#I revel in the hilarity of my ignorance

[alexjcrowley]

I've been in fandom and reading fanfiction for 10 years and, not to brag, but I managed to never understand what the hell is omegaverse

[beaniebaneenie]

I posted 24,709 times in 2022

That's 1,738 more posts than 2021!

9 posts created (0%)

24,700 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@itsmemaddi

@hawkheartedlion

@roruna

@euphoniousraconteur

@theawkwardconfusedturtle96

I tagged 1,020 of my posts in 2022

#loki - 209 posts

#stuff to talk about in therapy - 127 posts

#in defense of loki - 46 posts

#loki meta - 45 posts

#danny phantom - 38 posts

#thank you mr terry - 29 posts

#reference - 26 posts

#sigyn - 24 posts

#music - 20 posts

#vax my beloved - 17 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#and even before they made jug 'officially ace' i recognized him as brethren™️ before i knew what asexuality even was or that it had a name

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Knuckles: So... who broke the coffee maker? I'm not mad. I just want to know.

Tails: I did. I broke-

Knuckles: No, no you did not. Wade?

Wade: Don't look at me. Look at Tom.

Tom: What? I didn't break it.

Wade: Huh. That's weird. How'd you even know it was broken?

Tom: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken.

Wade: [leans in on him] ...Suspicious.

Sonic: If it matters - probably not - but Maddie was the last one to use it.

Maddie: Liar! I don't even drink that crap!

Sonic: Oh, really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?

Maddie: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles- everyone knows that, Sonic!

Tails: Ok, ok! Let’s not fight! I broke it, let me pay for it, Knuckles!

Knuckles: No! Who broke it??!

Wade: [looks at Crazy Carl, then at Knuckles] Knuckles... Carl’s been awfully quiet.

Crazy Carl: REALLY??

Wade: Yeah! Really.

Crazy Carl: Oh, my God! [everyone starts arguing at one another except Knuckles]

Knuckles: [to the camera] I broke it. It burned my hand, so I punched it. I predict ten minutes from now they will be at each other's throats with war paint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. [turns to look at the everyone as they continue to argue, then looks back] Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

10 notes - Posted April 26, 2022

#4

Ok this is definitely supposed to be a "look at how sexy and Not Like Other Girls this girl is! If you use our razor to Manscape™️ your balls, this girl will definitely want to fuck you!"

.....but it kinda reads as an absolutely awesomesauce ad for trans women who have not had (or do not want) bottom surgery.

Which I am super aware is not even remotely what they intended. But I've decided that's how I'm gonna see it.

See the full post

11 notes - Posted February 9, 2022

#3

I relate to Mina Murray, bc I too hate the "two page a week diaries, with Sunday crammed in the corner".

24 notes - Posted May 9, 2022

#2

Dracula daily is my biggest serotonin-creator right now. I have loved this book for almost 20 years and watching all of us read it together is utterly splendid.

But for even more hilarity and delightful mental images, please remember that in 1897, while vampire stories were about to come into another heyday? They weren't mainstream yet.

And the name "Count Dracula" was in no way synonymous with "vampire".

The Carpathian mountains, That Accent™️, hell... Even Transylvania itself, were not inextricably tied with "vampire lore", particularly in the minds of western Europeans.

This is the book that did that.

As much as we are all reveling in the present tense, and are experiencing the adventure in real time? We all know something Jonathan doesn't. We all know something the readers of 1897 did not.

We know that Count Dracula is a vampire.

We know that he isn't just a vampire, he's like, the biggest, baddest, most OP vamp ever.

We have the lovely dramatic irony in every word, in every time Jonathan tells us that everything is fine, this is totally normal for the Carpathians, he is sure that he's merely ignorant of local culture. We know there is a reveal coming, and we know exactly what it is.

....now imagine it's 1897 and maybe Charlotte has been sneaking her brother's copy of this book in bits and pieces because fiction novels were still sort of looked down on by true high society, especially for women to read. And she gets dressed in her fancy cranberry and white lace calling gown, and takes her carriage to Lady Ashworth's home down the street.

And poor Charlotte has to keep her cool and her decorum through half an hour of polite, stilted conversation as Lord Ashworth is in the sitting room when she arrives. But finally, he excuses himself to the study, and Charlotte can barely put her herbal tissan down in its saucer before Lady Ashworth leans forward.

"Have you read Jonathan Harker's last entry?"

"oh, my dear Vespasia- why do you think I've called on you this afternoon? Eloise isn't reading it, and I needed to speak with someone!"

28 notes - Posted May 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Y'all, this is not a call out to anyone in particular, but I am so fucking tired of seeing fanart of Gilmore that makes him skinny or super trim & buff.

Gilmore is fat. He is a beautiful, incredibly handsome, flamboyant man who wears jewelry and makeup and bright colors... And he is fat.

Vax likes him that way, and more importantly, Gilmore likes himself that way.

It's amazing to see a character like him, whose size is never ever the butt of the joke, who is never underestimated or ignored because he's fat, and who is extremely aware of how attractive and desirable he is, while being fat.

When y'all are making fanart, or Stardew valley or sims versions, or 3d renders, or whatever... stop fucking making Gilmore skinny. It's fatphobic, and all it does is tell us fat folks who see it that you don't think someone can be as awesome as Shaun Gilmore is while being fat.

Please don't take him away from us.

51 notes - Posted May 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[pinkpastels113]

hello i would like one order of “YOU SAID TO BE HONEST STOP HITTING ME!” please and thank you

hello bambi; of course you can. one order coming right up 🦋

Watching Chloe almost trip over herself in the haste to talk to her celebrity idol of all time is a combination of hilarity and fondness as Beca leans against the wall next to the stage. She couldn't keep the smile off her face, nor the snort from leaving her mouth, as she notices the way Chloe's hand shakes as she picks up her fallen notepad from the ground.

God, her girlfriend is such a mess around Taylor.

She gotta admit though, it is adorable watching Chloe lose her cool, because the redhead is almost always a picture of confidence and sophistication even when cameras flash in her eyes and microphones shove in her face. It's a revelation, a quick dose of ice cold water stating that despite all the glitz and glamour, Chloe is a human too.

Beca loves it.

Taylor hugs her, and Chloe just about passes out. She stays quiet even as her colleague gives her a wink and silent chuckle over Chloe's shoulder, quiet even as she laughs and jokingly salutes back.

I'll meet you at five, Beca mouths, her smile growing wider even as Taylor rolls her eyes in a silent response of you never show up early at parties.

Touche.

Chloe bounces back towards her, her autograph clutched tightly to her chest like it is the light of her life. Beca is still bewildered that Chloe hadn't wanted her to get one for her in favor of "living the full experience and I just want to feel like a regular screaming fan without a girlfriend who hangs out with her all the time Beca!"

"Fine then," she had said, and a week later she had gotten them free tickets and seats to the concert that the rest of the world had been dying to see.

"You do know that I could have gotten that for you like a month ago right?" Beca asks now, finally getting the chance to straighten away from the grey wall that she had been chilling with. Chloe glares at her, half-heartedly, and Beca couldn't help but pinch her cheek.

"A month ago we hadn't even been dating, and you know how much I hate feeling like I am entitled to everything just because I have a foot in the door."

Beca hums in acknowledgement. "I know, Chlo. But still." She leads them towards the exit, withdrawing a hand from her pockets to signal the doorman as they draw near.

Chloe ignores the sentiment. An elbow digs into her ribs even as they both mutter a thanks in their step over the threshold. "How did I do?"

The lights of downtown New York plays a concert of their own at the sidewalk beneath their feet. "Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"It was funny. You were freaking out like a blushing schoolgirl."

Chloe wacks at her arm, and it doesn't stop even as Beca tries to dodge the attack. "Beca!!"

The amusement that had been bubbling inside her chest all evening finally climbs up into her throat. "What?" She is full on chortling now, trying to not let herself get hit at while at the same time making sure that they don't venture off onto the road. "I'm being serious! You were like," she makes a exaggerated face, tapping onto her toes like the cement is hot, "Oh my god, it's Taylor Swift! Please sign my bra!"

Chloe lunges at her, her notepad now a sharp jab into Beca's ribs as she punches her side. "You're so mean!" A pout forms onto her lips even as Beca can tell that she is struggling to not give into her grin. "Like," a breath expels into the air in correspondence with another hit, "so mean. I don't even know why I put up with you sometimes."

"Because you love me," she says, not even caring that they are starting to attract attention. Let the people see. "And because you want to get in my pants."

That was apparently not the right thing to say, because the punches come in full force. "I. Hate. You."

"YOU SAID TO BE HONEST STOP HITTING ME!"

"I didn't mean that honest!" At least Chloe has withdrawn enough for her to actually see where she is walking. Oh, a fire hydrant. "I meant like, was I or was I not subtle enough to not scare Taylor off back there in my fangirl enthusiasm."

Beca smirks in the obvious refusal of commentary on her latter statement. "Nah, she loved you. I can tell."

Chloe huffs, but there is the ecstatic flash of pearly whites. "There. That wasn't so difficult was it?"

"Oh it was extremely difficult. Like I feel like I need to wash my mouth out with soap after what I just said."

Their driver hurries over to open the side door, "Oh really? Then I guess I should hold off my girlfriend duties for the rest of the night after we get back to your place. Pity too, since I am so happy that you did this for me tonight. I don't think I've gotten the proper chance to thank you earlier."

Now it is Beca's turn to act out in indignation. "Chloe Beale I do not appreciate you feeling the need to make me apologize for every little thing that comes out of my mouth. It's not fair."

"Not every little thing. Just some things. Like saying that I am a blushing little schoolgirl and wanting my bra signed. You know that I’d only take it off for you."

*****

send me prompts!

[mypersonmyg]

into you | kth

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff

rating: pg

wc: 806

warnings: n/a

summary: you really miss your boyfriend OR taehyung is a mastermind...kind of

a/n: november is almost over and i still have 2 whole fics to post before it ends yay me...

prompt 28. ! - Surprise! Something unexpected happens. (Ex. A member of the otp+ shows up for a surprise visit)  

november drabbles masterlist

main masterlist

A grimace ingrained and a harsh knuckled grip along a steady wheel is product of a quick uproot. Your mini holiday put on hold by the call of a landlord insisting your presence for an issue regarding the maintenance of a, in your opinion, perfectly well kept space. The weekend was meant to be short, but sweet, Taehyung assuring plans to the last detail, now you’re turned around after a lengthy drive without having even made contact with your long time lover. 

Distance was without issue at the best of times, the constant of calls and videos enough to satiate sanity, but schedules conflict and instance of communication dwindle. It feels ages since you’ve seen Taehyung’s smile, oozing with boyish charm and a hint of mischief. 

Taehyung’s tone was understanding as your message was relayed with animated sorrow. He made promise to get to you in the near future, too long without the feel of his presence wearing you thin. Somehow the drive back to your apartment seemed to lack the distance of the drive to Taehyung, another cruel joke aligned by the powers that be. 

You trudge the short distance to your door, the shove of your key echoing in the silence following the push of the door. You step in, looking for source of forced homecoming and finding none. You’re just preparing to sulk to your bedroom and collapse against the plush of pillows when there’s a clatter from the kitchen. 

You wager options, the raise of your voice appearing the least appealing of the bunch. Your lids slide to the door, prepared to make a run if the need begs, but choose the hold of your near umbrella and the tip of toes to peek around the corner for the source. You close in on the threshold, stopping short when the tower of a body is dwarfed by...candles. 

Your surprise is almost enough for the lowering of your arm, but the shadow grows closer and instead you find yourself lifting the umbrella over your head.

“Hey!”

“Ah!” You swing blind, missing the mark as a strong hold falls on the opposite end of your makeshift weapons. You easily relent, backing away before the light is flicked by the confident stranger. “Tae!?”

“Yes, it’s me! You’re gonna take an eye out with this thing, babe.” He sets it aside, brows raised in reaction your sudden attack. He seems otherwise unfazed by your sudden appearance, or rather your shock at his appearance in your home. “I guess it’s good to know you have a plan in the event of an actual break in.” 

“What are you doing here?” You ignore his attempt at hilarity, still unmoving from your position feet away. “I was coming to see you, how are you here?”

“I’m here to surprise you...surprise!” He regards you with open arms, knocking you from your stupor with a goofy grin. You easily close distance, your arms wrapping around his neck whilst his hold tight to your midsection. “I convinced your landlord to trick you into turning around.”

“Why would you do that?” 

“To be honest, I kinda forgot you were coming to me, so imagine my surprise when I showed up here just as I’m getting a text that you’re close to my place. So, I took it as my chance to get everything ready and hope that I could get you to come back.” 

“Get everything ready?” You recall the glow of the candles and chance a glance around Taehyung’s towering form. 

“Mmhm, come on.” He leads you the short distance around the corner, your legs stopping you at the sight of a breathtaking display. Candles, roses, and fancy glasses; Taehyung realizes you’re not immediately beside him and turns, grin sheepish. “Do you like it? Just want you to know how much I’ve been missing you”

“I love it, and I love you” You assure, moving forward to take everything in once more. You pull him in for a lengthy kiss, reveling in the feeling of him and the warmth of the room. When you finally pull away, you’re met with a realization. “Tae?”

“Hm?” 

“This is all very lovely, and I really love you for it but uh...will we be dining on air this evening?” 

“Huh?” He turns to the table, beautifully decorated but lacking in sustenance. “Crap...um...I guess I kinda forgot about that part.”

“The part where we eat?” You giggle, falling into one of the chairs. “I can’t believe you.”

“To be fair, I was far too preoccupied with making sure you actually showed up!” 

“Well, what was your plan before then?” You raise a brow, Taehyung taking a moment to think before his face falls in defeat.

“Where are your takeout menus?”

“Tae it’s fine I can--”

“Just tell me where the menus are.”

[havenoffandoms]

Eskel/Lambert You’re My Shelter

Based on Kashimalin’s 50 Types of Kisses prompt list. 

Prompt: “Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain.”

Pairing: Eskel/Lambert

Read on AO3. 

“Smells like rain,” Eskel remarks conversationally from where he’s lying on the grassy bank of the lake, his hands folded behind his head for support and ankles crossed, “we should probably start headin’ back to the keep soon.” 

“Soon,” Lambert agrees absent-mindedly as he flips onto his side to gaze at his lover, “just five more minutes. I’m really enjoying the view.” 

Eskel cracks one eye open, a lopsided smirk tugging at his scarred lips as he glances at Lambert from the side, and for a second Lambert feels like the luckiest man on the Continent to have someone as gorgeous as Eskel in his life. These stolen moments they enjoy in the autumn, when the cold hasn’t had a chance to settle in completely in Morhen valley, act like a soothing balm for Lambert’s broken soul. 

“Flatterer. You don’t need to compliment me to get into my bed, y’know? All you have to do ‘s ask.” 

Lambert heaves a dramatically long-suffering sigh.

“Eskel, Eskel… of all people, I thought you would appreciate a cheesy pick-up line.”

A warm chuckle rumbles deep in Eskel’s chest as he, too, flips onto his side so he and Lambert are facing each other properly. The roguishly handsome smirk, coupled with the soft eyes shimmering with adoration, are enough to take Lambert’s breath away. Nothing compares to the intimacy of these moments, Lambert thinks, when he and Eskel just lie there enjoying each other’s presence and revelling in the fact that they’re both here, alive and well, and in the company of the person they care most about in the entire world. 

A rumble of thunder breaks the soft moment, and when Lambert looks up at the sky, he notices the dark menacing clouds rolling over the valley. He has two minds to not move - what’s a little rain and thunder gonna do? - but when Eskel shifts into a seated position and reaches for his boots, Lambert realises that he’s not being given a choice in the matter. He doesn’t realise he’s pouting until Eskel nudges his ribs with his elbow, and leans into his space to nibble at Lambert’s earlobe. 

“Don’t worry, lil wolf. I’ll still take care of ya when we get back to the keep.” 

“That’s so far away,” Lambert whines, dragging out the vowels petulantly, “I want you now, Kel…”

“I’ll make it worth the wait,” Eskel adds with a wink, before rising to his feet in a frankly cruel move, and whistling Scorpion over to him. Lambert rolls his eyes in resignation, but mimics Eskel’s actions. His own gelding is young and not nearly as well-behaved as Eskel’s stallion, but that’s what Lambert likes about Milo. He’s wild and temperamental, just like his owner. Lambert and Milo understand each other on an emotional level, and they’ve learned to tolerate each other’s mood swings over the past couple of months. 

“You and I both know that the second we step into that godsforsaken castle, Vesemir will assign chores for us to do,” Lambert grouses as he pulls himself into Milo’s saddle, gently clapping the gelding’s neck in greeting, “which means that I won’t get to touch you until after dinner, provided the old man and Geralt didn’t kill the mood.” 

“If tha’ happens, I'm sure I’ll be able to reignite that fire,” Eskel casts a cocksure grin over his shoulder, before mounting his own stallion. Scorpion huffs a soft complaint when Eskel’s weight lands in the saddle. “I’ve got a couple o’ tricks up my sleeve.” 

Lambert snorts in response, ignoring the flush creeping up in his cheeks and neck. 

“Alright, don’t blow your own trumpet too hard,” Lambert snides back, though there’s no heat to his voice, “might end up dying from asphyxiation.”

“Hmm. Can’t let that happen. Who else would set ya straight if not me, lil wolf?” 

Lambert bites back a snort at the comment, because what Eskel is suggesting implies that he’s the one in charge when they’re sharing a bed. More often than not, the opposite is true, but Lambert decides to let the comment slide for now. They both spurt on their horses just as the rain starts pouring down from the sky. The thunder spooks Lambert’s horse into almost rearing up, and were it not for Lambert’s quick reflexes which allow him to cast Axii right on time, Milo would’ve thrown Lambert out of his saddle.

“We need to find shelter,” Lambert has to shout so Eskel is able to hear him over the roaring of the thunder, “the horses are losing it!”

“Your horse is losing it!” Eskel roars in return, “I can see a cave entrance over there. Let’s go!”

They reach the cave despite the deluvian rain making it difficult for either of them to see, despite their enhanced senses. Milo is still under the influence of Axii, luckily, or the gelding might have actually bolted and gotten lost in the forest. By contrast, Scorpion is the picture of peaceful serenity, the fucking show-off. Figures that golden boy Eskel doesn’t settle for anything less than the golden boy of horses. Milo and Scorpion fit inside the cave, and almost instantly, Milo seeks the warmth and comfort of Eskel’s war horse. Lambert rolls his eyes fondly at his mount, but before he can work on untacking Milo, he feels two strong arms wrap around his waist and pull him flush against a broad chest. 

“Looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while,” Eskel breathes huskily in Lambert’s ear, “need to find a way to fill the time, hm?” 

Lambert turns around in the embrace and tilts his head to the side. There’s not much of a height difference between them, but if they want to split hairs, Eskel is perhaps several inches taller than Lambert. Eskel meets Lambert’s gaze again, and that fondly enamoured look is back, making Lambert’s heart flutter in his chest. Eskel is soaked, water trickling down his face and getting lost in the ridges of his scars. 

“Are ya gonna kiss me, or?” Eskel asks breathlessly, his hands securely framing Lambert’s hips. Lambert’s lips quirk into a smirk at the thinly veiled demand, and while he’s really tempted to deny Eskel his kiss and tease him a little more, Lambert can’t deny that he wants to taste his lover’s lips. 

So that’s exactly what he does. 

Eskel’s lips are wet, like Lambert’s, which admittedly doesn’t make for the best kiss, but it’s chaste and sweet, and soothing on Lambert’s soul. Eskel responds eagerly, his lips moving gently against Lambert’s. Before Eskel has a chance to deepen the kiss, however, Lambert feels his lover take a deep inhale and let out an impressive sneeze that resonates against the bare walls of the cave, spooking the horses in the process. 

“Great,” Lambert grouses, scrunching his nose up in disgust, “thanks for that. Sneezing in my face, you dickhead.” 

“It’s not like I meant for it to happen,” Eskel retorts, his tone turning defensive, “was an accident.” 

“You’re a fucking witcher, Eskel! We don’t fucking sneeze!”

“We’re not statues, Lambert! Our nostrils can get irritated, too. Geralt was allergic to pollen before the trials, he still sneezes when he’s too close to a field in the summer.” 

Lambert snorts in response to that revelation, even though he tries hard not to, but the thought of the famous White Wolf having a sneezing fit while trying to fight off a royal griffin is just too good not to laugh at. Lambert puffs his cheeks, trapping his laughter before it has a chance to tumble past his lips. Eskel levels him with a look, though Lambert notices the way scarred lips twitch into a half-smirk. 

“Stop that! It’s not funny,” Eskel chastises, biting back his own snort. 

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, my dear Eskel. Let me tell you exactly why this is fucking hilar-”

Lambert doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before scarred lips cover his mouth once again, catching him off guard as Eskel kisses him breathless. Lambert melts under the ministrations, and soon enough, all thoughts of Geralt and his strange bodily reactions to pollen leave his mind as Lambert focuses wholeheartedly on the feeling of Eskel’s lips against his. 

The rain is still pouring outside, but there’s no place Lambert would rather be than in this cave, wrapped up in Eskel’s strong and warm arms. 

[a-lil-perspective]

Handle With Care

A/N: Okay I know y’all are probably sick of the repetitive Crosshair X Reader works lately. But I promise it will all make sense soon. First and foremost, I’m working to dig deep in establishing some key points while the narratives move forward. Aiming for the full effect here. (Also, keep in mind that I’m reviving ‘Verd’ika’). The fic takes place sometime after ‘Reticle’, for reference. Sick Crosshair. Soft Crosshair. (I know, basically all of my works are that way) I will defend that moody sniper because in actuality, he is a very soft boi who not-so-secretly just wants to be loved and coddled, and that is the hill I’m dying on. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. [Warnings: None] @shadow-hyder @starflyer-104 @thegoodbatch @obiorbenkenobi @kriffingunlucky @karpasia @halzore @everyonehasanindividuality (Tag List is open:))

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Have you ever sneezed while your face is sealed airtight inside a bucket of plastoid?

News flash: It’s nearly as annoying as having a Yalbec male try to eat you alive—well, mate with you. Same difference, the sniper of Clone Force 99 will eventually come to find out.

The sneezing makes the air stagnant and it’s obnoxious, yet Crosshair is uncontrollably going on his fourteenth one in the short span of five minutes.

That’s completely normal.

The forebode of a creeping illness intensifies as the day progresses, and Crosshair finds himself growing more perturbed, fluctuating between hot and cold like an oscillating pendulum, and ticking like a time bomb waiting to go off, because of it. Tech’s face, scrunched with concern after having come at Crosshair with a thermal scanner, informs the sniper of a budding fever. But he’s not sick. Not at all.

He’s not sick, until your irresistible amiability convinces him that it’s okay to be, and that promptly earns him a spot snuggled in your lap, his stiff neck resting atop your thighs with only a slight begrudge to follow. His breaths are somewhat labored at the tightness seizing his chest. There’s a sharp pain running behind his eyes, and the feeling of suffocation is palpable—there’s so much pressure along his facial structure, his sinuses are burning. Yet he still manages to enjoy the way you’re running your fingers through the short fibers of his hair, nails scratching lightly along his temples and eliciting a stuffy hum of contentment from the miserable sniper.

Despite his unfortunate state, you’re having a rather lovely time. There’s no denying; you experience the swell of your already nurturing heart and an exhilarating thrill at the prospect of taking care of others—of Crosshair, specifically; ever the complex individual. You’ve long since established your solicit of such assistance, to which Crosshair slowly found himself relenting to the idea of as time paved the way. But the actual application of moments were rare.

It made the sniper slightly uncomfortable; the way his initial sneeze earlier that day had you immediately zeroing in on him with an intensity he believed only his sniper eyes were capable of. “I’m onto you”, your archly tone had soon informed, while a smile displaying nothing but affection immediately followed. Your height of perception rivaled his own, and extensive time spent with you reminded Crosshair that it was foolhardy to even attempt a facade, at this point. All it took was a beckoning of your index finger for the sniper to succumb to your care.

It’s every Clone’s most inward desire, really: to want, to crave the extended offer of a wholesome company that’s found beyond fellow Clone brethren. It’s but a dream. To take a beautiful soul by the hand and lead them past the doors of mass duplication—and in turn be lead—before traveling a ways until they each ascend the staircase of individuality; a spiraled one, snaking around itself yet still managing to differentiate. A Clone wants to usher you onto the same ship as them, wishes you to travel along the exact journey they’re on. It’s a never ending one, until it’s a short lived one. It surpasses beyond the surface level, transcending the artifacts of scars littering the planes of their battle-worn skin. It grants you a passage through the ancient cave of their emotions, where each broken piece you find along the way presents another opportunity for restitution, however minuscule. To say it’s a journey is only half of the intel.

Only half, but it’s progress for the sniper Crosshair. The thought worms it’s way past his sickly haze and warms him more than the herbal tea you steeped and promptly ordered him to indulge. He can’t exactly pay the same type of homage to the taste however, as he finds himself reflexively wrinkling his nose in disgust with each sip. The muted liquid didn’t taste near as good as one of his oldest companions that is Corellian Whiskey, in which he’s certain one long swig of will immediately restore his health to optimum performance.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way,” you let him down with pragmatism and a chuckle. “You need something that’s going to help you get better, not get you tipsy.”

You ignore his rising justifications, taking the empty mug that he downed through a swirl of complaints and placing it on the small stand beside the cot before opening the drawer to sift through the contents in search of the standby supply of anti-inflammatories. A sound of disappointment elicits as you turn up empty, and you gingerly begin to shift Crosshair off your lap in order to exit the room in continuing the search.

“I’ll be right back,” you promise gently, however, his fervent resistance halts any further movement.

“So this is it... you’re just gonna leave me here, sick and dying?”

The sight of Crosshair’s perceived indignation is beyond amusing to you. His voice is faint and the words are drawn out in attempt at gaining sympathy over your apparent ‘inhumane’ treatment to the frail sniper. You’re in the middle of convincing him of his long life ahead and encouraging him to drop the theatrics when goggled eyes peer in from the doorway.

“Need anything in here?” Tech’s oh-so-helpful self inquires. You note that there’s a thinly veiled mischievous ring to his question. Realizing there’s no negotiating with the over-exaggerating sniper, you’re thankful for Tech’s intercession, unbeknownst to him.

“Yes, actually; anti-inflammatories and some antihistamines, if you’ve got them? I’ve got a clingy, feverish assassin in my lap who I’m trying to convince isn’t dying from a cold.”

“I’m not clingy!” The sniper’s hoarse whine permeated, eliciting a snort from you that failed to overpower another round of his sneezing fit.

Tech’s eyes sparkled with mirth in mirroring yours, and he beamed knowingly. Words seemed to play at the tip of his tongue but he appeared to think better of it, instead responding with a succinct nod of his head before promptly making a retrieval.

It took seventeen seconds and approximately ten sneezes before Tech returned to the scene of Crosshair’s frustrated state now manifested as various obscenities. The engineer handed you the bottles of medication, and the whimsical glint returned once again. He backed out of the room slowly and with deliberation while keeping his eyes trained on the sniper, before addressing his older brother.

“Oh, by the way Crosshair: I’ve recorded the sound of your rather undignified whining; prepare for blackmail—” the pillow suddenly and aggressively sailing over your head towards the fleeing engineer had you ducking and trying not to develop your own state of wheezing from the laughter that ensued.

“TECH! I’m gonna kick your ass!” The raspy threat fell on deaf ears, for the cheeky youngest brother was long gone. Crosshair was left in the company of both your quietude and incessant coughing once again.

“If you don’t cough up a lung, first,” you address him in concern.

Crosshair’s eyes met the frown tugging your features. The cool pads of your fingers absently traced the line-work of reticle surrounding his right eye. The gesture bestowed a sense of comfort, and Crosshair allowed his contentment to echo in the space between. He reached up to capture your fingers in his own. The radiating heat from his increasingly flushed face was a stark contrast against your mild body temperature.

“...I feel terrible,” he allows himself the admission. It’s a work in progress: Crosshair’s understanding that he can truly be authentically honest in such company—a good kind of honest. Vulnerable, even. More communicative. You’re constantly testing his mettle and his ability to emote, and you manage to bring the sniper to his knees each time; though not out of defeat, not at all. You stroke his hair and that smile, it burns right through him. In all honesty, Crosshair would find a way to malinger nearly every day if it meant getting to be taken care of like... this. He confesses that it’s... different. It’s... nice—very nice. A rarity, but one Crosshair found himself to be enjoying a little bit more with each budding opportunity.

“I know,” you soothe. “Rest, ner cyare ram’ser.”

His fond expression at your doting soon donns a coat of revelation; an afterthought. “Actually, I think just a good smooch will do the trick for me, Doctor—best medicine there is,” he convinces, however weakly.

You snort incredulously. “You’d know this from experience? And for the last time, I’m no Doctor—you go around saying that and I’ll have some of the best Clone medics in the GAR greeting me with trivia, or something.” You briefly acknowledge the way Crosshair has conferred upon you the title of ‘Doctor’ ever since you patched up a nasty gash of his some time ago, and you find sudden hilarity in the picturesque scenario of having Clone Trooper Kix, profound medic of the 501st whom you’ve met a handful of times, suddenly taking a predilection to you because he thinks you’re some prestigious civvie medic capable of wrangling in even the Bad Batch.

Oh how that couldn’t be farther from the truth—the quartet of super soldiers hardly adhere to your advice or sound reason on a good day. You’ll be the first to admit: you have no control over those rowdy men.

The sniper shrugs, rolling his shoulders before tentatively returning to the comfort of your lap and sprawling out. He inhales deeply, and smoothly continues. “In theory, it’s the best medicine there is. So maybe we should, you know, test that out—”

Crosshair melted against the spontaneous velvet of hungry lips. In that moment, neither of you actually paid any mind to his sniffles or the adenoidal lilt of his voice that was now resonating. He tastes exactly as you remember; you’ve had a few previous engagements. Though few and far between, they leave you certainly not forgetful, and Crosshair is a man to relish in the sight of you imprinting your affection on him. The flight to blissful paradise is over before you know it as you retract and consider it a victory over the way Crosshair nearly whines at your absence.

“That’s all you get, ram’ser—just a taste for now to get you to shut your yap and rest.”

Crosshair regards you with as much indignation as he can muster. “You’re a cruel woman.”

You deflect with a smirk and assertion. “Yet here you are, coming back for more.”

“Because I can never get enough,” he defends.

“But you feel somewhat better at least, don’t you? Best medicine there is,” you smugly remind the ill sniper.

Crosshair’s eyelids grew heavy laden as he focused on the hot smolder benevolently spreading through his veins like a blessing; an antidote that is your delicious affection and strong medication. It’s beyond welcoming, and Crosshair can’t decipher whether the rising heat was from the fever, or your intoxicating taste, or both. While the sniper wasn’t absolute, he came to the fierce deduction that it definitely had something to do with you, and suddenly his head was spinning.

“Yeah... Verd... you taste way better than the Whiskey,” Crosshair slurred with realization while in his delirious state, barely above a murmur as he nestled his head further into your lap and Maker, drowsiness was forcefully threatening to claim him already and the medications had barely begun to take effect. Your serene embrace deserved utmost commending for rivaling Wrecker’s, who’s only other arms Crosshair ever felt secure within—prior to you.

Your brows arch as a playful smile materializes. “Verd?” You questioningly test the syllable on your tongue.

Crosshair manages a conspiratorial smirk through his thickening fog of exhaustion. “Yeah... ‘Verd’. You know... Verd’ika? It’s a... new nickname for you—the shortened version,” he struggles to explain—well, ramble is more like it—he’s uncharacteristically rambling at this point, and you absently wonder if Tech and his impish tendencies are just around the corner still recording the latest developments for future leverage.

“You’re adorable when you’re like this,” you endearingly point out. Slightly goading though, you realize, as Crosshair’s head abruptly twists to better regard you with nothing short of perceived offense. His pride appears to have momentarily overpowered his cold in favor of salvaging his dignity.

“I’m a sniper,” he fiercely explains. “I’m not adorable.”

“No, of course not,” you smoothly placate after smothering a laugh. His newfound nickname for you once again surfaces from your sea of thoughts. You pursue your lips in contemplation. “Verd... I like it.”

Crosshair smirks approvingly. “Can’t wait to hear all the nicknames you have for me, Darlin.”

Of course he would say that. Crosshair’s not dying from a cold, but he is dying to hear the mellifluous vocalization of all the different names you’ve stored up for him while finally in the midst of love making.

Good thing patience is his strong suit.

A textured palm lovingly rests against the expanse of his forehead while his fatigued fingers card through your hair before coming to a standstill. In the production of quietude, sniffles, and unspoken devotion, your eyes flutter shut as you lean down to gently bond your forehead with his own as his exhaustion finally establishes itself in the form of light snoring.

“Another time,” you hum assuredly.

[imagine-nation20]

Need To Hear You

Summary: “Do you really keep a diary? I’d give anything to look at it. May I?”

Or in which Jaskier accidentally reads something he shouldn’t.

Requested By: Anon

Request: “Do you really keep a diary? I’d give anything to look at it. May I?” with our beloved Jaskier! please dear!

A/N: Tbh, I love writing diary discoveries, because they have the potential for such hilarity. I used to keep one, and if someone had read all the secrets I had poured into that(mine and other peoples) they would have a gold mine of blackmail. This one is kind of emotional, though (why is it always emo hours with my Jaskier stuff?). Hope you like it! (Also, the dress in this is modeled after Bernadette Banner’s Chemise a la Reine cause I love historical clothing youtubers)

~~~

It had slipped from your mouth before you could stop yourself, too caught up in the conversation between yourself, Jaskier, and your two friends. You had all decided to take a break from your lives to have breakfast together. Your friends had been talking about their diaries they kept, and you had jokingly mentioned all the gossip you had spilled into your own journal, forgetting that the nosiest person you knew was sitting beside you four.

Jaskier and you had grown up together, practically inseparable until he had gone off to become a bard. Now he only came around every few months to check in, and you treasured the time. 

At the mention of your diary, Jaskier’s head whipped around. A smirk was slowly creeping onto his face as he leaned towards you slightly, eyebrows practically in his hairline. “You have a diary?”

You looked to your two friends, Sahar and Wilhemina, begging for help. They, however, knew exactly why you were panicking, and were reveling in the hilarity of it all. They offered no help, and you mentally cursed them, swearing to throw them under the carriage next time they needed your assistance. 

“No?” It was phrased more as a question than an answer, and you cringed at the way Jaskier’s face lit up.

You were surprised when Jaskier leaned back, eyeing you, but not pressing the subject. Sahar and Wilhemina shared a confused look with each other, but only shrugged and turned to you with a new idea sure to spark trouble. 

“Willa and I wanted to head over to Gina’s, would you two like to come?” Sahar, asked, her brown curls bouncing as she tilted her head innocently. You narrowed your eyes, wondering what the two of them were up two. 

They both knew you hated Gina. As a teenager, you had both been after the same boy, and she had done everything in her power to make your life harder, and in the end, she had earned his affections.

Said boy was also sitting right next to you, looking very uncomfortable at the mention of his old acquaintance. 

It hadn’t ended well between the two. They had courted for almost half a year before Jaskier found out about her dislike for you, as well as what she had done, minus the part about you competing with her for his attention. You hadn’t had been the one to tell him though, thinking that he was happy. Rather, Sahar had gone behind your back and let him know, despite your protests. He definitely was not looking to see her again anytime soon.

And Sahar and Willa knew that.

“No, I think I’ll just head in.” You said, trying to imply that you would be done spending time with all of them, but Jaskier, while being perceptive at times, was completely oblivious in uncomfortable situations.

“I’ll be going with (Y/N), then. I’m sure Gina would be less than thrilled to see me,” He wrapped his arm around yours, standing from the table and dragging you out of the large greenhouse. Your family thought it was a good idea to turn it into a dining area, perfect for breakfast, and you rarely ever ate anywhere else, as at night it was lit up by lanterns. 

The glass doors were already open, and Jaskier rushed you two out. You could hear the giggles of your friends, and you assumed by the embarrassed look on Jaskier’s face, he could too.

The breeze created by your fast steps blew your simple white summer dress into your legs, the thin cotton light enough for the summer warmth. The lace sleeves brushed your elbow, billowing with the wind as well. You were almost afraid that that red sash around your waist would untie and blow away.

“Jaskier, please, slow down!” You begged, slightly out of breath by the time you made it to your back door. The gardener sent you a smile, eyeing the way Jaskier gripped your hand. You blushed, pulling from his grip as he turned to you, smiling slightly.

“Sorry, I was just suddenly struck by the need to write a song, and thought it best to get to my notebook before the idea left,” You knew he was lying, but you didn’t call him out on it. Gina has always been a sensitive topic for him, as were most of his past partners. You knew that his encounters rarely ever ended on good terms.

“Then hurry,” You urged him on, ushering him in through the back door and through your house. You made it to the front entrance, turning to head up the stairs to where you room and the guest room resided. Jaskier always stayed in one of the spare rooms when he was visiting, as you refused to let him stay in an inn.

You made your way up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, with Jaskier complaining about the walk behind you. You rolled your eyes, ignoring him in favor of opening his bedroom door and plopping onto his bed. Your arms were spread out, hair no doubt messy and unkempt. If not from the running, then from the unceremonious and unladylike drop you had made onto the bed.

“Do you really keep a diary?” The question makes you choke on air, sitting up and looking at Jaskier warily. It seems like an answer enough to Jaskier, as he is moving over to the bed and sitting---much more gracefully than you---onto the bed. “ I’d give anything to look at it. May I?”

It is a question, but no matter how you answer, you know he will keep insisting. Jaskier was a lot of things, but a quitter wasn’t one. 

“No.” It is a simple answer, and the look in your eyes conveys to Jaskier that the answer wont change. There is a beat of silence.

You and Jaskier both break for the door.

He’s faster. If you had to guess, it was probably from the fact that he has been traveling with a witcher. It could also be the fact that his shoes are more suitable for running than your heeled boots. All you know for sure is, he makes it to the door before you, and is out in record time. The blue of his jacket slips through your bedroom door before your out of his, and you hear the familiar click on the lock as it closes.

You hand flies to the knob, twisting it in hopes that he hasn’t locked himself inside, and that the click was just you mishearing. It isn’t. The handle won’t budge, and you can hear him rifling through your things as you fist bangs against the door.

“Jaskier! Jaskier don’t you dare!” You shout, desperately trying to get his attention away from the book you know is safely hidden in the slats under your mattress. You also know that Jaskier will eventually remember it is your most trusted hiding place where you used to keep your stolen chocolate. “Jaskier, open this door right now!”

“Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad!” He shouts back, and you hear him head for your desk, opening drawers and searching still.

“Jaskier that is my private diary, and it is only meant for me to read!” Your desperate to appeal to his sympathy, but one Jaskier has his mind set on something, he won’t stop. You know this as well.

“I have been your best friend-” The slam of the last drawer- “since we could walk. I think your secrets are safe with me.”

There is a pause in his movements, and you pray he hasn’t remembered. He moves towards the door, but veers off towards your dresser.

“Why don’t you want me to read it? Does it have something naughty in it?” His tone is teasing, but the thought of what you had written only makes your queasy. Your mind brings up memories of the little girl in love with her best friend and obsessed with writing poems about him.

“Jaskier, please,” You beg, voice lower now. You think he may hear you, the silence stirring hope, but the footsteps restart again, and you dread where they are headed.

A triumphant ‘aha!’ seals your fate. 

Knowing you can’t do anything now but wait, you turn and slide down the door, accepting that this would be the end of your friendship. 

It is silent for a long while, and you think about him reclining on your bed, eyes skimming the words you had hoped no one would ever read. You imagine him trying not to laugh at the way you were so infatuated with him. You can see the teasing in his eyes now, and the way he would be uncomfortable around you now. Maybe he would leave this time, and never come back. Maybe this would be how you part with him for the last time.

The thought almost has you sobbing, but you resign yourself to suffering in silence. The tears burn as they fall, the misery etched into your cheeks through the hot trails they leave.

The door lock clicks, handle turning slowly. You stand, back still facing the door as it slowly opens. You refuse to turn around. You refuse to look at him; at his sky blue eyes that love to mock you. You hear the door hit the wall of your room, and you flinch slightly at the sound. The ringing in your ears in mind-numbing.

Nothing is said for a long while, but you know he is looking at you. You can feel his stare.

Footsteps approach you slowly, and you wait for the sound of his voice, filled with mockery and joking. Instead, what you get is warm arms, circling your waist, and a face pressed into the crook of your neck. You could feel the dampness across his face as it rested against your skin, and the subtle tremors that wracked his body.

Your own tears ceased, only leaving sniffles in their wake. The confusion of what Jaskier was doing---thinking---was to big of a distraction to bother continuing to wallow in your sorrows. Your hands hesitantly raised to rest over his own, delicate in their touch, and you felt Jaskier release a heavy sigh, grip tightening.

“I love you…” Is all that is said. It echoes down the hallway and back, and you don’t think you ever want to stop hearing it. You want to savor the moment, capture it in your heart, because you fear it is a dream. You fear waking up and never hearing Jaskier say it again.

“I think you already are well aware of how I feel,” You don’t know where you find the energy to tease him, but maybe it's the fact that you are so used to the banter between you. Silly jabs and jokes pointed at each other is normal, and normal is what you think you need right now. Of course, though, Jaskier never wants to make it easy on you.

“I know,” He whispers. “But I need to hear you say it. I need to hear you.”

It's a plea, a prayer, and you smile at the way his voice shakes, like hearing you say it is the only thing he will ever need.

“I love you.”

[wellesleyunderground]

WU Reviews: Never Have I Ever reviewed by Shelly Anand ‘08 (@shellypolitik) & Shloka Ananthanarayanan '08 (@shlokes)

Shloka: Oh where to begin? I binged through this show in a few hours and would happily have spent my whole week bingeing through more seasons. I went into this with high expectations, and incredibly, they were all exceeded. 

First off, the reason I was most excited for this show is that it is based on a South Indian family. You never see South Indians on TV - even when Mindy Kaling was on The Office, she was the generic North Indian “Kelly Kapoor.” So to have a character named Devi Vishwakumar (a name that all the non-brown folk pronounce fully all the time without complaining!) was a revelation. As a Shloka Ananthanarayanan, I am here for this.

Shelly: Completely agree. So many depictions of Indians, whether in American media or in Bollywood, are hegemonized by North Indians and Punjabis (Mindy’s use of “Kapoor” in the Office, a Punjabi last name). It’s not only a disservice to the diversity of the subcontinent and India but also a disservice to North Indians who are super ignorant and unaware of languages and cultures of South India. I really enjoyed learning words in this show, like kanna, which I quickly learned is the Tamil term of endearment for a loved one or a child like “beta” in Hindi.

Shloka: My heart melted every time someone would say “kanna.” I have family members who say it all the time but it was so refreshing to see it casually deployed on screen. This might also explain why one of my all-time favorite Bollywood movies as a child was Hum Hain Rahi Pyaar Ke, because the heroine played a South Indian and had a few lines in Tamil when she was talking to her father. It was the first time I felt represented in Bollywood. 

Coming back to the show, there’s some pretty incisive commentary about what it means to be a brown person outside the motherland. In Episode 4, which is centered around Devi and her family attending Ganesh Puja, we get to delve deep into how Devi sometimes feels “too Indian” and then at other times is “not Indian enough.” It’s the classic immigrant dilemma.  All three actresses who form the core trio of this show are spectacular, and each of them represent different stages of assimilation, all of which I thoroughly related to. As someone who only moved to the States in high school, I was not as American as Devi, who was born and raised here, though after all these years, I’ve definitely gotten there. I’m not as Indian as her mom, Nalini, or her cousin, Kamala, who both grew up in India, but like Kamala, who moved to the US for her engineering degree at Caltech, I can relate to her gradual Americanization. 

Shelly: Episode 4 was definitely one of my favorite episodes, particularly John McEnroe’s describing and explaining the phenomenon that is the “Indian auntie.” Devi’s experience as the daughter of Indian immigrants was really reminiscent of my experience growing up though I have to say she encounters way less bullying, which speaks so much perhaps to the area she is living in and the times we are living in. It was refreshing to see a show where almost all of the main characters are people of color including the popular cute guy she is lusting after. 

I was a bit surprised though about the whole ABCD trope (American Born Confused Desi). I would hope that kids of Indian origin growing up today would feel more comfortable with their culture and identity than they were when I was growing up. I was also surprised that they decided to depict parents as immigrants rather than second generation Indian Americans since so many South Asian kids in school now are third generation like my kids.

There has been some critical commentary about the show as well. In Episode 4, Nalini discourages Kamala from sitting next to a woman who married a Muslim. This same woman later tells Kamala that she is divorced and she should have just married a Hindu like she was supposed to. Showing the pervasive anti-Muslim bias is so real and true for Hindu communties and Hindu American communities but there was no follow up or push back.

Then Nalini makes a seemingly pro Modi comment stating that asking a pandit to take an uber was like asking Modi to use postmates. 

With everything happening in India right now, I definitely picked up on these two moments in this episode. But I really didn’t expect Mindy to address these issues in a meaningful way. While other Indian American celebrities like Hari Kondabolu and Padma Lakshmi condemned the Citizenship Amendment Act and the killing of Muslims in Delhi earlier this year, Mindy remained mostly silent. 

I also saw some folks tweeting about the issue of caste representation. I am not familiar with how caste is manifested in the Tamil Hindu community but I learned from another Tamil Hindu on Twitter that this family is pretty explicitly Brahmin. Caste is one of the major points of oppression within the Hindu community that has not been dealt with in a meaningful way and there is much work to be done to eliminate caste bias as well as ensure representation of Dalits, Bahujans, and Adivasis in media both in India and here in the US.

All that being said, my favorite response to all the critiques of Mindy’s show was  something along the lines of “it’s Mindy Kaling, wtf did you expect, a Naxalite uprising?” 

Shloka: Yeah, I never expected a nuanced take on issues affecting India today - this is a show built largely around Mindy’s worldview, which has always been decidedly apolitical. So while agreed on all those points, that is NOT why anyone should be watching this show. You know why you should be watching?  All the jokes. So many one-liners, so many rich layers of hilarity. At one point when someone asks Devi’s mom if she could turn the AC on, she gets angry, declaring “there are people in Siberia who would kill to be this hot!” I giggled for a good long while over that one. This is a show that really revels in well-observed and precise humor, which is what I demand from all my comedies. 

But whilst technically a comedy, this show is also incredibly serious and takes a deep dive into grief and mental health, topics that Indians are generally loath to explore. Devi sees a therapist to deal with her father’s recent death and while most of her therapy sessions are consumed by her sex-crazed high school hijinks, her therapist is always patiently pointing out that maybe what Devi really needs is to be processing her grief rather than distracting herself with boys and the pursuit of popularity. Everything gets incredibly emotional in the last two episodes and it’s a reminder that being stoic and just ignoring the things that make you feel bad are not effective ways of dealing with your emotions. 

Shelly: I was really happy with the way mental health and the way it’s still so taboo in the South Asian community was portrayed here. I wondered how much of Devi’s avoidance of talking about her father was her own trauma versus her discomfort because of her upbringing around talking about pain, feelings, and generally not being ok. You can tell her mother also pushed down her emotions and didn’t take the time to process her husband’s death. The scene when Nalini, Devi’s mother, goes to talk to Devi’s therapist is a powerful one. Recognizing that her daughter was in therapy but then dismissing therapy as being for “white people” is true for not only South Asians but many communities of color in the US. I was really glad to see mental health and the need for mental health treatment addressed in this show.

In summary - we both recommend Never Have I Ever. It does some things well, needs to work on a whole bunch of other things, but in the end, is a delightful binge watch with some much-needed South Asian representation. Give it a whirl and let us know what you think!

[jo-the-unknowable]

TUA ramblings #1

When I first watched The Umbrella Academy I had so many thoughts about the characters and the story that I wanted to write a bunch mini essays/meta analyses and I had all these ideas and I even started an outline but then I realized that takes things like Spare Time and Organization and Ability to Follow Through which I unfortunately lack so instead I’m just going to start posting some thoughts/observations in a totally disorganized random way.

I’m currently on my fourth watch of the series and I noticed something that’s probably not that big of a deal or a huge revelation to anyone but it made me Sad™ so I’m here to rant about it.

In season 1 episode 9, “Changes”, Klaus almost has an addiction relapse until he’s distracted by his newfound ability to make Ben corporeal.

(yes I’m using screenshots instead of gifs because I am Too Lazy and also I don’t know how to make gifs leave me alone I’m good at other things)

Obviously we’re all aware that Klaus Just Wants His Family to Take Him Seriously For Once (and yeah I get that it’s complicated because he’s an addict and he’s probably let them down a lot but it still really hurts that they overlook him and push him to the side over and over again and generally just don’t see him as competent or capable of being serious or making any substantial contributions and don’t notice when he’s been kidnapped and is missing for an entire day but that’s another story) and that’s a major trigger for him acting out (see: the “Klaus Get Out of the Van” Incident) but what I didn’t realize the first three times through (and maybe it’s really obvious and this is just me being unobservant as hell which happens frequently lol) but this scene comes directly after this one where Allison needs a life-saving blood transfusion and all of her brothers volunteer which is a beautiful but also comedic moment (in my defense, the first few times through I was distracted by the hilarity of Diego fainting at the sight of needles - blood is fine; knives and stab wounds? great; scenes of carnage? A-OK; but needles? nope that’s too much for him). But the part that stuck out to me was when Klaus volunteers to give blood.

It did strike me as a little odd that Pogo would say that the first time I watched, because Klaus is sober now?? He’s been sober for almost two days?? If you ignore the timeline of actual detox which I assume you’re supposed to do because of the fact that Klaus is cheerfully walking around and teasing Luther about his love life one (1) day after quitting cold turkey, there shouldn’t be any drugs left in his system? And I know you’re not allowed to donate blood if you have a history of intravenous drug use but that’s because of the risks of HIV and hepatitis so like... what gives, Pogo???

I think I initially explained it away as some concerns that he might have some residual drugs in his system (which might still be valid I guess) but today I realized that actually I think it’s just that Pogo doesn’t believe Klaus is really sober. There were a few hints that other members of the family don’t believe in Klaus’ sobriety (Luther at breakfast and Five in the scene on the staircase where Klaus tells Five he’s addicted to the apocalypse) but for some reason, maybe because I tend to think of Pogo as this benevolent, all-knowing being, it just didn’t occur to me that even Pogo would not believe Klaus was sober. And Klaus is trying so hard, he’s still very new to sobriety and extremely fragile because of that, and he was finally trying to Be There and Step Up For His Family by donating blood to Allison to save her life but Pogo rejected him because he didn’t even believe Klaus was sober. And that leads directly to Klaus going to look for drugs because “people still don’t take me seriously” so what’s the point? Why put forth all that effort when not only does no one recognize how much effort it is to stay sober but they don’t even believe that he’s sober in the first place?

Anyway now I can’t stop thinking about this and it’s making me Sad™.

[ktlsyrtis]

from @ladyshipper:

Serena sputtered into her wine glass, quickly devolving into a coughing fit. Bernie moved to help, but Serena waved her away with a weak “I'm fine,” her face flushed. When she turned back, Sian had pulled over a nearby chair and was patting the seat with a smile. “Come sit next to me Bernie. I want to hear all about you.” Bernie glanced at Serena as she started coughing harder, then walked around the table and slowly lowered herself into the seat. “I understand you've had quite an impact on our dear Rena. Not that I blame her!” Sian leaned in with a flirtatious smile and a wink. “If I had a co-worker who looked like you I'd be tempted to switch teams myself.”

Bernie's astonished eyes flew to Serena, who was currently slugging back most of her glass of shiraz and avoiding her gaze. “In fact, do you have any single friends of the, you know, sapphic persuasion? Men are generally rubbish and from what Rena's been telling me, there are definite perks to your, ah, arrangement.”

Bernie leaned back in her seat, eyes fixed on her increasingly embarrassed girlfriend, a wicked smile curving the corner of her mouth. Two could play at this game. “Oh really? And what are these perks that Rena has been telling you about?” Across the sofa Serena moaned and buried her face in her hands.

Sian shifted closer gleefully, ignoring her friend slowly shrinking in horror beside her. “Well, for one I haven't seen her this shagged to tatters since she dated Dylan Price for three weeks in uni.”

“Sian!” Serena squawked in outrage, eyes wide and cheeks redder than Bernie had ever seen.

“What, it's true! And if there's anyone in this world who needs a proper and regular shagging, it's you Serena. We both know what a complete nightmare you are when you're not getting any.”

Serena glared daggers at both the inelegant snort Bernie was unable to restrain and the mock innocent look on Sian's face, before slumping back against the sofa, a hand over her eyes. “This is a nightmare,” she moaned, “a sodding bloody nightmare.”

Well, if we’re going to talk about this scene, we’re going to talk about my main girl, Sian Kors. The entire basis for this fic (and my ongoing fondest dream) was thinking about the hilarity that would ensue if Sian met Bernie. I truly love the position that Sian holds in Serena’s life, specifically for what it reveal about her. We don’t really have anyone else who knew Serena pre-Holby (except for Edward, but fuck that guy), and every line she has is such a great glimpse into the young, wild child party girl Serena.

This scene was very much designed to play into that. Serena has not only confronted a major revelation about herself and her sexuality, she’s now confronting someone who’s known her for 30+ years. It’s that relationship that gives Sian the freedom to give Serena some shit, which is one of my favorite things about her. My headcanon is that Sian and Serena are fierce friends and have been for ages, the kind that would do anything for each other, but they are also the kind that will call each other on their bullshit. In Serena’s case, that’s her tendency to sometimes take her reputation too seriously. Sian is there to remind her of who she is outside of the hospital and she’s not afraid to embarrass Serena a bit to do it (in fact, she takes a good deal of pleasure in it).

Another nice little tidbit about this scene - at the time it was written, “shagged to tatters” was a phrase that was wandering around the fandom to describe Serena’s blissed out expressions post-The Kill List. I just had to use it here. ;)

[ask for DVD commentary on my fic]

[beaniebaneenie]

Dracula daily is my biggest serotonin-creator right now. I have loved this book for almost 20 years and watching all of us read it together is utterly splendid.

But for even more hilarity and delightful mental images, please remember that in 1897, while vampire stories were about to come into another heyday? They weren't mainstream yet.

And the name "Count Dracula" was in no way synonymous with "vampire".

The Carpathian mountains, That Accent™️, hell... Even Transylvania itself, were not inextricably tied with "vampire lore", particularly in the minds of western Europeans.

This is the book that did that.

As much as we are all reveling in the present tense, and are experiencing the adventure in real time? We all know something Jonathan doesn't. We all know something the readers of 1897 did not.

We know that Count Dracula is a vampire.

We know that he isn't just a vampire, he's like, the biggest, baddest, most OP vamp ever.

We have the lovely dramatic irony in every word, in every time Jonathan tells us that everything is fine, this is totally normal for the Carpathians, he is sure that he's merely ignorant of local culture. We know there is a reveal coming, and we know exactly what it is.

....now imagine it's 1897 and maybe Charlotte has been sneaking her brother's copy of this book in bits and pieces because fiction novels were still sort of looked down on by true high society, especially for women to read. And she gets dressed in her fancy cranberry and white lace calling gown, and takes her carriage to Lady Ashworth's home down the street.

And poor Charlotte has to keep her cool and her decorum through half an hour of polite, stilted conversation as Lord Ashworth is in the sitting room when she arrives. But finally, he excuses himself to the study, and Charlotte can barely put her herbal tissan down in its saucer before Lady Ashworth leans forward.

"Have you read Jonathan Harker's last entry?"

"oh, my dear Vespasia- why do you think I've called on you this afternoon? Eloise isn't reading it, and I needed to speak with someone!"

[ramrodd]

Why Were Some Books Left Out of the Bible?

COMMENTARY:

My theory of the Gospel of Peter is that it reflects what Cornealius and Pilate reported to Rome immediately after the Resurrection that compelled Tiberius to propose Jesus as a legal deity that Tertullian relates. The Roman content of the Gospel was part of what became Quelle, the intelligence archive that formed the Synoptic Gospels around the testimony of Peter from his debriefing with Cornelius in Acts 10 and became the basis for elements in Matthew and Luke.

Cornelius conveyed the Roman content to Peter during the debriefing and Peter incorporated these bits, which he could not have had witness because he and the other Disciples were on the run at the time,  into his basic stump speech in some way. His confession in Acts 10:34 - 43 reveals that his understanding of what actually happened to Jesus amounted to "They killed Him on a cross": he didn't have these details going into the meeting and, as the Nicean and Apostle's Creed, "He suffered under Pontius Pilate" covered the issue, but he, Peter, would have shared the details he received from Cornelius in his extended and intimate discussions in the manner of a war story, which is what the Gospel of Peter amounts to.

The most authentic detail, for me, in the Roman content is the exchange between the thief, who mocked the "justice" of the Roman soldiers and the response of the Roman soldier promising not the break the knees in response. There is a certain rough humor in the Roman response typical of soldiers, the humor being similar to the good humor of the soldiers who tormented Jesus in the Praetorium dressing him in a soldier's cloak and "worshipping" Him and all the rest. This thief was having a very bad day and the only thing he had to look forward to was having his knees broken to end his torment. Nevertheless, he had the presence of mind to make fun of Rome, to which the soldier accepted the challenge and raised the bidding by removing the promise of even that cruel mercy.

If you've never soldiered, it might not be evident, but it's a moment of high hilarity for the soldiers.

The details of the guard mount is also consistent with Roman practicies. The detail of 7 seals may have been included from Revelation, but it is the sort of thing a centurion, with his warrant, would have accomplished routinely. Somewhere else, it is noted that it took 17 men to push the stone into place, which would reflect the guard mount of two Conturberium (8 man squad) and the centurion, who had a rank equivalent to a Sergeant First Class or Marine Gunnery Sergeant. They put up a tent and set a guard detail, two by two, at the tomb, pretty standard stuff and reflects the battle doctrine of the legions.

What happens next is what everybody finds squishy about the Gospel of Peter. Luke doesn't even mention the soldiers nor Mark. There is a reason for this: the soldiers fall asleep (or are made unconscious) which is a capital crime in the Roman army, so the issue is avoided completely by the two gentiles.

The soldiers are rendered unconscious in some manner (Mt 28:4The guards ... became like dead men). I think this happens immediately after the earthquake (more about this, below) and everything that is presented happens in a common vision, particularly the talking cross and the 3 men extending into Heaven. The actual events become muddled by Peter, but this vision is what gets included in Quelle and what Cornelius conveys to Peter.

In Matthews version, the soldiers take the events at the grave to the High Priests as a CYA, which probably happened, but they took it up the chain of command first, as the Gospel of Peter reflects, which is how it ends up in Quelle. It serves Pilate's (and Rome's) purposes to be officially ignorant of whatever this resurrection shit is and probably sends the soldiers to the High Priests as a purposeful and strategic deflection. Pilate apparently shares this intelligence with Harod, who likewise shares his intelligence file of Jesus with Pilate (Lk 23:12)(which probably contains Matthew's transcripts of His sermons: Matthew was a mole for Harod, which is how the red verses in the Gosples were captured in Quelle. Jesus alludes to this treachery in Mark 9:31).

I think Matthew gets the timing of the earthquake correct, which is the moment the event horizon occurs that transports the corpse of Jesus out of the shroud to whatever happens next. Thunder is created by the vacuum lightening leaves in the atmosphe and the air smashes back together to fill it. The same thing happened in this translation of the corpse of Jesus: when it was transported, it left a vacuum that was filled explosively by the atmosphere collapsing into it. And this is the moment when the Roman soldiers became like dead men and the seeds of the vision that was planted in their brains, collectively, still remained when they regained their senses and frightened Mary Magdalene and the other women who were talking with the young man at the tomb and they ran away without telling anyone.

Here's the thing about the earthquake and the Shroud of Turin: I think the impression left on the shroud, which occurred in 35 billionth of a second, is the physics for interstellar travel a la stargate, and the only thing left to do is the engineering to move from one point in the universe to any other coordinate like a Robert Heinlein novel. It's the promise destiny of humankind that God revealed to Abraham in Genesis 15:5

The Gospel of Peter doesn't belong in the Canon: in most ways, it's doggeral. But there is far more going on that a latter day version of bits of Luke and Matthew: it originated in a conversation between Cornelius and Peter.

[sapphicalexaandra]

Impossibility Is a Kiss Away from Reality (6/?)

Pairing: Jace/Alec

Rating: E

Summary: That night turned out to be the best show they ever did, yes…but not for the reasons everyone else thought. As his friends and everyone he knew came backstage to congratulate him, saying he had never sung so good, Jace couldn’t pay attention to anything at all. He could only feel…Alec.

Notes: Chapter 6 of Sense8 AU. Let’s just say this fic is rated E for a reason ;)

Explosion

"Get out of my head!"

"Not until you get out of mine!"

Jace blinked, and Alec had vanished. 

Get out of my head. 

Those exact words...

There were no more doubts, then, that this was simply Jace’s own brain speaking to itself.

And yet, if he contemplated other options, could it be that what was happening now had happened to Jace before? What if he had seen someone who wasn’t real in the past, and tried to send them away? Was this a condition that he'd had when he was a child, now resurfaced for some reason?

Abomination.

A chill shot through Jace, and not of the pleasant kind. Why had he thought that?

But was it untrue? Wasn’t he the freak hallucinating people? A person, with a very nice butt? If he thought of a reason beyond his libido, after all, what else could it be? Maybe there was something seriously wrong with his brain...should he go see a doctor?

But wouldn’t anything that he'd say only land him in a mad house? He surely didn’t want that; after having escaped it barely in his teenage years, it’d be a total smack against everything he had worked for all his life. Maybe he should've rather seen if it kept happening first, and only thencould he start alarming others. He wouldn’t want to burden his grandmother with something like this, especially if unnecessarily. 

He needed to eat something, then take a nap so that he'd be functional that night, have a shower and go meet up with his friends. Good plans. One step at a time.

If he wished a bit that Alec, with all his crankiness, would reappear...was just because he had designed him right to his tastes, even ones that he hadn’t known he had. 

"Earth to Jace, Earth to Jace…" 

Jace jumped, his head shooting upright. "What?"

"Are you awake, mate? Look, I need you functioning tonight, if you’re gonna be a zombie…”

"No, no, sorry, Simon. I'm cool, I’ll be fine." When Simon raised his eyebrows, Jace added, “I promise. I’m not asleep, I’m just distracted.” Wrong thing to say: it was exactly his distraction that was worrying...

“You know you can talk to me, right? I think I’ve earned to be called your best friend, have I not?” Simon clapped his back, a grin on his face that tried to hide how serious he was.

Jace sighed. “Yes, I know. I just…not today, okay?”

Simon was still hesitant about it, but when they both saw Clary and Jonathan enter the café Jace begged him with his eyes to not say anything. He knew everyone was itching to talk to him about Valentine, but he’d explode if he did that, after the window into weird that he had stumbled upon that day.

Simon, thankfully, heard his plea and started talking animatedly about the songs they needed to play that night. When the other two joined them, the atmosphere was a lot lighter, and, blessedly, none of them felt the need to dampen it by asking Jace how he was.

Conversation after that was only normal.

“What do you mean you’re giving my ticket to someone else? I paid for it, you won’t waste it on a skank!” Clary reproached her brother.

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “C’mon, don’t be like this, sis. Don’t you want your big brother to get laid?”

“Actually, no! You still owe me for that one time you got laid with my boyfriend,” Clary said under her breath, baring her teeth almost ferally. 

Jace also rolled his eyes, holding back a laugh. Here we go, again.

“That was one bloody time, and how do I still owe you?! We were drunk and didn’t even finish, since you interrupted us!”

“Are you shitting me right now?”

“I at least demand a proper shag, so that you can be justified in still throwing this at my face! Eh, Jace, what do you say? You can’t refuse forever.”

Jonathan winked at him, and Jace was openly laughing now. “Not happening, mate.”

Clary scoffed, crossing her arms, but she was biting back her hilarity just as well, until she couldn’t hold it in any longer. They were all doubled over on the table a moment later, people sending them dirty glares from every direction.

Yes, they were laughing about it now, but Jace still wandered sometimes about how they had all managed to stay friends after that.

His relationship with Clary, the only serious one of his life, had lasted for years, yet Jace had struggled through all of it, always trying (and failing) to feel at ease with it. They had met when her family had moved to London from Brooklyn before she started college, and Jocelyn, Clary’s mother, had come to meet him – after being in contact with Jace’s grandmother for many years, as it turned out – since she apparently felt guilty about what her ex-husband had done to him. Naturally, when Jace had got to know the entire family of his past abuser, he had felt drawn to them, as they all shared that one aspect of his life that no one else could ever relate to.

Him and Clary had gotten along straight away; she had felt so bright and lively, and Jace had thought, at first, that the fact that she shared Valentine’s blood was only one detriment that he could ignore, since it didn’t say anything about the wonderful person that she was and whom he was in love with...but as time went by, more and more did Jace realize that he was with her because of her blood. He didn’t know exactly whether because he had wanted – needed – to associate Valentine’s blood with something good, or whether he had wanted to punish himself by tying himself to that man forever in any way he could. Either way, it had all been a disturbing revelation that had landed him in bed with her brother one blurry night – a double punishment, as he could only conclude the day after – and let’s just say that having Clary walk in as Jonathan was literally balls deep in him, wasn’t something that, in that moment, he would’ve thought he’d ever laugh about. Jace still didn’t think that he would ever feel more ashamed in his life than when his eyes had met Clary’s shocked and betrayed ones, while his trousers had been around his ankles and her brother fucking him from behind.

When this guy called Simon, however, moved in from Colombia, and Clary got immediately with him, saying that he had been her pen pal for years and she had already been in love with him when she was with Jace, kind of smoothed things a little. Jace didn’t claim to understand how Clary and Simon worked – many times, they didn’t seem to know it themselves – but, for some reason, they did. And now Jace had a band mate, he still talked and was friends with both siblings (who were also on good terms with each other, somehow), was amicable with their mother, and laughing about Jace’s and Jonathan’s unfinished encounter was ordinary business among their group. Jace did appreciate how they always made fun of it; now that they knew the not-very-pleasant reasons he thought he’d had for doing it in the first place, they always tried to convince him otherwise. The more they brought it up, the more it’d just look like a drunken mistake, with no fucked-up reasons that Jace had to kick himself over too much. Jace didn’t really believe it, but he always laughed when Jonathan asked for a take two, appreciating it for what it was.  

“Seriously, though, I’m not missing these guys’ show for anything in the world, so no, Jon, you’re not stealing my ticket.”

Jonathan huffed, but gave her back her ticket. Then he looked at Jace and Simon, “So, you ready tonight?”

He said it casually, but Jace knew he was directing the question more at him than at Simon, and that he was seriously worried. Jace had never run away from the stage before, unlike last night.

Simon still responded first, his accent thickening when he was excited, “We’re gonna smash it, that’s what we’re gonna do! Right, mate?”

Jace nodded firmly, swallowing down his nerves. “Yeah.”

That night turned out to be the best show they ever did, yes…but not for the reasons everyone else thought. As his friends and everyone he knew came backstage to congratulate him, saying he had never sung so good, Jace couldn’t pay attention to anything at all.

He could only feel…Alec.

As soon as he had stepped onto the stage, he had sensed his presence as if from somewhere deep within him, and when he had opened his eyes after the first verse, that somewhere had guided them, inexorably, towards Alec, standing out in the crowd with his baggy clothes and his awestruck look. Jace’d had an out of body experience, then, both literally and metaphorically. As he got closer and closer to Alec, his eyes had never left the other man until Jace had found himself burying his face into Alec’s neck.

And he had never sung like that before, because he had never sung for someone else. He sang to many people, but he had always ever sung for himself. Music was his escape, his expression, his life; he put everything of himself into it. And never before had he felt the need to dedicate it, give it all to one person, and one person alone.

But, of course, since he had already admitted to himself that Alec was just a reflection of his own mind, it wasn’t that weird, was it?

Still, as he and Alec had been caught in a transfixing, otherworldly dance with each other, Jace hardly thought that his brain could ever be that good at imagining things. It had been simply too good. It had felt like he knew every single cell of Alec’s body, and his own body couldn't help but respond to them, as they moved together like two pieces of the same…being.

No, he needed to stop thinking like that. Stop thinking of Alec as if he was real.  

And yet, even long after Alec – who was about to kiss him...and why would he want to kiss himself? Was he so bloody lonely?  – had disappeared into thin air, Jace had been frizzling with energy like a live wire, and not even singing all the other songs could channel it enough to not make him still feel like that when he got home.

Feeling, feeling…it was beyond a simple feeling, what Alec, or the hallucination named Alec, had caused in him. It was more like a feeling of his soul – if he accepted the notion that people even had one – instead of his body. That was the closest thing Jace could equivalate it to, for how even more insane that sounded. How could a hallucination touch his soul? Maybe he meant his brain?

Still, it didn’t mean that his body wasn’t just as affected, and Jace couldn’t really bring himself to focus all that much on definitions and explanations, when he was plagued the entire night by an aching boner. When he got into his apartment in the wee hours of the night, he literally rushed into the bathroom and out of his clothes, only to let out a sigh of relief as soon as he got under the shower. A hand had wrapped itself around his cock before the water even reached his feet.

Somehow, it wasn’t enough. Even as he leaned his head on the shower wall, and he fucked himself into his hand with enough strength to draw out moans out of his parted lips, the water hitting his back only enhancing the sensations…it wasn’t enough. Maybe he should’ve picked someone up at the show…but no, Jace hadn’t wanted that; he wanted Alec. For him to be real, and to be there with him. Fuck.

Suddenly, however, something felt purely wrong. Jace held his breath as he realized that he wasn’t wet anymore, nor naked, and that, when he opened his eyes, there was a toilet in front of him. Only his hand was still around his cock, stroking it insistently; even though, as it moved, the pleasure it sent was met with a constricting pain shooting up in his chest, that made it hard to breathe.

Still, Jace was too far gone to stop, as he bit his lower lip to not make any sound (why?), and he pumped his cock with some kind of desperate urgency. Jace couldn’t help but notice that other things felt wrong, too, like the fact that a toilet had never looked so far down, and he could swear that his dick felt far longer than he remembered…

But there were also things that felt right. For how strained his movements were, and how quiet he had to force himself to be, Jace was reaching the edge of a blinding ecstasy much more easily than before. For some reason, all of that weirdness was what he had needed. And when he reached his other hand back, starting to tease his entrance, Jace had to find every will power he had in him to not cry out.

More and more things started to feel right as well. One moment, a hand was behind him, the next, it was incessant drops of water; his mouth was first open and loud, and then forcefully closed, teeth buried into flesh to the point of pleasure; he was wildly chasing his completion with the rut of his hips, then he was not, his hand sliding up and down his throbbing cock at a breakneck speed instead. Everything felt like a whirlwind, circling faster and faster, closer and closer, until Jace couldn’t tell what was up or down anymore, nor who or where he was, and when his orgasm hit him like a wave crushing down on him, it was like nothing he had ever experienced.

Because it kept going, his intensity doubling and doubling, the sensations on his body switching back and forth only making it more impossible to stop coming. When his shout ended and Jace found himself slumped against the shower wall, he still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

He was still exploding in a million pieces.

[tenderlypalecoffee]

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[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

Turning the Tables

Post TFP. Sherlock and Molly maintained their friendship after the phone call until one night, months later, his true feelings show. He crashes a dating convention that Molly attends to support Meena and revelations are made. Hilarity and fluff ensue.

This is basically me putting Sherlolly in Nick & Jess’s place in the New Girl episode Table 34 except different dialogue and outcome of course. If you’ve seen it, awesome! If not, you’re in for a treat!

Written for @penelope1730 bc it’s her birthday! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Six months. It had been six bloody long months of nothing but pure friendship. Not that Sherlock didn’t cherish the close bond he had with Molly, but he had been mentally kicking himself for not telling her that he meant it. The longer time went on, the harder it became to hide it.

Molly was shocked to say the least. Sherlock had crashed on her sofa the night before. While he was there, she had come out for a glass of water and they talked, as he was still awake. When she turned to go back to bed, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the most passionate kiss she had ever been given. Needless to say, she responded to his affections after the initial shock wore off. 

Sherlock was there briefly when she woke up in the morning. She wanted him to take back the kiss; act like it never happened for the sake of their friendship. She even added that they’d be a complete mess if they pursued a relationship. He only complied after seeing her plans for the day written on the calendar. 

Approaching Meena’s door, she knocked.

“Hey, Molly, thanks for coming with me today. I--”

“Sherlock kissed me,” Molly blurted out.

What!?” Meena exclaimed.

“So, wait...you kissed Molly?” John asked.

“It would seem so,” Sherlock replied.

“Huh,” John sounded.

Meena had convinced Molly to participate in the dating convention since she was adamant about not ruining her friendship with Sherlock.

“Who knows, maybe you’ll meet your future husband here,” Meena had reasoned. They filled out their forms with their basic information, education and resumé. Little did they know, Sherlock was filling out his own. Somehow, he was going to prove to Molly that they were meant to be.

Upon returning her forms, Sherlock was returning his beside her.

“What are you doing here?” Molly asked, her eyes wide.

“Same as you,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“You’re here to support Meena?” she questioned.

“Okay, not the same thing as you,” Sherlock responded. “But we’re both participating, so there’s that.”

They were waiting on their table number assignment in silence. People with similar resumés and education backgrounds were being grouped together.

“You two,” the hostess pointed at them, “table one.”

“Great,” Molly remarked. Sherlock only grinned cheekily.

The first exercise was for their group to hold hands in a circle whilst getting each other through the hula hoop. It was to show the compatibility of those you were paired with. Sherlock stood beside Molly holding her hand, as they had been paired together, awaiting for the hoop to get to them. 

Molly only struggled slightly getting through it from it being passed to her by the lady beside her. She knew there was no way that she and Sherlock could manage it with their massive height difference. Once the hoop encircled the grouping of their hands, they effortlessly got him through it.

“It seems we are quite compatible, Molly,” he smirked.

“Mhm, we do have a compatible friendship,” she replied.

“Why won’t you just admit that we’re good together, Molly?” Sherlock asked. Ignoring the comment, she walked on over to their next exercise.

They had to make a table out of nothing but newspaper and tape. The first table that could hold a phone book would win.

“You did kiss me back,” Sherlock continued. “You definitely liked it.”

“No, I didn’t,” Molly lied through her teeth as she taped the first portion of their shabby table together. “As for kissing you back, it was a reflex.”

“I wasn’t aware that reflexes lasted for three minutes,” he countered, placing the next layer of newspaper on. They continued to argue like this until, before they knew it, they were the first ones done.

“And we have a winning couple,” the hostess announced, pointing at them.

“We are not a couple,” Molly insisted as the crowd clapped. Meena looked very amused. “This is an awful table, it won’t hold anything.” She dropped the phone book onto the table and it landed with a loud thump, the table sturdy as ever.

“Well, look at that,” Sherlock mused. Molly moved the table to the floor and jumped on it. It was firm and held her weight.

“How is it this strong?” she groaned in frustration.

 “Strong table, strong couple,” the hostess remarked.

Sherlock found Molly outside in the hallway, slumped against the wall on the floor. He sat beside her without getting a death glare, so there was that.

“Molly, I’m sorry for the way I acted,” he sighed. “If you’ve moved on, then I respect that and would like it if you would still be my best friend.”

“It’s not that I don’t still love you, Sherlock, because I do,” she told him. “I never stopped being in love with you.”

“Then, what’s the problem? I don’t understand,” he asked.

“I’m just scared,” Molly admitted. “I mean, why now? All of a sudden, you love me?”

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Molly,” Sherlock confessed. “The truth is, the first time I acknowledged how I felt about you, it was that bloody awful Christmas party I ruined. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I ran away from it. When I found out about your engagement after my return, I was heartbroken, but I repressed all of it. The words that were said in that phone call...I meant it then and I mean it now. It has always been you, Molly Hooper.”

“We do make a pretty good team,” Molly laughed. “And I suppose you’re worth the risk.”

“Only suppose? I’m hurt,” he teased.

“You definitely are worth it, Sherlock,” she smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he spoke softly, opening his arms up to hold her once she seated herself in his lap. “Shall we wait for Meena out here?”

“And do what in the meantime?” Molly asked.

“We could snog,” Sherlock winked.

“Oh, what the hell,” Molly agreed as her lips met his happily.

fanfiction.net | ao3

[raendown]

The Lack Thereof

@6miray6 asked for 81 “I think you’ll be happy to know that I’m not wearing any underwear” and MadaTobi for the sentence starters. I almost laughed myself off my chair while writing. 

Some hilarity and smut on AO3 or beneath the cut!

“I think you’ll be happy to know that I’m not wearing any underwear.”

For at least a full ten seconds absolute silence greeted this announcement. The others in the room stared at the one who had made this statement with a wide variety of reactions ranging from shock to disgust with some barely hidden interest sprinkled in as well.

Tobirama was too surprised to even comment on the arm that had been congenially thrown about his shoulders. He turned his head to look at Madara as best he could, swaying with the weight of the other man’s body pressed up against him.

“Why, for the love of all things holy, would I wish to know whether or not you’re wearing undergarments?” he demanded. It didn’t have nearly the sharp edge it usually did. Madara grinned and that didn’t have its usual edge either.

“In case you wished to relieve me of them,” Madara explained. His tone had that duh quality to it which implied Tobirama should have known that.

“…Ah.” That was all Tobirama could think of to say in response. He tried to think back and count how many drinks the clan head next to him had consumed that evening but it was difficult when his own mind was feeling the effects of the six (or was it seven?) drinks he had consumed himself. The room was fuzzy around them and the soft scent of smoke wafting from the man draped over him only served to scramble his focus even more.

Across from them on the other couch, Izuna was looking at the both of them with the face of someone who had just witnessed the single most traumatizing event of their life. The glass of alcohol in his hand was tilting dangerously to the side and he seemed unaware that he was about to spill his drink all over his feet.

“Brother…a little discretion…for fuck’s sake…” the young man murmured. Mito, the sole sober occupant of the room, reached over from where she was perched on the arm of Hashirama’s chair to pat him on the head.

“There, there, child,” she said to him. “Drink up and maybe you’ll forget this ever happened. Spirits know I wish I could do the same.”

Izuna heeded her advice and took a deep swig as Madara leaned farther up against Tobirama, grinning foolishly. Tobirama sipped his own drink and watched the older man from the corner of his eye, saying nothing about it. The slight coloring of his cheeks said enough.

“Did you want me to?” the pale man spoke up finally. Madara hummed.

“Want you to what?”

“Relieve you of your undergarments, of course.”

This time instead of silence the comment was met with a round of spluttering from those gathered in the room. Hashirama wailed and covered his ears, tucking his head in to Mito’s side. Touka cackled and slid farther down in her seat. Mito patted Izuna again as he started pretending to vomit. Madara looked beyond delighted by the question.

“I would!” he exclaimed. “Like you to, that is. And like you. I like you too, too.” He trailed off for a moment, having confused himself by the way his words stumbled over each other. Tobirama nodded.

“Right then.” He drained his glass and held it out. Mito helpfully plucked it from his fingers and set it down on the coffee table. “It appears I must be going now. Something terribly important just came up.” He stood up, wobbled, and then turned to scowl at the whine that Madara made. “Oh hush, you’re coming too.”

“Oh!” That put the smile back on to the Uchiha’s face. He scrambled to his feet and swayed on them as he attempted to follow Tobirama to the front door. Silence reigned in the living room as the rest of the party listened to the two inebriated men try to find their way through the home. “Are you going to relieve me of my underwear?” They heard Madara ask cheerfully.

“I thought you weren’t wearing any?”

“…you’re good.”

Touka slid down out of her chair and Mito fell over on to Hashirama’s lap, so hard were both of them laughing. Hashirama wailed again and Izuna made a mad dash for the bathroom as Tobirama and Madara disappeared in a quiet puff of smoke.

They reappeared moments later in a dark bedroom, neither one of them sure if it was theirs or the other’s. It failed to matter, however, when a moment later Madara pushed Tobirama up against the closest wall and mashed their lips together in a decidedly violent kiss. The younger man was sure he tasted blood but since the alcohol numbed any pain he ignored it.

Hands roamed freely and buttons popped off as Tobirama’s shirt was torn open. He retaliated by tugging Madara’s shirt over his head and leaning in to bite at his neck. Madara groaned, head tilting back to allow him more access while his fingers traces the dips and grooves in Tobirama’s abdominals. Their hips bucked against each other, rubbing their mutual excitement together through several layers of fabric. Tobirama brought his hand lower with the intent of removing another piece of clothing but got distracted by the flex of Madara’s back muscles. They felt incredible under his palms.

He was only able to pull his hands away when Madara pushed his ruined shirt the rest of the way off and he needed to wrestle his arms back out of it. Once he was free he shoved the other man off him and in the direction of the bed. They tumbled down on top of the covers in a heap of uncoordinated limbs. It took three minutes to sort them all out and it ended with Madara kneeling in between Tobirama’s thigh’s, enthusiastically worshipping one of his nipples.

Tobirama squirmed under the attention, winding his hands through his partner’s thick shaggy locks and tugging sharply.

“Wha-?” Madara looked up at him with a slightly glazed expression.

“Take off your pants,” he demanded bluntly. Madara blinked and he could swear that a hint of a blush showed up across the older man’s cheeks.

“Alright.”

After some shuffling around Madara managed to rid himself of his trousers and as he reached to try and help his partner do the same a pale hand suddenly gripped him, making him freeze and groan loudly.

“You really weren’t wearing any underwear. How delightful,” Tobirama rumbled, stroking the cock he had in his hand. Madara’s head dropped on to his shoulder, hips rocking to the rhythm that he set and leaving it up to him to undo his own pants. He push them down only far enough for his erection to spring free then hooked Madara with his ankles and pulled him in closer.

The closer proximity allowed him to encompass them both with one large hand, a pleasure Madara seemed to have no objections to if the garbled swearing was anything to go by. Which was good because he wasn’t sure he could have stopped if he was asked to. It felt good, the perfect pressure of them pressed against each other, the slight added friction from the way Madara couldn’t seem to keep his hips still. The deep voice murmuring senselessly in his ear, begging him not to stop.

Tobirama closed his eyes and let his head drop back, one hand tangled in Madara’s hair again as the other moved faster between their bodies. He was already close. Slightly embarrassing because they’d just barely gotten started but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t his fault Madara was attractive. He was only lucky the older man seemed to have spontaneously decided to agree with that sentiment. As heat coiled tighter and tighter in his belly he had the distant thought that he could always blame this on the alcohol if there were any last minute objections.

His undoing was the sudden needy whimper from his partner and a quiet, “Tobirama…” in his ear. Upon hearing his name in that voice, hoarse and slightly pleading, he was lost. He gave a strangled cry and his body curled inward slightly as he came, coating his own hand and making a mess of Madara as well. He gave a violent shudder upon realizing that half of the mess was actually Madara coming at the same time. Evidently he wasn’t the only one here who was a little over-enthusiastic.

Tobirama had just enough time to move his hand before Madara collapsed forward on to him, draping a warm body over his chest the way he had earlier draped an arm over his shoulder. He didn’t particularly mind. He’d had his fair share of quiet fantasies about just this sort of moment so he simply lay still and enjoyed it.

As they lay in the darkness atop the bed – owner still unidentified – his mind slowly started to work again. He blow a few strands of long hair away from his face so he could speak.

“Is there a reason you weren’t wearing any undergarments?”

Madara made an adorable snuffling noise which told him that his companion had been on the verge of falling asleep. He chuckled quietly as the man shifted and nuzzled back in to his shoulder before answering.

“I knew you’d be there,” Madara said, words slurred by drink and fatigue. “Knew Hashirama would make me drink. Never hurts to plan ahead.”

His voice trailed off, quieter and quieter with every word, until finally his breathing evened out and it was obvious that he had truly fallen asleep this time. Tobirama raised both eyebrows as he chewed over that little revelation. Eventually he decided his reaction would have to wait until the morning when they were both sober. He hoped Madara would remember all this. Otherwise tomorrow was likely to have a loud start.