#he might practice and try his best but there’s a real difference between ‘kid trying hard’ and ‘kid raised by assassins’

[lovelesslittleloser]

Damian, if it weren’t for the fact that all you claim about yourself is true, I’d call you a chuunibyou

[foxtrot91]

sweet like syrup

The batter sizzles as Tommy pours it into the pan, the scent of the pancake batter wafting up and filling Tommy’s senses. Evan is still sleeping in the bedroom, having arrived home late last night after his shift ran over. He’d showered at the station and had practically collapsed onto the bed next to Tommy, barely managing to grunt out a greeting before being pulled under into a deep sleep. From the messages he’d received throughout Evan’s shift, it had been a rough one.

Which is why Tommy is out here now, trying his hand at pancakes made from scratch. He takes a moment to mourn the loss of his store-bought pancake mix that he used to have before Evan had taken one look at it, shot Tommy a look of disgust and declared it sacrilege before tossing it in the trash. So now Tommy has to troll Google for pancake recipes and thank whatever god might exist that Evan has also taken to expanding the ingredients Tommy has on hand even if Tommy barely touches them himself.

The Canadian Pure Maple Syrup has been a wonderful addition, actually, – “Bobby has it shipped in from Montreal, so you know it’s legit.” – and while he wishes he had the convenience of a premade mix to go with it, he accepts the trade-off. He still hasn’t figured out the whole maple syrup grading colour system, however, but he’d enjoyed listening to Evan discuss the merits of each grade and their best uses in the kitchen.

If he’s completely honest, Tommy doesn’t notice much of a difference between the light or dark syrups and is halfway convinced that the Canadian government is involved in a conspiracy with the maple syrup companies to hoodwink Americans into spending more money for their pretentious, robust flavoured syrup. Jokes on them, Tommy decides, because he would’ve bought it regardless of some made-up grading system just for the way Evan lights up whenever Bobby brings over their portion of his latest order. Also, and he is mature enough to admit this– it’s a thousand times better than the thick, artificial table syrup he’d grown up with as a kid.

You win this one, Canada, he thinks, eyeing the can of syrup with the proud maple leaf emblazoned on the label.

He's nearing the end of the batter by the time he hears a faint shuffling coming from the direction of the bedroom. By the time Evan joins him in the kitchen, Tommy has turned off the stove and has moved to set the table with two plates, cutlery, butter – real butter, not the margarine Tommy used to carry which was another quick casualty once Evan had moved in – a stack of pancakes, and of course, the can of syrup.

“You made breakfast?” Evan says, barely suppressing his yawn long enough to get the question out. He’s sleep rumpled, wearing one of Tommy’s slightly too big sweaters and a pair of sweats that he’s yet to tie up, and Tommy knows that if the sweater weren’t hiding it from view, he’d get a delicious peek at the sliver of skin and trail of hair that leads into Evan’s pants.

Small mercies, he thinks, because if it weren’t for the bulk of the sweater, Tommy is certain they wouldn’t make it to breakfast, and he’s spent way too much time putting this together to not eat it with Evan.

“I did,” Tommy says, smiling as he pulls Evan into his arms and gives him a soft, lingering kiss before pulling back. “Thought I’d surprise you… are you surprised?”

“You hate cooking,” Evan says in lieu of an answer, smiling when he looks over at the table. “It smells amazing.”

Laughing, Tommy ushers Evan over to the table and pulls a chair out for him. “Hopefully it tastes just as good,” he says with a wink as Evan sits down.

Tommy takes the seat to his right and serves up the pancakes onto both of their plates. Once adequately buttered and drenched in syrup, they both dig in. They’re definitely not as good as Evan’s – he really should ask him for the recipe he uses – but they’re still good, if Tommy does say so himself. And by the look on Evan’s face, he’d say they’re at least good enough to pass his muster. They’re quiet as they eat, the sounds of their utensils clanging on their plates the only real noises filling the dining room. It’s a comfortable silence, and given Evan’s rough shift the previous night, Tommy imagines it’s a welcome one as well.

Once they finish, Tommy stands to gather their plates, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of Evan’s head before he turns to wash up. There’s a certain domesticity to this that Tommy has never felt in any of his previous relationships. Evan isn’t the first boyfriend he’s lived with, not by a longshot, but he’s the first who’s ever made the kind of effort for Tommy that he is. The first to speedrun a sexuality crisis for the sheer fact that it was Tommy he wanted to be with, the first to cook him meals outside of any special occasion just because, and the first to make room for Tommy in every aspect of his life, to seamlessly fit Tommy in amongst the people he values most without a second thought.

He’s the first to make Tommy want to match his effort.

When he finishes cleaning up, he turns back to see Evan staring at him over the back of his chair. His elbow is rested on the back with his chin perched on top and he’s gazing at Tommy in a way that has a warm prickle starting up in his chest.

“What?” Tommy asks as he wipes his hands on the towel hanging off the oven handle.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He trails off, but Tommy doesn’t try to interject. “Nobody’s ever made me breakfast before.”

That can’t be true.

“What about Bobby?”

“That-he doesn’t count,” Evan says, like it should be obvious. “I mean like… in a relationship.”

“Oh,” Tommy says, a little stunned at the thought. Evan has had many partners; surely at least one of them would’ve–

“Yeah,” he says, smiling as he stands from the chair to join Tommy where he’s standing near the counter. “Usually it’s me,” he waves a hand vaguely towards the counter before looking back to Tommy. “It was nice, being on the other side for once.”

“Well, you better get used to it,” Tommy says, “Because I’ve got Google at my fingertips and a whole host of new ingredients, kitchen appliances, and fancy pots and pans at my disposal.” Evan laughs, ducking his head at the reminder of how absolutely batshit insane he’d gone overhauling Tommy’s kitchen when he’d moved in. “I hope you’re prepared for a lot of terrible meals,” he adds, because cooking the kinds of meals Evan is capable of has never been in his wheelhouse. Pancakes are about as good as it gets. Evan giggles and shakes his head, shoving lightly at Tommy’s shoulder in response.

God, he thinks, I fucking loves this man.

“I love you,” Evan says, eyes bright.

I love you too. He thinks it; goes to say it in return as he takes in the bright blue of Evan’s eyes.

“I want to marry you,” is what comes out instead.

Evan’s eyes go wide as saucers and Tommy has a split second to think – fuck fuck fuck… before landing on, fuck it. – as Evan sputters in shock, “T-Tommy, you can’t mean-”

“There’s a ring in my sock drawer,” he says on a slightly panicked breath, “I had it all planned out for our trip next month.”

“Wait, what trip?”

“It was going to be a surprise, Bobby put the PTO in for you,” this was the one piece that Tommy had been somewhat anxious about, but Eddie had been adamant that Evan would be very much on board with Tommy’s surprise. “I’m flying us out to a private lodge a buddy of mine owns. Just you, me, and a whole lot of forest to hike through.”

“Fuck,” Evan says, eyes wide in disbelief and Tommy feels a curl of anxiety forming in the pit of his stomach. He can’t help worrying that he’s stepped wrong here, that maybe it’s too soon. Sure they’ve been together for nearly two years now but really, what’s two years in the grand scheme of things– “Yes.”

Tommy’s brain goes abruptly offline as he processes, “What?” he asks, like an idiot.

“Yes, I will marry you,” Evan is grinning, chest shaking with barely suppressed laughter as his arms loop around Tommy’s neck and tug him in for a bruising kiss.

Groaning as they pull away, Tommy lets out a dry chuckle, “I had a whole plan,” he laments, shaking his head.

Evan isn’t having it; he takes Tommy’s face in his hands and draws him in for another heated kiss before pulling back. “Whether in some private lodge or here in our kitchen, my answer is still the same,” he says, and Tommy feels breathless.

“God I fucking love you,” he confesses, resting his forehead against Evan’s, noses brushing together.

“I know,” Evan says, and then, eyes sparkling with a little bit of mischief; “Wanna find out if engagement sex is better than normal, living-together sex?”

Tommy doesn’t have time to answer in the affirmative before Evan’s mouth is on his again, his lips still sweet with maple syrup. He feels a hand snake up his shirt as they start maneuvering towards the bedroom, losing articles of clothing along the way. He has more words to say, a whole speech he’d planned out that would show Evan just how much he means to Tommy. He’ll say them sometime, later, he thinks, when the desperation has worn off and they’re laying in the afterglow, sated, and happy.

Ao3

[lovebugism]

shy reader you say???

i’m obsessed with eddie and shy reader 🥹🥹maybe like her being afraid to present during class and him pumping her up and mouthing words of encouragement during a presentation at school😭😭sounds stupid but i’d love this

this is a wee bit different but i hope you like it anon :D — eddie helps calm your nerves before a presentation (shy!reader, hurt/comfort, tw for mentions of panic attacks, 1.2k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Study hall turns into an impromptu panicking session.

You break down on the rotted park bench outside the football field, surrounded by textbooks and falling leaves. The only thing keeping you halfway tethered to reality is the crisp autumn air filling your burning lungs. Everything smells like rain and very distinctly of Eddie.

He’d been a good enough sport to help you prepare for your history presentation, but he certainly hadn’t signed up to coax you through a nervous breakdown because of it. 

Your boy’s a good enough sport even now, though, sitting beside you at the creaking wooden table — chin on the crown of your head, ringed hand over your heart. 

You tend to dig at your chest whenever your anxiety attacks get real bad. You’re not sure why. Maybe to soothe your palpitating heart or to pull it out entirely.

“What were you trying to do, babe?” Eddie laughed into your hair as you came down from your panic, lightening the grey mood and smoothing a warm palm over your tight chest. “Pull your damn heart out?”

You can breathe halfway normally now. The hurt in your chest has lessened to a very distant one. Now you’re just left with the post-panic shame. You feel like a little kid again, making monsters out of the clothes on your desk chair.

“I don’t know why I got so scared,” you confess, as quiet as the autumn breeze, rubbing your cheek against the soft lapel of Eddie’s leather jacket. “It’s not even that big a deal.”

The boy shrugs, jostling you accidentally. “Well, your brain thinks it’s a big deal. And your brain’s just telling your body that it needs to protect you.”

You don’t know much about your own anxiety and maybe that’s a fault in itself. It’s not the sort of thing you wanna poke with a stick, lest you wake something up that should’ve stayed sleeping. You just ignore it as best you can — let it fester until it explodes into moments like these. 

Normally, Eddie isn’t around for them but you’re grateful he is now. ‘Cause he loves you and because he cares enough to learn all the things about you that you don’t even want to know about yourself.

He didn’t know much about anxiety before you. He just knew that his mom had it when he was real little, and that social anxiety is scared of him and not the other way around. But then he fell in love with you and learned everything he could if it meant he could treat you better.

Now, it’s practically in his nature to be as gentle with the rest of the world as he is with you — which is totally not one brand for him.

“But you don’t need protecting, right? ‘Cause you’re safe.” 

You nod wordlessly. 

Your throat tightens again like you might cry, but it’s not because you’re scared. It’s because you love him so damn much you think you could explode. He fills your chest with sunshine, banishing the swirling shadows completely.

You could probably light up a whole galaxy with how happy he makes you feel. 

How adored. 

How safe.

“And it’s okay to be scared about this stuff, you know?” Eddie continues when you stay silent. His chin grazes your hair when he pulls back to look at you. “Everyone’s scared of something. Like Steve— I’m pretty sure he’s, like, deathly afraid of quicksand.”

He keeps his arm around your back when you lean away from him, keeping you warm when the crisp breeze brushes between you. You sniffle and blink at him with wide, wet eyes. A hint of a smile quirks the edge of your bitten mouth.

“Quicksand?” you repeat incredulously.

Eddie grins back at you, happy to see you smiling again. It’s pink and lopsided and terribly unkissed. “Yeah,” he affirms through a sputtered laugh. “And I’m pretty sure quicksand isn’t even real, so— at least you’re afraid of something that actually exists.”

Your own giggle tumbles suddenly from your mouth. Both because quicksand is obviously real and because Steve is one of the bravest guys you know.

As usual, Eddie’s totally oblivious to how much of a dumbass he is, but he beams anyway. He’s just happy to be a distraction for you when the rest of the world gets too much — a life vest when you’re drowning. 

Your smile ebbs into a quieter one. Your glassy gaze flits to the clammy hands you wring feverishly in your lap. “I just… I know it’s dumb and everything, but— speaking in front of everyone like that— it makes me feel… I don’t know. It makes me feel way more scared than a person should ever be, like… ever.”

“I mean, yeah, it’s scary. But you can handle it,” Eddie shrugs with all his practiced nonchalance. The absentminded confidence he has — that he has in you — makes you feel all warm. “You’re the smartest person I know, and you know this shit like the back of your hand.”

He waves a pale hand to the cluttered picnic table you sit in front of. Flashcards, clumsily written notes, and open textbooks scatter the top of it.

You know all of it forwards and backwards now — so well you could probably do the presentation in your sleep. If only you weren’t so dreadfully frightened of opening your mouth in front of people you don’t know.

Eddie gives you a warm, reassuring squeeze on your arm with one hand. He smoothes a rouge wisp of hair from your forehead with the other. He could see you getting distant again. It’s important to keep you grounded when you get like that — he read that in a magazine once.

“And by the end of the day, it’ll just be you and me and an empty trailer, and you will have much better things to worry about than this,” he continues. A mischievous smirk blossoms on his rosy lips. His chocolate eyes sparkle with it, too. “I’ll have you so damn distracted, you won’t even think about this stupid presentation again.”

You meet his boyish grin with a challenging squint. Smiling despite yourself, you knock your shoulder into his side at his teasing. 

The sentiment is still there, though. Presentations are stupid and fleeting. Eddie’s here and forever.

“Yeah,” you murmur under your breath. “I guess you’re right.”

He scoffs. “Of course I am.”

You shoot him a half-hearted glare that he meets with a more sincere beam. 

“You’re gonna be the bravest scared person the world’s ever seen,” Eddie tells you, more serious now. 

He isn’t telling you not to be scared or distracting you from the fact that you are. He’s affirming your fear, reminding you that you can be brave in the face of it. 

“And you’re gonna show every single one of those losers what a super genius looks like.”

You roll your eyes at that last bit, pretending you’re not as comforted by his presence or the words he says partly in jest as you really are. 

Because he’s right. It’s not about forcing yourself not to be scared. It’s about being scared and doing the shit anyway — being brave and giving a stupid presentation even if your voice trembles and your hands shake.

And god, nothing makes you feel braver than Eddie.

[kentosbabes]

D for an A.

Professor Nanami who walked into class on the first day not expecting to see you, you had met previously at a party hosted by one of his college friends. But there you are, sitting in his lecture hall with a pen in your pretty mouth. Nanami remembered you vividly, your aura and beauty brought men from all ends of the house to right in front of you. He can remember the drunk kids you shared on a dare. Nanami can see you conversing with another classmate of yours, your head flogging back with a laugh on your lips.

Professor Nanami hated how you made him feel like a blushing schoolgirl. He feels an unbridled desire for you, it shakes him to his very core. He knows he shouldn’t like you like that. It’s wrong, its perverse, you’re so innocent and naive to the ways of an older man. He refuses to acknowledge his feelings for you, which is becoming an increasingly difficult way to suppress his emotions. Nanami fucks his fist with your name on his tongue and your face flicking through his mind in a post-orgasmic state. It makes it much harder to see you the next day for class.

He was nervous, Professor Nanami asked you to stay back after a mock exam. He noticed you haven’t been yourself for a couple days, your usually high exam results have taken a hit. You’re one of his more intelligent students, so seeing you do so bad? It infuriated him. He knows you can do better so that was probably why he asked you to stay back. “I’m disappointed in you and your attitude to my class, do you feel like you don’t have to try so hard because you get good results anyways in the real thing?” Your eyes start to well up and Nanami realises you might actually cry in front of him, “I just want to know why, that’s all, so I can best support you.”

Professor Nanami was shocked when you told him the that the reason why you weren’t doing so well was because of you break up with your boyfriend. You broke it off mutually due to compatibility reasons but it didn’t hurt any less. Nanami was only wishing that he could make you feel better, perhaps go down on you or fuck you till you forget his name and who he was.

It was awkward for Professor Nanami and you after your random breakdown in his office, he was strangely an excellent listener. The kiss you shared at the party was initiated by the crowd chanting and the haziness from the hella drinking you did for your friend's birthday. You assumed he'd want to bring it up but all he gave you were lustful stares when he thought you weren't watching, but you would have to be blind to not notice his darkening gaze when you spoke or looked at him.

You confer with your friend about Professor Nanami and she aptly suggests you need a rebound and he seems single and ready to fuck. Thus began operation D for an A. Nanami noticed a lack of effort on your part in his class work, he asked around and it seemed like this was an issue in his class and his class alone. What was different about him? He told you to stay back to discuss your recent performance in class.

Professor Nanami looked good enough to eat, your plan was simple, to fuck him and rebound from your ex. Hopefully, he's down as well. He asked you to stay back and you hope he's finally gotten the hints you have been giving him all week, including the dropped items you bent down to get and sucking all manners of items like pens and lollipops. He locked the door, "Darlin' we need to talk about your grades." You look up at him and decide to be a brat, "well, have I been a bad girl? Maybe you need to punish me?"

Professor Nanami was not expecting this at all. His eyebrows raised to his hairline, you wanted him? Why? You were under a decade his junior. He stepped forward and put your chin in between his index finger and thumb. "Oh really?" He teased, he would think about the practicalities of this relationship later, right now you're too irresistible for him to resist. You lean in to kiss him and it is nothing you have ever felt before, the sheer practice and experience made you feel out of your depth.

His cock twitched at the thought of you cucking on his dick like you teased him with that god-forsaken lollipop. Lord knows how you pictured yourself on your knees sucking Professor Nanami's cock in his office. The thrill of getting caught somehow made you even wetter if that was possible. You don't know what prompted you to be so promiscuous, but this worked for him. You closed the gap between you and started to unbuckle his trousers, looking up through your eyelashes for permission.

Professor Nanami nodded and you pulled his black boxers down alongside his trousers. His cock was hardening under your touch, it was like nothing you have ever seen before, definitely, the largest you have ever sucked. You wonder if it's even going to fit in your mouth. His grunts and groans sound melodic to you as you kitten-lick him to get used to his size. You breathe through your nose, a tip learnt from your friends but never got to use due to your ex's uselessness in bed. Taking a breath and sucking, deep-throating him. Your cheeks hollowing and tears streaking your face almost made him cum right there and then.

Professor Nanami could've taken you right there on his desk, but he wanted to take his time with you and fuck you senselessly so you forget that ex-boyfriend of yours. He could feel himself drawing to a close, right on the edge, "Doll, I'm going to cum," he pauses, "good girls swallow, can you do that for me? hm?" He throws his head back with a whine caught in his throat, you swallowed. You actually swallowed his seed because he asked, the image of white cum leaking out of your mouth and streaked makeup could've made him fuck you right there.

You ask Professor Nanami for a second round at his place. "Obviously, I still need to fuck you so well you forget his name."

Masterlist

[hugsandchaos]

Am I the only one who thinks that Merida and Hiccup would probably make a pretty good friend duo?

I think they might get along pretty well. I’d also love to see Runaway Hiccup getting along with Fergus. Merida asks Hiccup if he’s ever argued with his mom like she did in the past (and still does, but not as often), and he hits her with the “I never knew my mother”.

I want Hiccup standing in the snow all like “Oh, this is nice weather” while Merida is in some comically large coat all like “Did the logical side of your brain get frostbite or something?! It’s fucking freezing!”. I want them teaching each other their languages to overcome the barrier.

I want Hiccup looking at the tapestry of Merida and Elinor as a bear, then making a quick sketch of him and Toothless to show Merida. It’s a bit of a misunderstanding, but the feeling is close enough to being mutual. Like “Hey, look, I have a non-human friend too!”

Or Fergus sounding like Stoick making Hiccup randomly pause, but the way he acts is so different. Fergus is a lot nicer to him as a friend. If we follow the events of the first movie instead of Runaway Hiccup or if Hiccup lost his leg in a dragon raid after he ran away, then Fergus genuinely curious about how it happened, but knows that not everyone is okay talking about it like him and doesn’t press. He’ll gladly tell the story of how he lost his own leg, though, if you recall the dinner scene from Brave.

On that account, if they ever tell him how Mor ’Du finally died, Merida and Fergus will practically brag about how Elinor showed an entirely different side and it was the first time they’d seen her that mad protecting Merida. Seriously, she took the term “mama bear” to a literal level and used those claws. You could feel the protective rage through the screen.

Another sub-topic I’d like to bring up is that you can hear one of the clan leaders sarcastically say “Maybe it was carried off by a dragon”. I love that because it hints at the idea that the kingdom doesn’t actually believe in dragons. At least not everyone. So Hiccup’s stuck between proving that they’re real and keeping up the facade.

Also, there are lines in Brave hinting at the kingdom not getting along with Vikings. So imagine if in the early days, Merida handed him a viking hat to try to confirm if he really was one. She still doesn’t understand a word of what he’s saying, but the disgust on his face when he threw the helmet and the anger in his voice when he next spoke was enough to understand.

“I’m not one of them.”

Drunk Hiccup: I just miss my best friend right now. He’s outside, in the forest, and he’s not here! *proceeds to cry his eyes out*

Fergus: I… think you’ve had enough.

Elinor: Fergus.

Fergus, carrying a very confused, semi feral Hiccup: What? We’ve already got four kids, what’s one more?

Merida: Little brother or big brother?

Hiccup: Excuse me?

Merida: Are you my new little brother or big brother?

Hiccup: Wait, wait, wait am I being adopted??? What’s happening??

[ominous-horse-noises]

final finale thoughts!!

things i loved about the finale

QUEER GODDESS PATHEON YEAAAAAAH!!! i thought it was such a good way to find a happy medium between kristen committing to a worldview that felt authentic and nuanced without being catholic™ about it

everything to do with the scene of Ankarna trying to offer retribution to each of the bad kids, and each of them making peace with past wrongs instead of continuing to stew in it. i love growth!!!

FIG AND KRISTEN MIRRORING ANKARNA AND CASSANDRA

everything to do with mazey and fabian. of all the fantasy high couples aside from fidayda, these two feel the most like they make sense together- they have similar interests, they have similar values, fabian had a crush on her even when she was being 'uncool' (eg. twister) and how mazey actually picked up on that and appreciated the way he used his perceived coolness to extend it to others who might be picked on otherwise. this is the couple i most hope go the distance even post aguefort adventuring academy (again, aside from figayda ofc but i literally cannot imagine those girls breaking up over anything)

fabian's fetus sibling outnemesising him despite fabian building an animosity towards them the whole season before they were even conceived. peak fantasy high insanity

controversial but i thought the maryann/gorgug being introduced and canonised in all of 15 minutes was hilarious. it was very teen of them in a way that felt authentic. my ideal scenario for them is an end of year fling that becomes amicable exes bc they truly have nothing in common beyond thinking the other is hot (real of them) but i dont have a strong opinion on whether they should break up or not

also maybe controversial but i like that kalina is straight up bloodthirsty. she felt like an equal opposite to bakur- rather than being a devoted servant who became corrupted by proxy, she was trying to corrupt her deity into a form she preferred. thematically it extends to the complementary opposites thing ankarna and cassandra have going on (though i get it might be a reach).

"... thats a four. you know what it's for we don't have to talk about it"

squeem

riz coming in clutch with the character arc right at the last moment. i joked ab his neuroticism being part of his natural swag, but im glad murph not only made sure riz FINALLY addressed the way he was burning himself out, but also that by extension, he was burning out both fig and kristen bc riz has a very calculated idea of 'success' and while he had the best intentions, those two dont fit neatly into it

THE HOLD PERSON OVER THE LAVA??? RIZ'S 'very good on paper, but no practical application."??? i screamed

a second blimey-related divine intervention roll by K2 leading her to getting pinnochioed into a real straight british girl, in real non-dnd britain, is the best thing thats ever happened in fantasy high. a simulacrum was so powerful brennan had to do the dnd equivalent of sending her to a barn upstate.

adaine and aelwyn talking about killing their mother over icecream can be something that is so personal...

siobhan's incredible play with the earworm??? phenomenal, i gasped out loud

fig maybe moving into fabian's house even after she drops out so fabian won't be alone again... what if i threw up blood actually

i liked kipperlilly copperkettle being confirmed to be rotten to the core. 'the ritual looks very different when one accepts rage willingly' GOOD!!! i like evil ambitious teenage girls who try to burn the world down to get what they want. i get why they didnt bring her back, that detail definitely cemented her as in the zayne/penelope category of 'past villains who could possibly be redeemed'

FIG AND AYDA MY LOVES!!! sorry but not even the lesbian goddesses are doing it like these two. brennan put his whole pussy into creating ayda aguefort and my life has been changed forever

zac once again dming K2's alternate universe campaign

things i hated

ik it was payoff to the running bit and it made me cackle when it was revealed, but the implications of hallariel and gilear having a baby are so bad to me. fig talks up gilear a lot, and sure, he came around to being a good dad to her, but gilear has objectively been a shit stepdad to fabian and hallariel... is hallariel. its got to sting was watch your mom be basically catatonic for your entire life, and then suddenly prove that she was capable of being an present mother the whole time- just not for you. im hopeful that senior year will address this though!! lou has always been so good giving his characters' weighty emotional arcs that feel satisfying

i dont like the implication of trackerbees getting back together. i never thought bladebees was good beyond a realistic rebound, but trackerbees was SO codependent together, i dont think its a coincidence that kristen had her best emotional intelligence moments when forced to think things through on her own. tracker always struck me as kind of a 'fixer' type, like she feels most comfortable with someone she can act caretaker-y to (hence bouncing off kristen to another girl who had similar issues). i really reaaaally hope they dont regress back into their s2 dynamic

ruben's memory wipe. i thiiink the implication is that those who were the most willing to follow through on porter's orders maintained more of their memories bc they were in control of themselves and those who didn't were compelled into obedience (which might be why ivy and oisin remember more), but it wouldve been nice to actually see the lucy/ruben close friendship brennan said they had with him sobbing and apologising to her

it felt very weird that kristen didnt get some kind of resolution to her yearlong gentle prodding at bucky?? i think ally got sidetracked with the possibility of kristen getting back together with her ex that it kind of slipped from their mind (maybe bc to them the ankarna vision of her upbringing was kristen resolving her feelings towards her family but still), but considering all of elmville was coming apart, i feel like bucky's faith could've been swaying into doubt pretty easily. idk maybe bc ive become a trackerbees hater over the season but it felt annoying that that was what ally focused in on and not their character's more meaningful relationship with her little brother

[gabessquishytum]

When his family disowned him, Dream hard nothing, he was practically a baby, had no money, no skills, and just the clothes on his back. He met Hob by accident, and he became Dreams best friend.

They looked out for each other, protected each other and became each other's best found family. For a time. So I would love urchin!dreamling - scamming food, huddling for warmth, the first/best time they scammed their way into night(s) at the poshest hotel in the city.

But again, time and circumstance separated them - one minute they were together all the time, the next their different choices drifted them apart. Hob became mob king of the city (no on was ever going to make him feel scared again); Dream was the prettiest arm candy you could rent by the hour (it's not whoring if you don't respect any of these men).

Hob and Dream think of each other fondly, but never expected to see each other again, the way of street life, but then Dream is bought as a gift for the mob boss, by an ambitious Burgess. Dream is half way through the first bit of Hob's blowjob before he even looks up enough to recognize Hob (or Hob has a very distinctive intimate scar that Dream gave him/or would be one of the few people to have seen from their time as urchins together).

Okay, so Hob doesn't like Burgess and doesn't want to do business with him, but how would it look if Hob turns down the offered blowjob? Hob doesn't recognize Dream until after Dream recognizes him.

It's too dangerous for them to let on that they know each other, especially with Burgess around (any leverage he might get on Hob would be bad). So Hob has Matthew bring Dream to him after the meeting ends//the next day.

Woohoo yes!!! Mob Hob is very 👀🔥👅 to me.

Dream looks up midway through the blowjob (it's part of his "routine" to look the client in the eyes, its a power move and it generally makes them finish quicker). And that's when Hob recognises those bright blue irises he hasn't seen in years. He's a professional, though. His expression doesn't change from neutral, and he manages to keep his arousal (it's not that hard to be hard around Dream, lets be real). He pretends not to know anything, but he can also see the hint of recognition in Dream’s eyes. Of course he'd recognise the massive scar that runs down the meat of Hob’s thigh: Dream sewed it up himself and nursed Hob through the infection that followed.

Next day, though? Once Matthew brings Dream in and the door is locked, Hob is flushing and practically begging for forgiveness ("I'm so sorry you had to swallow my cum" really isn't the reunification speech he'd imagined, but that's what comes out). Dream shrugs. He doesn't hate his job, he's just bored.

And so Hob makes an offer. An offer of marriage, no less. He wants Dream to be his mob wife. To be at his side and show off his wealth and power. He'll make sure that no one ever rents Dream out ever again - this marriage is to be monogamous, he's not going to use Dream as a bargaining piece. He wants them to be together like when they were kids, only this time? They'll rule the city. Their partnership will make them stronger than ever.

Dream tilts his head, thinks a while, and accepts on one condition. He doesn't want a sham of a marriage. He wants love. If Hob won't love him, then the answer is no.

And of course Hob has been half in love with Dream for most of his life, and he doesn't think it will be hard to fall the other half too.

The whole underground side of the city is shocked to hear that the mob king has finally chosen a queen. That pretty little whore with the big blue eyes, marrying the most ruthless man in the city? They think that Hob must be crazy. There are several attempts on his life and several skirmishes between his people and others trying their luck. The problem is, now Hob has something to protect, and he'll never let his power slip from his grasp.

As if to prove it, he fucks Dream for the first time against the floor to ceiling window at his penthouse - in front of the whole city. It's their city now.

[skzoologist]

HI HI HIIII! IS YOUR REQUEST STILL OPEN? (checked your profile but I had to ask again because what if u forgot to close it? 😭) ANYWWWWAY

Can I ask the reaction (crack or fluff just skz being proud of our bby bae) of skz to Bae dancing EXO's 'The Eve' or 'Artificial Love'?

TENCHUUU (づ￣ ³￣)づ

word count: ~1.2k

warnings: sensual dance (for the shy ones like me)

genre: crack

a/n: Hey-ho anon, don't you worry! I basically live on this hellsite, I'm here everyday, updating my blog. Now, onto your request. The way I just watched the videos so I knew what to write about like this: 😳🫣. What can I say, I get flustered easily too. Also I wasn't sure in what format you wanted the reactions, in a little drabble like this, or written down per member, so I'm sorry if this is not what you wanted (i'm still not versed in the ways of running a blog). I hope you'll enjoy this! (Also yes, I know the gif isn't matching, I just couldn't find one from this dance)

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The band was on their 3rd Fanmeeting, the crowds overly ecstatic wherever they went. There was a certain buzz in the air, amplifying the cheering and shouting even more than usual.

And the boys were absolutely thriving on it, adrenaline coursing through their veins in dangerous amounts, pushing them to perform on those bright stages for endless hours with no problem.

Bae was no different, his stage persona flawless, the perfect and cold mask on his face never even wavering. Fans shouted his name with all their might amidst their performances to different songs, trying to grab his attention, even if it was only for a split second. It never worked, the male too focused on doing well and dancing with all his might, executing the moves with scary precision. The fans were used to it by now, never expecting the idol to actually smile at them with a finger heart or even a wink sent their way, those actions suiting the other members much more. The tall otter was way too shy to do that, especially amidst dancing. 

After the band performed the well-known and fan favourite dances that belonged to a few of their selected songs in Seoul, it was time for a little break and fanservice. Small chairs were brought up onto the stage, easily lifted and moved thanks to their light build. Everyone took their respective seats, Bae having his between Chan and Changbin. Not like it mattered anyway, the boys always kept switching up their seats and who they sat next to amidst the chaos.

And chaos, it was.

Bae knew what was going to happen, of course he did, having helped the others practise with the choreography, but it still didn’t take away the shock factor of seeing it live, right in front of him up on the stage.

It started with ‘Queencard’ by (G)I-DLE, the two males next to him standing up and walking to the centre of their little half-circle they had decided to sit in. Bae couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face, seeing his bandmates perform so wonderfully, all those practices having paid off. But he also couldn’t help the way his eyes widened at certain moves, the skin on his ears undoubtedly already turning red. It only became worse once the song ended, Chan and Changbin going to sit back down and noticing his slightly flustered state.

He tried his best to ignore those giggles around him.

Focusing back in front of him, Bae suddenly wished he didn’t. The sight of Felix and Hyunjin dancing to ‘The Eve’ by EXO caught him off-guard, still not having fully recovered from the previous dance. Their moves were flawless, of course they were, being proud members of Danceracha, and the watching idol was extremely proud of them. He remembered which parts were tricky for who, both proudly skipping over to him when they had finally pulled them off.

But the moves were also sensual, way too much for the shy little otter. Yet, he couldn’t take his eyes off of them, gaze stuck in place and meeting with Hyunjin’s. The younger winked at him just as he performed the last hip roll, not knowing how much damage he had done to Bae’s brain.

By the end of the song Bae’s skin became several shades darker, the red extremely evident and vibrant on it. This naturally meant that everyone could see it easily, teasing him endlessly and with no mercy. It was a miracle in itself that he hadn’t exploded at all.

“Come on Bae hyung, why not dance it as well?” - Felix slyly added, wiggling his eyebrows. “N-no, I couldn’t–” - Bae tried to defend himself, only to have Hyunjin cut him off. “You’d basically learnt it with us, with how much you helped us. Come on Hyung, please?”

And who was he to say no to those eyes?

With a silent sigh, Bae closed his eyes and tried to cool himself down. Those boggled thoughts slowly detangled from each other, leaving his mind tidy and focused. The memories of each practice flashed before his closed eyelids, all in perfect order and great detail.

When he opened his eyes again he had already been standing in Felix and Hyunjin’s place, the attention of the crowd and his members all on him. A quiet breath left his lips, a hand carding through his hair as the song started up again, signalling that it was time.

Bae’s body moved in perfect rhythm, as if it was a well-oiled machine. Not a single step or flick of a hand was out of place, his mind on autopilot with only the thought of dancing floating in its entirety. He felt the tight leather pants constrict with each movement, the slit on the back of his shirt opening and flashing a bit of skin when he turned around.

As the song ended so did his focus, eyes blinking and seeing the cheering crowd as he was putting his hand down from his ending pose. Although somehow the ones next to him were much louder, something that should have been impossible to achieve.

“I TOLD YOU YOU COULD DO IT!” - Felix shouted, a smile on his lips so wide, Bae was afraid it would split his face in two. “Wah, I never knew our baby otter could dance like that!” - Chan said, all giggles and chuckles as he affectionately squeezed Bae’s shoulder. “I think you just killed a few people here, Dal hyung.” - Jeongin added in, Seungmin wholeheartedly agreeing.

At the head tilt of the flustered member, the puppy pointed at the remaining four members who laid on the floor, seemingly dead. Jisung kept glancing up occasionally, successfully catching Bae’s gaze.

“Yah, warn us before moving like that! Those hips are deadly, man.” - he accused, even pointing a finger at the poor man.

“I don’t think I can recover from this.” - agreed Hyunjin, dramatically draping an arm over his forehead.

“Guys, I think Binnie and Lino hyung actually died. They haven’t moved since then.” - Felix added in, sweatdropping at the situation.

The boy was right, as the two didn’t react even when Chan and Seungmin had shaken them. Only when Bae was nearby did they seemingly resurrect, latching onto his legs and gazing up at the blushing male with stars and adoration in their eyes.

“Marry me, jagi.” - the two said almost perfectly at the same time, even the petname they used matched.

Minho and Changbin glared at each other, all the while Bae became an absolute flustered mess, skin flushed all the way down to his neck and chest. The others enjoyed the show, maybe a bit too much, relishing in the fact that Bae had finally let up on stage for a bit. Most of them didn’t hesitate to join in and shower the tall idol with praises, only worsening his condition as he just stood there, hands covering his face so at least STAY wouldn’t see him.

He couldn’t let that happen, not in a million years. Let him have the remains of his dignity, if not anything else.

[terabyteturtle]

Fighter #14 - Bowser

- He’s jealous of how long Charizard can use Flamethrower. If Bowser uses Fire Breath for too long, he’ll gas out.

- Whenever he's super angry, his footsteps will shake the whole floor. There've been plenty of times in which the Koopalings get scared and think there’s an earthquake before realizing that dear ol’ dad just got beat by Mario again.

- Incineroar has become a good friend of his, and is also a great wrestling coach. The two of them often train and practice wrestling moves together.

- If the Koopa King ever needs some time to himself, he’ll find a secluded spot and tuck away inside his shell. He likes going behind bushes the most because the other fighters have a lesser chance of finding him there. No one has discovered his hiding spot…yet.

- If anyone messes with his kids, they're getting a giga knuckle sandwich straight to the face. He's very protective of them when they're in Smash, mainly because there's so many fighters who could easily hurt them.

- The villains tease and mess around with each other so much to the point where it’s borderline bullying. Once, Ridley wrapped his tail around Bowser’s leg and tugged it back as he walked past, causing the Koopa King to face-plant. It takes a lot to damage Bowser, but considering Ridley’s strength, that really hurt.

- Incineroar let him try some Poke Beans once, and he actually really likes them. Bowser’s not sure what that says about him, though. After tough matches, Incineroar always brings some to share. 

- During the summer, when the fighters have cookouts outside, Bowser is always in charge of the barbeque. Put him in front of the grill and he’ll come back with some of the best burgers, hot dogs, and ribs the fighters have ever tasted. Typically, he’s not good at cooking, so it’s a mystery as to how he can get it to be so good.

- Every Friday night, he’ll play Rummy and Poker with Wario, Meta Knight, and King Dedede. Wario always wants to play for money, but the other three know better and would rather play for fun. Every now and then, King K. Rool might join in as well.

- Bowser LOVES classic rock and hair metal, especially from the 80s. He usually has it playing in the background whenever he’s playing cards with the other villains.

- If the Koopalings’ clown cars are broken, he’ll not only fix them, but he’ll add new, cool weapons that he thinks they’ll like. 

- He’s still smitten with Peach and has a little notebook in which he writes down different ideas for asking her out. If he decides to stick with a plan, he’ll usually have Meta Knight and King Dedede help him out with it.

- More than anything, Bowser cares deeply about being a good father to the Koopalings and constantly worries that someone or something will affect how they view him. If he loses a match, will they think he’s too weak? If he sides with Mario, will they think he’s gone soft? If he does something too evil, will they get scared and turn on him? What do other fighters say about him when he’s not around? Do they tell them good things, bad things, or something in between? Or do they, perhaps, say nothing at all? Bowser’s children love him, and he knows that, but he still can’t help but worry.

- Every time someone complains about the Koopalings’ antics, Bowser can’t help but chuckle. If they think one silly prank is bad, then they don’t want to see how they behave back home.

- Various fighters have mistaken him for a turtle upon first meeting him, but his reactions were vastly different depending on who it was and how they were saying it. Fighters like Lucas and Pit innocently believed that he was a giant turtle, to which he politely explained to them that he was something much different. Fighters like Ridley and Sephiroth, on the other hand, practically mocked him about it, which sent the Koopa King into a fiery fit of rage.

- Despite his wedding plans having been foiled, he still really wants to marry Peach. The Koopalings know that she’s not their real mother, but they still refer to her as such, which breaks his heart even more. He gets really infuriated if a fighter tries reminding them that Peach isn’t actually related to them.

- Kazooie really has it out for him for some reason. Banjo’s fine, but Kazooie does not like Bowser at all, going so far as to leave him “presents” outside his bedroom door.

- When the Koopalings are playing with some of the other younger fighters, they’ll often rope Bowser into the fun as well. This has caused him to form some unlikely bonds with fighters like Ness, Lucas, Villager, and Toon Link.

- They didn’t like each other initially, but over time, Bowser and K. Rool have become as close as brothers. Sure, their egos cause them to fight sometimes, but they’ll always have each other’s backs.

- Bowser is fully aware that he has a short temper and has actually been trying to keep it in check more often. He's making progress, albeit not very much.

- Nowadays, Bowser can keep his Giga form under control, but back then, there were many times in which he lost control as Giga Bowser and nearly destroyed the entire stage. It'd get so bad that both Master Hand and Crazy Hand would have to step in.

- It took him a while to adjust to the fact that there was another Roy in the mansion who was also essentially a prince.

- Knowing how many retro characters there are both on the roster and working as Assist Trophies, he silently prays that his imposter “twin” doesn’t show up. Bowser doesn’t know who that guy is or where he came from, but for a while he falsely referred to himself as “Bowser’s brother” and “the Duke of the Koopas”. One day, he just disappeared, which freaked him out even more. Will he ever return again? Bowser hopes not.

- Because Wario has a monstrous appetite, Bowser is often caught up in schemes to sneak him some extra food (which he'll only agree to if he gets his fair share of the grub). They almost always fail, though.

- Despite all of their differences, Bowser has actually become good friends with the other villains. Well, most of them. Sephiroth and Kazuya haven’t warmed up to him yet, and Dark Samus just freaks him out.

- However, their friendship does not mean that they don’t fight. The villains are all pretty hot-headed and prideful, so arguments break out frequently among them. Out of all of them, Bowser finds himself arguing with K. Rool and Ganondorf the most.

- One time, there was a gopher infestation in the gardens, and of all fighters, Master Hand decided to send Bowser, Ness, and Ike to deal with it. They were a heavily dysfunctional trio, but after a lot of trial and error, they managed to get it done.

- Bowser has his own giant scratching post that he’ll take his anger out on. It’s a miracle that thing is still in one piece.

- As feeble as he thinks Toad is, Bowser can’t help but admire his courage. No matter what, he’s always willing to stick up for people, especially Princess Peach. Unlike most others, Toad doesn’t cower in fear or run away upon crossing Bowser’s path. In fact, he’ll step straight into it if it means protecting someone from harm. Despite the two being on opposing sides, Bowser can’t help but have a weird respect for him.

- Bowser thought that since he had so many spikes on his back that he couldn’t possibly be used as a stepping stool, but he was proven wrong when Yoshi needed something on the top shelf of the fridge and the Koopa King was the only one around to help him. Ever since then, Yoshi, Jigglypuff, and even Olimar have used him to give them a boost on several occasions.

- One time, as a prank, Lemmy painted his shell blue while he was sleeping. Unbeknownst to him, that paint was a special permanent type and wouldn’t come off no matter what Bowser tried to do. The only way they managed to take it off was to have Robin cast some spell on it.

- His favorite song from the Smash soundtrack is King Bowser - Super Mario Bros. 3. It's literally his theme, but made better with all of the sick metal riffs—how could he not love it?

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest day 3 - GHOST

On the hoary street outside Aventus’ house, the children are throwing snowballs.

It’s snowed thick the last few days, only coming to a stop late this afternoon, so that the cobble of the road is entirely hidden; the younger ones, all a little older than it feels like they should be, are shin-deep in it, wading with some difficulty, clothes freezing wet and shoes probably soaked through. It’s the proper kind of snow, clean and crisp and cold to the bone. It lies smooth and flat where it hasn’t been walked through and most of the streets visible from the upstairs windows still haven’t been shovelled clear. There’s meant to be a market today, but after this weather – roads barely traversable unless people start rustling up sledges - it’s doubtful it’ll go through. It happens. This time of year you need to keep your storeroom well stocked, else you’re shit out of luck.

(Once, there were no storerooms; Torr couldn’t tuck themself away until the blustering died down. He’d wear seven worn-thin layers and stick his fingers in his mouth when they started hurting and if it got really bad he’d find somewhere with Griss and Kyrri and Katla and whoever else he could grab and he’d beat down the door of whoever was least sick of his face at the time. The Cornerclub, if he thought it was worth appealing to Ambarys’ better sensibilities; the temples dotted around the city, though some of them were never very helpful at the best of times. They waited a blizzard out on Eirmund’s kitchen floor, once. Broke into a few cellars, a few abandoned buildings, a shop. It’s lucky they weren’t arrested twice as often as they were. They think they got by mostly on luck, some days.)

It's pretty, if nothing else; there’s nobody else out on the streets yet so it’s just the gaggle of kids in their tatty coats and cloaks and the ends of their tunics wet, breath misting in the air so visible it’s practically crystallised, shrieking and ducking and hurling damp handfuls of snow at each other, loose-packed and crumbling. It hits the walls, sometimes, and sticks dripping between the stones; seeps through their gloves, through their hose, and Torr doesn’t remind them to worry about frostbite because they know and he knows they know, but he thinks about it. Their own hands are still scarred, fingertips ever-flushed, knuckles tough and pitted. It’s hard to remember that things have changed, in some ways. Harder to remember they were ever different, in others.

They’re posted up watching against the chilled stone wall, hood pulled over their head to shield them some from the cold, hands tucked up into the sleeves of their thick wool tunic. (It’s nice. Bluish-purple – Babette picked it out, they think.) The kids are all yelling their heads off, which they suppose the neighbours must have gotten used to. Ambarys is stumbling like a newborn deer through the snow; Griss is darting this way and that, her red skirt fluttering like a flag behind her; Skygna has Gellir on her shoulders, a lump of snow held high in one hand and the other holding onto her head, directing her to charge around lopsidedly. A trio of the newer kids – they’ve been appearing more often, Katla said, since the fighting started, and Torr’s still not entirely clear on which is which – are trying to pile up a crumbling snow wall. Skrauti keeps careful to the porch, mindful of his foot and realistic about the strength of his boots and the real utility of his crutches in that sort of terrain, but he ducks around corners and keeps neatly compacted snowballs piled up in his arms. He darts around the corner, throws one that dramatically misses anyone that it might have been aimed at, and lurches out of view again before anyone can try to get him back. Gellir is bellowing, his little face bright as the sun. Skygna is laughing. She always used to be so serious.

So much has changed. So much has stayed the same. Same clothes, some of them. Same people, mostly. Torr watches, leaning against the cold stone wall, and tries to find familiarity in it. Fails.

(It should be familiar. They used to play like this all the time – Windhelm’s certainly got the weather for it, coated in snow for the better part of the year and not all that much else to do about it; the kids would sneak up on him, or on each other, try to dump a damp handful down the backs of their tunics or grind it into their hair. Katla always tried to get it straight in the eyes. Torr remembers back when Skrauti was new, how he managed to smash a hard-packed snowball through one of the rare glass windows in the Grey Quarter, how he damn near cried with guilt afterwards until Torr promised they’d scrounge up the money to pay for it to be fixed. Torr remembers how Chukka down the docks tried to figure out how to lob snow at them with her tail even though it didn’t have half the dexterity for it. Torr remembers Katla shovelling snow down her throat in response to some stupid dare and then shoving Talres’ face in it when he laughed. Torr remembers, Torr remembers, Torr remembers; but it’s like that’s all he knows how to do. Like he’s slotting it away in the shelves of nostalgia as it’s happening. Like he’s not really here.)

(He isn’t. Not really. Not like he’s supposed to be. Once, they would have been the one to start it, putting snow down Katla’s dress, on Talres’ arm, in Griss’ hair; it kept them all laughing, kept them active, kept them distracted. They were the best at those games, unbeatable, though since half their opponents were half their age having the best arm and the quickest dodge probably wasn’t much to brag about. They remember it all but they’re still leaning statue-still against the wall; trying to move feels like an imitation, unreal. None of it feels real. Every time Torr comes back here they feel like they’re dressing up in their own skin, carving the blood off their palms, trying so hard not to seem like they’re pretending. He loves the kids – he does, he does, he does; he would do anything in the fucking world for them. There’s not much left that he hasn’t already done. But there’s little comfort to be found here, these days, feeling slow and stagnant and ill-fitting. They want him here, though, all the same. So he visits. And he tries not to feel like he’s lying.)

Torr is lost, as he usually is here, in thought (he can’t get away from it – he steps through Windhelm’s ancient gates and falls backwards through time, falls backwards into his own head), so he’s not expecting impact, sudden and sharp, against his right shoulder. Just under the clavicle. Their clothes are thicker-softer-better here than they ever used to be, but even so they can feel the freezing shock against the scar tissue knotted over their joint – they’re reacting before they even begin to think about it –

Their head catches up to their body before they actually put a hand on their knife, but not before they’ve flinched for it, shoulders curled in, sinking their weight low, one foot shifting agitatedly against the powder-pit of the snow; then Torr blinks, remembers himself, remembers when he is and where he is and that there is a world past the sudden snap of vigilance singing through the thundering of his blood. Blinks again. Looks, over the muddy-trodden surface of the sparkling snow, to Griss; who stands with one arm still raised and one side of a smile pinned on. It seems to be caught in place halfway through slipping away. There is snow on Torr’s jacket sleeve.

(Once, keeping her smile in place was the entire pared-down goal of his life; Torr spares a moment to hate himself, acutely and utterly. Then he moves on.)

Torr knows the steps for this game; knows what to do; knows what they would have done, though not why it used to be so easy, or why it’s so hard now. Griss looks grimacingly like she’s about to apologise for startling them, which is so horrendously not how they talk to one another that the idea stings. Torr crouches – all their muscles still coiled, chest held tight, very unhelpful – to dig a handful of snow from the ground at their feet and fling it in her vague direction. She yelps and dodges with ease, but it fixes the look on her face; she sticks her tongue out at him and ducks down to build up another arsenal, and Torr shakes his head ache-inducingly hard and tries as best he can to wrangle his attention to here and now. The snow is painfully cold against his ungloved hand, but it kind of helps. Makes him feel like he’s here.

When Griss hurls another projectile at him, he has at least the presence of mind to sidestep; she cackles delightedly, and he smiles, thin and dirty-cold as the dusting of snow on his shoulder.

[insomniamamma]

Circle, Circle: Dieter Bravo X f!reader

A/n: written for my @yearofcreation2023 Year of Kisses. This prompt was a kiss for comfort, and a whole lot of real life happened between when I started this and now. This is a love letter to the theater nerds I knew in high school and the theater nerd I became later in life. This one turned out different than I thought it would. This story refused to be smutty. This story refused to be sexy. I don't make the rules. Inspired largely by this.

warnings: drug and alcohol use, angst, implied fatphobia, insecurity, cuddles and fluff, being dieter's best friend implies it's own warning.

You saw the clip. Annika belting Dieter in the chops in the middle of some posh party while Kate looked on with the kind of face you make when your drunken best friend barfs in a potted plant at your parents house. You never loved me! You never loved me at all! Dieter's hands thrown up in self defense, grinning at the cameras as security goons hook their arms around Annika's waist and pull her out of the shot. Day in the life.You saw the clip and knew what was coming. Dieter fuckin Bravo.

You've known D since middle school, gravitating towards each other because no one else wanted anything to do with either of you. The girls called you stupid and fat and ugly. The boys called him faggot. So you'd banded together, smoking cigarettes you stole out of your Gramma's dresser, smoking shake-weed out of pop-can pipes at the edge of school grounds, right under that stupid sign that read 'drug free school zone' and then kicking it into the tall grass when some terminally bored teacher's aide came to round up you and D and the rest of the burnouts. Nobody ever gave you more than the cursory straighten up and fly right speech. Neither of you were actively failing so no one cared. Then, in high school Dieter discovered the theater program and so did you.

You saw the clip and knew your phone would ring eventually. Or buzz rather. Coming home, he texts. Can you pick me up? Sure. What time? Knowing exactly what will happen. He'll say he won't be any trouble, that he'll book a room at the holiday inn and you'll tell him no and invite him to stay. Because you always do. Because home has turned on him for getting out. He's won an Oscar out in the world, but here? He's sneered at, deep well of contempt for those who strike out and fail and come home licking their wounds. Who does he think he is? Who do you think you are? Hurts less for you because you never tried to leave as much as you wanted to.

You should try out, you told him. If I'm trying out you should too, he told you. Little Shop of Horrors. He was gunning for Seymour so you learned Audrey, so you could practice the songs with him. I can't try out are you kidding me? You can, D told you, you sound...rested his hand on your upper arm the way someone might touch a live nuclear warhead. You sound good. We sound good together. You know that right? And inside you do. The way his voice weaves through yours, the way you can let go when it's just the two of you. His garage or your basement, singing over the piano track the music teacher made.

He's a mess. He looks about four days out from his last shower, his curls sticking up in greasy quills, his eyes are red-rimmed, from drugs or crying, you can't tell. This is how it is for him. He fucks up spectacularly and then he comes slinking home. No one cares here. No one gives a shit about his Oscar here. Just that no good Bravo boy limping home like a kicked dog. But you care. Dragging his carry-on along behind him, broad shoulders slumped, you feel that unwilling, unwitting spike of pity lodge in your chest.

They'd laughed. At the audition. When you and Dieter took your positions on stage, a bit of rough blocking you'd worked out between the two of you. Not loud braying laughter, snickers and titters of girls expecting a debacle and you feel your chest constrict and your eyes burn--

"Lift up your head Wash off your mascara Here, take my Kleenex, wipe that lipstick away Show me your face, clean as the morning I know things were bad, but now they're okay--"

But Dieter has you, grips your chin with finger and thumb just like you practiced, those big brown eyes terrified and deadly serious hold yours as he draws you to your feet. Audrey's lines pour out of you in a rush, the accompaniment a hair slower than the recording, I blew it, I blew the song and then you find the tempo, you find your voice and it rings out like it did all the times you and Dieter ran it together, belting it over the cast recording, rings out into the dark auditorium, the way you've heard it in your head this whole time, and you feel your skin prickle as Dieter's voices threads through yours like a grounding touch, and you finish together, singing into each other's faces.

The accompaniment stops and there's polite applause.

"You saw?" "Everybody saw--" "Fuck."

He smells like stale beer, fast food and no sleep. "You knew it wasn't gonna last with her right?" You keep your eyes on the road, but you can feel D bristle in the passenger's seat. "How do you mean?" "Come on, man, she's, like, half your age. Even if you hadn't cheated on her with Kate--" "Hey--" "You and her have nothing in common other than being trapped in that weird quarantine bubble," you say, "That's not love, that's fucking Stockholm syndrome." "You're probably right." "I'm always right. Haven't you figured that out by now?"

"This is some bullshit!" Dieter jabs a chipped black fingernail at the list of names tacked to the bulletin board outside the auditorium. "Your name is nowhere on that list. We sounded so good together! They--" "Dieter it's fine," you say. "They cast Emmy Lancaster as Audrey! What the fuck?" "Emmy's fine. She's got a nice voice." "Yeah, but she's not you! How'm I gonna do it if it's not you?" "D! Stop it!"You grab him by his upper arms and shake him a little, and those big brown eyes lock onto yours and he looks like he's drowning. "You've got this. I know you, dude, you're gonna be great." His eyes flick back and forth like he's searching for something. "Will you still run lines with me?" "Of course I will, you asshole."

"You hungry?" "Starving." "Mabels?" "Mabels."

"Oh, man, I forgot how good this is."

You and Dieter order the same thing as ever, garbage omelets with and order of biscuits and gravy split between you. D slathers his plate in hot sauce and you wrinkle your nose like you always do. And the question comes up as it always does. Can I stay with you? Just for a little bit-- and the answer is always yes, because D is a disaster but he's your disaster.

He's held your hair while you puked, you babied him when his girl dumped him right before senior prom. You ran lines together, even though you couldn't act with him. You don't have the right look for Audrey, they told you, but we do need a stage manager, and you threw yourself into it even though it hurt, because what where you expecting? And you had a knack for it, which surprised you and everyone else. The Audrey Two puppets were rented, but everything else had to be built and you found that you loved it, sketching out the sets, figuring out how to make the pieces light enough for you and the half-dozen other nerds you'd press-ganged into being stage crew to lift easily. We can do most of it with scrims, paint right on the fabric and then light it on from the back, or we could project the images right on them, like what Nine Inch Nails does. We can get with the AV club, see what they think.

"You can always stay with me, Dieter." You reach across the sticky table and wrap your hand around his forearm, "You know that right?" And there's a flicker across his face that says no, and it feels like a spike in your belly--

"Everyone's saying-- Christ. It's like everything I touch turns to shit."

"C'mon, that's crap and you know it, Hunger Strike--"

"That was different!" He surges forward and takes your hands in his, a bit of coffee sloshed between you, turned ears and cocked heads of the few patrons haunting Mabel's this time of night. "I had something there! It was like, something entirely outside of me--"

"Like catching lightning in a bottle?"

"Exactly like that!" And he smiles, brilliantly, the real one, not the cool little smirk reserved for the red carpet, for the press junkets, the smile that lights him up, the one you remember from way back when the lights came up and the orchestra played the main theme, the cast linked arm and arm, ready to take their bows and Dieter broke ranks, deviated from what you'd done in the previews, running the show for a cadre of bored teachers who'd rather be doing just about anything else, he sees you in the wings and catches your eye, waves you out two handed, a huge clownish gesture that requires a response, so you and the tech crew pour onto the stage, while the actors slide down to make room for you and you dip your outstretched hands to the orchestra and raise them again to the soundboard and spot operator the way you've seen every night this run and then everyone links arms and bows in a wave and suddenly Dieter's arms are locked around you, releases you and then turns to the crowd, raises your hand and his together, as the applause comes up.

"Do you know how that feels?" And you remember the way you and him sounded together, how Audrey poured out of your lungs like she had always been there-- "Yeah, D, I do," and his eyes flicking back and forth across your face still and hold yours, his hands warm in your grasp.

"Yeah," he says, and squeezes your fingers in his, "Yeah, I think you do." And you stay like that a beat, hands folded together across the sticky table, ancient cigarette smoke and old coffee and hand sanitizer. The waitress brings the check. One of Mabel's spray tanned granddaughters. You draw your hands away like you've been caught.

You've kissed Dieter exactly once, under the much-graffitied overpass, neon slurs and pentagrams and pigeon shit, both of you drunk on Wild Irish Rose, him smelling of weed and his mouth was warm, tentative against yours, and you'd laughed about it afterwards, circle-circle dot-dot now i've got my cootie shot, and you'd leaned together with your arms around each other, warm and solid against each other.

During tech week you'd pulled double duty, running lines with Dieter because outside of the auditorium Emmy Lancaster wouldn't even look at him, rolled her eyes all through rehearsal as if she was doing the world a favor by being there. She wanted nothing to do with him outside of scheduled rehearsals and Dieter was scared. The tech crew you'd rounded up was a different story all together, the lights are down and they can't see us so go nuts, so backstage you'd gone full goth, all black and dramatic makeup, and some of the others had followed suit, a little bit of rebellion behind the curtain where no one could look at you.

After one particularly grueling night, you and Dieter find yourselves side by side on the futon in your basement. Your bedroom proper is upstairs but your folks have let you build a nest down here so won't bother the rest of the house. They've mostly given up on you but that gives you some freedom.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he says, looking up at the crappy drop ceiling and glow in the dark stars that you've decorated it with. "Emmy hates my guts. She thinks I'm a creep. How'm I supposed to make this work?"

"Pretend she's me."

"What?"

"Pretend. She's. Me. You're good singing and running lines with me, so just imagine it's me and not Emmy fuckin Lancaster up there with you."

"Will that work?"

"Dude, I don't fuckin know, but you better figure it out quick. We open in a week."

The ride home is silent save for the scrape of windshield wipers, low, warm spit of rain, winding back roads and Dieter's fallen asleep, head turned away, slumped against the window, comes blearily awake at the sound of your tires on the gravel driveway.

"Hey, D, we're home." He stretches in the passenger's seat and yawns hugely.

"I can still get a hotel. I don't want to be a problem--"

"Too late. C'mon."

You fall asleep under fake plastic glowing stars and wake to find you and him wrapped together, his forehead pressed to yours, your arms tucked around his ribs, his hand folded over the curve of your hip, his breath warm against your face, and you're not sure how this makes you feel, because you've never been close with someone quite like this and you're not sure what might happen next, but at the same time this is Dieter and you've known each other for what feels like a million years and he looks so different asleep, face all slack like a little kid who's zonked out in the back on the car on some long road trip.

"I'll take the couch." "The fuck you will. I know the wire-work on Cliff Beasts 6 tweaked your back." "Was it that obvious?" "I could tell." "You can always tell."

"D. Hey, D." You try to squirm out of his grip without waking him, but you haveto resort to a good hard poke in the ribs. His eyes fly open and the two of you launch up and out of bed and away from each other like two magnets forced pole to pole.

"hoooomygod. Oh shit I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--" "Dude, it's okay, I didn't mean either-" "I was just so tired holy shit," his eyes are wide and his cheeks are fire engine red and you can feel the embarrassment and anxiety pouring off him like radiation. You start laughing. You can't help it. "What?" "You remember that scene from Planes, Trains & Automobiles?" Dieter brays laughter and the embarrassment flicks out like a candle flame.

You offer your hand and he takes it. You lead him upstairs. You need to get cleaned up. You smell like the floor of a taxi-cab, and Dieter laughs, a small one that just barely touches his eyes, his big be-ringed hand folded around yours, stroking your knuckles with the pad of his thumb, eyes down-turned.

"You always let me come back to you. No matter how bad I fuck up. You don't have to- you shouldn't--"

"Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do Dieter Bravo. You can always come to me. Unless you become a serial killer. Which seems unlikely considering how squeamy blood makes you."

Dieter laughs, a real one this time, that dimples his scruffy cheek and crinkles his eyes closed, and he knows you're talking about the time in Mrs. Wilson's home economics class when Lola Stevens sliced her thumb opening a can of peaches to make cobbler and Dieter got one good look at the running blood and slithered bonelessly out of his chair, eyes rolled up to the whites.

He laughs and pulls you into a crushing hug, his arms banded around your back, pressing you into him and it catches you off guard and you stumble against him, sorry. I didn't mean, and you don't give him space to elaborate, tuck your face into his neck, wind your arms just as tight around his middle. He smells like skunk weed and whiskey sweat and fast food and exhaustion but also like home, like those fevered days leading up to opening night, like when your first serious boyfriend had dumped you, like when he'd held your hair while you puked in the weeds by the side of the road, walking back home from a kegger that he cops broke up, the two of you creeping into the basement, got you a big sweating plastic tumbler of water in the ugly yellow light from the range hood, his eyes big and dark and serious, afraid of waking the rest of the house, and laughter had come bubbling up silent giggles that he caught like the plague, did you see the way Greggie ran?-- shut up you're gonna get us caught--

"Christ I missed you." "Missed you too, D, but you really need to shower." "That bad, huh?" "Yeah, that bad."

With some coaxing Dieter sleeps beside you, curled away from your nightstand lamp. Can't ever sleep without reading a little first, a horror yarn you've read a half-dozen times, plucky hero and damsel in distress threaded through with Dieter's even breath. He looks oddly frail in the soft light, back hunched in and knees tucked up like he's cold. You kill the light and slide the book under your pillow. You already know how it ends.

You kill the light and tuck yourself against his broad back, slide your arm around and his hand finds yours, folds your fingers into his, tucked against his chest. He smells like your soap and your shampoo because his toothbrush and a hair-clotted razor were the only toiletries that made it into his tangle of luggage. Walmart, you think, need to go anyway. You feel him soften, relax into your embrace, his weight settling against you, press your lips to the back of his head before tucking your face into the warm join of his shoulder.

His voice, sleep heavy and slurred-"Did you just kiss me?"

"Circle-circle, dot-dot"

[thehauntingofharrenhouse]

SIGHING the age difference between margaery and sansa is p big for teenagers! margaery is closer to jon and robb's age than sansa's. margaery and her family actively pursued an interest in elevating her to queen from at least the first book if not longer, tywin was actively trying to arrange a marriage between cersei and rhaegar before the maggy scene, which takes place when cersei was younger than sansa is at the beginning of the series. ned and catelyn had barely discussed sansa's options before joffrey shows up; they might have thought of it later or they might have chosen someone else. the wealthy southern houses are ambitious, but starks rarely send their daughters south to marry. sansa has talent and big dreams, and cat would at least think to take that into account. likely cat was expecting to marry her into another great house, but we know cat wanted her kids to be happy?? and be children?? for as long as they can. she was surprised and a little upset that robb was wearing live steel, even tho he's nearly an adult by westerosi standards and competent enough to manage winterfell when she understandably neglects her duties while bran is in his coma.

this is not a bad thing!! this is reasonable!! and cat did teach sansa how to be a lady the same way ned taught robb and jon to be a lord, through example and demonstration. all highborn girls have lessons with a septa, not least to occupy them while the boys are practicing hitting each other with swords. sansa and arya were also given lessons with maester luwin, which is a significant advantage that not all highborn girls get. and honestly this solid foundation gave sansa and arya the tools they needed to survive thus far!!

catelyn was expecting sansa (and arya!) to continue her education at court, under the supervision of ned and with the help of septa mordane. and cersei did try to educate her in her own terrible way––catelyn could not have known how incompetent cersei was (honestly cersei had robert killed in an incredibly sophisticated way that would still be hard to prove in real court, she is a lot more together in the first book). ned resolved to end the betrothal as soon as he saw what joffrey was like, he definitely believed revealing joffrey's parentage would make this easy.

margaery came to king's landing with an army at her back, knowing there was a possibility, however slim, of the lannisters rejecting an alliance. she knew she was entering a city her family had been starving out for months!! she brought food!!! she was prepared. she knew exactly what she was getting into!! loras had almost definitely been feeding the tyrells information about the court for years, if only so they'd know what was going on lol.

the tyrells are absolutely the lannisters' foils, I think that's pretty clear? margaery is the political powerhouse cersei wants to be, and she has the support and respect cersei craves. loras is the new Best Tourney Knight who mostly lives up to the ideals jaime strives for without really trying, and his relationship actually is unfairly discriminated against instead of just creepy (affectionate). willas is the scholarly heir trusted absolutely, like his claim is so rock solid he is just left with the castle, and he has a more 'socially acceptable' disability (in tyrion's mind especially!). like they are both engaged to sansa even. and olenna is who tywin thinks he is, except she also has the power of being a reasonable adult who would prefer that people (not joffrey) didn't get hurt. then garlan is just a good guy, all the lannisters wish they had a garlan

for the record, also, sansa tried to 'talk up' joffrey because she was terrified. she does not like anything about joffrey at this point and is desperately trying to think of things to say that won't get her killed?? what olenna and margaery do so well, and what is indicative of their strength as politicians and the power of being nice to people, is put sansa at ease enough that she's willing to tell them the truth. like yes sansa was fully deluding herself at one point, accepting joffrey's apology for lady's death, but she starts to hate him as soon as he has ned arrested (and their household killed??). how many of us can say we have not gone a little delusional over a crush in middle school regardless of what our parents taught us. lmao.

cat and ned may not have prepared sansa to be queen but they are the reason alayne is still kind, and that is why she inspires the kind of loyalty littlefinger can't, which will prove to be her greatest weapon.

[weirdestbooks]

Secrecy and Deception Chapter 21

Warsaw Pact (Wattpad | Ao3)

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Bold is Russian or Polish, depending on the context.

Event: The Creation of the Warsaw Pact

Location: Warsaw, Polish People's Republic

Date: May 14, 1955

Kazimiera was nervous about the idea of the Treaty of Friendship, Cooperation and Mutual Assistance. She knew all the reasons that had been given for it, of course, the integration of West Germany into NATO, the USSR’s failure to join NATO himself, and the fear that the power of the West might be turned against him.

He wasn’t the only one, as Czecksolvakia’s leaders had already made a security pact with Poland and East Germany. But this was different. This was the USSR doing this, the USSR, who already had an armed presence in her country and political control and domination.

She had been trying her best to protect Poland from as much of it as she could, but some days, it seemed like an impossible task, with the USSR’s noose tightening around them.

“Poland thinks that he’ll be pulled into control when the Warsaw Treaty Organization is born,” Lechosław added, having moved closer to Kazimiera from where he had been in their mind’s world talking to Poland.

“Wioletta and Kazimiera can keep him away. They’ve done it before when the USSR tries to control him,” Kazmiera’s best friend, Piotr, said, sounding more confident than Kazmiera felt. She often tried to keep Poland away from control of their body when the USSR was around, as that man always seemed to do his best to destroy any sense of self Poland had. They learned long ago that it was better to pretend they loved their so-called Father and let the resentment grow.

“I’m just worried for him. We all know this is going to be used as another way to control us, and…Poland is worried,” Lechosław said. Kazmiera could practically hear him shaking his head.

“He has every right to be, but now is not the time,” she murmured, an expert in keeping her voice low and quiet as the USSR’s puppets began to enter the room. Beside Kazmiera, with a seat between them, East Germany sat down, dark bags drooping under her eyes. As East Germany and Poland were the only ones who were USSR’s biological kids, he always made them side beside him.

Kazmiera supposed it was because USSR thought they were the ones that were easiest to control, less likely to snap free and hurt him. Even with East Germany’s uprising, Kazmiera knew how the countryhuman herself had quickly been neutralized by marital law.

Alongside them, Albania, Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Romania were also in attendance to sign the treaty. USSR was late.

That didn’t surprise Kazmiera.

Despite that, the room was silent. No one was making any small talk, and a tense fear filled the room. East Germany just stared ahead tiredly, looking as if she might fall asleep at any moment. Albania’s arms were crossed, and he looked particularly pissed off. He was probably the most stubborn country here, which is why he was on the opposite side of the table from the USSR. 

Beside him was Hungary, who was just staring at the table, not looking up at anyone. Romania was beside him, squeezing her hands as she stared at the door. Bulgaria stared ahead. There was nothing on his face. Czechoslovakia just seemed tired and defeated.

“Most of them were someone before this,” Wioletta said, something sad in her voice.

Most of them were not here of their own free will. But the idea of free will had been a fleeting notion for a while. Maybe most of them wouldn’t have minded being communist if being communist didn’t come with the price of being under the USSR’s control.

Poland hated being a country in general, though, believing himself to be an imposter created by the USSR and not a real countryhuman due to the survival of his only father, in Kazmiera’s opinion. As long as the Polish government in exile lived, Poland would probably never see himself as more than a puppet.

“It doesn’t help that that is what he was born as. I blame the USSR for this. He has gotten better about it, however,” Lechosław added. Kazmiera then startled as a hand was placed on her head, looking up to see that the USSR had entered.

“Good morning, Father,” she said, careful to keep her voice pleasant, “Welcome to Warsaw.”

“Thank you, my son. I am sorry to have kept you all waiting. I have been busy. Now, I suppose you all have things to get back to. The West’s actions have been worrying us all,” USSR said, taking his seat and signing the treaty. The tension in the room shifted, less fear and nervousness and more of a growing sense of… something.

“Probably a country thing,” Piotr muttered, sounding nervous as USSR passed the treaty to Kazmiera. She sighed slowly, doing her best to mimic Poland’s handwriting, nervousness running through her. As soon as she signed the last ‘a,’ she felt Poland brush against her but not take control.

The power in the air grew stronger.

“I told you he would pull me up,” Poland muttered, sounding defeated.

“It’s okay. Kazmiera is still in control, and you are safe,” Lechosław said as Kazmiera passed the treaty to Bulgaria.

“I might be pulled into control when they’re born,” Poland said, something sad in his voice.

“Isn’t this wonderful? We can affair our desire for the establishment of a system of European security that is based on European participation and not on political systems,” USSR said.

“But we all have the same political system?” Albania asked as he sighed, a faux confusion in his voice. USSR scowled, and Albania’s hand spasmed as he quickly lifted it from the paper. “Apologies, Father. I just wanted to ask.”

“He is going to get hurt,” Wioletta commented. Piotr snorted.

“I don’t think he cares.”

“More will join us someday. They are just trapped in the American-controlled NATO system right now,” USSR insisted. Albania wisely kept his mouth shut.

“Kazmiera, I know you are protecting me, but I think now I need to take control. East Germany is about to sign,” Poland said. Kazmiera didn’t want to, but she relented, sliding away and letting her country take control.

Then, she watched as East Germany sighed, and the Warsaw Pact was born.

“So, the USSR is definitely not going to let Poland have any sort of custody over his kid, right?” Piotr asked.

“He’ll give him enough to keep up any facades,” Lechosław said, fiddling with his hands as they watched the meeting end. Poland barely got time to speak to his daughter before the USSR dragged her away to “meet the politicians running her.”

Kazmiera felt sick. But there was very little she could do.

• ───────────────── •

Event: Poznań June

Location: Warsaw, Polish People's Republic

Date: June 29, 1956

Poland was worried. He was worried about the protests in Poznań, about what his Father’s reaction to them would be, and what would happen to him if he did not get them under control. He had wanted to go to Poznań when he first heard about them, to see if he could resolve things quickly, but his government had quickly shut that idea down, banning Poland from leaving the city.

“They don’t want to lose control of you. Whatever is happening there, maybe they think you’ll support it?” Ryszard asked, his voice gentle. Poland didn’t know. He knew Soviet officers were going to Poznań to help with the situation, but all he was left to do was worry and pace.

“Will this end up like with what happened to East Germany?” Kazimiera asked. Piotr sighed.

“I hope not. We have enough going out without having to worry about martial law,” he said. Poland shuttered slightly at those words, remembering the times that he—

“Let’s not worry about that, Poland,” Ryszard said, cutting off Poland’s line of thought. Poland nodded before he began pacing around his room, feeling so much like a caged animal. Suddenly, he heard the sound of his door opening, and Poland turned to it, questions on his tongue.

Questions that quickly died when he saw who was standing there.

“Fa—Father.” He stammered out in nervous Russian, “Are you here because of the protests in Poznań?”

“Of course he would come,” Piotr said, anger in his voice.

“We knew it might happen, with what happened in East Germany and how he was there for that,” Ryszard pointed out.

“Of course I am. I wanted to make sure you were safe, and I was so happy to learn that your government has kept you in Warsaw,” Father said, his voice…his voice full of a strange emotion that made Poland panic and shrink in on himself.

“And I’m sure that’s the only reason. Not that you are afraid of losing control of us or anything!” Kazimiera exclaimed.

“They haven’t told me what has been happening in Poznań. Do you know anything?” Poland asked.

“He’s just going to lie,” Ryszard said. Poland knew that, but his father always based his lies on a glimmer of truth to make them more effective. Poland could probably figure out the truth from his lies.

“These protestors are being led by German provocateurs who are attempting to tarnish your reputation during the Poznań International Fair. But there is no need to worry. My people have everything under control. We will not let you end up like Germany, and we will not let America or anyone else from the West take advantage of you,” Father said. 

“I knew he was going to bring up East Germany,” Kazimiera hissed, and Poland shrank in on himself further at her anger. “I’m not mad at you, Poland.”

“What are the things they are claiming to be protesting about? If these ‘provocateurs’ are trying to pretend to be Polish, then they must have a reason,” Poland asked. It was a risky question, but it was the only thing he could think of to learn a little more, a little bit of the truth.

But Poland didn’t get an answer. His father just sighed, and По́льша felt his father’s power crash into him.

“That’s not important. It’s nothing that you need to worry about because it’s not important to know what is happening,” Father said. По́льша nodded dimly. His father was right. He didn’t need to worry about that.

“Poland! Snap out of it!” a distant voice echoed from inside his head, causing a great pounding in his skull. По́льша groaned, and his father frowned.

“What is wrong?”

“My head hurts,” По́льша said simply. Father sighed.

“It will go away once we take care of these people. Do you trust me to do that?” Father asked, По́льша nodded.

“Of course I do,” he said. Father smiled.

“Good.”

• ───────────────── •

Event: Egypt takes control of Suez Canal

Location: Cairo, Arab Republic of Egypt

Date: July 26, 1956

Egypt was taking a day to herself. She knew as soon as President Nasser declared that the British and French company that has controlled the Suez Canal since its construction said countries involved in the company would be doing everything they could to get in contact with her and subsequently yell at her about it.

It’s not like it was her decision.

Even if Egypt did support it.

This was supposed to be a period of decolonization, and yet Egypt was not allowed to control the Suez Canal, the canal that ran through her country? Of course, she was going to nationalize it. This would be huge for her country’s economy. 

Britain and France have controlled the Suez Canal since they built it. They were wealthy nations, and they didn’t need the canal. Besides, President Nasser promised to compensate them for the company's loss to ensure that there was no lingering animosity.

Knowing them, Egypt wasn’t sure how much that would help.

Egypt knew that wouldn’t stop them from pretending like they needed the canal to survive, from pretending that this was some great affront to them. She knew they would not be afraid to overthrow her government if they deemed it necessary to keep control.

She hoped they wouldn’t go that far, that things could be resolved peacefully with all three of them speaking for themselves and no one being left out of the solution-making process.

But there was nothing to be done about it now. For now, all Egypt could do was soothe her anxiety and wait for the inevitable storm.

[burnwater13]

Grogu looking up at Miggs Mayfeld (out of frame), when the door to his cabin is oped during a fight between the Mandalorian and Burg, who was trying to remove Din Djarin's helmet. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 6, The Prisoner.

Grogu didn’t know if he should be horrified or happy. Yes, he was safe and sound right now and everything was going to be fine according to the Mandalorian. But… how long was it going to last? Five minutes? Five hours? Five days? These people the bounty hunter had hooked up with weren't the nicest folks Grogu had ever met.

Apparently the Mandalorian had known them 'back in the day', whatever that meant. Grogu couldn't imagine this Mandalorian knowing anyone like these people. He must have really changed since then and real change was hard. The masters at the Jedi temple had said that a lot. Fortunately it was mostly directed toward his friend Ian, but he’d found some changes very hard to deal with since he’d met the Mandalorian. 

First, Mandalorians were both early birds and night hawks. Grogu really needed his protector to be one or the other. It was hard enough to use that complicated multi-species privy on the Razor Crest under the best of conditions, but it was never the best of conditions when he had just sorted things out and he heard the tall human thump on the door and ask him to hurry up. Next time Din Djarin could use the Force and try to levitate while he was readjusting his second layer. 

Second, Mandalorian cuisine, as generated by their bounty hunting elite, seemed to consist entirely of heated ration packs. Due to that fact, anything that wasn’t a ration pack, but was food, was still treated like a ration pack. It was heated until it was hot and then it was consumed. That meant that the delicate flavors of most fresh ingredients were obliterated. A disappointment for Grogu certainly, but what was worse was that Mandalorians seemed to understand that, so they smothered everything, absolutely everything in hot sauce. Good by nuance and feeling anything in your mouth for the next eight to twelve hours.

Third, Mandalorian bounty hunters were sticklers for cleaning, maintenance, updates, practice, training, and getting stuff done. They didn’t play. They didn’t read for pleasure. They didn’t tell stories. They didn’t smile. Their laughter was almost always sardonic. Grogu was sure that if a Mandalorian ever found something delightful they will shoot it, over cook it, and smother it in hot sauce. It would never occur to them to just lay back and watch the clouds float by. They would never just throw stones in a pond to hear the ‘thunk’ and watch the ripples. They had no idea what a game was that didn’t teach a skill and produce winners and losers. They were exhausting. 

Grogu tried to play games with his tall protector but often found himself being lifted up by the collar of his coveralls and put back in his pram. Honestly, that’s one of the other reasons he wanted the bounty hunter to pick a set time to sleep. Then he could play some games on his own and have a reason to laugh and smile and the Mandalorian wouldn’t interrupt them.

He’d considered running away, but that change was too dramatic. There might be tears. At least, Grogu would probably cry. He had slowly been getting used to how Mandalorians did things, even if he didn’t always, or even mostly, care for those things. Learning a new person all over again wasn’t what he wanted to do either. That was too much work and he didn’t really want to invest in someone who wasn’t as potentially trainable as the Mandalorian. 

Yes, Din Djarin was trainable. Grogu knew it. The Mandalorians who raised him had already proved that. ‘Mando’ was nothing like Ian. He didn’t back talk the Armorer. He didn’t steal or take things without permission… with the exception of taking Grogu back, that is. He didn’t call everyone ‘kid’. That was a nickname that the bounty hunter only used for Grogu. Grogu could enumerate more differences between the two of them, but he didn’t need to. Ian had not been found by the Death Watch and raised to be a Mandalorian anything after he left the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. That would have been too convenient. 

Now the question was which thing did Grogu want to train the Mandalorian to do first? Grogu had been able to handle the food quality by sourcing his own provisions and hiding them from the bounty hunter. He didn’t have enough to share and he really didn’t want them smothered with hot sauce. 

He had no hope that he would be able to train the bounty hunter to keep regular sleeping hours. Their time on Sorgan had shown him that irregular hours were just a thing bounty hunters needed for their own protection. So that wasn’t very promising. 

Grogu wondered, if he grabbed that flight control stick knob, could the Mandalorian be trained to play a game? At first it would be finders, keepers. If Din Djarin was successful at that, they could move on to hide and seek, eventually reaching a level of comfort with each other that allowed them to just toss it back and forth. That would be quite a triumph in helping the human to change. 

A worthy cause, Master Kenobi would have said. Grogu agreed with his once upon a time instructor. Of all the things he knew he didn’t need to change about the Mandalorian, he didn’t have to change his character. He was worthy and that’s why Grogu was willing to invest so much time and effort into his education. This was the Way.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

I'm here to request HCs or a small scenario about Cheslock's little brother coming to the school! He's all groaning about how his brother's "a pain in the arse", and then he shows up and he's the nicest kid they've ever met. Cheslock just says he's annoying because his brother likes following him around and tries to do whatever he does

aaaaaa I did hcs! but this is so cute, sweet boys <3

He tries this tactic of saying his brother is annoying in an effort to convince Gregory to put an end to it before it begins, first and foremost. What prefect wants an irritating little kid in their dorm, making messes and pestering people? Alas, the whole thing has already been arranged, so Gregory couldn’t say no even if he wanted to. Cheslock knows Gregory isn’t looking forward to having what he thinks is an obnoxious child running around the campus, but there’s nothing he can do, so Cheslock gets even grumpier about the whole thing.

(Brother) is a sweet boy, and honestly, Cheslock knows that he isn’t a real pain in the arse. Cheslock’s seen bigger brats misbehaving in the shops and whatnot. His problem with his younger brother is that he’s so attached to Cheslock. Even though that’s a nice thing sometimes, it also makes him feel like (Brother) is copying him rather than taking inspiration. Far as he’s concerned, there is a marked difference between those things.

The worst thing is that (Brother ) idolizes Cheslock to the point that he wants to play music just like him. And because he’s still a child, he does things like climb up on the bench while Cheslock is playing piano and hitting some keys in the hope to join in. Or he’ll sing off-key just to be included. It’s typical behavior for a kid his age, and it frustrates Cheslock to no end. He wants his brother to be more mature and not butt in when he’s trying to do things; he just needs to be reminded that his feelings are a ‘him’ problem, and not anything his brother is doing wrong. (Brother) is just a child, after all. He’ll learn in time, but for now he just wants to be close to and included in whatever cool things his big brother is doing.

The fact that the rest of the school adores this kid only adds fuel to the fire. Gregory takes it upon himself to do… arts and crafts? While trying to remind (Brother) that he can have fun with everyone else without touching whatever the other person is working on. Herman loves taking him to the cricket field and practicing, saying that the kid has natural talent. Lawrence is right here introducing the kid to new books and nurturing the love of learning. And Edgar, well… he doesn’t have much to teach, per se. Other than perhaps the best position for a midday nap. Of course, he does that quite well! None of Cheslock’s friends have any problem with (Brother), so it makes him feel like there’s something wrong with him.

… He still very much loves his brother. There is no doubt about that, and if anyone questions it, they’re likely to get the scariest glare Cheslock can muster aimed in their direction, along with perhaps a vague threat. He makes sure that (Brother) knows Cheslock cares about him, that he’ll protect him, and… that he’s welcome on campus if he ever wants to come back. He also is very, very willing to give his brother some piano lessons. Or, whatever instrument he’s interested in. While he might not look it, Cheslock is a fantastic teacher when it’s something he’s passionate about, and this is a wonderful way to spend some quality time with his brother. He’s almost sad when it’s time for his parents to come pick (Brother) up and take him home.

[kata-sans]

The Tale of the Immortal Tweek

Part2

In South Park Elementary every kid has a thing. The thing as, everyone knows, is what people use to put a lable on someone. It's hard to believe but it's understandably true especially for the fourth grade students.

Tolkien for instance has more money than he knows what to do with. His lable, "The Rich Kid". Jimmy will never pass up an opportunity to crack a joke, labeling him "The Comedian". Even PC Principal is self evident.

Now some kids were known to have more than one lable and Tweek is a great example. His loud outbursts earned him his first lable of being a "Crazy Freak" among peers. He soon earned the title of being a "Trouble Maker" for his fighting skills. Above all he is most known for his "Gay Kid" label. Would it surprise anyone to know he was even labeled "Immortal" at one point?

Wait! How does someone earn a title like that? Well it's not like anyone in South Park is able to die and come back to life, right. Well luckily for Tweek, he didn't need to die to receive such a title. In fact it's an interesting story...

On an uneventful day in South Park, Kenny and his friends were at Stark Pond skating down the hills surrounding it. All the students had gathered at the pond to enjoy the break from school. After their third trip the boys were becoming bored until Cartman devized a plan to speed up the boards with fireworks. Despite Stan and Kyle's initial objection, soon for $2 Kenny was strapped to a rocket firework sitting on the skateboard. How does this relate to Tweek?

Well at the moment Tweek and his boyfriend Craig were walking hand in hand to join their freinds. Tweek was ranting about his newest concern about participating in boxing match.

"GAH! COACH SAYS I NEED TO START BOXING WITH REAL OPPONENTS BUT I CAN'T!! THAT'S TOO MUCH PRESSURE!"

"Tweek, honey, calm down. You have been boxing for three months. This was bond to come up sooner or later. Coach knows what he's doing."

"NO WAY MAN! ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN TO ME ON THE RING. WHAT IF I DIE ON THERE WITH ALL MY FRIENDS WATCHING."

"Babe it's not gonna kill you to practice boxing with another person.Besides, I think you need to start being more adventurous. You can't live life fearing "what ifs".

Suddenly something flew between them at high speed. The gust of wind knocked the boys down and caused Craig's hat to fly on to the street. Tweek noticed immediately and ran to retrieve it. Craig was horrified as he noticed a car speeding on the road.

"TWEEK!" Craig cried as he tripped while trying to stand up. His eyes shut in pain as his knees began to sting from the impact.

Everyone present shut their eyes to avoid witnessing the imminent tragedy. They heard the sickening sound a car hitting a body and continue without stopping.

Craig quickly gathered the strength to reach his boyfriend who was laying on the other side of the road. He quickly assumed the force of the car must have thrown him in that direction. Tweek would be massively injured and in need of assistance pronto. Craig was shocked as Tweek began to sit up before he could reach him. He frantically began to search him for injuries.

"t-tweek stop, you might... you're injured... don't move. Oh God! What hurts! Are you bleeding! Did you break something! Tweek! I-i..."

"CRAIG! I-i'm fine. It doesn't really hurt. H-honest."

Craig was shocked, and he wasn't the only one. Every kid in the vicinity had run towards the couple when they head the car impact a body. The sound had been so loud, everyone expected to see a bloody mess on the pavement.

"Honey...h-how are you...the car! Did the car hit you?"

"I...think so. MY EYES WERE CLOSED BUT I-I FELT A HIT. OH GOD! I-I'M ALIVE!!!"

The crowd of kids were bewildered by the news. Wild theories began to spew from different sides of the crowd. Strong bones? Time Travelers? Aliens? Even Clyde had a theory, and not being one to keep his mouth shut, proceeded to shout out loud, "Dude you must be immortal or something!"

His best friend's words alerted Craig to the increasing crowd. Not wanting to cause Tweek's nerves to worsen, he quickly began to disperse the nosy onlookers with a middle finger and a few threats to vacate the premises.

As the crowd left the two, Tweek's anxiety subsided enough to process Clyde's theory. Was it possible? Tweek had faced off against death and emerged victorious. Could Tweek really be immortal?

He didn't fuss when Craig pulled him up and started heading back home. Craig clutched Tweek close to his side and proceeded to lead them home. They walked in silence completely disregarding the mangled corpse of Kenny McCormick, which had landed on the top branch of a tall tree. Unbeknownst to anyone, he held a familiar blue chullo hat in his hand.