brilliant shade of red. “Tomorrow night,” he continues, hoping your earlier sentiment wasn’t as empty as his invite to the movies tonight.

           “I c-can’t,” You stutter. Ivar grinds his teeth, of course you can’t. Who would want to be seen the reject Lothbrok? “But I’m free next weekend, if you really want to have dinner.” He notes the trace of hope in your voice. You wanted this too. He leans in, heart pounding in his chest. Your lips are incredibly soft as he kisses you, its chaste, sweet, and altogether too short. When he pulls back, he smiled at the dreamy look passing over your face. “I’ll see you next weekend.”

Oh, by the way, if you have any requests, I do those too. Even smutty ones as you’ve no doubt gathered. Feel free to drop me a line! 

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