#avon senses

[bottlesandfun]

[jrueships]

avon 'EXCUSE ME!! he ASK for no

P I C K L E S . '

barksdale

[cosmik-homo]

Honestly i really do know im being annoying with this but the logistics of swapping out Avon and Raistlin and watching what theh do is the greatest form of Playing With Dolls I've ever ever had. Its a serotonin treadmill. You've heard of watching a brilliant, dark tortured genius asshole slowly create his own downfall what about landing in the middle of such a slipperyslope and starting to turn it into an entirely different one. AND THERE'S PVP ALLOWED, one of my main options rn is Avon-as-Raistlin starts planning how to re-open the connection and either undo this or pass some more things between the worlds- and Raistlin-as-Avon is like FINDERS KEEPERS BITCH. Paying It (The Lichdom Curse) Forewards, im staying in your life and im winning at it, fuck off. And Avon's like, ex-fucking-scuse me?

[thebeautyvault101]

Saturdays are made for online shopping because you’re just too cute to be circling around the mall parking lot for a parking space. You can get all of your skincare, bath, and body needs from Avon. Today’s feature is the Senses Sparkling Grapefruit & Orange Blossom Collection, which includes shower gel, body lotion, body mist, hand soap, and hand cream. There’s nothing like having a bath and body collection that rates 5 stars straight across the board for fragrance, cleansing, refreshing, moisturizing, and more. Everything by Senses is amazing. Check out the shower gels and bubble baths too. Prices range from $4.99 to $14.99. Fill your shopping bag today.

[preparedfruit]

I’m back again with my School Spirits posts, but I spent ages wondering why Mr Martin looked familiar and then it hit me at like 2am that he was Eddie in Desperate Housewives

[willstafford]

Austen and Ostentation

SENSE AND SENSIBILITY The Attic Theatre, Stratford upon Avon, Friday 16th June 2023 Jane Austen’s beloved novel from 1811 is brought to life in this elegant adaptation by the reliably excellent Tread The Boards.  Director John-Robert Partridge goes all out with the accents and mannerisms of the time, his job made easier by the judicious choice of splendid costumes.  It’s a good-looking…

[spaloonbabooguuscooties]

You could drink your whole life away and still never get that taste out of your mouth.

half commission for @salempie half completely self indulgent dreck pieced together from our insane conversations abt franke and elka. told myself id finally write a big explanation for all of the dum shit between these two for context so Thats Under The Cut.

so I already wrote some stuff about elka and franke's relationship back in whispering rock so feel free to look at that too . it goes over elkas blindness/‘seeing’ with clairvoyance and how her and franke started talking & all that good stuff

SO FOR STARTERS. a lot of thsi wont make sense without a big breakdown of elka herself. because elkas potential as a character is like insane to me. like just the idea of her in the long run of her life reads as something so potentially tragic; a young girl whos plagued with visions of doom and destined to be an outcast even in her own home for things she cant control and clings to the One vision of her wedding that she thinks is 'happy' even despite the fact she doesnt really love the person in it. im choosing to take the li-po doc as canon here because its funny shes the only one with backstory-

but my fucking god even the smallest look into what her parents are like is soo fucked up to me. and i do think elka especially gets a lot of influence from her mother; its funny how easily you can fit mabel doom into a box just from what elka says about her. knees deep in an avon-esque pyramid scheme and leaning into her daughters depressing ass visions & taking her to therapy at age 11 (which would be good if not for the kind of person you can already assume she is & so i doubt the therapist she has really does her any good. i think they share one). she reads as a very I Am My Daughters Best Friend type of mom to me and i can see elka being a centerpiece of the conversation when she has her Amway Girls over for drinks. wine-mom that lets her kid sip from the glass so she can feel like a big girl type deal.

and you can tell that elka is trying to hard to be too mature for her age even in her campster posts. how she writes letters to nils' mom and exchanges baking recipes with her and that feels like she really only interacts with middle aged women and not really many people her own age outside of camp (like her moms friends). which makes sense shed feel the need to ‘grow up’ early when shes probably had to process so many hard things at a young age bc of her visions.

theres a lot of filling the blanks here of course.

elka obsesses over nils to an overbearing degree even despite the fact he treats her like shit ('you promised no talking' and so on) and she treats him bad right back. she leans onto stereotypical heterosexual ideals like taking care of him and overblowing how Manly and Protective JT is and she admires romance stories like pride and prejudice and it feels like she Projects Soooooooo much of what she wants onto boys she barely feels anything for without knowing what its actually supposed to feel like. and clearly she WANTS that ideal future, a happy marriage, an actual romance- but according to nils even when they were dating she ignored him most of the time, which just seems Very Telling

like shes filling a role, overcompensating for emotions and lacktherof she cant digest quite yet, and it only makes more sense when you know shes had visions of their future together. how could that be bad for her? shouldnt it be like the books and movies? but she doesnt really connect the fact that her visions are only for Doomed futures, and if she does she certainly doesnt show it. Doomed relationships. it's been a part of her family for generations and she isn't turning out much different, is she? i dont think she even realizes thats all she ever sees yet, just that its Going to happen. that it's Her future, and it always will be

and like, her only reference for a real marriage so far has been her own parents, and she already Knows they have an affair, and theyre doomed to split, (and i actually like to think they were in rough waters anyway and elka was a child meant to mend a crumbling marriage but thats a whole other thing) and so without a framework for what an actual healthy relationship is supposed to be like she cant really grasp that her relationship with nils Isnt that and isnt ever going to be. she can only cling to this one happy idea of the future, and thats why she keeps chasing him, self fulfilling the actuality of her situation and creating and fostering the unhappy life they will inevitably live together.

and that bleeds into everything else in her life, of course, because as the years go on, as the visions grow in number it just makes sense for her to fall into the predictability of her life. she always knows whats going to happen, her visions are Never wrong- so why try to change things? shes had time to process tragedies days, weeks, months, years before they happen, shes had time to settle into every crack of her life. her parents divorce, her various break ups, her future with the psychonauts.

“and she's already seen so much of a future with [nils] she feels trapped almost. Like she has to be happy in it or else it just means her life is miserable. And it's a mixture of pride and fear of the unknown that keeps her clinging to the One thing she knows. BUT LIKE!!! She knows what's gonna happen! It's easier to grieve when she's been grieving for years... She wants so badly to be happy, But to do that she has to step into the unfamiliar. And that's more terrifying than staying the same miserable person she's always been.”

and thats where franke comes in— and yeah you Do have to take a lot of liberties for frankes character since it’s basically, like, all the info for her is just that shes a Supreme Baby Dyke but thats enough for me. i think she has protective butch itch in her . on campster shes defensive over other women evidenced in the way she keeps watch over the girls cabins for lili when elton is pursuing her . but shes also eager to please and constantly trying to make kitty laugh and also Very naive. but she tries! and i think it only solidifies more as she gets Older and really gets a hold of her feelings & her powers. this is incredibly franke to me

and i think as they grow older together— because i think franke and elka Do stay friends, both because elka is just pathetic and needs that positive connection even if she doesnt realize it and because i think franke is a very Loyal person & annoyingly persistent if you let her be . and i am also a kitty/franke truther. because kittys also important in this web we weave

because i think franke and kitty stay together after camp, to a point— theres a falling out facilitated on kittys end and they break up, but reconnect, and franke kind of... saves kitty from herself a little, from her strict military father whos love only extends thru finances , from her own stifling future , she drives all the way to bakersville in her shitty van handmedowned from her dad and they move in together eventually . they get jobs at the motherlobe , because it’s a pipeline to a decent job, because it’s whats easy, because franke doesn’t really have a future, because she’s never really been good at much, because shes never had much sense, because franke doesnt really care as long as she can live and help, sometimes, if she can, and because kitty’s there, and because elka’s there, and shes so used to being elkas eyes now and shes good at it. shes good at being the muscle of the missions when her colleagues lack it, when hypnosis and predictions arent enough. she likes it that way.

and elka appreciates frankes company. she listens, shes sweet, she does little things for her that no ones ever really put the effort for before; she likes her. franke is strong and bold and makes her laugh and shes always there but god elka cant let go of that future, of that box shes put herself in, that her mothers put her in, of being a Good Wife to a Loving Husband, of getting married normally and falling into unfailing familiarity. thats all shes ever wanted and shes not going to jeopardize that . not for franke, who may not be a boy but is handsome like one, whos always held her after every break up with nils and the men that filled empty days inbetween.

and elka is too stubborn to recognize those feelings anyway. too prideful to accept a way out. too set in her cycle no matter how much she hates it, her little self fulfilling tragedy of her own making, wallowing in her own doom. she struggles for control of her own life when she feels like every choice has been made for her anyway, she puts up her walls and carefully constructs what people see. but franke was always harder to trick, because while empathy isnt a particularly useful psychic power it’s certainly an inconvenient one. all franke has to do is get too close and all those carefully crafted walls fall apart, and elkas control is gone, and thats all she really has. and she tries to distance herself, really she does, but franke is also too persistent. and elka wears gloves, keeps contact that would make her walls crumble from happening as best as she can, but she cant really keep herself from the brief moments where she feels like someone actually fucking cares about her.

and that slightest lack of control, the need to wrestle it back is why she proposes to nils the next time theres a falling out— she knows how it happens, she plans every detail. and he accepts, despite everything. gets her a cheap ring and it feels like lead on her finger and its nothing at all like how shed thought it to be when she was a kid, theres no feather light feeling in her chest, only that dreadful reality that she cant turn this back. BUT WHAT CAN U DO LMAO

elka doesnt tell franke about this engagement until later, on their way back from a mission. late at night when neither of them can sleep, and franke invites elka to smoke in her van, because its been so long since theyve been alone like that, because elkas been so strangely absent lately. and because of everything, because frankes always so damn nice, because elka hates the feel of the ring on her finger, because she let herself get high alone with franke fucking athens whos always been so good at pulling her apart— the truth of it all spills out and its messy and emotional and she hates it, she hates the life shes made for herself, but franke makes it easier to bare and now shes here and shes so close and god she wishes she could see her smile again, she wishes she could see franke, thats all she needs right now and she cant but she can touch her and she can hold her and for tonight, she can be known, she can let those walls crumble, she can be something else just for once here with franke . she can kiss her here in this van, touch that happiness for just a moment, and forget the future that waits for her outside of it. franke begs her to forget the wedding, to just let herself be happy— and god, she wants to, but it means turning her back on everything shes known and everything shes saw to be inevitable, and franke has never been in her future, so if it were supposed to work out why hadnt she seen it and she cant, she cant take that risk but she can have this, even if its temporary, she can have it.

and just as soon as she gets a taste of it, its gone. after that night, after the missions over and theyre back at the motherlobe and have to pretend like nothing happened (franke doesnt, of course she tells kitty about it, she tells kitty about everything.) but that brief moment together haunts elka every time she sees franke, sees herself through frankes eyes, sees herself in her wedding dress because god its all franke can think about! of course it is! she knows how much elkas destroying herself she knows how much misery shes wallowing in that kiss in the van felt like an emotional punch to the teeth and she hasnt ever forgotten it and all she can do is sit and watch while elka throws herself into a loveless marriage. she can come to her wedding and see the way the bride and groom kiss with the emotional weight of a wet towel no matter how hard elka tries to hide it under a pretty dress and bouquets of flowers and meticulous planning.

and elka resents nils but she cant really hate him, its not his fault, not really. he feels trapped just like she does and his feelings of misery only cycle back into hers . they fight and gnash and wear away at each other and its a relationship thats crashed and burned a million times before elka even said i do. and its inevitable that she falls into her mothers habits, a sip of wine here and there to loosen up, until it turns to a glass, until it falls into a bottle on nights when whatever work nils does runs late.

but franke’s still there. shes always been there, hasn’t she? always trying to play knight, always trying to save her, dragging her home when shes stumbling over herself because god who else is going to do it but her? who else is left to care? certainly not nils. never nils. because franke knows her. because franke pities her. shes always pitied her. shes always known. and elka hates it, she resents it, but god in the same breath she’s desperate for it, she envies it to her very bones. elka is a mess but after frankes done with her she has someone to go back to that loves her. and god what elka wouldnt do to have that. to take it and keep it for herself because shes never ever got to have that movie romance shes always wanted.

so now comes this.

because elkas particularly miserable and particularly spiteful and she needs to get franke to understand, just for a moment, drink with her and get on her level and she needs her there with her no matter how her pity makes her feel. no matter how much it makes her shake with anger and envy and desperation, but god the way franke looks at her, the way she still tries to salvage what they have, the soft, slurred way she tells her that it’s okay but its not okay, none of this is okay, it never has been and she just wants franke to shut up and see that, and if she cant then she’ll show her, she’ll show her all the raw angry desperation, with too much teeth and hands that claw and grab and she’ll know why everyones always said she’s too much.

and she knows this puts her on nils’ level too. that this makes her a cheater, that shes no better than he is now. no better than her father and his affair. but god, she wants to be selfish. she wants to be in control. just for once. she wants to feel right and she wants to feel happy and she wants to feel loved. thats all shes ever wanted. and franke will let her have that, just for a little while, at the very least.

anyway. sorry. sorry for being crazy . this isnt even getting into the shit after the comic takes place . elkas stupid brainworld thag she has to overcome in order to finally be allowed in the polycule and live happily ever as worlds first lesbian divorceman

sorry for all the shit i make up instead of caring about actual characters with screentime . bye !

[interpolanticssuperfan]

nothing natural | ken x fem!reader | part 2 | 18+ only

warnings: none for this chapter except reader doesn't believe that ken isn't human and asks to touch his feet to prove it. its not going to be a thing, i promise lol. enjoy !! also i really hope my characterization of ken is good so far!!

So this is how you found yourself packing up your things, throwing a cursory farewell glance to Pat, who’d long abandoned watching your tense exchange in favor of flipping through an Avon brochure, and heading down the marble staircase with Ken glued to your side, chattering away at lightspeed the entire time.

“This is excellent. (Y/N), I just knew you’d be as kind as I thought you were. And now I never have to see the bridge guy again. You don’t have a change of clothes, do you? I mean… I assume you have plenty of dresses, jumpsuits, blazers, things like that, but I could really use something that accentuates my chest a little better. Unless you like it covered up. Do you like it covered up?”

“Aren’t you sweating your ass off in those clothes? And who is the bridge guy?” You give a slight tug at the hem of his jacket, pushing open the glass double doors for the both of you and nearly gasping at the hot wall of humid air washing past, embracing your skin in a rush. 

Ken turns, locks his confused eyes with your inquisitive ones. As your hand flies away from him, Ken follows your fingers, like he’s upset that you didn’t actually touch him. “What do you mean? I feel fantastic in these. It’s my white denim. But if you… do you like them?”

“I… well, I don’t know what your chest looks like, but I’m sure it looks… great.” Your cheeks flushed as you stole an unbidden glimpse in his general direction, shouldering you as if he was convinced he’d disappear if he wasn’t essentially tethered to you. 

“You really think so? Then I’ll keep it on. I bet I can wear this for a whole week and not even get a single wrinkle. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again.” 

Without asking, you chance a risky move, placing your fore and middle finger to the back of Ken’s neck where his hair dips down. The sunlight doesn’t seem to bother him, the punishing heat isn’t making him groan with exhaustion, and to your abject horror – there’s not a bead of sweat on him: Ken’s sun-kissed skin is frigid to the touch. Rigid, he felt wax-like, resembling the mold of a man. 

In the middle of the looping sidewalk that wraps around to the block you live on, Ken freezes with a gasp, reflexively shoots his hand up to clasp around your wrist where you’re feeling him. For a moment, neither of you speak, you just allow yourself to stare into his eyes which are very much undeniably alive, bright blue with inexplicable life and bounding to chase yours, melting into your grip.

“Why aren’t you hot out here.” It doesn’t come out as a question. Ken begins to sense your hesitation, doesn’t drop his firm fingers from your hand. “It’s the middle of summer, Ken.”

You hear a passerby shove past you, can feel their leashed dog traipse by your knees, you can hear a car horn honking at traffic, but all of it feels muted, feels futile, the volume turning down on every possible source of stimulation save for Ken’s eyes, Ken’s icy cold neck.

He isn’t smiling, but he doesn’t back down from the question. “I told you. I’m not…” Ken looks upwards to the clouds, quirks an eyebrow as if drafting his response with immense care. As if he had been up there before. Like he’d never thought this hard about anything. “I’m not from here. You’re a human.”

“And you’re supposed to be – what?” 

“I don’t really know how to explain it. No one’s ever… I guess no one’s ever cared to ask me about it.” With his eyes still trained on yours, you press your fingers a little harder against a cord of muscle where a visible vein pokes out, feebly exploring for a pulse point, just to find that Ken had no heartbeat, either.

This pressure between you both seemed to pull a reaction from Ken, who at once slammed his eyes shut and sucked in a harsh breath, inching his head back and baring more of his not-skin to you. You felt that if Ken could have a pulse, it would be racing right about now. 

“Are you. Are you dead?”

You feel ridiculous. You feel faint. Your body wants to look every which way, maybe waiting for a prank show host to reveal themselves with a raucous cast and crew, pointing and laughing at the fool who fell for the “living wax figure” bit, and you’d smile for the camera and go home and forget this ever happened. (Mind destined to wonder how the hell they made their dummy so believable, so lifelike, so… alive.)

But no one came, and no one laughed, and glassy eyed Ken kept staring at you, scrambling for an answer to your loaded question.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t sleep?”

“Nope.”

“Do you eat?”

“Never tried. But there’s a bunch of food in Barbieland. It’s more for decoration, if that makes sense. Sorta like clothes. An apple here is very different from an apple there. Trust me.”

Sudden shakiness claiming your knees, you knew you’d have to find a place to sit soon or you were liable to fall over in the middle of the sidewalk, which would pose a massive problem for you and your new cargo (friend?) who claimed to neither sleep nor eat, let alone seemed capable of getting you medical help.

These newest revelations which you’d felt for yourself seemed to quickly overshadow the old worries which had plagued you – the stalking, the casing out your apartment, those were all old news now. 

Ken was one step ahead of you, noticed the pallor painting across your face, and without another word took your bag from your shoulder, slipping a shockingly strong arm around your waist effortlessly. “Come here. You look… really scared.” He jolted his head to find an unoccupied stretch of grass, then walked you both over to it, hand never leaving your back. 

Once you felt yourself on the ground, you were able to take a deep breath. Ken sat cross legged in front of you, your bag still strewn across his body, his face entirely drawn with intense concern. 

“(Y/N)?” The consideration in his tone was so palpable, you couldn’t help but to trust him, let him continue to keep his hand on you, just to make sure you were still with him. Black splotches had entered your vision but dissipated once you got your bearings, due in part to the reassuring feeling of Ken’s thumb pressed against the ball of your kneecap.

“I’m sorry, I. I don’t know what just happened. I didn’t mean to freak you out, Ken.” 

“You don’t have to apologize. Do you feel any better?”

In the middle of the day, broad daylight assailing your back, your cheeks, your arms, and still on the clock, you lifted your head up to address Ken. 

Ken, who had been there to help you, who had fixed you with such tenderness in his eyes and didn’t know the first thing about you. Ken, who glimmered in the sun, who waited five hours at the library by himself just for a chance at seeing you. Who had been bursting at the seams to show you a book about… horses.

“Did you really follow me home?”

Ken nodded, smile tugging at his lips. “I should have said hi. Would you have said hi back?” The way he balanced back on his tailbone revealed even more of his abdomen, his glistening muscles that managed to appear slick though they were devoid of actual sweat. Ken really did look to be covered in… well, lacquer, or some kind of perfect finish that made him perpetually shine.

“I think I would have said hi, yes. For sure. Why do you keep talking about – um. Barbie? And please be honest with me.” 

Ken didn’t miss a beat, looked down to where his thumb was still resting on your leg. “Don’t freak out again. You don’t have to worry about her, by the way – we are not a thing anymore.” He pointed tersely with his free hand. 

“That’s not what I was wondering… about.”

“I’d rather you hear it from me first, (Y/N). I’m from Barbieland. That’s what I was trying to explain before. You know Barbie and Ken? That’s me. I am Ken.” A laugh would be appropriate, but you didn’t feel like giving one. Not considering the dead serious look Ken wore as he talked, measured and severe.  

“Okay. So… okay. What does that mean? You live… like a Ken doll? Like extreme cosplay? Plastic surgery to look like him and stuff like that?” 

“I don’t know what roleplay is. I am literally Ken.” He blinks at you, waiting for the cogs to turn, waiting for it to click for you.

“A mega Ken fan.” You might be in denial still. 

Growing frustrated, Ken snatches your hand back to his lower neck, brusquely forcing your clammy fingers into the dip right above his clavicle, the base of his throat to prove his point.

“See? I don’t feel like you. Feel yours, and then feel mine. I’m not lying. Why would I lie about who I am?” With your other hand that Ken hadn’t captured, you did as he said and mirrored the motion, felt your arduous pulse, blood coursing through your veins, and felt speechless again at the sensation of nothingness coming from the guy who looked more male than any man you’d actually seen.

“I don’t know what to say. You’ve never been to a doctor?”

“Oh, Barbie is a doctor. But I haven’t needed to see her for anything in a while. She used to call me accident prone. Or attention seeking. I can’t remember which one.”

“Right. Have you ever been sick?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Of course not.

“Broken a bone?”

“Don’t think I have those,” Ken pressed on, returning your nervous hand to your lap. He then stretched his leather-covered legs out across the gross, positioning them to the side of your knees, and started playing with the strap of your bag. “This is pretty heavy. No one carries this around for you?”

“Is it okay if I touch your leg?”

“You can absolutely touch it. But, do you think I can do that for you from now on? Carry the bag?” Ken pleaded at you with his eyes, so open and honest and innocent like a newborn fawn, and you found it impossible to tell him no. Talking with him was almost like conversing with a child, and that made your skin crawl when coupled with the knowledge that you found him overwhelmingly attractive, impossibly beautiful, even. 

Jesus, the heat must be getting to you after all.

“Sure, you can carry my bag, Ken.” 

“Yes,” Ken celebrated privately, too initially excited to notice that you’d started prodding at his shin in little tentative bursts. At first, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, it just felt like… a leg. So you eyeballed his ankles, his feet where the cowboy boots sat against the grass, and Ken seemed to know what you were about to ask. “Do you wanna see my feet? Will you believe me then?”

“I know how crazy this might sound. But I think I kind of do need to see them. Is that okay?” You fought to suppress your embarrassed grin, but this only made Ken laugh.

And what a beautiful laugh he had. Boyish, charming, airy like an angel; something you wanted to keep hearing again and again until this self proclaimed “Ken” had run out of things to find funny.

Had you always been this easy?

Or was it just easy with him?

Ken bent forward immediately, removing his spotless white boots, to reveal bare, spotless feet, angled perfectly and without any sort of distinct smell. No calluses, no odd toenail, no hair. They enticed you to get closer, to touch them, but you realized how bizarre this looked and how odd Ken must feel. 

“I’m sorry, god, this is probably the weirdest day you’ve ever had, and I’m not making it any –” But as you looked up to give him this apology, Ken wore not an uncomfortable expression, but one instead of… unnamable, sober emotion. Like he was likely to break down in tears of relief the longer you regarded him with such curiosity.

“You don’t think I’m weird?” Ken asked, voice barely above a whisper. This response wasn’t what you expected, and you bit your lip, learning fast that Ken was as sensitive as he was bold. “When Barbie was here, people were awful to her at first, they were calling her horrible things and I don’t think I could…”

“I think that I have never met anyone like you. I think that… it’s insane that your feet are… I mean, can I touch them?”

This brings a hopeful spark to his face again, and he nods eagerly at your request, hungry to hear what you have to say. As if his future hangs on your opinion of him. As if he would die without your attention, good attention, bad attention, any of it. As if the prospect of being touched would save him from damnation, eternally.

All this to hold a stranger’s foot (a stranger with no heartbeat, a stranger with hypnotic blue eyes that could look so inviting looking down at you, would look even better blown open in surprise after a kiss, or – wait, why are you thinking about this?) on the grassy courtyard by a Catholic church while you’re still ignoring your work and still getting paid for every minute.

You knew there’d be more than a handful of angry emails waiting for you when you finally returned home.

But that could wait. It could all wait, because you scooted forward to cradle Ken’s bare foot in your lap, and you inspected with all the great care of a scientist inventing pharmaceuticals or something equally as important to mankind. He was right. It wasn’t like yours, his skin, his body wasn’t like anything you’d seen before. So… smooth. No hair except for Ken’s head of blonde, his arched brows. What kind of human being could live this long and not have a pimple on their face, no bumps or ridges on their feet, no scars anywhere whatsoever? You dragged your fingertips across the rounded arch, but again, nothing.

“You’re not even ticklish?”

“I’m not sure what that feels like.”

“Is Barbie ticklish?”

“I never tried tickling her.”

“You can feel me doing this, right?” Ken nodded, watched you caress him lightly, then with effort, as you squeezed tentatively. “So you can feel pressure.”

“Yeah, I can feel everything you’re doing.”

“But there’s no, like. It’s not tickling you, it’s not hurting you, it’s not. Sorry if this sounds weird, I promise I’m just trying to get information. Does it feel… good?” Something in you was begging you to just let go, stop worrying that this was probably the strangest day you’ve ever had, like you had anything else nearly as interesting going on besides quiche recipes in library magazines and buying lettuce for your guinea pig. 

Ken raises his light brown eyebrows, like he hadn’t considered this, face still content as he processed your handiwork, rotating in circles now and occasionally swiping up to his smooth ankle. The cuffs of his leather pants had rolled up and afforded you a bit of access to more skin, if you could call it that.  

“You’re the first person to touch my feet before. I don’t know… give me a second.”

“Should I stop?” Suddenly, you began to worry this might be putting Ken off. After all, you literally didn’t know him, and you’d asked him to show him your feet. Christ, you hoped he wasn’t taking you for a lunatic. You knew this was probably stupid. It was arguably unsafe – this guy had admitted to following you home. 

However, with context, you were beginning to understand this might be the only course of action that fit Ken.

“No – don’t stop. Please, keep going.” The tone he’d just used was vastly different from the others – it wasn’t quizzical, wasn’t reassuring or conversational. He sounded… pleased, voice almost cracking at the end as you pushed a little harder at where his ankle bone would be and felt none of the give a human would have, none of the pores or follicles of hair. You’d started to really start massaging him now, gently rolling your fingers across his lower shin and then moving back down to his feet, compressing him. 

How could this be real? It didn’t make any sense. You had half an idea to ask if you could try this on his neck, but when you looked up to gauge his physical state, Ken’s eyes hadn’t opened, but his mouth had fallen open in satisfaction, brows relaxed and easy. At first, he seemed peaceful, but when you stilled your breathing, you could hear him almost purring under your touch, like he’d never felt this before and wanted more – wanted something more acute. Something heightened. His chest rose and fell, mouth twitching as you worked, but you knew this was a peculiar way of getting to know someone, and you knew that Ken would probably never tell you to stop.

You gingerly laid Ken’s foot back in the grass next to his boot, and he snapped his eyes open, staring at you with a protest at the unexpected loss of contact.

“Why’d you stop?”

“I don’t know. This is weird. Am I making you feel weird?”

“(Y/N) – you’re making me feel incredible is what you’re doing. What’s that called, anyway?”

“A foot massage, I suppose. And it’s not something you typically do the first day you meet someone.”

Ken turned this over in his mind, evidently not picking up on the undercurrent of… something heavier than enjoyment he’d been displaying so openly, and put his boot back on.

“You don’t even need socks, huh?”

“Guess not. Can we do that again sometime? Maybe you can teach me how to do it for you? (Y/N), I promise I can learn really fast.” His mind racing a mile a minute, you had the good sense to rise above in this situation, regardless of how electric it felt to touch him – even if it was a little unorthodox.

You rose to stand once Ken had adjusted his (perfect) foot, and Ken held onto your bag like it was his job, clutching the strap with unnecessary force. 

“Maybe, Ken. Listen, I really need to get back to my apartment and keep working, my boss is probably furious with me. And. I also am sorry if that was weird, asking to see your feet and then… doing that. I promise I’m not a creep or anything.” Very convincing – great work, he’s sure to buy that.

“Don’t say that. Seriously, (Y/N), I do not want to hear you say that again. You’re not a creep – you’re amazing, you’re so smart – no one’s ever even been interested in seeing me like that, no one’s ever questioned that I’m a doll, so I –”

“Is that what it is?” You asked, feeling like the clouds may have parted and the word dancing on your lips the entire time finally made itself known to you. “You’re a doll?” Ken bounded to his feet in a fluid motion, something that would’ve been difficult for any normal man to do.

He made it look easy – made everything look easy.

Ken chuckled, couldn’t help but wear that irresistible grin as he waited for you to start leading the way, assuming that wherever you went, he would naturally follow. “You are so funny. I told you, didn’t I? I am Ken! That’s me.”

“That’s you.”

“That’s me, baby.”

It rolled off his lips a little too casually. It wrenched your heart to correct him – with Ken’s understanding of the world, he probably had no idea that touching someone’s bare feet in the middle of the day did not mean you were romantically involved. 

You wondered what he understood of romance. You wondered if he’d ever been touched anywhere else, what was underneath his pants, what would have happened if you hadn’t stopped massaging him, but this started to make your head spin with more ferocity than before.

“This is important, Ken, so please listen.”

“You got it.”

“People you’re just friends with – you can’t call them baby.”

“But we are friends. We are, right?”

“Yes – yes, we are friends. But baby is for when you’re with someone. You know?”

Ken chewed on this, followed you down the sidewalk even further, passing by a string of old houses.

“With someone.”

“Dating them. Seeing them. Committed and whatnot. You have that in… Barbieland too, don’t you?” It felt completely and utterly insane saying that sentence, but you were beginning to realize you’d have to stop caring about how you sounded when you talked to Ken if you wanted to get anywhere with him.

“Sort of. I meant it when I said you don’t have to worry about Barbie, okay? Don’t worry about that, (Y/N). We are just. Friends.”

This wasn’t going where you thought it would. For now, you decided to postpone educating Ken a little further on the boundaries you’d have to set – the ground rules to keep this from turning into something unfair. 

Ken smiled at your side, hated to tear away from your shoulder even to let other people pass, and for now it was enough to hear Ken call you ‘baby’ even if just once, and even if he had no idea what it really meant.

[reubyocs]

Avon plays with his wedding band as he listens to Doomsday speak so honestly about marriage. He finds it interesting to hear about her view on the topic, especially when he's mainly been fed such positive things about it.

"No. Your honesty doesn't shatter any illusions." Avon speaks, still fidgeting with his hands. "I find it is interesting to learn things from experience. When I first started learning about types of relationships, my adoptive dad told me about partners and weddings."

He sits back against the park bench, kicking his legs around. Now he's thinking much more about his relationship with Pete.

"I was interested in the wedding component, so my dad suggested that we host a wedding so I can experience the ceremony and the reception afterwards. After a lot of arguing, he managed to convince his brother to play the role of the groom. We 'tied the knot', as humans like to call it, and took photographs and had a reception. I enjoyed every second of it."

"Perhaps your proposal is a smart one." Avon speaks once more, letting out a sigh. "I do not have many friends, only my dad, my husband and those who looked after me with the IAA."

Avon folds his arms, trying to stop himself from fidgeting anymore. He remains silent for a moment while he reflects on his personal notes from that day. He notes that he enjoyed it, his dad enjoyed it, even his husband enjoyed it- but that was purely for the food at the end of the day.

"What do you do to make friends?" Avon asks, turning his head to look at Doomsday. "Would you be able to teach me?"

"I understand." Avon speaks, stroking his chin. "That is a clever use of words. Thursday is a good day too." While it is cool, he does ponder the true meaning to the name. Maybe he's over thinking it and it simply just means a Doomed Thursday. He himself is a Doomsday, but he is a creation discovered during the Doomsday Scenario and is apparently-

His thinking stops suddenly as he hears the subtle change in her voice. No one- other than Val, has given any inkling of care for him at all. After all, he is just a network with a functioning body who is made to look exactly like his creator.

"No. It's okay." He speaks back, waving his hands to only further the point that he doesn't want her to do anything. Truth be told, it doesn't bother him either. He's quite used to it. "My husband, Pete, only married me so I could experience human relationships. He didn't really want to marry me, especially since I look so much like my daddy- who he hates."

Avon continues to sit on the bench, now fidgeting a little with his hands. "Are you married, Doomsday? If not, would you ever be interested in marrying?"

[bottlesandfun]

[can-of-pringles]

BRO I FOUND A PICTURE OF THEM

I used to have these red gem spider dangly earrings as a kid but I guess I lost them at some point because I don't have them anymore and I've tried looking... it's too bad because I definitely would've appreciated them more now than when I was a kid. (I had gotten them as a gift) Also they were too heavy for my little child ears at the time /hj but they would've been totally fine now.

[theoutcastrogue]

Ballade of the Hanged Men

According to legend, François Villon wrote his iconic Ballade des pendus ("Ballad of the Hanged", c.1489) in prison, waiting for his own execution. Not true. Fittingly for a rogue, Villon disappeared from Paris and from history, and his ultimate fate will forever remain unknown.

This 2013 translation by David Georgi does not retain the poem's rhyme, but I think it perfectly captures the mood. Original Middle French after the cut, for modern French spelling and a literal English translation see wikipedia.

Brothers, humans, who live on after us, don’t harden your hearts and turn away, for if you take pity on wretches like us, the sooner will God have mercy on you. You see us strung up here, five, six in a row; as for our flesh, which we nourished too well, it has fallen away, devoured or rotted, and we, the bones, will soon be ash and dust. Let no one mock at our pitiful state, but pray to God that he absolve us all.

If we dare to call you brother, do not disdain us, though the law saw fit to kill us in the name of justice; for you know not all are blessed alike with sense and reason. Therefore go with quiet heart and intercede for us with the Son of the Virgin Mary; ask that his grace toward us may not run dry and let him save us from the firestorms of hell. We are dead; let no one harm us further, but pray to God that he absolve us all.

The rain has soaked us through and washed us clean and the sun has dried and blackened us. Magpies and crows have cored out our eyes, trimmed our beards and plucked our eyebrows. We never get a moment to rest: this way and that as the wind shifts direction, it swings us at its whim continually, more needled by birds than a darning thimble. No, ours is a club you should not rush to join, but pray to God that he absolve us all.

Jesus, our Prince, who reigns over us all, let hell have no hold over us sinners, let us owe it no debt or allegiance. Fellow men, don’t laugh at our fate, but pray to God that he absolve us all.

Ballade des pendus

Freres humains qui aprés nous vivez, N’ayez les cueurs contre nous endurciz, Car se pitié de nous povres avez, Dieu en aura plus tost de vous mercis. Vous nous voiez cy atachés, cinq, six; Quant de la chair, que trop avons nourrie, Elle est pieça, devoree et pourrie, Et nous, les os, devenons scendre et pouldre. De nostre mal personne ne s’en rie, Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

Se vous clamons freres, pas n’en devez Avoir desdain, quoy que fusmes occis Par justice; toutesfoiz vous savez Que tous hommes n’ont pas bon sens rassis. Intercedez doncques de cueur assis, Envers le filz de la Vierge Marie, Que sa grace pour nous ne soit tarie, Nous preservant de l’infernale fouldre. Nous sommes mors, ame ne nous harie, Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

La pluye nous a debuez et lavez Et le souleil decechez et noirciz. Pies, corbeaux nous ont les yeulx cavez Et araché la barbe et les sourcilz. Jamais nul temps nous ne sommez assis: Puis ça, puis la, comme le vent varie, A son plaisir sans cesse nous charie, Plus becquetés d’oiseaux que dez a couldre. Ne soiez donc de nostre confrairie, Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

Prince Jhesus, qui sur tous a maistrie Garde qu’enfer de nous n’ait seigneurie; A luy n’ayons que faire ne que souldre! Hommes, ycy n’a point de mocquerie, Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

@tuulikki

[thebeautyvault101]

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[chungledown-bimothy]

the main thoughts i'm having about the wire at this particular moment (as of finishing 2x4) are about stringer bell.

not just for thirst reasons, although that's part of it my god

right now it's the dichotomy of how smart he is, how dedicated he is to doing things right and as legitimately as possible, the fact that we see him putting effort into and applying what he's learning in his econ classes, vs him fucking donette.

it doesn't track, and i do not think that what he's done for the organization will be enough to keep avon from fucking killing him. not with how much he's going on about dee and family.

it's not like he couldn't land anyone he wants to. the more i think about it, the less sense it makes.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Notes on historical context

A huge part of fic writing in the HBO War fandom lies in historical research - I'm sure my writer friends can all attest to this - and it's personally one of my favourite parts of the whole process! As a result, I've decided to compile a few notes on the history used in my two current MoTA fics; I'm Your Man and Better Off

I'm aware this probably isn't interesting to a lot of people, but to any kindred spirits I hope you enjoy 😂

I'm Your Man

Frankie's hometown - Stratford-upon-Avon

Stratford-upon-Avon is a market town in the county of Warwickshire in the English West Midlands, which has existed as a settlements since the Roman occupation, but is particularly notable for being the birthplace of famous playwright William Shakespeare. The house in which Shakespeare grew up in remains a popular tourist attraction, evidencing visits from several notable writers including Charles Dickens and Lord Byron.

The Coventry Blitz

In Chapter 4, Frankie references the Coventry Blitz - a series of bombing raids between 1940-42, most notably on the night of 14th November 1940. In a single night, two-thirds of the city's buildings were damaged or destroyed, making it the most concentrated bombing of an English city in the entire war. In the aftermath, the word 'Coventration' was coined by Joseph Goebells to refer to the act of completely destroying a city through aerial attacks. I have spoken to people who lived in the towns around Coventry during this time who recall large groups of displaced families walking from town to town in search of shelter, as the destruction of housing was so extensive that people could not remain within the city.

Rationing

In the first few chapters, Frankie makes several references to the state of food rationing in 1943. Throughout the Second World War, food supply in the UK was severely limited due to its reliance on imports, and the economic state was so dire following the war that Britain continued rationing until 1954. Huge campaigns were introduced encouraging people to grow and supply their own food, and many commodities became unavailable due to shortages in certain ingredients. One such example was the production of Cadbury's chocolate, which had to be altered to 'Ration chocolate' due to milk shortages.

The Young Visiters by Daisy Ashford

In Chapter 7, Frankie is seen reading The Young Visiters, a hugely popular book published in 1919. The book's charm and popularity came from its author, as Daisy Ashford was allegedly only nine years old at the time of publication, and her unconventional writing and youthful misunderstanding of Victorian high society lend to the book's rather bizarre sense of humour.

Education

In Chapter 6, Rosie learns to his surprise that Frankie has not attended school since she was 14 years old. Under the 1918 Education Act, the school leaving age was raised from 12 to 14 years old, with high drop-out rates due to the inaccessibility of many schools to the working class.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Better Off

The ATS

The Auxiliary Territorial Service was active from 1938, and operated as the women's branch of the British Army until it was absorbed into the Women's Royal Army Corps in 1949. The National Service Act of 1941 called for all unmarried women between the ages of 20 and 30 to join one of Britain's auxiliary services, and by 1943 nine of out every ten women were taking an active role in the war effort. Due to manpower shortages, many ATS women took on roles in radar and anti-aircraft defense, resulting over 700 casualties throughout the war. Most notable of the ATS volunteers was Princess Elizabeth Windsor (later Elizabeth II), who worked as a mechanic as well as driving lorries and ambulances.

The Manchester Blitz

The attack which killed Susie's sister Ellie was a part of a series of bombing raids known as the Manchester Blitz, which took place between 1940 and 1942. Manchester and its surrounding towns were key for war production, and as such targeted heavily by the Luftwaffe, resulting in approximately 1,000 deaths. The nights of the 22nd and 23rd of December 1940 were the most devastating attacks on Manchester during the war, with more than 450 tons of explosives dropped across the two consecutive nights.

Back-to-back houses

The home that Susie's family were raised in was part of a large wave of construction in the UK of so-called 'back-to-backs', designed to support the huge influx of working-class families moving into urban areas during the Industrial Revolution. Back-to-backs were built quickly and cheaply, and named due to their shared back walls, which saw one row of houses facing the street and another rear row facing either another road or an interior courtyard. These houses were often very cramped, with only one room per floor, and usually had two to three stories, occasionally with a cellar too.

It was rare for back-to-backs to accommodate indoor plumbing, with washhouses and toilets located outside in the yards. Due to poor living conditions, the construction of new back-to-backs was forbidden in 1909 after a report discovered mortality rates to be significantly higher than those of people living in other styles of housing. Waves of slum clearance before and after the Second World War saw the numbers of back-to-backs decline rapidly, and Leeds remains the only area of England that still contains large numbers of livable back-to-backs. The only surviving courtyard back-to-backs now exist in Birmingham, preserved as a museum.

[thethirdromana]

Jenna's costumes, rated

By actual popular demand (of at least one person), here are my thoughts on Jenna's Blake's 7 costumes, from the sublime to the very, very 70s.

Screengrabs from here (they prefer their images copied, not linked) and record of what Jenna wears when from here. And if you want more Blake's 7 costume snark (mixed with some love), here are Avon and Servalan.

As seen in The Way Back, Space Fall and Cygnus Alpha.

Not many decent screengrabs of this one, which is a pity since it's one of my favourite early Jenna costumes. It's delicate and pretty at a point when all the other characters are wearing something rough and practical, which helps to sell the idea that Jenna the smuggler was a cut above the ordinary criminals she's locked up with. I would wear this. 8/10.

As seen in Cygnus Alpha, Time Squad, Seek-Locate-Destroy and Breakdown.

Well, the pretty costume was nice while it lasted. The pattern Jenna is wearing here is one I would associate primarily with ironing boards or perhaps baby-led weaning. It has a wipe-clean air to it. The collar adds to the overall playschool vibe. 0/10, I hate it.

As seen in The Web and Mission to Destiny.

Something I don't understand is why most of the costumes on Blake's 7 are beautifully constructed (look at anything Servalan wears) and then there's this. It's an unremarkable red dress with random bits stuck to it. The weird collar bits, made from leftover fabric from Jenna's previous weird collar, look like they would come off if you tugged on them, or chanced this in a hot wash. 4/10.

As seen in Duel, Project Avalon and Deliverance.

Matching outfits!! I'm torn, Jenna is very much losing the cool smuggler vibe at this point in favour of being the Designated Girl, and the fact that she gets the pink power ranger costume doesn't help with that impression. On the other hand, this is a gorgeous piece of costume design: plausible, flattering, well-constructed. Jenna, Blake and Gan are all looking great here. So, reluctantly, I have to approve. 8/10.

As seen in Duel, Project Avalon, Project Avalon, Bounty and Deliverance.

There are a few clothing trends I've never quite understood. Jumper dresses with cutouts. Peep toe boots. Cold shoulder tops. The clue is in the name; I don't understand the circumstances under which you would want to wear what is otherwise a warm and cosy item of clothing that randomly leaves some part of you to freeze. I would otherwise like this fun, futuristic space-y top, but all I can think of when I look at it is this: aren't her arms getting cold? 6/10.

As seen in Orac.

Simple, classic, flattering. The belt echoes her favourite necklace! I really like this, so of course Jenna only wears it for one episode. 9/10.

As seen in Hostage and Redemption.

Ack, I should like this one. We're getting a lovely sense of Grim Future fashion trends here in the repetition of batwing sleeves and belted tunics. She looks comfortable and sophisticated. Stylish Smuggler Jenna is back! The problem is that she looks like a pearly queen and I just can't get past it. 7/10.

Also, if I might be permitted to digress: what the ever-loving fuck is Cally wearing?

As seen in Shadow.

It says something about how Blake's 7 treated its female cast that I couldn't find a screenshot of this costume where Jenna was the focus of the frame. And it's such a pity because I really like this. It has all the same things going on as the pearly queen outfit minus the pearly queen-ness. 9/10.

As seen in Weapon, Pressure Point and Countdown.

I think I might have been watching too much of Rosamund Pike in the Wheel of Time, because I love this costume. I admit that the vibes are all wrong: this is a dress for an aristocratic sorceress, not a floaty tunic for a high-class smuggler, but I simply don't care, it looks fabulous. 15/10, fight me.

As seen in Horizon and Pressure Point (pink) and in Killer (blue).

It's February 1979, Abba are at number 2 in the UK singles chart with Chiquitita, and don't we know it from Jenna's costume choices. Jenna's outfits are that bit too much of their time for me to love them (and the contrast with Blake's Robin Hood chic isn't helping), but there's definitely an extra point here for her silver boots. 7/10.

As seen in Trial, Voice From the Past, The Keeper and Star One.

It's time for the biker leathers and for Jenna to wear a different necklace! Amazing that it's taken her this long to get on board with the leather trend that Avon was on since Time Squad. She must have squeaked her way across the Liberator in this but she makes it look so cool. 10/10, glad she got so much use of this one.

As seen in Gambit.

This is a poor imitation of the blue sorceress dress, unfortunately. Deep colours look great on Jenna but black is too severe. Should have given this costume to Servalan instead. 5/10.

As seen in The Keeper.

And we end with another red dress with bits stuck to it, except that Jenna, by now very much being treated as eye candy, has a lot more cleavage on display. But instead my eye is drawn to the Art Deco fish pattern she seems to be wearing like a sporran. Blake's 7 costume design: never knowingly unbaffling. 6/10.