#when i was trying to get it unstuck but alas

[spinspoon]

[villainessxassassin]

OKAY SO I HAVE THIS WEIRD THING IN MY HEAD WITH KAEYA (i am NOT SURE if you write for him i am sorry)

ok so imagine he's showing us cool ice tricks BUT in the middle of it he like, gets his hand stuck frozen to something (but of course, he is only getting it stuck on purpose and he really can just get out of that situation anytime he wants) and kaeya asks you for help, you proceed to tell him to wait and get out of the room to get a tool...

AND THEN YOU COME BACK WITH A FLAMETHROWER AND HE'S LIKE "WAIT NO I WAS JOKING CALM DOWN"

(of course ya can change anything here if you'd like!! THANK YOU FOR READING) -mewo

No we're not skipping all the other drafts just for this one ask what pffft- (Guinevere can deal with all of those :>), this is just too funny to wait on so here it is

Kaeya x reader

The both of you were training using your visions when the cavalry captain thought of this wonderful, mischievous idea

Basically summoned a large spiky block of ice from the ground and in a blink of an eye a part of his hand was stuck in it.

Pretending as he tries to pull and twist his arm out but alas his efforts resulted to nothing as his hand was still "stuck" in the block of ice

"Ah it appears my cryo capabilities were a little too strong today. Now won't you be a dear and help me out~?"

While Kaeya was amused with himself and the reactions you were giving him, he did feel a little bad for tricking you into thinking he needs help (just a little)

While Kaeya continued to play his little game, you were indeed genuinely worried

I mean his hand was stuck in his own cryo creation! It must have been cold right? And what if he gets frost bite after?!

With hands flailing in every direction you told kaeya to keep calm (nah it was you that needed to stay calm because he was sure as hell really calm for a person who had their hand frozen) while you quickly exited the room in search of something or someone to help you out with this icy predicament

"AH HOLD ON I'M GONNA GET YOU UNSTUCK IN JUST A MINUTE"

You said a minute, but it was taking you quite awhile to comeback and Kaeya was getting tired of having to keep his hand up inside the ice

The door creaked, signifying you had returned. He'd expected you to perhaps bring a long one of the knights...

NOT A WHOLE FRICKING FLAMETHROWER!

Okay perhaps this little prank went on for a bit too long and it was time he confessed

"Y-y/n I was joking please wait a moment! See I'm not actually stu-"

And yep, he was stuck for real this time. He kept on pulling and tugging at his arm, even trying to reverse the elemental ice he created, but nothing changed.

"Don't worry! Diluc gave me a full rundown of instructions on how to use this thing, and if that still doesn't work I can always ask Klee for help with her bombs!"

"No that would be ten times worse! And wait did you just say that Diluc—!'

Now actual hot, burning, fire was coming out of the flamethrower as you slowly approached him

For once Kaeya was actually sweating and shivering, but this time he wasn't shivering from the cold, but rather the fear of what you could do with your newly equipped weapon

"He actually had a flame thrower-"

Extra:

"So I press here to turn it on and... wait, isn't this fire a little too big or is it just me?"

"I think it could go much higher, try increasing the heat up a little bit just for extra measures."

The reason it took you awhile to return was because Diluc was teaching you how to properly use the flame thrower

and also because he kept on reminding you to turn up the heat to the max, totally no bad intentions there, nope, non whatsoever 👹❄️=🔥

[velvet-midnight]

Get to know the blogger

Tagged by @fivekoboldsinacoat 

Share your wallpaper:

I finally started playing Skyrim this year (I just left the Greybeards after learning how to use my first Shout, that’s only as far as I am) and was genuinely struck by how gorgeous it is.  

Last song you listened to: Time - Jungle

Currently reading: Got stuck in both The Myth of Normal by Gabor Mate and Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Sometimes I get stuck in books and have to switch to other primary activities, but I always loop back around after my brain gets unstuck to devour them whole, so I’m on track to getting back to them shortly. 

Last movie: Renfield! Please go see it, it is delightful and insane and Nicolas Cage is clearly having the absolute time of his life.

Last show: Taking my time to savor working through TLOU. Stunning. Just finished Left Behind and, of course, cried my eyes out. 

Craving: This iced coffee concoction is not as good as this one cafe’s version but I do not want to go outside and spend the money currently, so it will have to do. 

What are you wearing right now: Black leggings, Fleetwood Mac band tee. 

How tall are you: 5'5″-ish

Piercings: One in my right ear, four in my left. Started the piercing process with even amounts, but needed to let the second right hole close up and decided I liked the asymmetry. I looked real cool when I had my left sidecut, but alas, I have had to keep my hair fairly even/neutral for professional reasons.  

Tattoos: None, but contemplating one

Glasses? Contacts? Glasses since I was five (and currently on my face), contacts since I was 16 and most days because I am vain. 

Last drink: Water because this iced coffee situation is not vibing. 

Last thing you ate: A modified version of something my partner calls a Hot Mess. He and I make it differently, so mine goes: shredded potatoes, sausage crumbles, eggs scrambled into it and topped with cheese at the end to get melty. 

Favorite color: Deep purple/deep green

Current obsession: Alas, nothing - trying to work on moderation and mindfulness/presence since my fixations have abandoned me. 

Any pets: I am a proud stepmommy to my partner’s two fluffy cats - a loud extrovert named Matilda and her much younger brother, a scaredy-cat named Loki. 

Favorite fictional character: Too many. Comment/message with a fandom and I’ll tell you my fav of that fandom! 

Tag time! Let’s see if @muskegmaenad​ @strangenewgirls​ @cylon-angel​ @punchholesinthesky​ or @adirotynd​ wanna do it, no pressure if not, of course, this is only for fun on the blue hellsite

[everythingsinred]

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 13)

Oh no... 13 is an unlucky number! Oh, well.

Up to this point we've seen Natsume fall in love with Mikan. This next arc is all about discovering Natsume, however, and we've pretty much already talked about that so maybe my analysis for his perspective will leave some things to be desired, which is fine, because Mikan's will come in due time! That being said, there's plenty of stuff in this arc, especially at the start of it, to analyze for Natsume as well.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Takahashi-san has dressed all the Elementary children in their New Year’s kimonos and they are now ready to celebrate the holiday together. They eat a New Year’s feast in the dorms lounge, a rare day where the children don’t have to eat according to their star rank.

It just so happens that New Year’s Day is also Mikan’s birthday. Everyone pretends like they don’t know, because Hotaru told them to leave it a surprise. Mikan is trying to let everyone know about the special day, but the New Year’s cards come in and everyone gets immediately and understandably distracted.

Of particular interest to everyone is Ruka’s card from his mother, who references Natsume and Aoi in her letter. Now everyone is in Ruka’s business and teasing him, so Natsume steps in to help, taking the card from Mikan, returning it to Ruka, and making a very good point that she shouldn’t go looking at other people’s cards without their permission. Mikan is uncomfortable, so she decides to change the subject by asking Natsume how many cards he got this year.

With that, Natsume goes cold and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

He didn't want to sit around watching them all gush about their dumb cards anyway!

The truth is Natsume has never gotten any letters or cards, no matter what time of year or holiday it is, and he never will. We can think back to when he told Mikan that the academy would never send her letters to her grandpa. He’d said that the school would never, under any circumstances, allow them to contact the outside. Turns out, the only person who can 100% count on that is Natsume. Sure, he and Mikan are similarly targeted in strange and unfair ways, but he will always be just a little more targeted, because he’s strictly not allowed to have fun or be happy. It would make him happy to hear from his father, to know that he’s safe. The school can’t have anything like that, so they have Natsume sit in the same room as all the other kids, watching them excitedly gush about how many cards they get, while he knows very well he will receive zero each year without fail.

Natsume wants some time to himself, understandably upset about his situation. He’s thinking about Aoi and probably beating himself up because he tends to do that when it comes to his sister and his past. He genuinely has no idea where Aoi is, or if she’s safe, and the school likes to keep it that way, so they can hold it over his head. Aoi is always one of the people they threaten, somebody he works tirelessly to protect despite the fact that he hasn’t seen her in years, doesn’t know where she is, and probably won’t ever see her again.

Natsume looks out the window, sitting on his own, and sees Mikan crying to Narumi because of her guilt and because nobody remembered her birthday. We can see pretty immediately that he isn’t actually upset with Mikan, just with his own situation. He watches her, always lovelorn. Then we see him put his hand on a little bag with a holly decoration. Because of the holly, there’s an instant relation to Christmas. We can’t know what’s in the bag yet, but eventually we will discover that it’s an alice stone.

He's just been carrying this around since Christmas at the latest. How embarrassing.

Natsume made this stone at some point. I would assume it was after his birthday party, before Christmas. Because of the bag, my guess is that he had wrapped it to be a Christmas present but had never given it. That’s understandable. He’s not supposed to woo her, after all, and giving a girl an alice stone would be pretty romantic, even if she has no idea what it means. We will see this stone time and time again, because he likes carrying it around in his pocket. Perhaps he likes imagining that he could give it to her, but never actually goes through with it. Just like today, on her birthday, he will not give the stone, but he’s still carrying it because he’d like to.

The alice stone is proof of at least one thing: Natsume is very much in love with Mikan and he knows it.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Mikan is happily celebrating her birthday. Natsume has returned to the lounge, but he hasn’t said anything, so she’s still feeling awkward about what happened.

The class decides to make mochi once Tsubasa and Misaki arrive. Tsubasa tries to greet Natsume but Natsume responds coldly, with a thumbs down. Now properly irritated, Tsubasa has decided to pull a prank.

Natsume does not make mochi. He sits on his own, napping with manga over his face like always. Once the class is finished, Permy quickly offers her mochi to him, but his attention is immediately on Mikan, who is giving her mochi for him to eat. She tries to apologize, but can’t get the words out, so she leaves the bowl on the table. Natsume can tell that she’s still feeling guilty, even though he isn’t really mad at her. She was thinking of him, so it’s no surprise that he ends up eating the soup, even if it is disgusting.

It doesn't matter if it's disgusting. He's gonna eat it anyway. Because she made it. Zoe and I joke that Natsume would eat all her food (out of his unending love, of course) and eventually get used to the bizarre combinations she puts together. He might even start liking them, who can say.

Hotaru has been invited to the Hana Hime den to be a flower princess, a girl hand-picked by the middle school principal and who carries a heavy amount of prestige and status. Misaki mentions some rumors about the MSP, namely that she locks up her favorite girls in a dungeon, and that immediately gets Natsume’s attention. He’s struck, and to a first-time reader, this might seem odd. He’s strangely intrigued by a girly flower party where guys aren’t even allowed. But he’s not interested for himself. Natsume can guess based on this new information that if Aoi is anywhere on the Alice Academy campus, it’s in the Hana Hime den dungeon.

There’s always an extra invitation ball that is given to a random girl each year, so she can also attend the prestigious party, but the chances that it would land in the hands of an Elementary student are very low.

The Class B girls look for one anyway, but their search doesn’t get too far because suddenly the kids are flying across the room, sticking to each other, like Hotaru and Youichi to Ruka, Anna to Nonoko, Koko to Kitsu, and even Natsume to Mikan.

Turns out Tsubasa’s payback scheme for Natsume giving him the cold shoulder was to put sticky mochi flour into their mochi as a prank, which will keep all the children stuck to the people who ate the same mochi for a full hour.

He was counting on her never finding out he ate it, but alas.

Mikan then realizes that since she’s stuck to Natsume, that he must have eaten her mochi. He can’t argue that he didn’t, but he turns quickly to insults to distract from how sweet of a moment that could potentially be. He says he choked it down, which might very well be true, but it leaves the question of why he’d put himself through the trouble of choking it down if it didn’t mean anything to him. Hmm. Check mate, Natsume.

Then, Mikan finds out that she’s the recipient of the prize jewel, and has thus been invited to the Hana Hime party. There’s something quite fishy about Mikan being the recipient. It’s too much of a coincidence, and it isn’t one. This is all an elaborate trick to trap Natsume in the dungeon forever, and it’s not by the MSP.

Most of the groups have become unstuck, except for Hotaru, Youichi, and Ruka. Tsubasa reads the packet and discovers that some people may be stuck for two or three days as a possible side effect. Mikan and Natsume can become unstuck, but Natsume grabs her hand and keeps her still.

He's not going to miss this opportunity, even if it puts him on the spot and is kind of embarrassing. To be honest, this could possibly unravel all the work he's been doing to downplay how much he likes Mikan. What if she starts thinking he has feelings for her? It's all so risky, but he's willing to do anything for Aoi.

He’s going to do everything he can to go to that party and possibly find his sister. Getting stuck to Mikan and then her being invited to the Hana Hime den is all just too good of a chance to miss. If she can somehow still go while attached to him, it gives him an in to check out the palace and try to find the dungeon.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Natsume is adamant about keeping up the charade that he and Mikan are still stuck. It’s important to him and he’s desperate. He would do anything to save his sister, so if it means threatening Mikan a little, he’s willing to do it. It doesn’t matter that Mikan has no idea what’s going on, what matters is even the chance of going.

Narumi returns to say there’s not a good probability that Hotaru and Mikan would still be allowed to attend the party, because boys aren’t allowed and they are firmly attached to three of them. Mikan has more and more reason to not want to be stuck when she realizes that going to the bathroom and sleeping will be tricky business. Natsume is obviously not a huge fan of it either. He’s usually cold and snippy, even when bickering with Mikan, but this time he’s yelling just like she is. He’s uncomfortable too, but it’s something he’s willing to sacrifice for Aoi.

Mikan only gets more and more upset, screaming about how much she hates Natsume. He doesn’t seem to take it very seriously until Koko, who is reading her mind, asks Mikan if she likes Ruka better than Natsume, and she responds that she does.

Natsume is hurt, but sadly it’s not anything he can’t eventually come to terms with, like every other disappointment in his ceaselessly disappointing life. For now, he’s bitter, but this is great news for Ruka, isn’t it?

It’s time for sleep, and they’re standing in Natsume’s fancy special star room. At her discomfort, he offers that they can sleep in her tiny room if she’d prefer it, but the venue isn’t exactly her problem. He proceeds to be unpleasant, saying that he’s not interested in sleeping with her either, since she probably kicks a lot and talks in her sleep. But then he’s serious, still bitter when he tells her “Sorry for not being Ruka,” and promises that the whole charade would be over tomorrow.

It's on rare occasions like this that Natsume can express even the tiniest fraction of what he's really feeling, in this case jealousy and hurt.

He really never would have done this to himself if Aoi’s safety wasn’t potentially at stake. Having Mikan be so angry at him, hearing her say she much prefers Ruka to him, having to share his bed with her--it’s all stuff he doesn’t want to do! Further, he’ll probably be in serious trouble tomorrow if he does manage to find and rescue Aoi. There’s nothing fun going on in Natsume’s brain, just worry and the skeleton of a desperately laid-out plan to save his sister.

Sleeping with Mikan is something he doesn’t want to do, no doubt, but not because she probably talks and kicks in her sleep. That wouldn’t actually bother him so much. Natsume usually waits until he’s alone in his room at night to let himself be sick. According to the chapter where Tsubasa found out about his condition, Natsume sometimes wakes up in a coughing fit until he coughs up blood. He suffers and struggles and is in pain when he sleeps, and Mikan will be there this time, up close to possibly see it.

How soft his eyes get, just looking at her. It's interesting whenever he drops his facade, like now in a state of half-awakeness, and we can see just how affectionate he'd be if he wasn't always sacrificing his happiness.

But Natsume falls asleep first anyway, and pretty quickly starts having a nightmare. He’s breathing heavily and struggling, having a PTSD flashback nightmare about Aoi. But Mikan wakes him up, sitting up, concerned for him. Natsume is barely awake, but his eyes turn soft. She saves him from his nightmares in more ways than one, like walking-talking serotonin. He reaches for her, in a state of half-consciousness, because his nights are usually awful but the time he spends with Mikan usually isn’t. Maybe combining them is the way to sleep peacefully for a change. So he snuggles her. She starts freaking out, embarrassed, but Natsume tries to reason with her, and maybe with himself too, half-asleep as he is. No, no, it’s just for tonight, just for now. It’ll be like it never happened tomorrow, it’s fine. She can go right back to Ruka tomorrow, since she prefers him anyway, and it won’t be a big deal. He just wants this for now, just for a little bit. Just while he can.

It’s sad that Natsume always thinks of these moments with Mikan as aberrations. They’re little moments that he borrows or steals just to have them for now, thinking they’re meaningless to her, but carrying them like they’re precious to him. He doesn’t think they belong to him, or that he has the right to want anything from her. He holds her during the SA class’s RPG as a joke. He tells her he likes her hair down after fighting with her. He dances with her, knowing that she’s danced with lots of other people and it won’t matter as much to add him to the list. He kisses her after he assumes Ruka already has, just so he can have keep it in his memories. And he cuddles with her now, even though she’s freaking out, because he needs some comfort, even though it isn’t his place to be hugging her. He always has to reason himself into these situations, like he’s convincing himself that he’s allowed to do this one selfish thing, just as long as she doesn’t understand how much it means to him, just as long as it won’t mean anything to her, just as long as he can get away with it.

And because he’s borrowing, the next morning he acts as though her holding him is some kind of bother. He acts all irritated and pretends like nothing happened, because he was borrowing the moment to begin with. It wasn’t his right to take it, and she can’t know it meant something. It also could be that he genuinely can’t remember the last night that clearly. People do all sorts of crazy things in between sleep that they can’t remember. Maybe his lack of sense and restraint helped him get the courage to hug her in the first place, and now that he’s fully awake he can hardly remember. If this is the case, then he's probably scolding his sleepy self for being so ridiculous.

It's up to you to decide if he really can't remember or if he's pretending. Both are possible and neither would really surprise me tbh.

It’s possible, but knowing Natsume, it’s also possible he’s pretending like he doesn’t remember. Either way, he has to do damage control, because she absolutely cannot get the wrong right idea and think that he has affection for her.

The morning brings good news as well, because Natsume, Ruka, and Youichi are allowed to accompany Mikan and Hotaru, as long as they’re dressed as girls.

It’s all working out a bit too conveniently. This is Persona’s scheme to trap Natsume, so of course it would all work out in order that he could make his way to the dungeon. Natsume might be relieved that his plan is working, but it won’t go so smoothly once they’re actually in the Hana Hime den.

Conclusion

The most interesting scenes to analyze from Natsume's perspective are the ones where he chooses to be selfish just once in a while. They're such silly things to call selfish, but they are to him. Being sweet or affectionate to the girl you love should be second-nature, not something to deny yourself, but it's what he's trying to accustom himself to. We also see just how desperate he can be in trying to protect people important to him, like Aoi. The lengths he goes to in order to find her are impressive and show just how determined he is. Going forward, we'll only see more of this kind of determination.

My sister (Zoe) and I made three playlists for NatsuMikan, just like I'm making three essays. One playlist for Natsume's POV, one for Mikan's, and one general playlist for their relationship. I've been listening to the Natsume one while writing these and it's been a lot of fun! This is my long-winded way of plugging Love Song Requiem. Good bye.

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[permian-tropos]

Daniil - Liberosis

Didn’t think this prompt word would become so poignant so soon. The subject matter wound up kind of surreal and taking whatever path I thought might be interesting but sometimes it’s nicer to let other people search for meaning in something. 

IDK yeah I just wanted to publish this. Contains canon-typical misery.

Liberosis: The desire to care less about things.

-

It rains again, always with that damn rain, and inside of each puddle in the street is the reflection of a man with cold eyes. They’re a little bit sardonic, as if the protective cloth tied over his mouth obscures a world-weary smirk. They track movement deliberately, and never dart or flash.

When did this happen? When did his features freeze in place like this? It’s interesting. The last time Dankovsky saw his own reflection, he was burned out like a candle stub.

This is better. You’d rather see a second wind from the Capital doctor on his rounds, a man who cares less and does more, even if what he does isn’t much use to anyone. It’ll give people less reason to panic.

The plague is spreading on the wings of panic. That’s why the patrolmen show no mercy to the sick, those shambling mummies, when they stray into the streets.

Dankovsky never gave such an order. The man in the puddle wears his intentions well: But I wouldn’t countermand it.

When you think about it, the only way to fight the plague is to resist your natural human desire to seek help, or even the comforting touch of another; instead you must succumb in solitude, to save others.

The nature of epidemics really is to target the most precious aspects of our being…

“What do I do? What do I do? I’m lost…”

Dankovsky first expects that wheedling voice to come from a child, but it’s too knowing, like it’s playing a game.

Sometimes they’re called mimes, but they talk too much. They’re more amused by the circumstances than the name Tragedian suggests. Subconsciously, Dankovsky has gotten into the habit of treating them as if there is not a human under that patchwork black cloth, but paper stuffing, or an animated wire frame. They’re an oddly useless counterpart to the orderlies, and they certainly don’t answer to the Bachelor.

“One of you?” he sighs, backing up a few steps. “What do you want from me this time…? Get it over with.”

The masked man dawdling under the streetlamp tips its head slowly one way, then the other. “His Excellency thinks I spoke to him?”

“I’m the only one on the street. Unless you’re raving, in which case I have no time for lunatics.”

“How cruel. In any case… I’ve lost my mask.” The Tragedian shields its eye-holes from the rain with a hand, and looked far and wide.

“It’s right on your head,” Dankovsky grouses. “Now what’s my reward for finding it, a bag of marbles? Or wait, you’ve lost those too.”

“Oh, no, not this. This is my face. You see how blank and plain it is? It wants a character, a role to play. A mask, a mask.”

Dankovsky folds his arms. “What about playing a man who doesn’t leave his house… wherever he comes from, his burrow, his den, and doesn’t get himself into trouble?”

The Tragedian offers an apologetic shrug and spread palms. “I tried it but alas, it weren’t for me. I didn’t know my lines, and came too late…”

The Bachelor mutters, “You’ll be a dog soon – playing dead.”

“I’ve lost a mask of careless cruelty… I think it would be fun to wear a while. It grins at simple victories and doesn’t shed a tear for those less fortunate. I’d like to be the one who laughs in Hell…”

“Fine, I’ll look for something like that… I suppose.” It wasn’t the first bizarre request he’d taken, and been able to fulfill despite not understanding it at first. Whatever the Tragedian was looking for, it would turn up eventually.

Now the Tragedian was clasping its hands together, pleading. It was remarkably expressive for having, as it said, such a blank face. “But if perhaps you’d let me borrow yours…”

“That’s completely unsanitary.” What kind of idiot request was that?

“I mean the one behind the cloth, the visage that regards the world so icily…”

The Tragedian pokes an impudent, spidery finger right between the Bachelor’s eyebrows, which pinch together in great chagrin.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at… but I get the impression you’re not asking for a real object.” He slaps the finger away. “If you want to wear my face, playact all you like. Just don’t impersonate me to anyone important, or use my name for any stupid ventures. Or you’ll regret it.”

Dankovsky leaves the actor to mime out his gratitude, head fervently bowing, clasped hands pumping up and down. He’d expected to get something out of this exchange, but perhaps it’s a longer-term investment. Or it’ll be quite the farce when the thespian starts wandering around the town pretending to be him. He’s not sure what he’s given away.

Signal fires mark the start of an infected district. He tightens the cloth around his mouth and nose and rushes in. There’s one house in particular he has to visit, so he very much intends to keep his head down all the way there.

His ears are assaulted by wails of the dying, carried far even by stagnant windless air.

At first he doesn’t understand why his skin is prickling. Senseless paranoia.

I gave away my mask…

It doesn’t mean anything!

But something’s changed in him for sure.

Even though it’s illogical, he’s shivering like ice has been poured down his shirt.

His eyes catch movement and he jolts away at first, because he’s learned to flee whenever a human shape stumbles across his path in districts like these. One filthy touch from any of these walking corpses could pass on the infection.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Don’t come near me…”

“Help us…” the mummy gabbles. It’s sobbing under the linen wraps, but those cries might be of relief as well as pain. “Please, please, you’ve got to help us… I’ve been looking all over for a doctor… You’ve got pills, haven’t you? Kind sir… spare us something… even just a sleeping draught…”

Dankovsky should be fleeing, and he’s frozen instead. He should do the compassionate thing and put a bullet through this faceless cloth-wrapped head, and he cannot. He has the unsettling thought he would rather turn the gun on himself.

The supplicant takes his inaction as permission. Its hand has seized him and is crawling up his forearm, creeping as surely as a mold on a wall.

“There must be something…” the infected one pleads. “If only to… I just wanted to… oh, but it’s so… my head’s spinning… I can hardly hear myself, can you hear me? Am I speaking? Are you there?”

More dying souls are shambling out of the alleys and either they can smell healthy skin like sharks smell blood or they’re spotting him through the gauze over their eyes and immediately recognizing him. Two have emerged from behind one building… a third and fourth from a park…

The dead come to drag him down into the earth. Rain pours down his cheeks.

“Hey!”

There’s someone behind him, shouting, but he doesn’t realize it’s directed at him until—  

“What do you think you’re doing, dummy? Dummy Dankovsky!”

“Hah?” He’s unstuck when that strident childish voice pierces his ears through the white noise.

In comes charging none other than the wandering saint girl, shoes pattering and splashing through the sodden pavement. She spreads her palms out like she’s pushing out a great wave of force from them, some kind of heavenly wind, and even though no immediate magic goes off with a theatrical bang and puff of smoke, the sickened townsperson withdraws.

Clara catches Dankovsky’s arm. Her grip is mighty steel.

“You didn’t think you could heal them with your touch, did you?” Her tone is either mocking or heartachingly sincere. She’s too peculiar to ever be one thing or another, so maybe it’s both. “Don’t… don’t get those funny ideas into your head, okay? You’ll make people worry about you…”

Of course he finds her words ironic, but not surprising. It’s the usual way that young people parrot the things they’ve been told by others, as a way of expressing concern.

Especially ironic now that she’s extending her free hand towards the bandaged wretch, with a strained but beatific smile, flashing white teeth. Her fingers unfurl, flexing, preparing for an incredible sleight-of-hand.

“Don’t be scared,” coaxes the Changeling. “I’ll take care of you!”

“Careful—!” the Bachelor croaks, voice stolen by panic. But he still waits with bated breath, wondering if he’s about to witness a miracle.

But as soon as Clara’s palm brushes the gauze-wrapped fingertips, the infected person’s hands turn to claws. They gasp and clutch their chest, rocking on their heels, head bobbing.

It’s almost as if they’re trying to express a profound devotion and love that cannot fit inside them. Then they exhale without a word, collapsing in a heap, like a thread over their head has been snipped.

Clara’s smile shrinks by millimeters. Water droplets slide off it, dropping from the corners of her lips.

“Why…?” Her query is a quiet chime, a small tolling bell.

“Leave it, leave it. It was a myocardial infarction,” Dankovsky mutters. “Plainly, a heart attack. It’s usual for them to die like this in the end… Perhaps they were startled by us… Overwhelmed by a moment of hope.”

“I thought I was the one who healed…” the girl says, eyes fogged with confusion. “I mixed it up… Even we can’t tell us apart anymore…?”

Damn this… The girl’s delusions are only going to worsen now. Whoever’s been letting her roam about without supervision needs to rethink their priorities. She used to irritate Dankovsky with her proud preaching, and he was afraid she’d be able to stir the town’s population into a fervor. They come out of their homes in search of her sometimes.

Still, it’s possible she’s been witnessing frightening things for days — or longer? who knows where she came from or what she’s suffered to be without a family now — and has convinced herself she must have a purpose. Whose mind doesn’t falter like that in the face of an insane world?

The Bachelor doesn’t think he’s nearly as paternal as his rough-and-tumble counterpart, the favorite of the orphan underclass, Burakh. But Burakh’s not here right now.

Dankovsky slings a strict enclosing arm around Clara’s shoulders.

“You didn’t do it, Clara…” he commands her to believe, as his heart keeps minutely panging in that new way that he’s not accustomed to. “Don’t think about it. Pull that ratty scarf over your mouth and nose and keep moving.”

She’s stumbling after him, reluctantly keeping apace. “But can’t you see I’m not her…?”

“Whoever you are, I don’t care,” Dankovsky mutters. He stares only ahead, at the distant waterlogged signal pyre marking the invisible border between poison and safety.

[farplane]

DAY 4: BALEFUL

“Ah, fuck,” said Ashwin.

“That thing is off its nut,” Taupin added. They craned their necks, the lot of them, and squinted against the sun. Helpfully, Taupin had been narrating the entire affair as though the rest of them couldn’t see what was happening right over their heads. “Flapping its wings all angry-like, snapping its beak, screeching to fuck.”

“We know, Taupin,” Avis said.

“Why doesn’t it just fly off? It’s not like a cat got stuck up there. Or some green recruit too scared to warp.”

“All right, piss off,” piped Ensgeir, who had once been a green recruit too scared to warp from the summit of the training grounds tower.

“There’s a grille up there, innit?” Gawain said. “It must have gotten stuck.”

“Has anyone called for a beastmaster? We can’t train with that thing trying to snap our fingers off.”

“And what d’you expect their lot to do? You can’t climb up there without magic,” Ashwin said, because he had attempted it after one pint too many at Rinomy’s and slid right down the tower wall, much to the amusement of the other Glaives.

“There’s more than one griffin in this town, you twats,” Avis said. She waved a hand up at the shrieking beast on the tower. “Let them mount up and get the stupid animal unstuck.”

“That could take ages; king’s sent most of the griffin knights off to wherever the fuck yesterday morning, hasn’t he?”

“Ah, balls, he did, aye.”

“And it’s clearly hurting,” Gawain said, nudging Avis’s arm. “Can’t you melt the grille down from here or summat? If anyone has enough control to manage that, it’s you.”

“And burn its leg off? I’m not that good.”

“Someone should go do something. Up there,” Ensgeir said.

Taupin shook his head. “Can’t go ‘til it’s calmed down.”

“You’re all fucking cowards,” Wulfric said, and that stupid, reckless thing inside him was thinking—or not thinking—for him again, because he added, for clarity, “I’ll go.”

“All right, hero,” Reiver said with a snort. “Sure you will.”

Fear fluttered through Wulfric’s body almost at once, but he didn’t back down. Why would he? It was only a few warps. And facing down an angry, sharp-taloned, quintessentially Ala Mhigan killing machine.

“Wulf,” said Gawain. “Don’t be daft.”

“It’s fine,” Wulfric said, peeling off his uniform jacket to roll up his shirt sleeves. “They’re trained not to kill Mhigans, aren’t they?”

“No, they aren’t,” said Ashwin. And Reiver, at the same time: “Well, you’re not.”

Wulfric flashed Reiver his most insouciant grin. Avis grimaced at him as he handed her his jacket, holding it by the collar between thumb and forefinger.

“What’re you taking that off for?” she asked. “Hoping that griffin rider of yours will come ‘round right as you’re taming his beast, muscles rippling?”

The Glaives booed and flicked sand at him, as they had when first finding out he had slept around with the enemy.

“You know what, Avis? Bite me.”

“I’ll make sure to get in line behind the griffin, then.”

Gawain smacked her on the arm. Wulfric stepped closer to the tower, slipping his dagger from its sheath; for good luck, he pressed his lips to the flat of the blade, his eyes trained on the contre-jour silhouette of the griffin against the sky.

No time to think, or to dread, or to find a less stupid solution. He threw his dagger and began the chain of warps to take him up to the top.

He heard, distantly, through the rush of wind in his ears and the thrill of magic surging through him: “Right, ten gil on him losing a finger. Who’s with me?”

Wulfric let his comrades’ voices fade away, slipping only into his body; into that brief moment between warps where he fell and didn’t fall. His heart didn’t start racing until his feet were on the tower and the griffin was in front of him—the closest he’d ever come to one of them, and if he hadn’t understood their power then, he did now.

When it screeched at him, Wulfric damn near fell back on his arse.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said gently, sheathing his dagger that he might hold his empty hands out. Not in reach of its beak—he wasn’t that stupid—but to at least display some absence of threat. “It’s all right.”

The griffin’s eyes were wild with fury; it beat its wings again, raising a great gale that stung Wulfric’s skin, and shrieked as it tugged on its bindings. Gawain was right: its left hind leg was caught in the grille at the center of the tower, the talons twisted between the bars. It looked painful as all hells.

“I’d be raging, too,” Wulfric said. He tried to step closer, only for the griffin to snap its beak at him, very nearly catching the edge of his shirt.

And then it swiped a talon at him, and he did fall back on his arse in his haste to avoid it. His heart was in his throat; on his back, he was vulnerable, even with the griffin unable to pounce on him. But it could have, and that put the fear of the sunless sea in him.

“Look,” he said breathlessly as he scrambled to his feet, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m not even Ala Mhigan by birth.”

The griffin made a sound that he could only call a snarl. This time, instead of blindly throwing himself right at a raging beast, Wulfric stepped slowly to the side in the hopes of eventually placing himself in reach of the grille. But for now, he kept himself firmly in the griffin’s field of vision.

“D’you know what our emblem is, back where I come from? A flower. A pretty blue flower.” The griffin snapped at him again. “Not some vicious, sword-wielding fucking bird born out of a dragon-god, or whatever the story is, fucking superstitious Ala Mhigans—”

He sighed to stop himself, dropping his hands; the griffin stilled, flapping its wings in a gesture almost like a shrug.

“My home’s gone, you know?” Wulfric said softly. “The Empire came, and it just…” Grief was thicker in his throat than fear as he closed his eyes, just for a moment. If this is how I should die, let me die now. And still he opened them. “It wasn’t the Empire then, just Garlemald, but it became. With us.”

One step forward. Two. The griffin watched, dark-eyed. “And that’s why I’m here. I love Ala Mhigo, you know? I want to fight for it. I want to fight for you. So just—help me. Let me help you.”

He reached a hand out again, in reach of the beak, but the griffin still only stared. His fingertips touched its feathers, soft and bone-white. “Like it saved me, yeah?”

A screech pierced his ears; he felt that cutting gale on his skin again, but he was fairly certain he hadn’t lost any of his extremities. His hand was pressed wholly against the griffin’s flank now, and he felt the rush of fear wash down his limbs.

“That’s a good boy. We’re all just friends here,” he whispered, babbling through his trepidation. “Just all good Mhigan mates.”

Finally he reached the griffin’s hind leg, his palm flat against the griffin’s feathers to feel its breath and the shifting of muscles underneath his hand, and he could see where the razor-sharp talons had caught in the grille.

“I’m gonna get you out of there now. So don’t eviscerate me when you’re free, all right?”

Wulfric got to work, crouching down by the grille. The single talon was larger than both of his hands put together; he was keenly aware of how vulnerable he was in this state, and it made him itch for his daggers—but that was how the griffin felt, too, wasn’t it? 

There was blood on his hands as he slowly worked the talon back through the grille. That poor beast was hurt, afraid, and furious with it. He could understand that well enough.

The moment it was freed, the griffin loosed a triumphant shriek and leapt up into the sky, wings open wide. Wulfric fell back on his arse again; he heard his comrades below for the first time since his first jump, exclaiming and whistling up at him.

He let himself collapse atop the training tower, his back flat against the grille, his breath and limbs shaking with residual fear and triumph. And a laugh bubbled up from his lungs, breathless, as he shielded his eyes from the sun to watch the griffin fly over Ala Mhigo.

He felt alive.

[winchesterandpie]

Reminders (Thorin Oakenshield x reader)

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x reader

Sort of Modern!AU

Word Count: 1517

Warnings: some angst, mentions of death (nobody actually dies though)

A/N: So, I watched the Battle of the Five Armies when it was on TV as part of a Hobbit marathon... naturally this included Thorin, Fili, and Kili all dying and I was Not A Fan, so I had this fix-it imagination/thing. The reader (that’s you!) got transported to Middle Earth, and saved our boys and now those three dwarves plus you watched BOTFA (don’t ask me how they got transported to and from Middle Earth, because idk, it just happened). The two lines of dots are just my way of maintaining space on the mobile version! Gif is not mine (I got it from google, but it appears to have a credit in the top corner)! Love you all and hope you enjoy!

Shoutout to the lovely (hehe) @legolaslovely​ for helping me bounce ideas and get unstuck!!

The movie was over but I could barely push myself to my feet and through the halls of my house, muttering an excuse about needing to use the bathroom. It’d been dreadfully hard to live through Thorin and his nephews nearly dying, but to have to watch them actually die over again? It was just too much. 

Why did I let those blasted dwarves talk me into watching this movie with them? I could’ve just been faster to turn it off and we could’ve avoided this whole thing but noooo. 

Even now, they were watching the beginning of the first Lord of the Rings movie, unaffected by watching their own on-screen deaths and unaware as I tried desperately to force back the tears I could feel welling up. Without paying attention, I came to sit before a window in the other room, staring out at the yard and the streets as I tucked my knees close to my chest. I sucked in a sharp breath as flashes of memory struck.

.   .

.   . 

This one dies first.

Then the brother.

Then you, Oakenshield.

You will die last.

Ice filled my veins at the words I had heard so many times before in the movies. Now, though, it was real. Fili was real and a real friend, not just a fictional character.

Helplessly, we watched from below as Azog jammed his cruel blade through Fili before letting him fall to the ice. Instinctively, I reached out, trying to slow the blond prince’s fall. Miraculously, I somehow managed to catch him, though the limp weight of him knocked me to the ground. He lay unmoving atop me as I struggled to get out from under him.

.   .

.   .

Kili charged recklessly towards Tauriel’s voice, hearing her cry out as she was attacked by Bolg. I saw him move from across the ice, separated by a horde of goblins and orcs. Muttering curses under my breath, I followed, cutting my way through the army as quickly as I could, ignoring the cuts I received in the urgency I felt to get there before it was too late. 

Alas, fate, it seemed, was against me as Azog’s son threw Kili onto the stone steps. As I reached the ledge, I saw the dwarf’s head hit the stone hard and he didn’t get back up. My last throwing knife leapt of its own accord into my hand, where it was sent with deadly accuracy and force into an unarmored part of Bolg’s head. 

My knees were almost buckling under the weight of losing both of the dwarf princes, under the weight of my own failure to save them, but I forced myself to keep moving. There was yet one more son of Durin who drew breath on this hill, and I had to try. No tears, not yet, I told myself.

.   .

.   . 

From across the ice, I could see that Azog had some dwarf I couldn’t identify pinned beneath him. My breath caught in horror as I realized it was Thorin, trying desperately to stave off Azog’s blade. I had already used most of my arrows, leaving only two in the quiver. Still, I could tell I only had time for one shot. One shot in which to pull the Pale Orc’s attention to me, as I didn’t trust my aim to kill him.

Unconsciously, I had drawn the bow, the fletching on the arrow brushing my cheek as I aimed carefully. One shot. One breath. One smooth release. The arrow flew on its way with a hiss.

It slammed into Azog’s upper arm, and his head whipped in my direction, just like I’d been counting on. Thorin’s attention was dragged to me, distracting him from Azog, which I hadn’t counted on. The orc moved to stab Thorin again, but I snapped off my last arrow before I started sprinting in their direction. The arrow tore through his stub of an arm, pushing his sword stroke aside. Or so I had hoped.

I thought I saw my arrow shift where his blade struck, but it didn’t stop him and I was still too far away. I saw the blade sink into Thorin, who couldn’t block it in his exhaustion, and the sight hit me like a physical blow. The loss of the brothers had hurt, but not like this. Not him, I begged to whatever deity would listen, Please, not him.

.   .

.   . 

I was brought out of my thoughts suddenly by a hand on my face, brushing away a tear I hadn’t realized was slipping down my cheek. My mind slowly processed and understood where I was, though the grief lingered heavily. They hadn’t actually been dead, thankfully, though that knowledge hadn’t been part of the memories I’d recalled.

“Come back to me, ghivashel.” Thorin’s voice filtered over my ears, I pulled my gaze to his face, still staring without seeing. With conscious effort, I forced myself to focus on him, registering his furrowed brow and concerned gaze.

“There you are.”

“Sorry,” I replied quietly, not wanting to disturb the quiet.

“No need to apologize. Where were you?” His hands, cupped around my cheeks, held me there as he gazed intently into my eyes.

“Erebor,” I hedged, hoping he’d leave it at that. I’d managed to keep my voice from cracking, but only just. He was worried enough about trying to get back to Middle Earth to have to worry about whether I was breaking. I was, however, betrayed when another tear slipped from the corner of my eye.

“What’s wrong, lass?” Thorin caught the tear with a gentle brush of his thumb. “I’ve been homesick, I’ve seen you homesick. This is something more. You don’t need to hide from me.”

“I… that movie… I didn’t expect… didn’t expect to watch you die today, Thorin.” My voice finally cracked as I put words to the painful thoughts.

“And you were remembering the battle.” His gaze became impossibly soft as he looked at me. Carefully, he pulled me into his chest, his fingers winding through my hair. I felt the gentle press of his lips to the crown of my head as I sucked in a shuddering breath. 

“That part of the movie always hurt, but this time…” I trailed off with a helpless shrug.

“It is understandable to be troubled by reminders of such times. You are not weak for that,” the king murmured soothingly as the hand that wasn’t cradling my head to him began to trace little patterns on my back.

“I don’t see you, or Fili, or Kili so troubled, and you were the ones who nearly died and then watched your own deaths!”

“Different things trouble different people. Besides, you were the one who watched what you believed to be our demise unfold before you in the real battle. Watching it now was as though you were reliving the memory.” 

I nodded slightly, supposing that what he said made sense. Safe now in the dwarven king’s strong arms, the tension and grief slowly loosened their hold, helped along by quiet reassurances that he was there, that they were alive. Every inhale brought Thorin’s scent into my nose, another reminder that he was real and alive. 

“What happened to Aunt Y/N?” I heard Kili’s quiet question but didn’t move. 

I didn’t really pay attention to Thorin’s reply, just the soothing rumble of his chest as he spoke. 

“Is there anything we can do, Uncle?”

“What do you think, love? What do you need?”

I shifted my head a little as I thought, feeling the soft brush of Thorin’s lips against my forehead. “Maybe we could watch something else? Something to take my mind off it?” I only paused briefly before my jumbled thoughts slipped from my mouth. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be-”

“No apologies, ghivashel,” Thorin cut me off gently, pulling back enough to lift my chin in his hand and look me in the eye. “You don’t ever need to apologize for having feelings. You are not a burden for them.” As usual, the dark-haired dwarf saw through me to where the immediate guilt was coming from. I nodded, closing my eyes and leaning into his hand as I tried to burn his reassurance into my mind. 

“We don’t know how to get to a movie, but we’d love to watch another one with you,” Kili offered after a moment had passed.

“Yeah, I should probably man the remote.” I chuckled weakly at the thought of them trying to work the unfamiliar technology.

“Fili, Kili, you get some food to eat while we watch. We’ll be there in a moment.” 

The brothers bounced toward the kitchen, jostling each other playfully as they went. I smiled at the sight before turning back to see Thorin watching me adoringly. 

“Thank you,” was all I could say. 

“Men lananubukhs menu,” was all Thorin said in reply. His hand found the back of my neck, pulling me in so he could rest his forehead against mine with the utmost care, and I knew that he knew everything I was failing to convey. 

Somehow, he always knew.

Translations:

Ghivashel: treasure of all treasures

Men lananubukhs menu: I love you

Hope you enjoyed!!

Forever Tags:

@riddikulus-obsessions​ @addictionmarvel​ @peppermint--teas​ @mercedesbarnes​ @javapeach​

Tag list is open! Shoot me a message or an ask if you’d like to be added!

[il-allora]

Oversharing II

Check out  @reynaruina ‘s Ponytail Dib AU

CW: Mental health, depression, dub con, alcoholism. If it isn’t your shit, don’t go there, babe.

—

Fucking hell… “ZIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIM!!!” he screamed from his window and ran to put pants on as the ground shook under his feet, the sound was loud and ominous enough that the neighbors stopped screaming at each other and just started screaming in general confusion. Dib sighed, looking at the time on his watch, “Motherf— Ugh!” he complained shoving his feet into his boots and yanking his coat from the kitchen chair. He slammed the door behind him and heard the entrance mirror he had turned fall and break as another tremor shook the building. Shit.

He sighed and wondered what was he doing again as he walked down the stairs, revising his pockets until he finally found his flask and taking a swig from it. What was the fucking point? He was gonna save the city and the world again, for everyone to ignore what happened with the guy with the skin condition and the… Fucking. Colossal. Robot. Heading downtown… In any other context, that would be cool as hell, he caught himself thinking.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts and taking another swig of cheap gin, he put the flask away and took his car keys. Revised the trunk where his world-saving-gear was in since the incident with the zombies. He could use the extra power interruption system he had upstairs, but this would make due… Dib sighed, climbed on his car and turned it on, “I told him I didn’t wanna fucking do this this fucking week,” he swiveled in traffic and over the sidewalks, people cursing at him as he apologized apathetically at the insults and ugly handsigns… He should just go there and wreck his own bit of havoc by letting Zim have an extra minute of glory punching buildings or whatever he was doing.

Parking his car on a corner he took the backpack with the Swollen Eyes symbol and said, “Let’s do this,” against his every impulse he walked towards the robot as people ran away in hoards pressing and pushing him, he even felt a kick at the knee (what the hell??). Once he was close enough he put his digital signature detection googles and saw most commands for the robot were at the top… “Fucking great, space boy, not cliché at all.”

Pushing the googles up he ran for cover against a hydrant, then against the piece of a building, inching his way towards the gigantic, stupid thing. Behind cars, behind debris, jumping and dodging rocks of all sized the robot seemed to be kicking around undecided on where to go. Until he found the stairs and ran to climb up almost losing a foot as the alien seemed to notice him and try to shake him off, good time to use the tensors at his trousers to climb, awesome… It’s great to remind yourself why you’re broke by buying everything you need for confrontation with an alien invader. Just as he wanted his Saturday to end.

Adrenalin cursed through him as he put a little laser robot he built to burn through the metal, pushing his goggles down over his glasses, he waited while the robot… Danced? Hm. He climbed in and then found high ground at the air vents, taking a go pro strapped to his head along with a flashlight, he crawled up and down and over to the next room, then the next and as he thought he was lost in the stupid thing.

Finally falling through to a dark room filled with machines… Huh… Control room. He looked around, recovering as easily as ever from the fall and forgetting how bothered he was by this whole matter for a second as he fiddled around and rigged the computer with a little self destruction command he’d learned from his times abducted at Zim’s house.

Cautiously walking to the door, he bumped into GIR, “Destroy intruder!!” he said with his eyes turning red and Dib prepared for anything the crazy thing had in store, before he could know it had climbed to his chest and started ticking him, “HAHAHHAHAHHA, fuck, stop!! STOP!!!” running down the hall as he could in the middle of the weirdest, scratchiest tickle fight he’d had ever in his life. He fell on through the door by the end, belly on the cold metallic floor as the little robot climbed off his back “Well done, GIR!! Now, strap him!!!”.

Dib growled and panted as GIR screamed, “Yes, Master! CANDYYY!!” Then from his head he shot sticky candy that quickly had him stuck to the floor. Dib sighed again, somehow there was a part of him that regretted leaving his apartment, while the rest of him screamed at it ‘if you didn’t the world would be doomed’, ‘fuck the world, the news will be that there was a hurricane downtown anyway’ said the apathetic side and he looked up at Zim defiantly, “LET ME GO NOW, ZIM!!” to which the alien laughed. “Oh, I knew that if I made enough noise The Dib would come to the rescue of this pathetic, little rock… I KNEW YOU COULDN’T RESIST THE CHALLENGE!!!” Dib sighed and pressed his forehead to the floor, lifting it quickly thankful that it hadn’t stuck to the floor…

He narrowed his eyes at Zim and said, “You won’t win, Zim! It’s already time you realized that you don’t stand a chance against Earth!” the blade hidden in his sleeve came out and he saw through the candy as Zim kept chatting. God that guy loved to chat about his grandioseness…

“You make Zim laugh, Dib stink! HA!” he laughed sitting back at the pilot seat sparing one last glance at Dib as he struggled against his ties, “Now at least you get a first row seat to watch me burn down this city and unleash doom on my path to your preseedent’s back yard!” he laughed manically as the robot stumbled, “Oh… Computer!! What was that?!” he screamed. The AI was blocked out when Dib unleashed the virtual self destruction. He finished freeing his feet, at which GIR applauded cheerfully as if he were performing a magic trick.

Dib rose an eyebrow at it, and then jumped back as a leg from Zim’s pack punctured the floor before him, “I told you, you won’t-!” the ray came from nowhere and missed him by an inch, before he could brace himself he was thrown against the wall and pushed up by his collar. The gin he’d had was enough as not to mind the pain too much, so he swallowed thickly against the pressure and he had seldom seen Zim so close. They looked at each other for a long moment and Dib was having a rough time not liking being manhandled by his rival, but alas, fight goes both ways. He punched Zim in the face and he fell back with Dib on all fours on top of him. Two fundamental notes on irkens were that: 1) They were strong and 2) They knew how to make a fight.

The knee to his stomach was almost sweet and he doubled over, falling on the mechanical legs trapped under him. So they stayed there on the floor, literally rolling punches until the both of them were battered and somehow Dib felt less angry about his life choices. He could do this all his life, he was good at this, the world needed him.

Soon enough Zim limped away after breaking a window as he lifted and pushed Dib almost through it, the robot was quickly going down as Zim had GIR lift him by the pack to safety and as the ground approached Dib counted to three, made a jump of faith and rolled on glass and tough broken asphalt as the robot collapsed on the ground. 

Panting and pressing at his bloody nose, Dib limped a few blocks away, feeling his coat sticking to his arms and holding his belly as it was still queasy. The robot exploded to bits and sent him rolling to the ground again, he covered his head as the expansive wave broke the window of every building around him.

Zim is definitely why he can’t have nice things… He wanted a peaceful Saturday night wallowing in self pity and having a shameful orgasm or sleeping…

Groaning and grunting, Dib finally got to his feet. Leaning heavily against a building and walking down the street. He didn’t even bother looking back, he unstuck his coat and then noticed that his shirt had been cut at the front… What the hell was with Zim and shirt breaking?! He sighed and covered himself as well as he could, leaving the coat and backpack in the trunk. 

After a while he finally plopped down on the driver’s seat in a haze and saw the parking ticket on the windshield… Of course…. This fucking city… He put the car on drive and went back home. Earth’s savior needed to get blackout drunk right fucking now.

On the other side of town, in a strange little house there was an alien smiling at the screen showing Dib walking out of his car and the door of the vehicle falling as he apathetically walked back inside the building.

Zim hissed as the restoration serum pumped into his system, “I don’t understand, Dib-stink, you deserve this awful world! Why don’t you take it??! You’re capable of it as the best irken invaders I’ve ever met!!” he said as his antennae fell and he sighed helplessly as the strong warrior of Earth walked out of sight, “I could make you the President of Earth if you let me… You’d be deserving, my Dib” he said frustrated balling his fists at his sides and feeling twice as defeated, ironically by the same man.

[sems-diarie]

shopping carts bite back

.・. ✫・. ✭ main masterlist

✭.・✫ .・. bnha masterlist

Grocery store shenanigans featuring Bakugou Katsuki!

You are struggling.

The cereal you want is on the top row. You are short. Add those two together, and you can’t get the cereal you want.

But alas, mama ain’t raise no bitch!

You take a look down the aisle. There are a few people sprinkled throughout the row. An old man with a dark purple walking stick and a woman with three children at her tail. All three of them are screaming at each other, and the woman looks exasperated as she puts her cans into her hand-held shopping basket.

If you can do this quick enough, no one will see anything.

You position the shopping cart accordingly, white-knuckling the handlebar. If this bitch rolls while you are standing in it, you are done for. You swing a leg over into the shopping cart and feel the pride of success fills your chest.

Okay, that’s one leg.

“What are you doing, idiot?”

Like clockwork, your head turns painfully slow.

Narrowed, vermillion eyes meet your wide, baffled ones.

Bakugou is not surprised by this scene he’s walked into; you do things like this often, even at the academy. He’s—well, Katsuki just wishes it hadn’t been him who caught you mid-endeavor.

“Good morning, Bakugou!” You flash a cutesy smile.

He repeats himself, unamused with your contorted body position. Anybody with common sense would know this—whatever the hell it is—isn’t a good idea. “What are you doing?”

“I...,” You have the audacity to look sheepish. Like someone else had come up with this plan to do whatever it is you’re trying to do. You press your foot down, trying to relieve the tension in your lower back when the cart fucking moves.

“Shit!”

Bakugou pushes his cart into the next aisle, “Bye.”

“Wait!” You cry after him, managing to balance yourself just before certain death. You desperately bat an arm out to grab him, because now your foot is stuck and you can’t get it unstuck. “Help me!”

“No.”

“Katsuki!” You whimper again. Reluctantly, he turns halfway. “My foot is stuck. I’m gonna break my back. I swear to God I will sue you if you don’t help me.”

The blond faces you fully, eyes slanted and unamused. You take a moment to appreciate what he’s wearing today: a long-sleeved red shirt and white sweatpants. It’s a winter look that suits him good. He looks... menacing. All twitchy eyebrows and a mean little frown. It’s cute. He’s cute. Cute and menacing, how... Bakugou of him.

He gripes, tsking and snapping about how he’s always the one who gets caught up in your haberdashery, but steps closer to bend over the cart. His shoulder brushes your side, right under your armpit while one of his hands wraps around your ankle with thick fingers. It feels oddly intimate, having him here like this. You like it.

“Why didn’t you just ask me to grab the stupid cereal, dummy?”

“How’d you know I wanted cereal?” Your hands cling to the neckline of his shirt and shift a little closer to him. Hopefully, he doesn’t notice. “And you weren’t even here for me to ask, anyway, smartass.”

He scowls, fingers tugging the back of your shoe down. Your big ass foot really is stuck. “Pull your foot out of your shoe instead of trying to pull both.”

You yank your foot out of your shoe, and consequently the shopping cart, but you move too fast and bang your thigh on the metal bars. The cart jerks! Too much force pulls you backward! “Fuck!”

Completely expecting this, and with the grace of a hero, Bakugou yanks your shoe out of the cart hole and dips to catch you, one arm capturing your waist and the other wrapped around your thigh.

“Stupid girl,” his breath fans your face. Mint. Your clenched eyes flutter open at large, warm palms buying into the plushness of your body. “You’re so clumsy.”

Your face blooms an intemperate degree of hot as you realize Bakugou Katsuki is staring down at you while practically caressing your body. Something in your stomach flutters as you bask in the attention of Bakugo and his hands.

“My hero,” you mumble, squeezing his shoulder just a little tighter after he pivots around to spin you upright. He tchs, taking a quick second to look you over.

“Thanks,” you mumble when Bakugou bends on one knee to help you slip your shoe on. He grunts, a “You’re welcome,” in the language of Brute Man.

You know, on his knees like this, Katsuki almost looks like he’s—

“Next time don’t be an idiot.” He stretches to full height, some inches over you.

Bakugou may not be as bad as people make him out to be, you think. Just as grumpy, sure. But you can’t deny the dip in his grumpy little eyebrow is absolutely adorable.

The smile you give him feels gummy-sweet. “Your idiot, baby.”

“Shut the hell up.” After tossing the box of Lucky Charms into your basket, he moves on with his day in the next breath.

“Bye.” For real, this time.

You almost call for him again but decide against it. You’ll see him at school on Monday, anyhow.

Casting another look down the aisle, you realize it’s empty now, save for a little old lady who’s looking back and forth between you and Bakugo with this look in her eyes. When she realizes she’s been caught, her face blooms. You smile back because you’d be a monster to not smile at this cute old lady.

You call after Bakugou’s back, “See ya later, Katsuki!”

[bomberqueen17]

msilverstar replied to your post “Aran jumpers”

You never forget the songs you learned as a teenager!

IDK, it’s funny-- i can’t remember which songs I learned when, and a lot of them I’ve forgotten some of the verses, but a few of the songs I know the whole fuckin thing from start to finish. 

I was listening at work to the first Chieftains album, which I didn’t think I’d heard before, and I had not heard it start to finish in its entirety ever, but I knew every single song, but I did not know any of the titles. It brought up a very dim recollection of, perhaps, a cassette tape, from which the label had come unstuck, and my father’s spidery handwriting on the case insert, and during one of the songs in particular I had like a visceral moment of astonishment when it did not suddenly stop in the middle with a pop of a tape reaching its end. Dad definitely had dubbed the album onto a cassette and then his brother had stolen the LP, that’s absolutely the situation. I never heard the LP.

Weird what stuff kind of hooks its way into your brain before you have context, and is there as an establishing base layer but isn’t connected to any of the later stuff so it never comes up in your daily life, but something reminds you and you’re ten and sitting by the hi-fi in the living room trying to read the misspelled Gaelic in your dad’s terrible handwriting and not having any clue where any of this fits into the wider world. 

And I know the Clancy Brothers mostly now as hokey pub standards nobody pays much attention to but it’s worth noting their first album was raw as fuck. 

[alas, dad’s brother stole the original version which was never rereleased; all you can get now is the 1959 re-record. if i could find an original dad would be delighted but i am not a record collector type. and no dad didn’t have the tape; he’d bought the re-recorded version eventually.]

[macaronis-telegraph]

S.S. Temperance

Hey! This is just a mildly whumpy drabble that I kinda threw together on a whim. 

I enjoyed writing it, so fingers crossed someone out there enjoys reading it! 

(It’s a working title btw if I decide to do more with this, and also, warning for absolutely no proof reading.)

Anyways, onto the thing!

---

It came with a splash of chilled liquid, staining his front, followed by a clatter of glass and metal, followed by intense laughter and jeers. Ever since accepting this job, he always swore to himself that he’d never take to alcohol - the government had outlawed it for a reason. But that wouldn’t stop the laughter.

Benjamin felt his entire being tighten. He needed to focus, he needed to clean up, he-

He felt a hand clench around the front of his shirt, causing it to become untucked. Benjamin didn’t need to unsoften his vision to know it was the same man who caused him to drop the tray in the first place. Benjamin didn’t even need to guess what might come next. Every single person in this ballroom was drunk, except for his crewmates, but none of them would risk the punishment that could come from fighting a customer. Benjamin squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out his drunken attacker. 

Suddenly, another hand came to Benjamin’s attention in addition to the ones at his front. It gripped him around his upper arm, dragging him away from the awful drunk. But this hand was no less frightening. In fact, it was even more so. 

“What in God’s name were you doing?” The voice was as sharp and chilling as the cold night air as they stepped outside, onto the deck. 

Benjamin shivered, avoiding eye contact. He knew that voice. It was his boss, the ship’s owner. And it’s not like any act of defiance would be able to help him now. 

“You spill my whisky, costing me money, and disturb a paying customer-”

“It wasn’t my-” The grip on Benjamin’s arm tightened tremendously. He wished he could go back in time. His mouth spoke before his brain’d had the chance to shut him up.

“You…” His boss fumbled around in his coat pocket, pulling out a small dreadful object that Benjamin had seen many times before. “You little…”

Benjamin’s body unconsciously tried to jerk out of the way, to escape the man’s hold, but it only made the grip become painful. And before Benjamin could even think another thought, a fist came swinging towards him armed with the glint of something metal. 

He recoiled as the fist made an impact with his cheek, the metal biting deep into this skin. Benjamin gasped, the air threatening to leave his lungs. And then, suddenly, the grip on his arm disappeared, causing him to fall unsteady on his feet. 

His boss stormed away for a moment, and Benjamin wanted to run. It was in all his instinct to. But alas, he was stuck in place. He’d only be found anyways. They were at least five miles out from shore, and there weren’t any hiding spots his boss didn’t know about in his own ship. 

Benjamin paled as his boss came back around the corner, armed with a bucket and his knuckle knife still secure in his palm. His feet finally became unstuck as Benjamin took a couple of steps back. It wasn’t enough though. A bucket of bitter salt water was soon dumped over his entire being, leaving him sodden. He held back a whimper as it dripped across his raw cheek, creating a teeth grinding sting. 

“Clean yourself up.” The large man turned away without another look. “Can’t have a dumb mug looking like you serving in there.” 

And with that, the boss was gone, ducking back inside the main ballroom of the ship.

Benjamin just stood, dripping and shivering for a moment. He needed this job. He needed the money. It was all he could keep telling himself. 

With slow, creaking steps at first, Benjamin began making his way to the stairs at the stern, heading down below deck to the crew’s quarters. It wasn’t anything fancy, and he didn’t let himself linger on it. He just grabbed a small tin he kept under his bunk, and made his way into the tiny shared bathroom. It was then that his body decided it didn’t want to hold itself up any longer. 

Benjamin hunched over, holding himself up over the short metal sink. His body had begun to shake, allowing small drops to fall into the sink. Was it from his soaked body? Or tears. His brain was too clouded to think. He just knew he needed this job. He needed the money. He couldn’t be loud. He couldn’t let anyone else hear. If the boss saw him as a crying mess…

His tears came more violet now, paired with harsh breathing. He didn’t have anything to stop his emotions from flowing freely. 

Through blurry eyes, Benjamin glanced up at the greasy mirror before him. He looked awful. A shaky hand reached up, prodding at his cheek, already a bright inflamed red. His eye would be black by the end of the night. 

He wanted to gag.

His mouth twitched, opening to do so, but the movement sent pain up his injured muscle. He coughed involuntarily at that, his fingers digging into the metal sink as much as they could. 

It hurt. It hurt more than a black eye should. But Benjamin had trained his brain to be grateful. He’d met his boss’s favourite ‘tool’ more than once, and luckily, he’d only come in contact with the knuckle side. One day soon, he was sure it would be the blade and-

A knock came at the bathroom door.

Benjamin huffed in a small wheezy gasp at the sound. It had to be one of his crewmates, right? But what if it was a lost, drunk guest? What if it was his boss? He found himself shaking harshly again.

The knock on the door repeated itself.

“Ben?” came the voice from the other side, “Benji?”

Benjamin held his breath. Did he get lucky?

“Hey, Benji, it’s just Otis out here. How ’bout you let me in so I know you’re okay, yeah?” 

Benjamin hesitated before reaching to unlock the bathroom door. Otis worked down in the engine room and was maybe two or three years older than Benjamin. He could trust him. He could trust Otis. 

Otis quickly approached once the door was opened for him. 

“Yikes, bunny, he really did a number on you this time.”

“Shut it.” Benjamin veered away from his touch, will wary on his feet.

“Hey… hang tight. I’ll be right back.” Otis stepped back to return to the rest of the quarters but stopped, catching another long glance at Benjamin before leaving. “Sit, will ya’?”

Otis watched to make sure that Benjamin had steadied himself on the closed toilet seat before finally leaving the tiny room. 

He returned shortly after, bringing with him a fresh towel and shirt. 

“Let’s get that off you.” Otis draped the towel and shirt over the edge of the sink. “You smell like the ocean.”

Benjamin pretended to ignore that comment, trying instead to get his shaking fingers to unbutton his sodden shirt. “How did you even…?”

Otis crouched down in front of Benjamin, gently coercing his hands out of the way, working open the buttons for him as he spoke. “Ralph gave me the heads up. Told me he’d seen you tripped up by some old man, then about the boss turning livid.”

Benjamin hummed lightly. He couldn’t help but be grateful that Otis was here with him, but he wasn’t quite ready to show it yet.

With his soaked shirt now stripped off, Otis playfully threw the towel over Benjamin’s head and shoulders. Benjamin worked to dry his salty hair without a word. 

“You got any cream to put on that?” Otis nodded towards Benjamin’s darkening bruise as he finished drying himself off. 

Benjamin shook his head. “It’s no use anyways. Can’t cover it with cream over it.” A jarring shiver wracked itself over Benjamin’s body, and he reached over to grab his dry shirt. He shrugged it on over his shoulders, avoiding eye contact with Otis. Part of him knew he wouldn’t, but Benjamin knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it if he found pity on his face. 

He couldn’t avoid it for long though. As Benjamin’s trembling fingers struggled again with the buttons, Otis took over once more. And there wasn’t any pity in his eyes - just a sadness that he was trying to hide from.

As he finished, Otis looked up, ghosting his fingers over the injury. “Yeah. He won’t let you on the floor with this.” He reached over, grabbing the small tin that Benjamin had brought in earlier.

Benjamin’s face scrunched up. “I don’t know if any amount of powder is going to cover this. It’s… it’s no good.”

“Does it hurt for me to try?” Otis leaned over with the powder tin, carefully moving to apply it over the bruised cheek. 

“He’s gonna have me in the storeroom for a week!”

“Aw, but the rats in there love to be cuddled!” Otis would always try to lighten the mood, often with mixed results.

“God, close your head, will ya?” Benjamin twitched in pain, the feistiness short lived, and Otis retreated from his efforts for a moment. “What if… what if next time it’s worse?”

Otis sighed to himself, then reached down, taking Benjamin’s hand in his, squeezing gently. “All he is, is a high pillow. What can he ever do to you in the end?”

“I’m sure all he wants to do is fill me with lead,” Benjamin shot back, fast and nervous.

Otis snorts a little. “Nah he’d never do that. You make him money. He knows what his crew is worth.”

“He knows it’s worth not letting me run off to the police and telling them what’s actually going on over here.” 

“That doesn’t mean he wants you dead.” Otis released his hand, standing up straight. “We’re all in it to make a buck or two, which makes him no different than us in the end.” One last time, he reached his hand out to Benjamin, offering assistance in standing. “And we need’ta make our buck - best be back to work.” Otis smiled a weak smile, acknowledging their boss’s strictness.  

“C’mon. You can sleep all nice n’ beautiful when we’re back in port.”

---

[lamentalia]

Amelia - Chapter 3, Part 1

“Mattie…”

“No.”

“But, Mattie, we can just—”

“No! Shh, let me think!”

Amelia rolls her eyes. Mattie has become Insufferable and he’s getting on her nerves. From their vantage point atop a small, wooded foothill, Amelia looks back up at the mountain range rising to the west, then down to the village sprawled out at the foot of it. 

They were trying to aim for the swath of uninhabited land that should have been between the edge of the Void wall and this village. Alas, such a thing did not exist. 

After a day and a half of traveling south, they had found the wall of Void. It was slow going as they had to check the surrounding foliage and blades of grass every so often using loose bits of their fur and hair in order to avoid injury. Then, with step one completed, they set about the harrowing task of skirting around it. 

As they traveled farther west, tiny, empty houses began to appear beyond the edge of the Void; places that held memories, swallowed up. They had even passed by a skeletal corpse lying yards away from one of these houses. Perhaps it was a traveler who’d returned unknowingly to a Void ridden home? Amelia certainly did not screech in terror and cling to Mattie for the next half mile, nor did her fur refuse to lay normally for another mile after that. Ugh… she was gonna have nightmares tonight.

It was Mattie’s turn to be horrified, however, when they finally reached what seemed to be the end of the Void wall. The number of houses had increased and there were fresh signs of marked territory everywhere. Apparently, the Void had spread farther than expected.

Amelia suggested they just cut through the territories real fast, but Mattie refused. So, they continued west, staying well clear of the territories until they finally found the village proper. 

Which is set up against a mountain range. A mountain range that blocks them from going any farther west. In the dimming sunlight several torch fires can be seen lighting up the whole side of the mountain. The effect should be pretty but instead it’s eerie and foreboding. 

Welp. Sure is inhabited, all right.

Amelia notices a large stream pouring down the mountain’s side. It cuts through the center of the village where a small hub is located at the base. 

‘That’s probably where their chief and other important cats live.’ Amelia thinks idly as Mattie pours over the map. Again. She growls impatiently.

“Mattie! We. Are. Wasting. Time!” Amelia shouts in a whisper. “We are not going around the mountains! We don't know what’s lying beyond them and I’m not about to backtrack when we find another impasse! And! Either way?! It will take weeks!”

Mattie levels a stubborn moue at her but at least he’s not refuting her anymore. 

“Look, they’ll all be asleep soon.” She continues, “It’ll be easier to cut through while its dark. We can avoid attention by walking the boundary lines of the territories over that way.” She points away from the village, back to where the houses are sparser. 

Mattie stares at the map for another tense moment before he answers.

“Fine.” He folds up the map and puts it away. “I have such a bad feeling about this, but you’re right. Hiking up or around the mountains puts us at too much of a disadvantage.”

“You mean it’s a death trap.” Amelia does her level best not to look smug. She fails, but it’s getting darker and Mattie is looking around at their surroundings, so its fine. Huh. He’s been looking over his shoulder a lot.

“Hey, what’s up?” 

He turns back to face her, ears swiveling restlessly, brow furrowed.

“I don’t know, I just… can’t shake this feeling. Like something’s been watching us for a while.” Amelia’s eyebrows shoot up along with all her fur.

“And you’re just now telling me this!?” Amelia’s spatial awareness is not bad, by any means, but Mattie’s is practically supernatural. Even if her life depended on it, she would never get the drop on him. And, under Gilbert’s training, her life often did depend on it. If Mattie is sensing something it is absolutely cause for concern.

“Shh!” Another pause. “Well… I usually don’t have trouble finding lurkers, you know? This is more of a... Erm. Like, not even a physical presence?” 

Amelia gapes openly in horror at her brother— whom she dearly loves— and punches him real hard in the arm.

“OW—!” Mattie covers his mouth before Amelia can do it for him. “—fffff—uck, Em! What the hell??”

“Please tell me you’re joking and do not scare me like that!!” She says through chattering teeth. Mattie rubs his arm, grimacing, and she doesn’t feel even a little bit bad about it. 

“Look, it’s probably just me.” Mattie says rubbing his face with his hands. He makes a quiet noise of frustration. “I know, I’m too wound up and I’m over-thinking everything. Forgive me if I’m a little paranoid about the safety of my sister, okay?!”

Amelia gapes at him again for a moment. This is the closest Mattie’s gotten to acknowledging the monster in the room. This is something that has been niggling at her for the past couple of days. Months? Years, maybe. Mattie’s been getting weirder and weirder about feeling responsible for her. He’s usually pretty subtle about it and it’s been hard to react to or even address it.

Growing up, Mattie had been the crybaby who needed Amelia to scare away the baddies or get him unstuck from trees. This unsolicited role-reversal didn’t sit well with her. Females may be endangered and all, but that doesn’t mean he gets to ignore her!

“Well… it’s good to think things through! We both know I don't do it enough, so I appreciate you looking out for me, but…” Amelia takes a deep, steadying breath. “But we work better as a team, bro. You’re so busy worrying about me, you’re hardly even listening to me anymore. It’s like you’re forgetting that I’ve got your back too.” 

She glares at him earnestly and this time Mattie is staring at her, slack jawed. And then he lowers his gaze, looking ashamed.

“Fuck.” He breathes after a minute. He lifts his face to look at her again. “I’m sorry, Em…”

He’s got his insecure, crybaby face on again. She hasn’t seen it in a while. He’s probably been avoiding letting her see him like that. She hugs him around the middle and rubs her forehead against his chest. He seems immensely relieved as he hugs her back.

“Stop trying to handle all the hard stuff alone, you big dummy. I’m a big, strong molly and I can totally take care of myself.” 

He snorts into her shoulder when she calls herself “big,” the jerk, but he doesn’t say anything. She pulls away just enough to look up at him. 

“What’s even got you this turned around, dude?”

“Um...” He’s quiet for a moment. “It’s… Well I--” He frowns awkwardly. “Listen, now isn’t really the best time to get into it… I’ll tell you once we’re in Ransen?”

Amelia’s eyes harden again.

“No, I promise! It’s just, Gilbert told me some stuff last time? And it freaked me out I guess, but I think I didn’t totally understand what he said, either… So... I think Gilbert or Ludwig would be better at explaining, maybe?”

Now Amelia squints at him dubiously. 

“Augh! Stop looking at me like that, Em.” Mattie pulls away, flustered and a little red for some reason? “Let’s just get going, eh? It should be dark enough now.” 

Ooookaaaay. What the heck was that about? In the spirit of enjoying their bonding experience, however, Amelia lets it go for now and follows Mattie’s lead. They both head off to find a good boundary line to follow.

★

High up in the air above them, an amused chuckle emerges from a night-breeze, but there is nothing there to see. 

★TBC★

[lunapaper]

The year was 2010. Emo was just starting to die out (long live the scene). I was studying to become a secondary school teacher, and Katy Perry was shooting whipped cream out of her boobs...

Second albums, more often than not, fail to live up to the hype. And yet, Teenage Dream has somehow endured.

While Perry’s 2008 debut, One of the Boys, launched her into the mainstream, it really hasn’t aged all that well. On tracks like ‘Self Inflicted’ and ‘Fingerprints,’ she tries way too hard to emulate Paramore’s bold pop punk. On others, she attempts to rebel against her gospel roots by turning the bawdiness up to 10.

It can also come off pretty juvenile at times. The singer was almost 25 when she sang on the title track: ‘So over the summer, something changed/I started reading Seventeen and shaving my legs/And I studied Lolita religiously/And I walked right in to school and caught you staring at me.’

But let’s be honest: Even though it’s been declared ~problematic~, you still jam out to ‘I Kissed A Girl’ when you hear it, don’t you? I hadn’t listened to ‘Ur So Gay’ before this, either, but its slinky, jazz-infused vibe absolutely slaps.

Like Teenage Dream is also a product of its time, presenting pop at its most sugary, hook-laden and bombastic. It managed to spawn 5 No.1 singles, the second album in history to do so after Michael Jackson’s Bad, as well as a documentary, Part of Me. There’s even a deluxe edition, cleverly titled The Complete Confection. It was Perry at her peak.

You know the title track, of course. Evoking images of cherry red lipstick, tight denim and driving down an empty highway in summer, Perry desperately clings to the memory of young love, breathlessly pleading ‘don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back.’

‘The One That Got Away,’ meanwhile, is its bittersweet sequel, Perry's lovesick nostalgia now tinged with regret. Yet, the only thing I really remember about the song is the video starring Cassian Andor himself, Diego Luna, as Perry’s past love, the beautifully dishevelled and tortured artist of my dreams (Dear God, that penetrating stare...) He’s also the only reason why anyone bothered to watch Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights, if it wasn’t already obvious.

First single ‘California Gurls,’ on the other hand, is pure pop exuberance at its most campy and carefree, indicative of a more innocent time when it wasn’t driven by algorithms or social media. ‘Firework’ is still a go-to empowerment anthem for just about every kind of montage imaginable. ‘ET’ (featuring a pre-’presidential’ Kanye) is heavily-synthesised cyber pop that doesn’t get nearly enough love.

But Teenage Dream, in retrospect, has quite a few misses. ‘Peacock’ is just one big, long, glitchy dick joke. ‘Not Like The Movies’ is big ballad schmaltz. The brassy soft rock of ‘Hummingbird Heartbeat,’ meanwhile, opens with a hell of a line: ‘You make me feel like I'm losing my virginity/The first time, every time when you're touching me.’ And I’m pretty sure ‘What Am I Living For?’ is partly plagiarised from Justin Timberlake’s ‘My Love.’ Even Pitchfork awarded Teenage Dream a rather tame 6.8 in their recent retrospective review.

By the time Perry released Prism in 2013 – her ‘darker, moodier’ record - she had shifted further into ‘inspirational anthems.’ There was the inescapable mega-hit ‘Roar,’ the saccharine power ballad ‘Unconditionally’ and the Eastern-tinged ‘Legendary Lovers,’ complete with wellness and spiritual motifs.

But it wasn’t without its bangers: ‘Dark Horse’ (featuring Juicy J) jumped onto the trap pop bandwagon just in time with its subterranean bass and eerie, otherworldly synths. Even the slick, 90s-indebted ‘This Is How We Do’ has a certain charm.

Prism also marked the point where Perry’s invincibility began to wear off. Where the masses once lapped up her candy-coated antics, they were now calling her out for wearing braids in the video for ‘This Is How We Do’ and dressing up as a geisha during a performance at the American Music Awards.

And they would only get louder during her era of ‘purposeful pop.’ Released in the aftermath of the 2016 US election, Witness was meant to cement Perry as ‘Artist. Activist. Conscious’ - as her Twitter bio read at the time. She had joined Hillary Clinton on the campaign trail. On Instagram, she was quoting the likes of Socrates and Plato. She was Woke now, and she was telling anyone who’d listen.

Yet you’d be hard pressed to find much trace of this ‘purposeful pop’ on Witness, bar the first single, ‘Chained to the Rhythm.’ Written with Sia and Max Martin, the singer implores listeners to ‘put your rose-coloured glasses on and party on’ amid whirling, colourful synths.

The rest of the record, however, is made up of either soppy, overly sentimental ballads (‘Save As Draft,’ ‘Pendulum,’ ‘Into Me You See’), awkward lyrical turns and CHVRCHES/Purity Ring knock-offs (‘Hey Hey Hey,’ ‘Roulette,’ ‘Deja Vu’).

Funnily enough, Purity Ring’s Corin Roddick produced some of Witness’ better tracks: ‘Mind Maze’ and the soaring ballad ‘Miss You More, along with ‘Bigger Than Me.’

Final track ‘Act My Age,’ meanwhile, feels like a pre-emptive strike against the criticism Witness would inevitably receive (‘They say that I might lose my Midas touch/They also say I may become irrelevant/But who the fuck are they anyway?’).

Then there’s the godawful ‘Bon Appetit’ (featuring Migos) with its food-related double entendres. It was ‘Yummy’ before ‘Yummy’ existed. Seriously, I just wanna see Orlando Bloom say he likes this song with a straight face...

But I will still defend ‘Swish Swish’ to the death. Do the lyrics suck? Yeah, but Perry’s never been the strongest lyricist. But its pulsing 90s house beat does a lot of the heavy lifting, along with Nicki Minaj’s spitfire verse.

The promotional rollout for Witness, meanwhile, proved just as messy. Among the most infamous was a 72-hour livestream, where voyeurs got to witness Perry sleep, meditate, do yoga and welcome a random assortment of guests, including Gordon Ramsey and activist DeRay McKesson. Then there was the meme-laden video for ‘Swish Swish. She literally served herself up on a platter in the clip for ‘Bon Appetit.’ She tried reigniting her feud with Taylor Swift on James Corden’s Carpool Karaoke. Needless to say, it reeked of desperation.

Looking back, though, you can’t help but feel a little bad for Perry, trying so hard to please only for it to blow up spectacularly in her face. So devastated, it sent her to the Hoffman Institute, which offers an abridged version of therapy. As she later told the Guardian:

‘I think the universe was like, ‘OK, all right, let’s have some humble pie here […] My negative thoughts were not great. They didn’t want to plan for a future. I also felt like I could control it by saying, ‘I’ll have the last word if I hurt myself or do something stupid and I’ll show you’ — but really, who was I showing?’

But although Witness lacked the perkiness of Teenage Dream or the cartoonish charm of One of the Boys, it shines best on its darker moments.

‘Dance With The Devil’ has the kind of smoky allure that wouldn’t look too out of place on a BANKS album, while ‘Power’ is a revelation. Produced by Jack Garrett, what could’ve been yet another dull empowerment ballad is turned into a gritty, groaning slab of vaporwave pop, with sultry sax riffs that sample, of all things, Smokey Robinson’s ‘Being With You.’ It’s electric as fuck. You believe it when Perry sings: ‘’Cause I'm a goddess and you know it/Some respect, you better show it/I'm done with you siphoning my power.’

If the singer had just done away with the whole ‘purposeful pop’ concept and stuck with Garrett, Roddick and Terror Jr’s Felix Snow as her core producing group, Witness probably wouldn’t have been half the failure it was. It could’ve had a chance to grow on people, the kind of slow burn Perry could’ve gotten away with at this point in her career. The cyberpop dystopian feel also could’ve gone hand in hand with her newfound wokeness, echoing people’s fear and anger in the aftermath of Trump’s win. But alas, we’ll never know...

While the rollout for Witness over the top, Smile’s was lacklustre and wildly inconsistent.

First single ‘Never Really Over’ came out a whole 15 months before the release of Smile to little fanfare, along with a hippie-inspired video to match. ‘Harleys in Hawaii’ later followed, which also stuck with the flower power aesthetic. Other singles - ‘Daisies’ and the title track – seemingly came and went without a trace.

So how did Katy Perry get to this point? And is there any chance of coming back?

It’s hard to say. A lot of artists go through a rough patch or two:   Miley's twerking antics divided audiences when she released 2013’s Bangerz. Taylor Swift’s reputation divided audiences. Only in recent years has Lady Gaga’s ARTPOP been vindicated. Such is the nature of music and pop culture in general. It’s fickle, just one vicious cycle after another; an endless quest for trend-bait that'll never end.

Right now, disco pop is going through a renaissance, while hyperpop reigns supreme. Dua Lip and Charli XCX are basically untouchable at the moment. TikTok has taken over from Top 40 radio when it comes to breaking hits, while the gap between album releases has also grown shorter and shorter. Even the nature of fandom has changed, shifting from old-school elitism to the bloodsport that is ‘stanning,’ along with an unhealthy amount of ‘endless simping’ (to quote a close friend of mine).

Perry, meanwhile, has failed to keep up, choosing to play it safe in order to avoid further scrutiny. But in doing so, she strips away the humour, the mischief and other idiosyncrasies that fans fell in love with in the first place.

But what choice did she have? As Junkee’s Sam Murphy notes in his own piece about Perry’s rise and fall:

‘At that point, you have two choices as a popstar — hunt for relevancy or make what comes naturally to you. Perry chose the former and came unstuck. She inserted vague wokeness into her songs as cancel culture infiltrated pop, tacked on rap features as hip-hop became the dominant commercial genre, and worked with producers who may have been able to find her credibility.’

(Full disclosure: I started writing my piece on Perry back in December 2020, so the timing of Murphy’s piece and mine is purely coincidental).

Even if you don’t believe in cancel culture, no one actually wants to be cancelled. It’s just not good for PR, especially for someone with an image as glossy and as carefully put-together as Perry’s. Even now, she continues to atone for Witness, telling the LA Times: ‘Having more awareness and consciousness, I no longer can just be a blissful, ignorant idealist who sings about love and relationships […] Even my travels have afforded me a new perspective on cultures, class systems and the inequality around the world, not just in the United States,’ though she carefully avoids the subject of politics on Smile.

But redemption is possible. Swift – Perry's one-time nemesis - was a total pariah back in 2016, mocked for her Girl Squad, for diddling the Hiddles while on the rebound from Calvin Harris and criticised for remaining coy on her political leanings. Now she’s earning indie cred with two of 2020’s biggest albums, folklore and evermore, and has thrown her support behind a number of social causes.

The devil works hard, but Swift’s PR team work harder. I might not be her biggest fan, but Taylor works Kris Jenner levels of mastery when it comes to rebuilding public sentiment. Thanks to her newfound indie cred, you’ve almost forgotten about the pastel atrocity ‘Me!,’ her 2019 duet with that insufferable drama kid cliché, Brendon Urie. Shifting her songs away from petty grievances to more original storytelling was also a smart move.

But while Swift has managed to move on, Perry seems to have fallen into the same adult contemporary trap as Gwen Stefani, Kelly Clarkson, Christina Aguilera and Pink, one that ensnares many female artists over 30 (Though many have also managed to escape – Gaga, Taylor, Beyonce, Rihanna, Kesha, Robyn...)

As ‘woke’ as the industry and fans at large might think themselves to be, they’re still pretty ageist. There's still an expectation to ‘mature’ your sound as you age, to become more ‘serious.’ No more fun, no more experimenting, boomer. But when you do end up filing away the edges, you’re called dull, generic and past your prime. Perry said as much on the aforementioned ‘Act My Age. You just. can't. win.

And yet, many female artists over 30 have created some of their best work yet in just the past year or so: Hayley Williams made the dramatic shift from pop rock to low-key, Radiohead-inspired tunes on her solo debut, Petals For Armor. Fiona Apple’s Fetch the Bolt Cutters was hailed by critics as her most bold, urgent and visceral. Jessie Ware’s What’s Your Pleasure? was a cut of understated disco pop elegance. Carly Rae Jepsen, meanwhile, released an equally stellar companion to 2019’s Dedicated.

At this point in her career, Perry could afford to follow a similar path to that of the Canadian singer. Once the meme value of ‘Call Me Maybe’ wore off, along with her mainstream appeal, Jepsen finally had a chance to discover real creative freedom, pushing her sound to greater heights and earning critical acclaim, all without having to compromise her love for catchy hooks and bold synth pop arrangements.

A couple of years ago, a Reddit user made a post about participating in a focus group held by Perry’s label to discuss why she’s ‘no longer one of the[ir] most notable female pop artists,’ and ‘what can [they] do with her image or marketing to make you care about her again?’

It’s depressing to think that an artist as accomplished as her needs a focus group to help solve her identity crisis. There really is no easy answer. Hopefully, Perry will be able to return more vibrant and assured than ever, on her own terms...

-Bianca B.

[ohstardust]

Riptide

REQUEST: from myiaisthebest Can you PLEASE do an imagine about TOM GLYNN CARNEY🗣🗣🤗🤗. Can the imagine take place like you and your friends go out for the night and y'all hit house parties and clubs and then you guys where like walking the street dancing and you ended up bashing into Tom's shoulder and when u went to apologize he was with the cast of Dunkirk for a night out on the town too. And like long story short you and him end up back at his place having fun😏. Or you can make then ending however you want. Thx😘😘\

A/N: Thanks for the prompt honey! I’m trying a slightly different method, changing ‘You’ to ‘Her’ whilst retaining the ‘Y/N’ method and trying to be more descriptive so its reads more like a story than an imagine snippet. Please let me know what everyone thinks about this or if you think I should revert back.

The week had been a mess, start to finish. There were no two ways about it. The moment things were falling into place and playing out rightfully, half a dozen things would shit right all over the positivity. In the space of 5 mere days Y/N had had to dismiss 2 members of staff, spend three days without hot water in her apartment, dropped a contact lens down the toilet, stood on a very fucking offensive plug and one friend had landed herself in hospital. And that was only the half of it.

She was just about ready to lie on the floor, bang her fists and wail in frustration, something she hadn’t done since she was 3 years old. Fatigue was slipping into her bones after multiple weeks feeling like an endless cycle and she longed for something, anything, to lift her spirits even momentarily, to assure her that no, the world is not out to get you, it’s just testing you a little.

"C’mon Y/N, I think you really need to let your hair down a little, drink away the negativity, kiss a stranger. Anything. Just let loose.” Her friend pleaded with her from the other end of her telephone, adamant she was going to raise Y/N from her slump and have her enjoy herself for the evening.

Had this conversation not happened a week earlier, she’d be very inclined to refuse, snuggle into her pyjamas on the sofa, and fall asleep to a sickening romance film. Alas, this had taken place the previous week and Y/N was not one to back out of arrangements so she sighed, took a sip of wine and trudged her way to the shower in hopes the warm water would liven her up a little to actually make the effort.

Scanning the room with a drink in hand, Y/N spied the host of the party engaged in some ridiculous drinking game that had her on the verge of puking just by watching it unfold, “Tell me again how know this guy?”

“A friend of a friend... of a friend?”

“Oh, well that sure eases my mind, thanks for that,” She replied, rolling her eyes at her grinning best friend. As her eyes trailed the room she saw the remainder of her friends engaged in conversations with multiple guys and smiled at the enjoyment.

“Stop being a grump and drink up.”

“Trust me, I’m gonna have to if I’m staying here.” She threw back the rest of her drink before heading to the kitchen to refill. She definitely wasn’t drunk enough for this.

“Did you put a double measure in this? Fucking Jesus Christ.” Her throat burned with the intense taste of vodka and it erupted a short coughing spate from the oldest girl. She’d naively allowed her friends to mix her drinks for the last 2 house parties and she was quick to realise that they’d all colluded to get her as intoxicated as they figured she could handle. At least they had a limit. A limit she had definitely not hit yet.

“Course I did babe, keep drinking.” One of the girls called out, dancing wildly with a group of guys she’d been conversing with for the past half hour.

Y/N started to join in with the group, dancing to Major Lazer, one hand running through her hair and the other raised in the air clutching a cup. Maybe her friends were right, she did need to let her hair down.

“Are we heading to a club anytime soon? I’m ready for a drink that isn’t smart price or value vodka.” Laughter bubbled in her throat as she recalled all the drinks she sailed through with really terrible spirits that probably have the same effect on her insides as a bottle of turpentine would.

“Just wait for this one to stop with the public indecency act and we should be good to go.” Y/B/F/N thumbed in the direction of the rest of the group when one of the girls were grinding on the host.

“Can’t take her anywhere,” She grumbled, “I’ll be outside babe, I need some air.” She stumbled her way through the moving throng of party occupants until she reached the front door, pushing past couples in various states of sobriety.

The air was cool on the young woman’s skin, the breeze toning down the temperature on her flustered cheeks and allowed her to breathe easier than she had been able to inside. The drink in her hand had started to warm up but she didn’t hesitate to continue sipping it until the cup was empty. A moment or two later, one of other girls joined her on the front wall, handing her a small mix of amaretto and coke before taking a seat next to her.

“One for the road,” the girl giggled, resting her head on Y/N’s shoulder, causing the latter to snort into her drink.

“Why is everything so funny when you’re drunk?” Y/N began laughing uncontrollably, following her friends gaze at the sky and stared at the stars until she calmed herself down.

“Because this godawful shit makes you happier, heaven knows why but it does.”

The drink was cleared before the other’s girls filed out of the house singing Vance Joy’s ‘Riptide’ and she couldn’t help the grin as the group danced their way out of front garden into the street.

Oh, and they come unstuck

The five girls all crooned their way up the road, thankful that the last house party they had attended was virtually in the town leaving very little walking to be had.

I just wanna, I just wanna know If you’re gonna, if you’re gonna stay

“I knew she’d get on board with this song,” one of the girls muttered to the others, laughing at the two girls dancing and singing just ahead of them, “YES Y/N, keep going girl!��

I just gotta, I just gotta know I can’t have it, I can’t have it any other way I swear she’s destined for the screen Closest thing to Michelle Pfeiffer that you’ve ever seen, oh

Y/N grabbed the girls hand, pulled her close before she spun her outwards and the came close together again. As the other girl reversed the move on Y/N, she spun back and collided with another body.

“Bloody hell, I’m so so sor-“ The older girl turned herself around and straightened up, her sentence cut short as she caught sight of the group of men stood before her, ‘-rry.” The girls behind her, despite being just as stunned, snickered at the behaviour of their friend.

“Oh no, don’t worry about it, it looks like you were having fun.” The younger blonde boy answered, a grin playing on his lips.

“I should have been more careful though.”

“Honestly, it’s fine. I’m Tom by the way, these are my mates Fionn, Jack, Harry & Aneurin.” He gestured to the group just behind him, their hands raising in acknowledgement.

“Oh hi,” Y/N blushed at the sight, she vaguely knew their faces from the latest film she’d caught at the cinema, the only recreational thing she’d done in the past month, “I’m Y/N and these are my friends.” She began to name the girls before she boldly asked the guys if they were free, inviting them to join their evening.

“We’d love to, lead the way ladies.” Harry smirked after he’s glanced at his friends for agreement, his hand gestured in the direction they had been walking and the ten of them set off.

“Stop looking at me like that, Thomas.” His arm was propped on the bar, chin rested on his hand whilst he looked at the woman with a drunken grin, eyes solely focused on her. She playfully smacked his shoulder, laughing in embarrassment as she took a sip of her drink through her straw. He couldn’t help but swallow hard at the sight, feeling like a teenage boy all over again, he was absolutely enticed by her.

The pair had already spent the past hour and three quarters dancing with their friends, feeling ridiculous but hot under the intense gaze of each other, the attraction had sparked the attention of a few others, mostly Harry & Jack who couldn’t help but throw their two pence worth in and danced so close to Y/N & Tom that they were all but forced to stand virtually in the other’s skin.

The heat was becoming almost unbearable and Y/N had told Tom that she was going to freshen up in the bathroom before heading over to the bar. Upon her return, her face lit up at the sight of the man stood at the bar with fresh drinks for them both. He handed over the cash and took a seat in a more secluded area.

“You’re just lovely, I can’t help it. So pretty.” Tom’s right hand lightly traced the side of her jaw and he curiously watched her reaction to his touch, her eyes fluttered shut, a male touch long forgotten to her. She craved the feeling of another body. And right now, she wanted Tom more than anything she’d wanted for a long time.

“I’ve been having the worst week, actually it’s been a pretty shitty month. I can’t help but think that it may have been worth it to have one enjoyable night like tonight though. To meet you, and spend time with you.” She clarified. She had been acutely aware how vulnerable she had allowed herself to be, not just through alcohol, but through being honest.

Y/N leant forward so her voice would be audible to him without shouting over the music, “Please tell me I can kiss you?” she warily asked, her liquid confidence started to wane under the scrutiny of this beautiful man before her.

“I thought you’d never ask.” She lightly pulled back, looked between his eyes and his lips before leaning forward once again and pressed her lips to his, so softly to begin with. As soon as they connected, she suddenly remembered the incredible feeling of a lover, someone to hold, kiss, touch, something she’d craved for the past 3 years since her previous relationship had terminated.

Their passion started to intensify in their kiss, the unusually shy pair became increasingly more bold, hands cradled each others heads as they lost themselves in the other. They were a collision of caressing tongues, lip bites and hot breath undetectable to the thumping sounds in the club. Tom detached himself for a moment, chest heaving with a lazy smile as he watched the strobe lighting bouncing off the features of the woman before him.

His thumb lightly ran over her bottom lip before pressing a light kiss there, “I’m sorry if this is incredibly forward but can I take you home?”

Understanding the full extent of his words, her eyes swept the dancefloor for her friends, all tangled up in various bodies, some of which were definitely Tom’s friends. Her gaze came back to rest on Tom’s face. She gave a light nod and rested her hands on his hips, stroking the skin just below his t-shirt with her thumbs.

“Please,” She mouthed, “take me home.”

[cutiesaeran]

A Stormy Day

Sorry it took so long- here’s your prize fic, @sketchedflowers​ ! Hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: Saeran Choi/Yoosung Kim

Rating: G

Wordcount: somewhere in the 1300′s

This can also be found here on AO3!

The rain is coming down steadily, the sound of it hitting the pavement and a sidewalk filled with umbrellas a familiar cadence on the streets of Seoul. Among the pedestrians walks a lone man, hunched over but without a safeguard against the drops as they pelt against his blonde hair, his pale skin. Moving fast and doing his best to dodge the splash of the puddles as cars drive by, he weaves between the bodies of those headed home - or perhaps out to have fun, since it is a Friday afternoon, after all - just trying to make it to the small apartment before the rest of the storm system moves in.

It’s supposed to be a bad one according to the local weathermen; torrential downpours, high winds, flashing lightning and roaring thunder. Maybe even hail. Getting home in time has been a race against the clock since he left his last class, thankful that it’s the final one of not only the day but of the current semester.

The rain starts to become heavier, stinging as it hits his skin and he folds in on himself even more, hands in the pocket of the borrowed jacket as he moves even faster. Were the streets not so crowded he would run, but alas; he seems to be the only one concerned with the weather. He needs to get home. Not only so that he doesn’t get caught in the storm (because honestly, who wants to be outside when it feels like like the wind will blow you sideways and like the clouds themselves are trying to pound you into the ground?) but also because there’s someone at home who needs him, someone who doesn’t cope very well with sudden, loud noises.

Figures the storm would choose to come on a day that’s supposed to bring happy memories for a change.

The drooping awning of the apartment complex comes into view and he starts to jog, his hair now plastered to his face, all of the carefully styled messiness gone flat and lifeless. Not that he cares at the moment; he’s almost where he needs to be, the place he feels safe and protected. Where he can change out of the wet clothes, take a towel to his hair and settle in on the couch with the one person he’s missed the most all day, arms wrapped around each other as they crank up the TV and watch some cheesy show to try to drown out the thunder.

The door sticks when he grabs the handle, as is usual; a part of him had hoped the rain would’ve somehow seeped down and fixed it, illogical as it may be. Unfortunately, that is not the case, and so he anchors one foot in front of the side he doesn’t want to move, wrapping both hands around the handle and yanking it with all he has. He remembers how he’d gone flying back the first few times after moving in, unused to the amount of force required and thus unprepared for the recoil when it finally unstuck. Now he doesn’t move more than an inch, swinging the door open the rest of the way and stepping into the small entry with a sigh.

The elevator is broken again but he doesn’t even bother glancing to check; it’s out-of-order more often than not, and by now he’s used to the trek up the stairs to the sixth floor. It’s good for him, anyway, as a gamer and student who never bothers to partake in exercise outside of chasing after the bus if he’s late. It’s obvious it’s helped his fitness, too; he’s no longer breathless and panting when he reaches the top stair. As his foot steps on the landing to his floor, he runs a hand through his hair - great, it’s probably sticking up in funny directions now - and treads down the hall to apartment number 611, rented out to one Yoosung Kim and one Saeran Choi.

Turning the key, he steps inside, dropping his soaked bag by the door and inhaling the sweet scent of chocolate cake. Instantly any trepidation involving the night evaporates and he smiles, shrugging off the jacket and hanging it up, kicking off his shoes next. First order of business is to change, so he heads to their shared bedroom and shucks his soaked jeans in favor of a pair of loose-fitting athletic shorts. The shirt is only mildly damp - kept partly dry by the leather jacket - but he still opts to grab a new one. Snagging a towel out of the bathroom on the way by and absently rubbing at his hair, he makes his way to the kitchen and wraps his arms around the man standing facing the counter. “I’m home,” he whispers.

“Yoosung,” Saeran breathes almost desperately, promptly flipping in Yoosung’s arms and burying his face in his shoulder. Concern spikes at Saeran’s behavior, bringing a frown to Yoosung’s face as he tightens his arms around him. “God, I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too.” Yoosung rests his chin on Saeran’s shoulder, gazing at the cake resting on the counter behind them. Saeran rarely makes food outside of frozen pizzas and microwave meals, so the sight of the half-frosted sweet is surprising. Should he be worried, or is it because of…?

Saeran sighs and releases him, stepping back as he cards his (frosting coated) hands through his hair. Yoosung bites his lip and tries not to giggle at the fact that there’s now brown smeared among the white locks, but all Saeran has to do is look at his own hands in horror to make his efforts fruitless.

“S-sorry,” Yoosung gasps, hands clapped over his mouth to try to muffle the laughter. “I shouldn’t be laughing.”

Saeran shrugs and turns back to the cake, taking the discarded spatula once more and scooping frosting onto the cake. “It’s funny,” he admits. “I’m just not in the laughing mood.”

Yoosung struggles to get himself under control as Saeran messily coats the surface of the cake, smoothing it out minimally before picking up the plate and turning around with it. “Thought that since today marked our second year together and the end of classes for you that I’d do something special. I’d say this was baked with love but I had a bad day so it’s baked with chocolate and hatred. Hopefully that’s a delicious combo.”

A lovestruck smile grows on Yoosung’s face. His eyes drift up from the cake to meet Saeran’s own, his heart fluttering with happiness. “It’s going to taste wonderful,” he says, reaching out to take it from Saeran. “What about today was so bad, though? Can I do anything to help?”

Saeran grunts, pointing at the cake. “You’re looking at it. That’s my third attempt and the first one that was edible. How the hell do you make cooking look so easy?” he grumbles, turning around to wash off his hands.

“Years of practice,” Yoosung says honestly, lips twitching in an attempt to smile. Saeran spent all day trying to make this cake, huh… “If someone had told me two years ago that the grumpy hottie sitting a couple of rows in front of me, always late and looking ready to punch someone, would end up spending an entire day in a valiant effort to make us a cake for our anniversary, I probably would’ve laughed at them,” he muses, placing the cake on the table. “I never thought I’d work up the guts to ask you out, let alone the idea you’d say yes.”

Saeran huffs out a laugh, turning around to face Yoosung and leaning against the counter as he dries his hands. “I was surprised you did. Shaking in your shoes like I was gonna take a swing at you just for talking to me. Too cute for your own damn good. How could I say no?” He sets the towel down and grimaces as he prods at the chocolate in his hair. “Ugh. Will you help me wash this out?“

“Of course,” Yoosung answers without hesitation, reaching out to grab Saeran’s hand. “Then we can cuddle on the couch and watch something loud enough the neighbors complain again, right?”

The elusive smile finally appears on Saeran’s face. “Yeah,” he agrees, lacing their fingers together. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

[thepensiverambler]

“Three lions on his shirt, Jules Remit still gleaming...”

As an English man it's very common for football to be a topic of small talk. It's understandable that when two new people meet that they should attempt to find common ground to lay a foundation on which to build a friendship. When travelling this effect is amplified. I suppose that by being from different countries and cultures one immediately loses a certain amount of common ground and England is famed for the Premier League. This would be great if I cared at all about football but alas i don't. I understand it's appeal, the atmosphere of being in the ground, harassing the other team and always feeling hard done by by the referee. I even understand how important it is, that whether your week is good or bad can depend on the success or failure of your team. What I don't understand is how anyone can remain interested by 22 men kicking a ball around for 90 minutes with the occasional minute of excitement when a goal is scored. Nonetheless as an English man I'm expected to possess a certain degree of knowledge about the sport. ‘What team do you support?’ being the age old question to which I'm never quite sure my answer. I tend to go with Brighton and Hove albion or ‘the seagulls’ as I feel this both subverts the conversation away from football as most foreigners won't know the team and it indicates I have a certain level of proficiency in the subject matter. Whilst in Turkey this question has cropped up once or twice and I've successfully batted it away, but I've experienced something slightly different to my normal time abroad. I am the sole native English speaker in the village. This means I have a significant amount of responsibility, i'm regularly asked easy question by the slightly less skilled English speakers about tenses and simple grammar points. What really gets me unstuck is attempting to explain the difference between spicy and hot when I can't really work it out myself. I'm not in a state of constantly question whether I really know the meaning of words. Try and explain in one sentence the phrase ‘dropping like flies’. The phrase has too many applications for me to explain it properly in such a brief time scale. There is also the times I'm caught out, having your language constantly tried and tested one is bound to make a couple of mistakes. As you may have noticed from reading this blog (which I should proof read more but who has the time to read the tripe!) my grammar isn't perfect. My use of commas is abysmal, the only thing I feel I have going for my writing and everyday dialogue is my wide range of vocabulary. So you can imagine my dismay when I was caught out when I used ‘there is’ instead I should’ve used ‘there are’. I hadn't noticed I'd done it, I can even remember the context I can only remember my grave embarrassment at knowing I'd butchered my own language. I'm also asked to find words for people, I spent a good five minutes of umming and ahhing trying to conjure up the word proverb. Given today I sat down, shattered from my 4th day in a row of mixing concrete and I couldn't remember the name for a shovel I hardly think its surprising that I was struggling with proverb. My weak justification was that I could speak for myself but not for others. That's just the language side of being an English rose amongst so many thorns. There are other, bigger issues I'm asked like my view on the monarchy. Christ. Good question. In theory I'm a Republican through and through get Sinn Fein on the mid sussex ballot paper! The idea that in a supposedly democratic society we should be giving vast sums of money to a family because it's the birth right is indefensible. On the other hand I really like our monarchy, I think that as a whole family they do a great amount for our country. I've recently been really impressed by the mental health awareness campaign that Princes William and Harry participated in. They also bring in large amounts of revenue for the country, i'm always a little confused as to how these stats work as we can't compare what an elected official would do in their place. Regardless, as comrade Corbyn said it's not on anyone's agenda right now to replace the monarchy so I don't have to think to much about where I stand on the issue. On the whole I rather like being the English ambassador to Imece. It's nice to be in such a diverse environment and I'm glad to be the presiding officer ensuring the language is spoken almost correctly.