#Amy musings

[rosecartridge]

Amy tag dump

[thewrittenpaige]

There are two kinds of aromantic headcanons:

Characters who want nothing to do with romance.

Characters who are so over-the-top longing for romance that they HAVE to be coping.

[cashandandrogyny]

A longer version with text cuz I can’t seem to post a single version of any drawing ever

[mcd217]

Thinking about how Enj and R (and all the amis) were destined for youth. How they never got to grow old and enjoy the summers with each other. How R never was able to grow a salt and pepper beard and how Enj’s perfect face never wrinkled around his eyes. That is all.

[toomuchracket]

witching hour (dad birthday party!matty x reader fluff)

this is my fave promptober fic so far. hanging out with your seventeen year old, referencing practical magic... what's not to love? enjoy <3

the feeling of one of the cats brushing against your bare ankles shocks you out of the little trance you didn't know you’d fallen into, lulled into a stupor while rinsing soap suds off the dinner plates and listening to matty gently play the piano in the living room. looking down, you see it's giselle pawing at the faux fur on your slippers - of course it is, because eloise will doubtless be asleep on top of the piano, as close to matty as she can get.

you can't really blame her for that, though, can you?

giselle mewls, a sound that turns into a purr when you scoop her up into your arms and twirl her around, a poor imitation of the dancers in the ballet amy named her after. “is it dinnertime, baby?” you coo at the cat. “is that why you're bothering me? yeah, must be,” you gently set her down on the floor, wandering over to the cupboard with the tins of cat food and grabbing a couple to open. eloise pads in when you're laying hers and her daughter's bowls down, affectionately head-butting the other cat before they both tuck into their food. you smile as you leave the room. “be nice to each other, girls.”

the music gets louder as you turn corners towards the living room, its increasing intensity matched by a hint of cinnamon scent; you spot the candles matty must've lit on the coffee table as you enter the room, flickering flames working in conjunction with the warm glow from the lamps to make the concrete feel cosy. the light catches the silver in your husband's still-thick hair, curls more grey than they are dark now, and you can't stop yourself from burying your face in them once you reach him - he's stolen your shampoo, again, but you resolve not to bring it up. you've always liked matty using your things like that, glowed at the thought of him going about his day smelling like you, marked as yours; the latter is probably why you find yourself beaming at the sight of his wedding ring, glinting in the candlelight as his fingers dart across the ivory.

“hi, darling,” the smile in his voice is audible even with your face hidden in his hair. you feel it on your temple when you move to rest your head on his shoulder, arms wrapping around his chest as he kisses you. “y'alright?”

“mhmm. song's nice,” you close your eyes, letting the unfamiliar melody wash over you. “is it yours?”

“yeah. just an experiment,” matty nods to the sheet music shelf, where his phone sits recording the sounds. “might become something, might not.”

“i think it should.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. s'pretty.”

“maybe it should be about you, then. pretty melody for the prettiest.”

“oh, shush,” cheeks burning, you hide your face in matty's neck. he laughs, resolving the melody with a final couple of chords, before clicking the recording off and closing the lid over the keys. “did i make you stop? i'm sorry.”

“i'm not. c'mere,” matty shuffles the bench back, patting his lap; you slink between your husband and the instrument as best you can (making a mental note to remember that description and use it as some sort of allegory later), settling atop him and clasping your hands behind his neck. his meet behind your back, and he beams, that same smile you fell in love with. “i love you.”

“i love you,” you smile. “wanna make out?”

matty laughs, your favourite sound in the world. “amy still not left work, i take it?”

“what's that got to do with anything?”

“well, i'd rather avoid another bollocking from our seventeen-year-old about us necking in front of her, if i'm honest.”

“oh, please - she wouldn't even be here without us necking,” you roll your eyes as matty cackles. “but yes, she's still at work. ri's dropping her home tonight.”

“in that case, then,” matty crashes his lips onto yours, sighing into your mouth when it falls open in contentment; you whine into him when his tongue flicks against yours, instinctively grinding down onto his lap. the force almost sends the two of you flying backwards off the piano bench, and matty has to grip the piano itself to stay upright. he laughs against your lips, pulling back - he's wild-eyed and out of breath, and he's maybe never looked more beautiful. “couch?”

you nod, kissing his nose. “couch,” you move to climb off your husband, but he has other ideas; you squeak as he swivels on the seat and stands, lifting you with him and crossing the room to the sofa with ease. admittedly, you're dropped quite unceremoniously onto the cushions, but you're well-used to matty's gracelessness after all these years together, and the way he climbs on top of you and kisses you desperately, fiercely, sloppily… you won't complain about anything as long as he keeps kissing you like that, and he does, until you're forced to break apart just to take in some pesky oxygen. he rests his head on your chest, and you twirl a curl around your finger. “you know, i really think sofa snogging is my favourite type of snogging.”

“sofa or shower, yeah,” matty hums. he turns to look up at you, smirking. “same goes for sex. and we haven't had sofa sex in a while, darling…”

you're unmoved. “yes, but we shower-shagged less than five hours ago, matthew.”

“and? i could go again.”

“could you?”

“yeah! three rounds, non-stop. m'serious.”

“baby,” you giggle, scratching his scalp. “you've never been able to do that with me.”

“s'your fault, that.”

you frown. “how?”

matty smiles, right hand sneaking under your (well, his) jumper and kneading gently at your tit; when his thumb brushes over your nipple, you whimper, and he moans. “you're too fucking hot, darling. can't help giving you everything i've got.”

“i like it when you do that.”

“and you take it so fucking well,” his voice is lower, breathier, sexier, and your resolve is wavering. “come on, sweetheart,” he coos, pushing the sweater up enough that he can flick his tongue over your nipple, humming into your soft skin when you moan. “let me fuck you.”

fuck it. “alright, let's-”

the front door slams. “mum? dad?”

matty groans into you, sorting your top and sitting up; you follow, biting back a giggle as you climb onto matty's lap and position yourself as innocently as possible. “we're in the living room, munchkin.”

“‘kay,” there's a sound of a bag clattering to the floor, fabric rustling, two loud thwacks as - presumably - your daughter kicks her shoes off; she pads into the room a minute or so later, hunching slightly forward in the way she inherited from matty, a surefire sign of their tiredness, and flops onto the armchair opposite you. she sighs, and then her pretty face - are you biased if you say that, given that it's basically the same as yours? - twists in disgust. “eww, you're snuggling.”

matty hugs you tighter. “yeah, and?”

“and it's weird when old people do it.”

you open your mouth, but matty beats you to a response. “my god, you're in the door less than two seconds and you're already being ageist,” he sighs, faux-dramatically, and amy smiles in spite of herself. “old. your mum's still in her forties!”

“not for long, though,” amy fires back; she winces when she sees your raised brows, though. “sorry, mum. let me retract that - you're still young, dad's a cradle robber, etc etc.”

“a five year age gap isn't cradle robbing, amy.”

“methinks thou doth protesteth too much, father.”

“for fuck's sake,” matty facepalms. he flicks your nose. “that's all you, that. sarcasm, and shakespeare talk,” he turns his attention back to your smirking daughter. “why are you so snarky tonight, anyway? that time of the month?”

“jesus, dad, no,” amy shakes her head, shuffling to further curl up on the chair. “work was just a bit shit. m’just frustrated, i s'pose. sorry.”

you wave insouciantly. “we've all been there, munchkin, don't worry about it. was today that big party you were telling us about? for the new exhibition?”

“yeah, it was massive. so much stuff sold that i was just on the desk the whole night putting in orders.”

“really? wow,” matty traces little patterns on your leg. “must've been good stuff, then.”

amy shrugs. “dunno, the stuff i saw was shite. reckon it's more just people jumping on the bandwagon of this guy cos he graduated top of his class at parsons, and that apparently means he's the next big thing,” she rolls her eyes. “just another white guy who thinks he's basquiat resurrected, if you ask me.”

matty cackles, face settling into the proudest beaming smile you've ever seen. he nudges you. “we've really done such a good job raising her, haven't we?”

amy rolls her eyes again; she can't keep the little smile from her face, though. “you're really weird, you know, dad. and sappy.”

he shrugs. “it works for your mum.”

“gonna ignore the use of present tense there,” your daughter peels herself from the chair, stretching as she stands. “and leave you two to your… canoodling. i need a shower.”

“alright, darling,” you hold out your hand as she passes you, smiling when she squeezes it. “there's some dinner left over if you want it.”

“what kind of dinner?”

“lasagne.”

“my favourite!” amy gasps excitedly, running back in and kissing your head. “you're a legend, mum,” smirking, she ruffles matty's hair. “you're alright, too, i s'pose.”

“love you, munchkin,” he calls after her as she speeds through to the kitchen, then rests his head on your shoulder. “she's so cool.”

“well, she's half me.”

“oi,” matty lightly pinches your thigh. “i was there at her conception too.”

“oh, i remember,” smiling, you kiss him, a quick little peck that still manages to make your heart race. “will you play that thing you were playing earlier, please?”

“only if you sit beside me,” he kisses back. “i'd miss you if you were all the way over here and i was over there.”

“my sweet little codependent angel,” you coo, laughing when your husband rolls his eyes. “of course i'll sit beside you, my darling.”

that's how amy finds the two of you when she returns to the living room over two hours later - sat as close as physically possible to each other, your body curving towards matty's while he plays, both of you murmuring lyric ideas to each other and editing them together in real-time. most people would find that adorable, you think, but not your seventeen-year-old. she makes a retching sound, plopping herself onto the couch. “you're still canoodling? wow.”

“we're working, actually,” matty retorts, resolving the melody with a final chord and swivelling round to face your daughter; you do the same.

her brow furrows. “on a saturday night?”

you shrug. “why not?”

“s'pose,” she picks a bit of fluff from her leggings with a sigh. “at least you're doing something. i dunno what to be up to, to be honest.”

you move to join her on the sofa; she snuggles into you the same way she's done since she was tiny, and matty smiles. “no parties tonight?”

amy shakes her head. “nobody wants to go out, either,” she sits bolt upright, big brown eyes widening in panic. “not that i ever go out out, y'know, but-”

“chill out, ames, your mum and i both snuck into places before we were eighteen,” matty joins the two of you on the sofa, throwing himself down on amy's other side. “well, i did. mum was probably too much of a swot to bother.”

the two of them giggle, and you stick your tongue out at them. “you didn't know me back then, matthew. i could've been wild.”

“but you weren't, though, were you, mum?” amy pats your arm sympathetically (and only mildly condescendingly).

“not really. but i made up for it,” you swat at both of them in a feeble attempt to stop their giggling. “your dad can testify to that.”

“really?”

“oh, yeah,” matty grins. “your mother's yoshed in more plant pots than anyone else i've ever met. speaking of,” he stands. “anyone want a drink?”

amy thinks for a second, then nods. you nod, too, an idea popping into your head; you tap your daughter on the leg. “d'you remember when we watched practical magic the other week?”

“yeah.”

you grin. “we could do midnight margaritas. well,” you check your watch. “quarter-to-eleven margaritas. if you guys want.”

amy's eyes light up; so do matty's identical ones. “can we actually?”

“yeah, we've got tequila,” you think for a second, looking at matty. “we do, don't we?”

he nods. “i bought that bottle for the boys coming over that nobody actually opened, remember?”

“oh, that's right,” you grimace. “george drank all my fucking vodka, ames.”

she giggles. “did he pay you back for it?”

“yeah, auntie charli sorted him out,” you stand, holding a hand out to each of your loves. “shall we?”

as he stands, matty grabs amy's other hand, yanking her up between you the way she used to beg you to do when she was little. she giggles, swinging her arms as you lead her and her father to the kitchen. “remember when i used to insist that we walked around like this everywhere?”

“of course. i miss it, to be honest,” you smile, pulling her into a half-hug when you enter the kitchen; matty wraps his arms around both of you. “but i accept that it's uncool and a bit fucking weird to be holding hands with your parents in public when you're nearly eighteen.”

matty sighs, the sound muffled by amy's hair. “eighteen. you were a baby five minutes ago. a little baby, trying to tell me that no, then because she goes was not in fact my song, it was mummy's, because she used to sing it to you and i didn't,” he lifts his head up to grin at you, while amy giggles. “why did you go for that one, by the way?”

“she was crying and i was just like ‘oh, please don't cry’ when i was trying to get her to calm down, and then i thought fuck it and started singing,” you shrug. “and it worked, so…”

“aww, mum,” amy rests her head on your shoulder. “that's cute. i didn't know that story either.”

“one of my favourite backstage memories, you pestering your dad about why he was singing my song.”

the man in question leans round to kiss your cheek. “i was mostly just flattered that someone mistook my writing for yours, to be honest. only time that's ever happened,” he leans round the other way to kiss your daughter's cheek. “thanks for that, munchkin.”

she pats his arm. “i wish i could say anytime, but…”

you and matty practically collapse into giggles, moving to turn the huddle into a proper group hug. moments like these are your favourite, spent laughing with the people you love most in the world; of course, there's one thing that would make it better. “right,” you wriggle out of the hug, moving to grab the tequila and glasses. “time for a drink. ames, could you grab some limes and cut them, please? but do it off-centre, they're easier to juice.”

matty protests. “i could do that! why are you getting our baby to hold a knife?”

“statistically, she's less likely to injure herself doing that than you are, darling.”

he blinks for a second, then closes his mouth. “probably true, actually,” he kisses your cheek. “i'll get the ice.”

“thank you,” once you're done salting the rim of the glasses, you plug in the blender and look over to your daughter. “you doing alright, amy?”

“mhmm,” she brings the bowl of lime juice over, just as matty drops ice into the glasses and moves to stand beside you. “wait. do you know the rhyme?”

you beam. “d'you want me to do it?”

she grins cheekily, a expression scarily like one of matty's; you can see him smiling out the corner of your eye, too. “yes please, mum.”

“alright,” you clear your throat. “eye of newt and toe of frog,” the tequila is poured, and you ready the cointreau. “wool of bat and tongue of dog,” in it goes, soon to be followed by your daughter's contribution. “adder's fork and blindworm sting, tesco lime is just the thing,” you smile at matty and amy’s laughter, grabbing the tub of maldon flakes. “cragged salt like a sailor's stubble, flip the switch and let the cauldron…” pausing dramatically after you put the lid on the contraption, you press a manicured nail into the on/off button. “...bubble!”

amy cheers, clapping along and elbowing matty until he applauds too. bowing as best you can while holding the lid on the blender, you laugh. “thank you, thank you. i'm here all week,” turning off the appliance, you take the lid off to look at the liquid - the smell makes your eyes water. “oh, jesus christ, that's strong. apologies in advance, ames.”

she smirks. “will we need to get a plant pot ready for you, mum?”

“less of the cheek, you,” a matching smirk appears on your face, and you nod towards matty. “he's the one who can't hack tequila.”

“liar,” matty pinches your hip, smiling into your neck when you squeak in protest. “pour them, and i'll prove i actually can, then, darling.”

“alright,” nudging your husband to move back, you pour the cocktail into the three glasses, sliding one to matty and amy each. “are we toasting?”

“sure. cheers,” amy clinks her glass off yours, then her dad's, beaming. “let the witching hour commence.”

[aflawedfashion]

Amy & Rory | Doctor Who 6x05

[cat-dragron-arts]

Something possessed me and uh now I have and intense need for competitive pair skating content with these two duos specifically. Really messy coloring style for me but I kinda dig it. Here's also the first sketches I did of this concept with Shadow that further cemented this idea in my head.

You're welcome to tag this as ship even if I don't tag it as such, I don't care! Have fun!!

[expectiations]

The Husbands of River Song is not and has never been about the Eleventh Doctor being a deadbeat, distant husband (gross mischaracterization by the way) and the Twelfth Doctor being the "better, more mature, affectionate" husband.

It was about River Song. It was about River and how the events in Manhattan took such a toll on her. It was about letting us see River dealing with grief the way The Snowmen showed us how the Doctor coped after losing believing he had used up all his time with River.

Looking at THORS now with The Ruby's Curse in mind, I get the instinct (for lack of a word that I cannot remember) that the Manhattan incident Blue Roach read from River's diary was not the Manhattan episode that we saw in series 7.

On that note, I'd also like to bring up the fact that the Doctor grounds River and River grounds the Doctor. As Tree talked about in one of her tags, River's empathy is more cognitive than emotional and after musing on it for a bit – considering that the Doctor can no longer go to Manhattan (which may have changed in later series but I wouldn't know at the moment because I have yet to overcome series 7b) and that River does spend time with her parents in Manhattan post-TATM, would the latest Manhattan incident in River's diary be the funeral for Amy? Amy's death? Perhaps even Anthony's? I mean, we already know Rory died five years earlier than Amy. So, knowing how deep River's love for her mother is, it's not too farfetched to say that River spent that time with them. River was by their bedsides as they drew their last breath.

Then Rory's gone, Amy's gone, Anthony's gone. Where does that leave River? Where is the Doctor? (sulking on a cloud on top of Victorian London? trying to figure out the mystery of his newest companion? all while constantly mentioning a certain Professor Song who actually turns out to be his dearly sort of departed absolutely beloved wife?)

Without her parents (and her husband) to ground her, she goes on this maddened, grieving space Robin Hood spree. She seeks fun to fill in the void and takes up marriage as a hobby/side quest. Does she look for the Doctor? Perhaps. Yes, actually. Considering she crashed her latest sort-of-husband's ship onto a planet where she purported the TARDIS to be.

But... she's stealing the TARDIS. She could have just called the Doctor, yeah? So, she doesn't want the Doctor to know then. Well... yeah, considering she has two sort-of-husbands in hand.

So, River would just have gone on from one space Robin Hood spree to the next had the TARDIS not sort-of-stranded herself on Mendorax Dellora to make sure her Water stopped being stubborn and reconcile(?) with her Thief?

Also taking note of how River has read stories about them and knows that Darillium is purported to be their last night together (I could also bring up the fact that this is why I find it easy to digest the "River meeting regenerations of the Doctor younger than the Tenth Doctor makes sense and doesn't break cannon nor ruin SITL/FOTD" but that would take a whole other post). Does this River believe her time with the Eleventh Doctor has ended? The same way series 7b Eleven believed his time with older versions of River has ended? Is this all part of some grand fuckup in communication all thanks to their tangled timelines?

Maybe. Maybe not.

But has River not just been running from her family's death? Has River been running from her supposed last night with the Doctor?

"But River doesn't run." Oh yes. Yes, she does. She knows when to stand her ground. She knows when to charge. And she knows when to run.

"That's out of character for her." No, it's not. She's not invincible. She's this well trained assassin, yes. But invincible? No.

Invincible from the tendency to be blinded by their emotions? Obviously not.

River lies. And River runs.

She is not afraid of her death. She is afraid of the day when her husband, her Doctor, looks into her eyes and looks right through her. And it shouldn't kill her but it does. It did.

So she ran and ran until her bigger-on-the-inside Mum gently reached out and put her back together with the only person left who could ground her. Who she didn't recognize at first but still fell in love with (and would have loved even if he hadn't been revealed to be her actual, long missing husband). Who finally found out their last night wasn't just any night – it was a twenty-four year long last night. Who finally gave her a breather from all the running she'd been doing.

And oh what a night that was (it was the talk of the universe).

[kyliafanfiction]

I saw a bit in a Taylor/Amy fic (the latest chapter of Desperate Times Call for Desperate Pleasures) where Amy compared Taylor to a Necromancer Princess (it fits in Context) and that immediately made me think of a Fantasy AU of Worm. No shards/powers, or at least not in the Worm way, but playing with the characters.

And of course that has me thinking about who everyone would be in such a story idea:

Taylor - necromancer, obviously, given the inspiration. Maybe not a princess, but of some high birth. Danny Hebert is still his canon personality, but as a necromancer. Probably a distant father since the death of Annette. Maybe he's consumed with trying to find ways to restore her to full life or something. Doesn't control bugs, maybe? Or maybe she controls swarms of dead insects in addition to or instead of the usual skeletons and zombies? I'd lean to no bugs, just skeletons and zombies, but YMMV. Keeping her bullied/etc experience may be harder, but if Emma is also a noblewoman, perhaps of higher status (maybe Taylor's low nobility? Or not at all?)

Amy - she's a cleric of some healing-related goddess, presumably? The rest of her family are probably all Knights and Paladins of some sort. Her birth father could be some sort of Bandit King type guy who played up a 'honorable highwayman' schtick (and may actually have been a noble as well as a bandit) akin to the 'code' and 'better than the other villains' thing he had going in canon. Her guilt over not healing all the time probably wouldn't be a thing because there'd be too many other healers, but you could still play with the idea, and she'd still have that separation from her family because she's not a warrior.

Tattletale - no magic, just really smart. Probably a 'Rogue', if we were applying classes to it.

Rachel - Ranger, obviously. Has a wolf animal companion, maybe actually gainfully employed as one of the Royal Huntsmen or someone who prevents poaching on a King's Forest type place. or maybe she's a poacher herself. Probably the latter, but the former could be done well, IMO. Either way, definitely still pretty feral from not spending a lot of time around most people.

Brian - maybe some kind of Paladin of darkness type thing. He could be sworn to Taylor's father as her bodyguard (and Taylor still has her canonical attraction to him).

Alec - I'm honestly not sure. If I were wedging it into D&D classes, some form of Bard, but I wouldn't necessarily want to be bound specifically to classes. Still, he could either have magic specially around manipulation and controlling of the body, or maybe he's like, half-demon, or quarter-demon (and Heartbreaker is either a demon or half-demon) and that's the source of his power. I lean towards the latter.

Aisha - Illusionist? Uses her magic for lots of pranks and stuff, and gets really good at making herself invisible, etc.

New Wave - as I noted, the rest of New Wave would probably be knights/paladins of some sort. Maybe Vicky, Sarah, Crystal and Eric ride griffons or some other flying beast? Vicky on a Pegasus sounds really fitting. Also probably a noble family, but definitely recently ennobled or low nobility, to play into the privileged WASP upper middle class vibe New Wave has in Worm

Lung - could be an actual Dragon, could be a guy who shapeshifts into one, maybe a half-dragon (playing on his half-chinese/half-japanese canon backstory and how he was an outsider in Japan as a result). Warlord or roaming bandit type guy, probably. Oni Lee would be a teleporting assassin who works for him, and Bakuda as an alchemist making explosive compounds and such is there.

Armsmaster - a master Smith and warrior. Already has a Halberd. maybe he does enchanted runes into his weapons or something to make them sharper

Miss Militia - either she's a super skilled archer of some sort, or maybe a magic who specializes in big, flashy attack spells (fireball, etc)

Dragon - Secretly a construct (or disembodied animating spirit?) of some kind that has free will and sentience, but pretends just to be a construct-crafting mage? Might not be able to keep using that name if Dragons are a thing in-setting. Depends.

Kaiser - probably a normal noble in his public face (Max, of the House of Anders), known for his charity towards the poor (only the humans, of course), but secretly the leader of a racist militia-type group that persecutes nonhumans in the Kingdom? Or specific groups of humans. Or both. Probably doesn't have magical powers, but does have some cool enchanted gear he paid a fortune for, and hides just how good he is with a sword, except in his secret persona?

Hookwolf - actual werewolf? Still works for Anders, presumably.

None of these thoughts are necessarily final, really, and I have a few more, but nothing quite formed yet.

Obviously, more might need to worked out, including plot and the particulars of the setting (is Brockton the whole Kingdom? Is Brockton Bay one city? A major focus? Maybe Brockton Bay is a larger region, and some of the various parts of the Bay are distinct cities and towns in the Bay area. I have a setting that involves both Paladins and Necromancers in prominent roles that I might repurpose if I was going to write this... which I still might, but not yet).

Other characters could play all sorts of roles, would have to think more on their equivalent versions. Can't just make everyone some flavor of wizard/warlock/witch/etc, and wouldn't want to be married to specific 'classes', but it's a solid starting point anyway.

What would you all envision 'Fantasy AU' versions of some of the characters? Do you think I'm way off the mark with some of them? Obviously 'Fantasy AU' covers a wide swath of possibilities, so there's a lot of variation. Still, curious as to people's ideas with it.

Obviously, if I wrote it, it would be Taylor/Amy in the long run, (I am nothing if not a predictable, hopeless shipper) maybe involving Taylor (and the AU's version of the Undersiders?) kidnapping Amy at some point, who knows.

[w-o-r-d-s--f-a-i-l]

It had been almost two years since their separation began. Rory had seen a few people but nothing stuck. His heart had been aching for Nico. He had spent the last two years in constant therapy trying to improve himself so that he could be the man Nico deserved but still as he sat in front of the divorce papers he’d had his friend write up he was conflicted. Work at the hospital had been challenging to say the least. Avoiding Nico wasn’t helping but they still managed a few passing glances. He wondered if Nico’s heart had broken the same way when Rory took his suitcase and left. Now they owned two houses and lived almost two separate lives.

Rory felt like he was ready but he had no bases for where Nico’s head was.

[text: Darling Dr] Are you free for dinner tonight? I know a great Korean BBQ place my husband likes in the city.

Nico had likewise been in therapy, having gone at least twice a month for the past two years, more at the start. He felt like there had been a significant amount of growth for him as a person. In the years he'd been finding himself more too, having even grown out his hair into a stylish semi-leaf cut. It was a big thing for him as minor as it seemed and he was finally starting to feel like himself rather than the person he had been groomed into as a child, he took it as nothing but a good sign when his father had told him he didn't approve of the stubble on his cheeks and had taken it in stride. He had a single strange cat and a moss ball as the only other living things in the house so it was a welcome surprise when his phone buzzed as he was getting changed into his civilian clothes in the surgeon locker room.

[text: Lawyer Love] If your husband likes it, I'll have to meet you there for dinner tonight, see what all the fuss is about. What time do you think would be good?

[musings-of-an-aesthete]

"Fifty books is not a lot. Wait, you said fifteen?"

BROOKLYN NINE-NINE | 01x08 Old School

[confessionofhalsey]

Halsey as The Great Impersonator 2/2

In order of tracklist:

10. I Never Loved You (Kate Bush)

11. Darwinism (David Bowie)

12. Lonely Is The Muse (Amy Lee)

13. Arsonist (Fiona Apple)

14. Life Of The Spider (Tori Amos)

15. Hurt Feelings (Badlands)

16. Lucky (Britney Spears)

17. Letter To God (1998) (Aaliyah)

18. The Great Impersonator (Björk)

[thewrittenpaige]

You ever think about how Sonic is one of the few constants in Amy's life? Like, look at all the things that have happened to her. She lost Gamma, Shadow was dead for a while, Emerl died, her home in Station Square was flooded and probably why she moved to Central City, she got to see Sonic seemingly get killed followed by the world being conquered; if we take IDW into account, she got to see her life changed by being forced to become the Restoration leader and dealing with the Metal Virus.

Amy and stability have never gone together. Her life has always been a loss, a catastrophe, one after another. You could say the same about the others--but in a lot of these cases, Amy had the closest stakes to the things that have been lost. Only she really befriended Gamma, and she was closest to Shadow during SA2 aside from Rouge. She saw Emerl as a surrogate son, and Station Square was her home. These losses must have hit her harder than anyone.

Maybe that's why she's so attached to Sonic. In a world where the only certainty is that Eggman will attack and try to ruin your day, maybe Sonic is her anchor--a reminder that you can get through the day, you can move on from this loss, you don't have to let it define you. He represents adventure and fun and friendship and life. He is one of her best friends, and she's been alongside him for longer than any crisis and loss she went through.

Their friendship is important. It's no wonder she would give up the world for him--because the world keeps changing, and he's one of the few things that stays the same.

[cashandandrogyny]

Okay so I saw Les Mis again last night (Friday night) and let me tell you. Fucking Kyle Adams man. That man understands Grantaire on another level. His Grantaire is book accurate, musical accurate and accurate to himself. His Grantaire is 100% the cynic, the nonbeliever but he’s also a lover. He clearly loves his friends, Gavroche, and Enjolras especially. He and Christian Mark Gibbs (who I haven’t heard much about on here) play phenomenally together. Grantaire loves Enjolras. And Enjolras is clearly fond of (and annoyed by) Grantaire. The panic, sadness and fear portrayed by Kyle Adams from Drink With Me on is both heart wrenching and beautiful. Truly no one loves light like a blind man.

[sandwichsakurauchi]

“Just be lucky someone actually cares to look after your fat whale ass you dumb chi…”

Ever since Ami started crashing with her after the development of Ryuji’s cooking that had both of the girls hooked. But this time around Taiga sets down multiple bags of grease laced fast food filled with unhealthy goods that was one of the few causes of the gains of the pair as a whole.

"Hmff... Ash if I need to rely on shomeone like you..."

Ami would scoff from her position on Taiga's living room floor. Clad in ill-fitting loungewear and not looking fit to get up anytime soon. The bluenette huffed thickly as she took in the sight of all the food the palmtop had brought her... and then clicked her teeth through her jowls.

"Tch... You shkimped out... Huuuuurlph... You brought way more for dinner yeshterday..."

[toomuchracket]

a birthday partyverse insta au

this is lowk all over the place i'm so sorry. have fun tho!! <3